In memory of journalist Urmi Rahman Apa

Urmi Rahman Apa passed away in a Kolkata hospital on the 14th of this month, after a prolonged battle with cancer. While there were hopes that she might overcome the disease, it ultimately claimed her life. The news of her passing has been deeply unsettling, especially given the close bond shared over the years. Urmi Rahman Apa was someone I had known for nearly fifty years. Her departure brings a profound sense of loss, compounded by the realization of how fleeting our own existence can be. The mind, much like the relentless progression of cancer, often wanders through memories, unable to find peace.

I first met Urmi Rahman Apa in the 1970s at the office of the Weekly Bichitra, a publication that became a hub for pro-Bangladesh youth after the war. The magazine was known for its modern, protest-oriented journalism and political awareness. Its editor, Shahadat Chowdhury Bhai, was a figure of great respect and a 'heroic freedom fighter' by today’s standards. Despite the significance of their work, those early warriors did not seek accolades but simply did what they believed was necessary.

Weekly Bichitra was a beacon of new journalism in Bangladesh, and Urmi Rahman Apa played a part in this vibrant era, working part-time for the magazine. However, her involvement extended beyond the publication; she often engaged in discussions with Hasan Hafizur Rahman at the office of the Liberation War documents, reflecting on the upheavals and changes of the time. Hasan Bhai’s office was a place where many, including Urmi Apa, found a listening ear and a space for dialogue. The bond of affection with Urmi Rahman Apa has endured since those early days.

The interactions with Urmi Rahman Apa were always infused with warmth and affection, reflecting the deep bond that developed over the years. In the mid-80s, when I was working with the United Nations Children's Fund, I had the opportunity to stay in touch with many journalists, including Urmi Apa. Our paths crossed frequently, and our conversations were always a blend of personal and professional camaraderie. I distinctly remember a moment when Urmi Apa was transitioning to a new chapter in her career, moving to the BBC and relocating to London. We happened to meet one day while she was in a rickshaw, and I offered my congratulations on her new role. Despite the good news, Urmi Apa’s demeanor was tinged with sadness. When I asked why she seemed so upset despite the promising opportunity, she replied, “I’m leaving everyone behind; how can I be happy?”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I mentioned that we could celebrate by going out for Chinese food the next day, even if she wouldn’t be able to join. She left with a touch of her classic melancholic smile, saying, “Koi dekha hobe janio,” a phrase that exemplified her bittersweet sentiment.

Urmi Apa would return to Bangladesh regularly, at least once a year, but each departure seemed to weigh heavily on her. On one such occasion, I suggested that she should try some Fuchka, a popular street food, before leaving. Despite knowing that Fuchka wasn’t available in London, she humorously accepted and shared the experience with me and journalist Litu at a roadside shop. While it brought a momentary sense of comfort, it was clear that Dhaka, its people, and its memories had a profound hold on her.Urmi Apa’s departure from Dhaka and the emotional weight it carried for her is a poignant reminder of how deeply we are connected to the places and people that shape our lives.

In 1991, I traveled to America via London for work and stayed at the home of Kazi Jawad Bhai, another friend from Bichitra. During my visit, I had the pleasure of meeting Urmi Rahman Apa at the BBC office, where her happiness was palpable. It was a joyous time, marked by personal milestones for him, including her marriage. After spending a few nights at Jawad Bhai's house, I moved to Urmi Apa's address for the remainder of my stay. The real story behind this visit was not just the accommodation but the warmth and hospitality of Urmi Apa and her family. Her friend, Sagar Da, was especially welcoming. I recall one night when I arrived late due to a delayed flight. Despite the late hour, all the lights in their home were on, a sign that Sagar Da was eagerly waiting for my arrival. That night, I was treated to a comforting meal of rice with hilsa fish, a memorable and generous gesture.

Years later, when I joined the BBC myself, there were occasions when I stayed at Urmi Apa's home in London. However, after leaving the BBC and moving to Africa, I lost touch with these visits. Urmi Apa and Sagar Da eventually retired and relocated to Kolkata. Although they would occasionally visit Dhaka, our meetings were often at Bichitra’s house or other gatherings with BBC colleagues. The news of Urmi Apa’s passing reached me through Samia Zaman from the BBC, who called to offer condolences and reminisce about the old days. I also spoke with Chinmoy Mutsuddi Da from Bichitra. As time marches on, we must all face the reality of loss, but I still wish I had one more opportunity to see Urmi Apa. I would have loved to say goodbye properly, perhaps over a meal.

Afsan Chowdhury: Novelist, liberation war researcher, and teacher