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I have been involved in politics since 1996. After being elected to Parliament in 2001, the hustle and bustle increased even more. Going to Humayun’s chat slows down, I can’t even do drama. Humayun was angry, frustrated. I have also acted in some dramas and movies. Little by little, Humayun accepted my political life. One day he joked that if Nur ever became a minister, he would call him ‘Shala’ at first glance. This is my hobby for many days. That was no longer possible. When I became a minister, Humayun was not in this world.
I arrived in New York on July 15, 2012. Humayun is fighting life and death in the hospital. July 16, 17, 18: I was in New York for three days. I went to the hospital once a day. Shawn, Mazhar (Mazharul Islam), Zafar Iqbal, his wife Yasmin Haque, all in New York at the time. Everyone stays in the hospital for 24 hours. I am standing in front of Humayun’s bed in the hospital. A separate room. Full of machinery, it looks like a scene from science fiction. Humayun is lying on the bed dressed in white. Unconscious. Nose, mouth, chest, hands, feet; in fact, countless clear plastic tubes are wrapped around it like the roots of a tree. I am standing alone. I called, Humayun, I am Nur, Humayun. I’m looking for. Did the lip move a little? Or is my mind wrong? The tears that had accumulated in his chest did not obey the prey. A nurse came back and gently placed her hand on my back, the language of request in her eyes, telling me to leave the room. I went out. Then I was there for two days. Every day I would stand outside the glass wall and see the calm and silent Humayun lying down. Is your brain still working? What does he think? What is born in your mind that the novel will be written, that?
