Brother, life is indeed a movie—or perhaps something far greater than that. The only thing missing here is the background music; everything else is present. Whatever you do—good or bad—will come back to you. If you don't receive it yourself, your children will; if they don't, their children will. I repeat: it will return! Everything is written in destiny, nothing can be erased from there.
It was probably late 2008. One day, the mother of my beloved student and dear little sister Mithi brought someone to enroll at my coaching center. She said, "Sir, this is Shamik, my brother-in-law. He's been a bit unwell, so he hasn't been able to study for about a year and a half. He needs some catching up." I looked at the boy and said, "Auntie, please forgive me. At this last moment, I won't be able to take on such pressure." She said again, "Sir, his exam isn't far off. He couldn't study all this time due to illness. Please help him a little. Please grant me this request."
I used to call Mithi my sister. She called me 'Dadabhai' then and still does now. The little one quickly chimed in from beside her mother: "Dadabhai, you admit uncle. This is my request." I never refused any request from that little one. I loved her dearly. I said, "Alright, I'll take him, but I'm not taking responsibility for him to do well in the results. I don't know what his basics are like. Taking such a zero-level student at this time is risky." "Dadabhai, you're so good! I had promised uncle that I would definitely convince you...!" "Hey little one, shut up! You'll get a slap!" "You always hit me anyway, so what's new about that! Hee hee hee..."
I noticed Shamik looking down and smiling quietly. From the beginning, he hadn't said a word, and I hadn't asked him anything either. I was quite irritated inside. The SSC exams weren't far off. Who takes new students at this time! But how could I refuse these two people in front of me!
My coaching center was called 'Pals Coaching Home.' Shamik began attending classes. I learned that after an accident, he developed severe epileptic syndrome and had been staying in Vellore for treatment. His father had decided to send the boy to India permanently. Later, that didn't happen.
I had assumed that perhaps no other teacher was taking him at such a last moment, which is why he came to study here. Or it could be that several of his close friends (Dibyo, Soumya, Proyas, Shubho, Deep, Rasel, Soubhik, Shantanu, etc.) studied with me; Shamik enrolled at Pals after talking with them.
I was terribly annoyed by his late arrival, thinking I'd have to work extra hard for this boy! Shamik studied at Collegiate School and couldn't even take the school's term exams due to illness. It was only at Mithi and her aunt's request that I reluctantly took him. Later, I also met Shamik's father. He was a wonderful man.
At that time, Shamik wasn't in the same league as Proyas, Soumya, and Dibyo. He underperformed in all the tests, I remember. The truth was, Shamik had been in the same league as them a year or so earlier, but suddenly seeing himself that way, he had completely lost confidence.
Very soon I realized that Shamik was from another planet! He was an incredibly gifted person. Incredibly—I mean, incredibly...! I was amazed watching him. I understood that he needed just one thing now, and that was courage. Very tactfully, without letting him realize it, I began building his confidence. As a teacher, I could clearly sense what each student needed and when.
There weren't many people in his life then to say 'he can do it.' When we're at zero, we don't find anyone to give us a little confidence; but when we're heroes, there's no shortage of people wanting to be around—though we don't need so many 'well-wishers' then.
Shamik made quite a comeback; you could say, completely like a king! He was always a king; people actually remain kings—they just don't realize it due to circumstances. Shamik wasn't an ordinary person, wasn't even just gifted—he was a genius! With just a few days of effort, Shamik got a golden A+ in the SSC. Later, he completed electrical engineering from SUST, then did his MBA from IBA at Dhaka University. Now he lives in Boston, America, doing his PhD.
People don't need much to move forward—they need a guru at the right time to convince them they can progress. The feet of a guru are this world's greatest treasure.
Shamik was then at IBA; during the summer semester break, he fell into severe depression over a personal issue. During that time, Shamik would spend all day on my page and YouTube channel. In his words: "Sir, if your words hadn't been there with me then, I probably would have died of depression!" Today he messaged me saying, "...you actually became such a famous person later that I was a bit afraid to approach you! But I've been following your page for many years. In my many down phases, the motivation I get from you—I can't explain it in words...When Soumya came second in BCS, I was very happy. Even though I didn't go down that track, I listened to your entire show with him attentively."
Shamik thinks that shock from the SSC period haunted him until HSC. He should have been lost—he wasn't, only by the blessings of his gurus.
It brings me great joy to think...I was among his gurus. Are you thinking my 'magnanimity' that day played a role in his current position? If you're thinking that, you're wrong. Destiny's play is most strange. Where all our thinking ends, that's exactly where God's masterplan begins.
Yesterday's piece about my most revered teacher Harisadhan Datta Sir was read by many of you. Shamik Datta's father also read it and shared it on his Facebook wall after reading. Do you know why? Because he is Harisadhan Datta Sir's son-in-law—the husband of Sir's only child, Krishna Datta. He was tremendously proud of such a learned father-in-law, so he shared it joyfully.
Until this morning, I didn't know Shamik as Harisadhan Datta Sir's grandson. If I hadn't written that piece, Shamik would never have known that I was his grandfather's student. Sir passed away in December 2015. Shamik couldn't tell his grandfather about me—he didn't know about it, how could he tell! Had he known, Sir would surely have been very happy.
No one knew anything, yet Someone knew everything. He is the silent witness to all. His accounts never have any errors! Harisadhan Sir never took a single penny from me for graciously allowing me to sit at his feet. Even when I had the means to give guru dakshina, I didn't have the good fortune then. God had bestowed this good fortune upon me unknowingly—though no one realized it. If I hadn't written yesterday's piece, no one would ever have realized anything. Of course, what need is there to realize! All the great sacrifices of the world continue silently, in secret.
Then I thought Shamik had come at a very wrong time. Today I understand, Shamik had come at exactly the right time. God does His work exactly when He should. His judgment is perfect and mysterious, though generally slow. Whether we know or don't know, understand or don't understand, accept or don't accept—everything is pre-planned—not even a hair's breadth deviates anywhere.
Seeing yesterday's post, Shamik wrote something on his own wall today. I'm ending my writing by sharing that:
Going to that two-room coaching center in Jamalkhan at a crucial moment in life. The coaching was quite unusual for me. The same chef handled everything from Bengali and English to Physics, Chemistry, Biology, and Higher Math; handled means handled quite well. Many excellent dishes emerged from that master chef's kitchen. But this writing isn't about those things.
Ramakrishna spoke of different kinds of wood floating in the river. Among wood, some become sticks—they float themselves but don't have the capacity to bear others' weight; others become heroic wood. Groups of people ride on them and cross over, but the wood doesn't sink...it floats, keeping others afloat too. That master chef was 'heroic wood.' While keeping disciples afloat, he himself remained afloat, becoming one of the country's most famous people.
I had no idea until today that Master Chef Sushanta Sir had been my grandfather's student. Beyond all that Sir has written about Grandfather, let me add one small observation. The Gita speaks of working without even an iota of attachment. I've never been able to digest this idea. I'm an intensely result-driven person myself; but I haven't seen many people like Grandfather who could pursue such mountainous scholarship without any motive of academic position, rank, or money.
Almost all the true Hindu Bengali scholars left Bangladesh after Partition. Grandfather was one of those handful of stubborn, unreasonable madmen who clung to Bangladesh and refused to leave. Why he didn't leave—beyond the obvious answer of patriotism—perhaps has another explanation: having no attachment to anything at all. May this rare species of scholars, whose capacity never matched their fierce longing, multiply in number once again!