Memories of Rafi

My story of one of the last times I met Rafi parallels Asif's in a way. I was home for a few weeks in the summer of 1996, and it was the afternoon on my last day there. My aunt was coming over to visit and she called ahead to say that she met an old friend of mine at a party and she is bringing him over. It was a bit mysterious because he didn't want me to know who it was.

I remember that I was on our roof hanging out with Zarif, a close friend of both Rafi and me, when Rafi walked in on us. I was actually quite surprised to see Rafi. I hadn't kept in touch with him since I had left St. Joseph. I had kept in touch with very few Josephites since I left in Class 8. It was the first time I was seeing him after almost 6 years. But that didn't stop him from coming over to see me at a moment's notice as soon as he found out that I was in Dhaka and leaving that day.

Back in Boston, we got in touch a few more times. He came over and stayed at my place, and immediately won over my friends here. We all went to visit him in return. I remember the last time I saw him was on one of my visits to the five college area. Met up with him Friday night and basically spent the whole weekend together from that point on. Sunday there was a big fair at Amherst, and Rafi and I were browsing the used bookstall. Every other shelf, he would pick up a book and comment on what he thought of it. It's redundant to say how well read he was. He walked with us to the bus stop. The last image I have of him is in the radiant spring sunshine, smiling and waving goodbye.

It was only a few months later that the news came of Rafi missing. And then on Friday morning, someone gave me the news that he had passed away. It was unbelievable. I knew some of Rafi's friends from the 5 college area. That night we got together, rented two cars, and drove all night to New York. Saturday morning we went to visit Auntie. There were about 10-12 of us who showed up. Auntie broke down as soon as she saw us and started talking about Rafi. No one else in that crowd knew Bengali. But they all sat still and listened closely to what she said. I tried translating back and forth for a bit, but then stopped. I don't think what she said needed any translating, and what we wanted to say needed any language. There is no grief more heartbreaking than that of a mother after losing her only son. Every time I go to visit her in Dhaka, I leave having again the same thought. Is there any grief comparable to that?

There were a many of us there that weekend, getting together to say farewell to a friend we all had in common. It was the first time many of us had gotten together after a long, long time. We all talked late into the night about Rafi, and ourselves. The next year, Rafi's death anniversary brought us all back to NYC again. Over the last year or two, we have all gotten in touch with one another, and reestablished many old links and friendships. We are a community, a group again; being a Josephite'89 is again a part of who I am. And as Asif mentions, it is impossible to to think of Josephite'89 without thinking of Rafi. Rafi lives on in what we have reestablished. Souls don't live in bodies, they live in their connections with other souls. Rafi lives in within our web of connections, and as long as we maintain this, Rafi will stay well and alive. That's why we should visit Auntie when we can - each of us brings a piece of Rafi with us when we talk to her.