Lalu

My Lalu could say things that you couldn't quite believe. He would spin his precious yarn of tales about his childhood and adolescence, that would sound so wild, so remote and, therefore, quite incredible. He had us in stitches when I last saw him in Dhaka, telling my wife and me about how strict his father had been when he was growing up, and all the ways he got punished for his waywardness.

And all his unbelievable conspiracy theories about American foreign policy, Israel, 9-11! Very interesting indeed, but hard to believe. And if you know him like I do, you had to wonder - could it be true?

Lalu, of course, is what I call my youngest "Khalu". Its a thing I picked up as a child, calling him Lalu and his wife - my mother's youngest sister - Lala. And I never lost it. Lalu wouldn't let me.

After 14 years of marriage, Lala-Lalu were blessed with a beautiful son too. But before him, they doted on me. Lala still calls me 'boro chhele' (older son).

Lalu - the life of the party. Loud, raucous, rambunctious and humorous. Full of love and laughter. But being a barrister's son, he would never lose an argument. It was hard to hold any stance against his.

My Lalu died last weekend, during AK rehearsals, of a heart attack. I can't believe it.

I couldn't cry that day, for some reason. Maybe it was the presence of all the friends around me. The air of positivity we revel in. Or maybe I just didn't want to believe it. Like many of Lalu's stories, maybe I was hoping this would just be such an incredible episode.

But as I write this today, I cry, knowing that I have lost my Lalu forever.

But I still can't believe it.

- Sujan Bin Wadud
on behalf of Amra Kojon