Life story of a freelancer Golam Kamruzzaman | Biography of a common man

Life story of a freelancer "Golam Kamruzzaman" | Biography of a common man

Golam Kamruzzaman

Freelancer , Life story of a freelancer Golam Kamruzzaman | Biography of a common man

The real identity of a friend in danger

For any reason, the mind was somewhat bored today. And if the mind is bored, the old sorts of things return. Today, I know an old sort of mind. Some passions became alot of emotions. In fact, the text that I write is grateful to one.

So let's start.

In 2008, I was the Area Manager of a large pharmaceutical company in Dhaka. I used to see huge area including PG Hospital (now Bangabandhu Medical University), Dhaka Medical College, Central Road, all the big hospitals on Green Road. There was a big team of 11 team members. I was very close to the management, I was very busy then. I still remember, at that time, motorcycles belonging to representatives of pharmaceutical companies were often stolen from PG hospitals. At least 15/20 thefts were done in a month. At that time CCTV cameras were not so popular. As a result, I have never heard of a thief being caught. Motorcycle theft was a terror to us. Because in Dhaka it was unthinkable to do marketing without a motorcycle.
Then after one o'clock in the afternoon, the representatives of the medical company could meet the doctors in the hospital. I do not know what the situation is now.
Now let’s get to the basics;
From morning we were busy in meetings, drinking tea and chatting. As soon as 1 o'clock, everyone was busy visiting the doctor. Motorcycles were stolen the most during this time.
I remember that day
 After working at Dhaka Medical, I came to PG before 1 pm to work with the boys of my team. One of my team members from the three-story neuromedicine in the C block called and said that the doctor's visit was starting, I could come now. I walked that way. Coming to the C block, my boss called from our head office. I have to come to the office now for an urgent work. We had our head office in the Channel I office building in Tejgaon.
I was in a bad mood, because as soon as I went to the office, I would do a lot of work, and I would not go home at noon, I would not take rest. After eating at the hotel, you have to start working again in the afternoon. I am going back to the motorcycle again, trying to rescue the fourteen groups of the company. I remember at that time there were hundreds of motorcycles lined up behind the PG Hospital. My motorcycle was parked against the walls of the BCS training center. When I approached the motorcycle, I saw a boy sitting on my motorcycle. Another is sitting on the front wheel and doing something. It was normal to sit on a motorcycle. Many used to sit. I said brother get down a little, I'll be out. The boy went down. As I was about to insert the key, I noticed that the boy who was sitting in front of the wheel was quickly inserting some equipment into the bag. I realized that they were actually unlocking devices. The day before, someone's motorcycle had been stolen. In the scorching heat of Chaitra, I was in a bad mood when I heard him pushing the jam and going to the office. After that, I couldn't catch myself anymore. I challenged, who are you? What are you doing here? See what's in the bag?
They began to mumble. One said why show the bag? We work in garages, these are our equipment. I said working in the garage is a good thing, but in this scorching sun, what do you do with my motorcycle. Couldn't answer her. Amata began to amata. I immediately took out my mobile and started calling some of my colleagues. I started to tell everyone, my brother came early and grabbed me by the hand. Honestly, I felt like a bit of a hero myself. But I was not prepared for what happened next. One of the two shouted, as if to call out. In a moment at least 50/60 people came running from the next slum and surrounded me. The high walls of the BCS Academy are behind me, and the crowd is in front. I am like a trapped rat. There is no one to help me. Because everyone in the pharmaceutical company is busy visiting doctors.
Addressing the people present, the two boys said, "We were sitting on this man's motorcycle." He came and said, we are thieves, we have come to steal motorcycles. As soon as he said this, the whole crowd became very excited. So big thing, holding my collar, someone said, tell me what evidence do you have? What more proof can I give, because the bag of equipment in their hands has disappeared long ago. That I used to think of myself as a hero a while ago, now I have become a villain. I have nothing to prove. The crowd was so excited that one of them came and punched me in the lower abdomen. In excruciating pain I feel like the “urine bladder” has ruptured. I stopped breathing, saw the mustard in my eyes, some punched me in the chest and face. All were young and most were addicted. Heard a lot of notoriety in the slum next to the PG, got to see the real thing today. I don't know if that slum is there now. Not to mention.

A few people with their hands in their pockets, trying to get something out, saying that it can't be kept alive, how great is the courage, our brother is called a thief. 

I realized they were going to find something knives. I sighed, groaning in excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. A few days ago, a picture of my father, who had passed away, floated before my eyes. I thought I would go to him soon. Honestly, then death terrified me. When everyone starts beating me, I have no chance to survive. I realized that today might be the last day of my life. Because if they stab someone in the chest or abdomen, then it is all over. In the scorching heat of this afternoon, these barbarians are intoxicated with murder. There is no one to save me.
I started calling  Allah. I remembered my mother, I also remembered my new wife. It was hard to imagine that she would become a widow at such a young age. In the midst of their killing fists, I saw that several of my gallbladders had left. I saw the light of hope. But i see no one moving. Far bearded watching the joke. I saw some people turning their backs and walking slowly. I understood that they did not want to be involved in this danger in any way.
I have an innate habit of mingling with people since childhood. I can make the meeting very easy. Everyone listens to me spellbound. Everyone knows me well, loves me. I have a very good relationship with these colleagues. How many days have I chatted over tea and breakfast, how many people, how many ways have I not helped. I am happy and also sad. But today none of them are coming forward in this difficult danger of mine. I stared helplessly, waiting for the final bad thing. Everything was happening very fast. May Allah have mercy on me. I don't know where one of my colleagues suddenly came from. His name is Suhrawardy, about 6 feet tall, huge body like a mountain. He pushed the crowd with both hands, shouted, and stood right in front of me. With huge body, he hid me and stood in front of the deadly crowd. 

He asked me what happened?

 I said they were stealing my motorcycle, I grabbed it. As soon as he spoke, the crowd shouted and became more excited. A few grabbed my shirt and pants, trying to snatch me. The shirt was torn in a few places.

Suhrawardy shouted,

"Everyone is calm, I am resolving the matter." And if you want to kill it, I have to kill it first. But who cares, the crowd is ready to kill him too. In that crowd, a man was his former acquaintance. Suhrawardy called him and said, this is my colleague and friend. brother, solve the problem in any way and save it. That guy signaled me to start the motorcycle. The two of them shouted together and tried to stop the mad crowd. Pushing them out gave them a little bit of space to get out. I started the motorcycle and melted that little place. I had a problem with my brand new motorcycle, it didn't start easily. I don't know what would have happened to me if I hadn't started that day. The mad crowd chased after me. Trembling with fear, I turned towards Shahbagh and started running towards the Tejgaon head office at the speed of a storm. I don't know how I got to the office. In this shirt with extreme pain in the body including the lower abdomen, I am alone in sweating. I realized that God has saved my life. Mother's prayers may have been with me. I burst into tears of gratitude. I realized that my life has started anew. From the bottom of my heart I was grateful to Suhrawardy Bhai.

Interestingly, although I had good relationships with other colleagues, my relationship with this guy was not very good. His home was in the north, simple simple people. The unpleasant truth was told directly on the face. The result was a little distance with him. There may have been professional relationships, but intimacy was not. But this man, risking his own life, kept me in check and saved my life. This is how I actually repay the loan. But none of my so-called friends came forward during this time of great danger. When I met them the next day, everyone was normal. Some blamed me, or I shouldn't have taken so much risk. Some made excuses that they could not get along with so many people, so they did not move forward. Excused, they went to call the police. I didn't say anything else, which was a burden to me. Since then, I have stayed away from all those friendly colleagues. Although the relationship above is fine, I hate them wholeheartedly. 

I still follow that teaching.

The funny thing is, whether ashamed or shy, the man who saved my life was not thanked by Suhrawardy Bhai. But Kamruzzaman is not ungrateful. I still remember him well, pray for him. I know this writing may not reach Suhrawardy Bhai. However, a few colleagues from my previous job are still on my friend list. If in the eyes of any of them after this writing, and Suhrawardy has contact with the brother. But tell him that Kamruzzaman still remembers him. Pray from the heart for him. May the great Lord Almighty keep him safe.



 A few days after this incident happened to me, near the Aziz Surgical Shop next to the PG Hospital, in the same place, at 12 o'clock at night, a man was stabbed to death by the snatchers.

 It is not necessary to say who they were.

Callected by



Golam Kamruzzaman

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