Emran Emon

The twilight of October 11, 2025, will remain etched in our collective consciousness—the evening when Bangladesh bid farewell to one of its most luminous minds, Professor Dr. Syed Manzoorul Islam. The eminent writer, literary critic, translator, and Emeritus Professor of English at the University of Dhaka, breathed his last at the age of seventy-four—leaving behind an ocean of words, thoughts, and ideals that will continue to ripple through generations.

He was not just an academic figurehead or an accomplished author; he was, to many of us, a light that guided in the dense fog of intellectual uncertainty. To his students, readers, and admirers, he was a moral compass—a mentor who reminded us that literature was not merely an art of words, but a means to understand life, society, and conscience.

On October 3, while on his way to the University of Liberal Arts Bangladesh (ULAB), Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam suddenly fell ill. He was admitted to LabAid Hospital and underwent days of treatment and silent struggle. And today, as the sun dipped into the horizon, his creative and contemplative journey came to an earthly end—but only to transcend into immortality through his works. Bangladesh’s literary and academic community is mourning not just the loss of a person, but the disappearance of an era—an era that upheld moral clarity, intellectual honesty, and courage to speak truth to power.

Those who knew Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam personally often describe him not as a teacher of literature but as a teacher of life. His classrooms were sanctuaries of free thought. He believed that education must not be confined to the memorization of texts or theories—rather, it should ignite curiosity, nurture dissent, and cultivate empathy. He would often say, “A classroom without questions is a society without conscience.”

As a literary critic, he dissected not just texts, but the social realities behind them. As a storyteller, he wrote with empathy for the marginalized, the silenced, and the forgotten. As a citizen, he spoke courageously against the mechanization of our intellectual landscape—where bureaucracy has replaced brilliance, and administrative conformity has suffocated creative inquiry.

In one of his most talked-about remarks, Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam observed with sorrow, “There are no scientists, no researchers, no philosophers—only administrators wherever you look.” This statement struck a national chord. It was both a lament and a warning—a mirror reflecting the state of our education and governance, where imagination has been replaced by hierarchy and fear.

When I wrote a column titled “The BCS University and the Absence of Scientists—Even After Repeated Circulars,” inspired by his words, it sparked widespread debate. The piece questioned how our national obsession with bureaucratic success had eroded the spirit of intellectual exploration. When I sent the article to him for his evaluation and compliment, he replied: “I have just read your article—one of my colleagues sent it to me. It’s a mature, dauntless, and logical analysis. I feel proud when someone like you not only understands but internalizes my thoughts. That’s my achievement—that someone like you from the young generation has been stirred to think. This is what gives me hope—though such instances are rare nowadays.”

I recall the day vividly when Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam Sir visited the Feni University Lit Fest 2023 as the keynote speaker. After his session, as he rested for a while, I approached him and said, “Sir, I am Emran Emon—the writer of the ‘BCS University’ column.” He smiled warmly, embraced me, and said with a fatherly affection that overwhelmed me. Turning to the audience, he introduced me, saying, “This young man is a pride of your region. In his thoughts and writings, I see the reflections of our country’s crisis, reform, and possibility.” Such evaluation from him—simple yet profound—has since remained a guiding star in my journey as a writer and thinker. That one embrace, that recognition, felt like a lifetime’s worth of inspiration.

Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam is extensively known for blending realism and surrealism in his writing. His collection “Prem O Prarthonar Golpo” won the Prothom Alo Book of the Year Award in 2005. His remarkable literary works include “Nandantattwa”, “Essays on Ekushey: The Language Movement 1952”, “Shrestho Golpo”,  “Thaka Na-Thakar Golpo”, “Andhakar O Alo Dekhar Golpo”, “Adhkhana Manush”, “Ajgubi Rat”, and “Tin Parber Jiban”. His seminal English short story collection “The Merman’s Prayer and Other Stories” was acclaimed for its magical realism and postmodern style. For his remarkable contribution to literature, Syed Manzoorul Islam was honoured with the Ekushey Padak in 2018. He received the Bangla Academy Literary Award in 1996 for his timeless and seminal work “Nandantattwa”.

His writing style was distinctly local yet universally human. He captured the pain of dislocation, the absurdity of modernity, and the quiet resilience of ordinary people. In his essays and lectures, he constantly urged us to decolonize our minds—to think beyond borrowed frameworks, to reclaim our narrative space, and to resist the intellectual imperialism that often shapes our academia. For him, independence was not just political; it was epistemological. He believed that every generation must wage its own war against ignorance, prejudice, and moral decay.

Today, as we stand in mourning, one cannot help but wonder—who will now speak with such lucidity about our intellectual crisis? Who will remind us that being educated is not the same as being enlightened? Professor Syed Manzoorul Islam’s death has created a void that no administrative title or institutional achievement can fill. He was not a man of power; he was a man of purpose. His legacy calls upon us—the writers, students, teachers, and readers—to continue questioning, to continue thinking, and to continue believing in the transformative power of ideas.

Every nation has a few individuals who become part of its moral DNA—whose words transcend time and politics. For Bangladesh, Syed Manzoorul Islam was one such rare mind. He lived with humility, wrote with courage, and taught with love. He reminded us that literature is not just a luxury—it is resistance; that teaching is not a profession—it is a calling; and that intellectuals must not be silent spectators to injustice. In a time when opportunism often triumphs over integrity, and visibility over vision, he stood as a moral counterpoint—quietly, steadily, unflinchingly.

As the nation bows its head in respect, it is perhaps comforting to remember his own belief: that creation immortalizes the creator. Indeed, Dr. Syed Manzoorul Islam will live on—in every student he inspired, in every writer he mentored, in every reader who finds courage in his words. The dusk that took him away has not extinguished his light—it has only made the stars of his ideas shine brighter in the vast sky of our cultural consciousness. Syed Manzoorul Islam was, and will always remain, the beacon that lit our darkness.

The writer is a journalist, columnist and global affairs analyst. He can be reached at emoncolumnist@gmail.com