Tuesday, 26 August, 2025
I am deeply shocked, saddened, and overwhelmed with nostalgia at the death of the eminent journalist Bibhu Da. That is why I feel compelled to write this post. I apologise in advance for any spelling mistakes.
Police have recovered the body of senior journalist-columnist Bibhuranjan Sarkar from the Meghna River in Munshiganj. He had been reported missing since Thursday morning. The remains of the 71-year-old Bibhu Da were found floating in the river near Kalagachhia.
Bibhu Da’s life was merely a reflection of the lives of many journalists like us. In his last letter published in social media, he described the problems, crises, and helplessness he faced—struggles that I too, along with many others, have encountered in our careers. The only difference is that we accepted these as reality, endured them, and carried on. But he could not bear the weight.
To be honest, there was also a time when such thoughts crossed my own mind. But thinking of my beloved wife and children, I only roamed the streets aimlessly instead of walking to the Buriganga River. Had I died then, I might never have been remembered in the news—or reached the position I am in today. That is why Almighty Allah repeatedly tells us in the Holy Qur’an that He loves those who are patient.
But is it always possible for everyone to remain patient—especially in this ungrateful world of ours?
After being arrested and tortured by police during the mass uprising of the 1990s, losing part of my limb in an attack for leading the student movement, and finally completing my education at Rajshahi University, I chose to build a career in journalism. Soon I discovered another harsh reality: in this so-called noble profession, it is not skill but party loyalty and flattery that often matters most.
Even as a student, I had worked as a campus correspondent for several newspapers, and before that, I had written for national dailies from my birthplace, Matlab in Chandpur. Following the advice of the respected the then BFUJ leader Zafar Bhai, I decided in 1990 to build my career in English journalism from scratch.
Earning just Tk 1,000 a month at UNB, I soon realised how difficult real life was. On the advice of the late prominent journalist Gias Kamal Chowdhury, I moved to The Telegraph with a salary of Tk 2,500. Later, noticing my growing expertise in financial journalism, The Morning Sun appointed me as a staff reporter. But, alas, due to the scheming of some senior colleagues, I lost that job within a few months. Those same seniors ensured that I remained unemployed for a while. When The Financial Express was launched, I was called back—but again at a lower salary, starting from scratch.
Under the strict supervision of my journalistic mentors, the late Riazuddin Ahmed and Moazzem Hossain, I began my career in financial journalism—particularly in banking and the capital and money market, though I had no prior experience.
Like Bibhu Da, I too endured much mental agony. My coping mechanism was to look at the homeless people on the streets at night—people suffering far more than me. My wife and sons never knew the pain I carried within.
Neither politicians nor fellow journalists ever kept their promises to me. Still, amidst all hardships, between 1996 and 2001, I served as Information and Research Secretary of the central JASAS committee appointed by Begum Khaleda Zia. I sustained my family by hosting business-related TV programmes. But when the Awami League came to power, my shows were cancelled, forcing me to start my own fortnightly. Eventually, I realised that without compromising with the government or surrendering my principles, it was impossible to continue publishing. Accepting reality, I returned to mainstream dailies—working for The Financial Express, The Bangladesh Observer, and later the state news agency BSS. Even my critics admit that I have established a strong position in English financial journalism.
But who cares about merit? When the Awami League came to power, I was first transferred from BSS to Barisal and then dismissed altogether. I struggled desperately to support my two sons. I still remember how my landlord’s husband once mocked me, saying, “If you can’t pay rent, why do you live here?” Thankfully, the landlady stood by me, scolding him for such cruelty. Even now, I sometimes pass by that house in Khilgaon silently, lost in thought.
Yet I must acknowledge that some senior journalists still value merit over politics. Proof lies in my time at The Daily Observer, where editor Iqbal Sobhan Chowdhury—despite being Sheikh Hasina’s information adviser—gave me the opportunity purely based on ability.
Like Bibhu Da, I too never received any government benefits. For my role in student politics, I was arrested, beaten, and even had my hand broken. Meanwhile, many journalists who flattered leaders or shifted loyalties are now homeowners without ever losing their jobs. Unlike us, they changed their fortunes with government favours. For them, journalism is optional—for people like Bibhu Da and myself, it is our very lifeblood.
I have no home in Dhaka—let alone property. I do not even own a flat to live in. I had to work sleepless nights just to collect rent money. I never aligned myself with any party in journalism—hence, no government plot or privilege ever came my way.
After 1996, during the Awami League era, I too faced immense hardship. Encouraged by Primary Dealers’ Bangladesh limited (PDBL), the apex body of 14 commercial banks, I pioneered a call money market trading platform that was inaugurated by two governors including present advisor Dr Salehuddin Ahmed and connected 52 banks. The Ispahani Group later partnered with me, seeing its potential. But, to my misfortune, Bangladesh Bank Governor Dr Atiqur Rahman and then-PDBL chief Anis A. Khan deliberately withheld operational approval. Upon discovering my BNP background, they backed away. Their demands were impossible for me to meet. Losing all my investment, I returned once again to journalism—joining The Daily Observer as Economic Editor. But soon I received a letter stating my services were no longer required.
Still, I did not give up. With courage, I carried on. Today, I am Editor of the English daily THE BANGLADESH EXPRESS, where readership continues to grow. Perhaps because I refuse to compromise with lies, do not politicise journalism, and remain respectful towards all—regardless of party affiliation.
By Allah’s grace, my elder son is now a doctor working in London, and my younger son is studying BBA in Accounting at North South University. In many ways, my life resembles that of Bibhu Da.
I pray for the forgiveness of Bibhu Da’s soul and remind everyone: life means struggle, not suicide.
Comments
I am deeply shocked, saddened, and overwhelmed with nostalgia at the death of the eminent journalist Bibhu Da. That is why I feel compelled to write this post. I apologise in advance for any spelling mistakes.
Police have recovered the body of senior journalist-columnist Bibhuranjan Sarkar from the Meghna River in Munshiganj. He had been reported missing since Thursday morning. The remains of the 71-year-old Bibhu Da were found floating in the river near Kalagachhia.
Bibhu Da’s life was merely a reflection of the lives of many journalists like us. In his last letter published in social media, he described the problems, crises, and helplessness he faced—struggles that I too, along with many others, have encountered in our careers. The only difference is that we accepted these as reality, endured them, and carried on. But he could not bear the weight.
To be honest, there was also a time when such thoughts crossed my own mind. But thinking of my beloved wife and children, I only roamed the streets aimlessly instead of walking to the Buriganga River. Had I died then, I might never have been remembered in the news—or reached the position I am in today. That is why Almighty Allah repeatedly tells us in the Holy Qur’an that He loves those who are patient.
But is it always possible for everyone to remain patient—especially in this ungrateful world of ours?
After being arrested and tortured by police during the mass uprising of the 1990s, losing part of my limb in an attack for leading the student movement, and finally completing my education at Rajshahi University, I chose to build a career in journalism. Soon I discovered another harsh reality: in this so-called noble profession, it is not skill but party loyalty and flattery that often matters most.
Even as a student, I had worked as a campus correspondent for several newspapers, and before that, I had written for national dailies from my birthplace, Matlab in Chandpur. Following the advice of the respected the then BFUJ leader Zafar Bhai, I decided in 1990 to build my career in English journalism from scratch.
Earning just Tk 1,000 a month at UNB, I soon realised how difficult real life was. On the advice of the late prominent journalist Gias Kamal Chowdhury, I moved to The Telegraph with a salary of Tk 2,500. Later, noticing my growing expertise in financial journalism, The Morning Sun appointed me as a staff reporter. But, alas, due to the scheming of some senior colleagues, I lost that job within a few months. Those same seniors ensured that I remained unemployed for a while. When The Financial Express was launched, I was called back—but again at a lower salary, starting from scratch.
Under the strict supervision of my journalistic mentors, the late Riazuddin Ahmed and Moazzem Hossain, I began my career in financial journalism—particularly in banking and the capital and money market, though I had no prior experience.
Like Bibhu Da, I too endured much mental agony. My coping mechanism was to look at the homeless people on the streets at night—people suffering far more than me. My wife and sons never knew the pain I carried within.
Neither politicians nor fellow journalists ever kept their promises to me. Still, amidst all hardships, between 1996 and 2001, I served as Information and Research Secretary of the central JASAS committee appointed by Begum Khaleda Zia. I sustained my family by hosting business-related TV programmes. But when the Awami League came to power, my shows were cancelled, forcing me to start my own fortnightly. Eventually, I realised that without compromising with the government or surrendering my principles, it was impossible to continue publishing. Accepting reality, I returned to mainstream dailies—working for The Financial Express, The Bangladesh Observer, and later the state news agency BSS. Even my critics admit that I have established a strong position in English financial journalism.
But who cares about merit? When the Awami League came to power, I was first transferred from BSS to Barisal and then dismissed altogether. I struggled desperately to support my two sons. I still remember how my landlord’s husband once mocked me, saying, “If you can’t pay rent, why do you live here?” Thankfully, the landlady stood by me, scolding him for such cruelty. Even now, I sometimes pass by that house in Khilgaon silently, lost in thought.
Yet I must acknowledge that some senior journalists still value merit over politics. Proof lies in my time at The Daily Observer, where editor Iqbal Sobhan Chowdhury—despite being Sheikh Hasina’s information adviser—gave me the opportunity purely based on ability.
Like Bibhu Da, I too never received any government benefits. For my role in student politics, I was arrested, beaten, and even had my hand broken. Meanwhile, many journalists who flattered leaders or shifted loyalties are now homeowners without ever losing their jobs. Unlike us, they changed their fortunes with government favours. For them, journalism is optional—for people like Bibhu Da and myself, it is our very lifeblood.
I have no home in Dhaka—let alone property. I do not even own a flat to live in. I had to work sleepless nights just to collect rent money. I never aligned myself with any party in journalism—hence, no government plot or privilege ever came my way.
After 1996, during the Awami League era, I too faced immense hardship. Encouraged by Primary Dealers’ Bangladesh limited (PDBL), the apex body of 14 commercial banks, I pioneered a call money market trading platform that was inaugurated by two governors including present advisor Dr Salehuddin Ahmed and connected 52 banks. The Ispahani Group later partnered with me, seeing its potential. But, to my misfortune, Bangladesh Bank Governor Dr Atiqur Rahman and then-PDBL chief Anis A. Khan deliberately withheld operational approval. Upon discovering my BNP background, they backed away. Their demands were impossible for me to meet. Losing all my investment, I returned once again to journalism—joining The Daily Observer as Economic Editor. But soon I received a letter stating my services were no longer required.
Still, I did not give up. With courage, I carried on. Today, I am Editor of the English daily THE BANGLADESH EXPRESS, where readership continues to grow. Perhaps because I refuse to compromise with lies, do not politicise journalism, and remain respectful towards all—regardless of party affiliation.
By Allah’s grace, my elder son is now a doctor working in London, and my younger son is studying BBA in Accounting at North South University. In many ways, my life resembles that of Bibhu Da.
I pray for the forgiveness of Bibhu Da’s soul and remind everyone: life means struggle, not suicide.
Comments
