60 days without him

In 2016, both Jarif and Soikot were in the sixth grade at the Government Mohammadpur Model School and College. One morning, Jarif entered the classroom and noticed Soikot sitting on the third bench, wearing a white shirt, dark pants, his hair neatly parted to the side.

Jarif reminisced about their school days, when he was the class captain and the teacher would ask him to write down the names of students making noise. "It wasn't that Soikot never got into mischief; but he had such an innocent face and a beautiful smile that I could never bring myself to write his name on the board," he said.

And that's how the friendship between Mahmudur Rahman Soikot and Jarifur Rahman began, nine years ago.

Bayzeed, on the other hand, doesn't remember exactly when he became friends with Soikot. They met at school in 2019 when he was admitted to the same school in the ninth grade. "Sometimes, people come into your life without warning, and you don't even remember when they became your best friend," Bayzeed Ahmed said.

"Soikot was that friend for me. Two days before he died, I sent him an Instagram reel about this kind of friendship and asked him, 'Mama, do you remember when we became friends?' He didn't remember either. To this day, I can't recall when that idiot came into my life," he laughed.

The three students lived nearby in Mohammadpur; Jarif and Soikot were neighbours. So after school, their afternoons were full of play, laughter and memories in the local playgrounds. 

However, both Jarif and Bayzeed vividly remember the day Soikot was shot dead by the police in Mohammadpur. 

On 19 July, at 3:37 pm, Soikot was just a few yards from his home, in the alley next to Step Shoe Shop at the head of Razia Sultana Road, when a bullet struck his head. He was killed instantly. A few days after his death, Soikot's elder sister Sabonti posted on Facebook, recalling how they used to call him "Tona." 

On August 25, his family filed a case accusing 13 people, including former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, of his murder. 

Soikot's best friends couldn't bring themselves to speak of him in the past tense during a recent conversation. Every sentence was filled with "Soikot is" rather than "Soikot was." It was as if, even now, they could call him and he would show up to meet them.

"Whenever Soikot had time, he would sit in his family's sweets shop, and his friends would gather there for long chats. We had countless hangouts at his shop. Soikot would give me chocolates from the shelves," Jarif shared.

It was on 17 July that they all gathered at the shop to discuss the political situation in the country. They were planning to take action, but were waiting for the right moment.

The day before his death (18 July), Jarif and Soikot had their last conversation over the phone; there was still an internet connection in the country. That day Jarif took part in a procession of the Anti-discrimination Student Movement and called Soikot in the evening on returning. 

Soikot with his classmates on the last day of their school. Photo: Jarifur Rahman

"Soikot's family didn't let him join any of the processions. So I told him what was happening out there and that we will also get out," Jarif recounted. 

"On the morning of 19 July, I called all our friends, telling them to stay home because we suspected the police were going to be aggressive that day. But my phone balance ran out at one point, and I had no internet, so I couldn't reach Soikot. 

A few hours later, he was gone," Bayzeed said, his voice trailing off.

After 60 days, they pass the sweets shop in the afternoon and greet Soikot's father. "When we sit on the benches inside the store, it feels like Soikot will come running in any minute," his friends said.  

'We miss his smile'

"Soikot is so positive about life that if a depressed person sat with him for a while, they'd walk away feeling uplifted and motivated," Bayzeed said with a smile, as if he were still expecting Soikot to join the conversation.

"One time, we all came out of the exam hall, frustrated about how hard the test was," Bayzeed recalled. "But then Soikot came out, all smiles, and said it went terrific for him. We all knew he didn't have a terrific test, but he was just trying to lift our spirits."

"My mother mostly remembers his laughter and smile," said Bayzeed. 

Soikot was always straightforward. He also had a clear set of priorities and never hesitated to act accordingly.  "It took me a couple of times to understand this about him. He was just a phone call away from our usual adda and meeting. However, if he had anything important to do, Soikot never hesitated to say that. Initially, I thought he was avoiding us but after a couple of times we realised he was just being honest without the fear of being judged," Bayzeed said. 

"Maybe that is why he could smile so beautifully, so honestly," he added. 

Another thing they miss is 'Okge' – a term they used among themselves. "It meant 'a casual okay' – it was a thing between us," Bayzeed said.  

'He inspires us to do things we never initiated'

In the recent flood in the Southern region of the country, Soikot's friends Bayzeed, Jarif, Tayeb and Sadat collected funds and relief. They sent relief for the flood-affected people and volunteered. 

"These are Soikot's things to do. If he were here, he would have called and dragged us all from our homes to volunteer, to collect funds. Maybe that is why we stepped out on our own this time because this is what he would have wanted," Jarif said.

Bayzeed shared one example of Soikot's "priorities" and commitment. "One of my relatives needed A (+) blood and I asked Soikot if he would go. He thought for a while and said let's go, it's important to save a life," he said.  

Soikot cancelled an important assignment for the blood donation, his friend remembers. 

"And look at that idiot, he left us just like that," Bayzeed remembered how much blood must have gushed out for Soikot's shirt to turn as red as it did. 

His love for biceps 

On their last adda in Soikot's father's shop, Soikot and Bayzeed arm-wrestled. "He had started working out in the gym for a few weeks then, and every once in a while he would say Mama, let's arm wrestle," Bayzeed recalled.

This is something Soikot's sister Sabonti told us as well. "He would roll his sleeves and show his biceps. I used to be so irritated with him," added Sabonti. 

Soikot's friends are moving on with their lives: Bayzeed got admitted to South East University where he is studying EEE, although he wants to change his subject, either economics or data science, while Jarif is studying engineering at Dhaka Polytechnic Institute. 

Both of Soikot's best friends have a journey to live through, they have to get old and see where life takes them. Soikot however will remain forever young, he will stand on the coastline of life with his smile, and innocence.

Mahmudur Rahman Soikot was 19 years old when he was shot dead by the police on 19 July 2024.