Born on January 1, 1943, he is a village boy. You are quite familiar with the monsoon of rural Bengal. Me and the boy. But my childhood days were spent in my village and most of the time I have been living in Tangail city. At that time Tangail city was like a village. There was no difference between the monsoon in the village and the monsoon in the city. The town also had kadam trees. As soon as it rained, the footsteps would burst. The drain would sink in the rain. The water used to flow in the low lying areas. We used to enjoy getting wet in the rain. I would make a paper boat and float it in the lifting water. In that rain of childhood and adolescence, the sound of humming is still ringing in my chest. When it rains, I stop. That melody of rain still entertains the mind. Wishing to get lost in the realm of the rain queen's dripping water. When I was a student of Tangail Bindubasini Government High School. I read in sixth or seventh class. One day I heard that a magazine would come out of our school. Rinijhini sound of rain when in my mind. One night I lit a hurricane and sat down to write a poem. Yes, I wrote a poem. The next day I submitted it to the head sir. My poem of that year was published in time. There was a response all around. Seeing the poem, my classmates Mahmudul Alam Nilu, Shawkat Talukder, Shyamlendu, Jitendra Mohan Biswas, Pintu, Ashish Maitra, Shamsul Haque and Dilip Saha laughed a little and said that he has become a poet. I went home with the magazine. I showed it to my mother, I showed it to my father. They were very happy to see the poem. He pulled me close to his chest and caressed me. Dad remembers one thing from that time. Dad said he can't be like Nazrul anymore. But if you want to be a poet, you have to write better. But here I remember a poem written while studying in ninth or tenth class. I have not forgotten that. It was quite a big poem. I hear two lines from you.
My languageless words floating in the shadows, not the shadows
So in poetry all night long, what that obsession.
After writing this poem, my father got angry with me and said, in the final exam, you will study English grammar, you will do KP Basu's arithmetic, but he is practicing poetry without them.