PhyXplore

The Gloomy Glass Frame
In 1984, after passing the HSC examination from Government City College, I was admitted to Chittagong University. To the surprise of many, including myself, I walked through the doors of the Physics department, a realm of calculus and quantum mysteries. I had also been selected for Public Administration department—a seemingly more pragmatic choice—but something, perhaps fate itself, drew me to the silent logic of the physical world.
Life as an undergraduate was a blur of lectures and lab coats. Then, in my second year, a small, curious event occurred. My friend MOHIT—now building a life across the oceans in the USA—picked up my ordinary notebook in a moment of playful mischief. With a flourish of his pen, he scribbled the honorific "Dr." before my name on the cover. We both laughed it off. I didn't understand the joke.
I carried the notebook home, the new title barely a glimmer in my mind. But my father, a man of few words and keen observation, noticed it. His eyes lingered on the inscribed cover, and a slow, knowing smile touched his lips. He said nothing, but in that silent smile was a universe of unspoken thoughts.
Time, relentless and swift, moved on. I completed my M.Sc. in Physics. The title of "Doctor" had long faded from my thoughts, a forgotten prank.
In 1994, a twist of destiny led me back to the very beginning. I returned to Government City College, not as a student, but as a lecturer in Physics. The corridors were the same, the blackboards familiar, but the perspective was profoundly different. I was now on the other side of the desk, tasked with igniting the same spark of curiosity that had once been lit in me.
In 1999, my path led me away from my alma mater to a new chapter. I had transferred from Government City College, Chattogram, to Noakhali Government Women’s College, where I was appointed as a lecturer. Nestled between swaying coconut trees and lush green fields, the campus looked like a postcard of serenity. But behind its peaceful façade was a quiet emptiness—just 20 regular students, one or two classes a day, and long, echoing hours of solitude. At first, I welcomed the calm. But soon, the silence began to wear on me. Looking back, I often think of Mohit's pen and my father's smile. It was as if they both saw a title I had not yet earned, a path I had not yet chosen, written in the stars long before I ever dared to read it. I wanted more than chalk and blackboards—I dreamed of a PhD, of deep research, of expanding the very boundaries of knowledge. With determination, I reached out to a respected professor at Chittagong University, hoping he would guide me through this journey. I waited patiently, anticipating his reply, but after three long months, he delivered disappointing news. He would not be able to supervise due to limitations of the expected sample. My first attempt, born of necessity and ambition, had ended not with a bang, but with a quiet refusal.
Time passed like sand slipping through fingers. Three years later, in 2002, a promotion lifted me. I became an Assistant Professor at Government Hazi Mohammad Mohsin College. With that new title came renewed courage. I enrolled in a postgraduate program at Chittagong University of Engineering and Technology, this time in Energy Technology. I dedicated myself to my coursework, and after a year, I successfully completed it. I felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and believed I was finally on the right path. However, fortune turned against me once more; my supervisor left the institution to pursue other interests abroad, leaving my dreams in shambles once again.
Years melted into one another. My life became a rhythm of lectures, lesson plans, and exam scripts. The PhD dream, once a living flame, was folded away like an old letter—unread, unforgotten.
In 2021, my career shifted again. I was appointed the Vice Principal of Government City College, Chattogram. The duties multiplied, the administrative paperwork piled high, yet beneath the weight of new responsibilities, the longing for that elusive PhD continued to hammer in my heart, a steady, insistent beat.
Then, a spark of opportunity ignited. I met Dr. Farzana Yasmin and Dr. Mayeen Uddin Khandakar, both from prestigious Malaysian universities. They listened—not just to my research ideas, but to me. They didn’t see a mid-career academic chasing shadows. They saw someone still burning with vision. Graciously, they agreed to guide me. I have been admitted to Lincoln University College as a PhD student, and the university approved the Institute of National Analytical Research and Service (INARS), BCSIR, Dhaka, Bangladesh, for my laboratory work under the guidance of Dr. Muhammad Abdullah Al-Mansur.
The next three years were not years; they were a single, breathless marathon. My study, "Investigation of Thermo-Kinetic and Thermochemical Conversion and Combustion Behavior of Different Indigenous Solid Wastes for Potential Energy Production," became my life. Working under the renewed guidance of my supervisors, I immersed myself completely. The setbacks of 1999 and 2002 fueled a relentless drive. The hard work paid off: I managed to publish 04(four) papers in esteemed international journals like Elsevier and Springer and presented my research findings at three international conferences held in the Netherlands, France, and Germany.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the day arrived when I had to defend my dissertation. Standing in front of the academic committee, I presented my research on the innovative energy optimization system. When the committee began its interrogation, I realized that every failure, every moment of doubt, had prepared me. I fielded their challenging questions with confidence, the data and findings flowing naturally. After what felt like hours, the head of the committee finally smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. He extended his hand across the table, his words cutting through the silence: "Congratulations, Doctor."
Thanks to my supervisors, Dr. Farzana Yasmin (Lincoln University College, Malaysia) and Dr. Mayeen Uddin Khandakar (Sunway University, Malaysia); Dr. Muhammad Abdullah Al-Mansur (BCSIR, Dhaka); Md. Ripaj Uddin (BCSIR, Dhaka); Md. Joynal Abedin(Thammasat University, Thailand); Muhammad Asif (Hokkaido University, Japan); my colleagues; my friends and family for their help and inspiration on the journey.
That day marked not just the end of my PhD journey but the beginning of a new chapter—one where I should continue to innovate, inspire, and change the world through the power of transforming waste into energy. My journey might have started with curiosity, but it had blossomed into a path filled with hope, discovery, and endless possibilities.
But life, as always, had one more twist. In October 2024, I was transferred. No classroom. No students. No department. I became an Officer on Special Duty (OSD)—a ghost in the system. The PhD, the pinnacle of twenty-two years of striving, was meant to be a launchpad for greater professional influence in the education sector. Instead, it feels like an anchor, holding me slightly apart.
I look at the framed certificate, glossy and authoritative, hanging on the wall of my small, quiet room. The certificate, a monument to defiance and grit, makes me disheartened.
Every morning, light touches that framed certificate. And with it comes a whisper—not of victory, but of vacancy. I remember the hours, the money, and the dreams folded into that piece of paper. And I ask myself, was it worth it?
I climbed the mountain. I reached the summit.
But at the top… I found no one to share the view with.
There is no classroom to inspire, no student to tell, "Never give up."
Yet, somewhere deep inside, I still believe:
And perhaps—just perhaps—someone, somewhere, will hear the story…and start their own.

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