Piece & Photo by Tom Bradley
I met Xulhaz and Tonoy just a few months before they died. I’d been studying photography in Dhaka and was interested in making a story about their lives and those of their friends, in the context of Roopban’s tender and quiet, but powerful activism.
Xulhaz very graciously let me into his world, one which was very loving, but rightly guarded to a certain extent. His friends and Roopban colleagues, including sweet Tonoy, followed suit, and I got to know them over the course of two months, spending the last five weeks mainly hanging out with them at Xulhaz’s place, which was around the corner from where I was staying. I say all this to give context. I am white, I’m not queer, I don’t come with the lived experience of being born queer in Bangladesh, and yet I found warmth and friendship, openness, and patience when I asked silly and obvious questions.
Xulhaz was quite calm and collected, and though he had his frustrations and opinions, he carried with him a wisdom and groundedness that had a magnetic pull. I was drawn in by this too. Over two hours, he recounted his life of discovering who he was, and the relationships, both romantic and otherwise, that had provided drama, pain, and sweetness. I am very grateful that this was recorded, though I cringe at my occasional unnecessary interjections from ten years ago, which Xulhaz kindly allows. Mondro has a transcript of it that I fully encourage anyone to listen to.
I found both Xulhaz and Tonoy to be inspiring. Tonoy was joyful, charismatic, unashamedly himself, and strived to excel in all he did, which he did seemingly effortlessly. Tonoy’s English wasn’t as fluent as Xulhaz’s, so I didn’t get to know him as well, but I did get to witness his performances at times. He wasn’t small, and yet carried his full self with grace and elegance. He was a natural performer and delighted in delighting.
There is a portrait I made at Tonoy’s house, with the big empty space of the wall around him. I did these for both of them so that they might write something on the print. Tonoy, ever juggling many activities, didn’t have time to write on the print I made, as Xulhaz had. He said, “I’ll write on it when you return to Dhaka.” It remains forever blank.
It was utter shock when I was told the news of their death a month after leaving the country. For years, it didn’t seem real. For me, that shock is a testament to the love and care they showed me, the world of beauty and joy they created, which felt so far removed from the brutal act of violence that was inflicted on them.
