Before we know it, December comes around, and I feel a certain way again. I want to return to the distant past of my life, when all current and future duties were suspended. I want to go back to the time that overshadows my whole life all the time.

When my first child was born in 1976, a friend had asked, “Did you ever have such a joyful moment before?”

I replied that the greatest time of my life was the nine months in ’71. My wife was a bit surprised at this, but I can’t deny the truth. The work that I did at that time, with complete devotion, was for the birth of the country. When independence was achieved and I saw everyone smiling, I felt that I had never been so happy in my life, and would never be so happy again.

I have some different thoughts to sort out in writing this column. I think I’ll write about December, but what can I write that will be new to my readers, that they hadn’t read before? I search until I’m exhausted, but I find nothing, because I have already written about all the feelings, memories and experiences of the proud and shining nine months.

Then it occurs to me that there is always more to be said, because every year or so, cohorts of new generations are added to our population who need to be told about those occurrences. The experiences need to be understood: Why and how was the nation created? The young generation have decisions to make, about which way we should go now.

We tend to forget about this issue, those of us who had the privilege of participating in the war during that proud time. The next generation, who did not have the experience, had been influenced by hateful politics to forget, or not learn about how and why our impoverished homeland of Bangladesh came to be free and independent.