me a brotherly embrace and took me to his table. He briefed me about the nature of research under Jonscher and our other physicist, Professor Robert Hill. I explained my situation and the need to recover gaps in my knowledge. He assured me that he would help in any way he could and advised me to go through a few books and journals as well as occasional reports published by the Chelsea's Dielectric Group. On my way home I bought a few relevant books and was determined I would start my research on a par with my colleagues in no more than three months. Ashraf kept his promise and helped me as and when I needed in the first few months.
Sayeda joined me towards the end of June; she was in the middle of her pregnancy with our first child, Rima, and I was renting a small flat above an Indian restaurant in South Wimbledon. In the meantime, I had begun my research on the dielectric interface between electrodes and electrolytes in batteries. After spending a few days with Sayeda, and making sure she felt safe at home, I became busier than ever in the lab. My grant was only for three years and I had to finish on time!
Soon the research was becoming increasingly intensive and I felt sorry for Sayeda, as I would leave her at home alone in the morning and return late at night. I even started working in the lab most weekends as well. No doubt it was tough for her, but she proved to be resilient and built up friendships with people from the area and spent time mostly reading; like both her parents she was a bookworm. I could only apologize and call her as often as I could from the laboratory for little chats. She held on to her nerve and prepared for the arrival of our child in late September.
Rima was born on 21 September, a tiny little angel with all her sweetness, innocence and vulnerability. The first touch was ecstatic and she quickly became the centre of our life. The arrival of a child brings a total change to a family: 'The jewel of the sky is the sun, the jewel of the house is the child,' goes a Chinese saying. In Islam, children are gifts of God; according to the Prophet, a woman herself is blessed if her first child is a daughter. A mother in a family is, of course, special to any child. But the role of a father is similarly vital, especially to a daughter. He is the first man in her life and his character, behaviour and humanity in the family subconsciously shapes her self-worth in life. As single-parent families are often a reality in modern times, the burden of parenthood falls on one parent who has to act to fill the gap of another. Rima was special to us, particularly to me, as I was longing for a daughter (a 'little mum!') ever since I had lost my own mother when I was sixteen. Rima radiated joy and happiness in our small world, and it was a unique experience to see a totally dependent little life growing in our arms with her own unique features. Sadly, my father and the rest of our families in Bangladesh could not share our happiness.
It was not easy for Sayeda to look after a baby virtually on her own. I tried to change my routine slightly so that I could spend some quality time at home looking after Rima, and give Sayeda some rest. But she was a woman of steel, and how Sayeda quickly learnt to efficiently multi-task – first raising Rima and then our other three children later on – was inspiring and amazing. If leadership is about vision and imparting that vision to people around you, especially growing children, then mothers are the primordial leaders in human society. Sadly very few societies recognize this treasure within them.
Financially, Sayeda and I had to live within our means, my scholarship funds just about covered our living expenses and I was not allowed any public money, neither was Sayeda. She was a brilliant student and wanted to pursue a higher degree in economics or a relevant subject. But even if I were allowed to work, or Sayeda to attend a course, we could not do so because of my research pressures and her 24/7 role in looking after Rima. It was a big career sacrifice on her part.
Professor Jonscher, who I learnt was a practising Polish Catholic, was delighted to discover that I had a baby girl. When I informed him of the good news he looked at me and said: 'You are very lucky Bari. The start of your research is blessed with a daughter.'
I could not have agreed more.
★ ★ ★
The atmosphere in our laboratory was buzzing every day, it was highly academic but still informal. We all felt like and behaved as family members, and with researchers from many backgrounds – overseas and domestic, with faith and non-faith backgrounds – it was a microcosm of the world of physics. The permanent members of the research staff were highly professional: John Pugh, with his bushy beard, was a computer whiz and an excellent programmer; Dr Len Dissado was the brains and a theorist in his area of theoretical physics; Terry Ramdeen was always available to help. Professor Jonscher's PA, the always smiling Josephine Woropay, was motherly and a wizard with her typing and organizing of the whole team. There were often lively discussions around the table, especially during lunch hour, and professors Jonscher and Hill, as well as some guests, would often participate. There were also occasional seminars on our research, and we would take turns to present our findings. It felt frightening in the beginning, but gave us confidence and a good grounding on what we were doing. The Dielectrics Group, led by Jonscher, was well known in the world of physics research and we all felt proud to be a part of the group.
Life was moving fast. In order to finish my PhD by summer 1986 I led a ruthlessly disciplined life. I was on course with my progress and Professor Jonscher was happy as well. During the second and third years I co-authored with him a few papers that were published in international journals, and began writing my PhD thesis at the beginning of my third year. In 1985, the New Year started with huge discussions and concerns within London University about the merger of smaller colleges with big ones to save costs. We learned that Chelsea and Queen Elizabeth Colleges were merging with King's College, and our links with King's Physics Department, in its Strand campus, started growing.
All the while I was studying for my PhD I continued to visit east London, by this time my favourite part of the city. Aziz Bhai and I were helping some young Bangladeshi boys with their GCSE and A-level mathematics and science examinations, and most of them later performed very well in life. A few were involved with a group known as the Young Muslim Organization (YMO), which was originally founded in 1978. As most other members of YMO were Bengali-speaking, this small group was struggling to blend in with the majority. Our time spent voluntary tutoring both the English-speaking boys and interacting with the Bengalispeaking YMO youngsters kept me in touch with the East End and its Bangladeshi people, particularly the East London Mosque. By 1985, the ELM was no longer just a shed, and the first phase of the multi-purpose mosque that stands today had been completed. Through this group I gradually entered deeper into the world of youth and community work in Tower Hamlets. Although I lived in south London, I had quickly become part and parcel of east London, an East Ender-by-proxy, you might say.
I was coming towards the end of my thesis, and submitted the completed work in mid-May 1986. My oral examination date was fixed for July 1986 and I was preparing for the PhD 'viva voce', or defence of my thesis. On 26 May we were blessed with another child, this time our first boy, Raiyan. We were overjoyed and I informed Jonscher of the good news. With a huge smile, he said: 'Congratulations! Now you are completing one PhD with two children!' After some chat about the viva, he looked into my eyes and said: 'Bari, you know Chelsea has merged with King's, but I've decided to move to Royal Holloway College and set up a laboratory there. Would you like to join me?'
I realized that I had not seriously given much thought about what I would do after completing my PhD. I expressed my gratitude and said: 'I'll definitely go with you if you need me. But for how long?' He replied: 'I've funding for three years for two posts.' It was a great relief, I would not have to immediately plan about the future. I learned that the other person who was invited was Enapu Owede, my co-researcher from Nigeria.
In July I faced my viva, which was gruelling, to say the least. There was a natural tension, but I was confident that I would get through. Once the viva was finished, I was asked to wait. Within a few minutes the external examiner and Professor Jonscher came out smiling and congratulated me: 'Dr Bari, you've defended your work very well. We'll recommend your name to the university senate. It's just a formality. You will need to make small changes in some places.' They shook my hands and Professor Jonscher handed over couple of pages to me for amendment. I gave them massive thanks, ran to the telephone booth and called Sayeda to give her the great news. My dream was fulfilled! I gave thanks to God. For the rest of the day, Sayeda and I shared the news with our families in Bangladesh and close friends