Sarees collected will be distributed in villages near Kamapara, Birbhum.
Wishing you health and happiness in the new year
3 years ago
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Requiem
A series
of deaths reported in the media within a space of few days has stirred me like
many other people. I had not yet absorbed the news of Rajasri Basu and her son
Soumyadeep's sudden death while touring Ladakh when the news of the De family
on Robinson Street hit the headlines. I knew Rajasri Basu and Soumyadeep, and I
knew Debjani De.
I knew
Rajasridi as a junior colleague of my father's. Rajasridi kept in touch after
my father's retirement and always inquired about our well-being. Theirs was an
accomplished family of individuals who were also unpretentious and good at heart,
qualities which were being emphasized in all the accounts surfacing in the media
since the accident. I had last seen
Soumyadeep when he was very young, and remember him as a very bright child. He
seems to have lived up to his initial promise, and there was so much more in
him to give to the world. No one has any words for Padmanava Basu. My father
and his friends chose to grieve silently with their families.
Watching
the news reportage of the Robinson Street case, I suddenly realized that one of
the persons it was about had been a music teacher in my school. As far as I
recall, we were in our very senior years -- well past the time we had music
lessons -- when Debjani De joined Calcutta Girls' High School. Tall and
bespectacled, she had an appearance that stood out in a crowd. While I had never been her direct student,
she impressed upon me as being thoughtful and sensitive, impressions that were
further confirmed in a chance dealing with her.
It was
still the age of film cameras. I was taking pictures of school, like many of my
friends. I would carry my father's Yashica Electro 35 to school on occasions. I
wanted some pictures of the baby grand piano in the auditorium. I took some
from a few angles, and was wishing someone was playing on it, and half-wishing
that the person would also allow me to take photographs. My wishes, half and
full, all came true as Ms De came up to the piano and started practising. I
took some photographs, and then stood by, wanting to thank her without
disturbing. She seemed to understand my intentions, and looked at me, and
smiled and nodded, and continued playing.[1]
It has
still not been established whose skeleton it is, and speculations of what
happened in the De residence multiply day by day. Much of it is based on the
words, spoken or written, of Partho De, although, every theory doing the rounds
carries the huge disclaimer for an appendage as to the verity of his account. Whatever be the facts of the case, Partho's anomic
behaviour is only the tip of the iceberg. There was much unhappiness shared
between all the members of the family that I do not think we will ever know
about. What business does anyone have of making public the medicines he is
being given at Pavlov? Why should I get to see that stuff in the papers? Even
if the personal diary of an individual may be used for investigation, why are
its excerpts becoming public? Whether or not Partho is mentally ill, has he no
right to privacy?
I know
where the pictures I took all those years ago are, but I will not scan them and
put them up here or Facebook or anywhere else, for I want to be able to grieve
on my own.
[1] I am hearing everywhere
that Debjani De joined Calcutta Girls' High School in 1999. I wonder if she had
joined earlier, for I left school in 1998, and do not think this meeting
happened later than that. If I can locate the film strips, I would be able to
ascertain the time from pictures taken before and after, but whatever be the
date of the chance encounter, what passed is firmly etched on my memory.
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