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For quite some time now, we’re witnessing that student protests (having political color) are disrupting academics in many institute of eminence and have even acquired the magnitude of a National crisis. In this context, it is pertinent to ask the fundamental question: should student participate in politics? The point that favors student participation is the fact that politicians in this country are largely from an older generation bereft of the knowledge of the pulse of the youth and students – the future of the Nation. However, the stalemate stituation in these institutes makes me opine that student politics should be banned from campuses, so that academic institutes should be left to deal only with matters that concern professional education. I would even recommend shifting the voting age in the country to twenty-five. By this age, an individual can complete basic education and have greater knowledge of issues bedevilling the Nation, and thus exercise the power of his voting rightly. What do you think?

In the aftermath of the Phulwama attack, a dear friend of mine, an ardent supporter of the BJP, posted something on his Facebook wall, which ridiculed the Congress party for being unable to read the mood of the Nation. That possibly was the genesis of this brief write-up. I can’t fathom how can any political party reap dividends or suffer electoral setbacks for the brave act of a few of our Armed forces. If that really happens, it will only validate a politician from Karnataka when he let the cat out of the bag.

It also triggered in me a flight of fancy. How would some of the great icons from our History (around the Independence struggle era) viewed the present day situation of the Nation most of whom are up there in their heavenly abode?

The great freedom fighter and socialist Ram Manohar Lohia was a fierce critic of the erudite Pandit Nehru. Wonder what he would have opined about the present crop of politicians …

The diminutive Indian of powerful intellect, Nirad C Chaudhuri, whose scholarly books (including some on Hinduism) forces us to reexamine the tenets of our accepted wisdom and ranks as a brilliant guide towards understanding the Indian psyche, is on record to have said, back in the 70s and 80s when he was living in Oxford, as to what a Nation of illiterates England had become.  Wonder what Nirad Babu would have said about living in present day India, the country of his origin.

Would Rabindranath Tagore find inspiration to write such idealistic verses ‘Where the Mind is without fear … ’

Like it or not, the people who actively fought during the freedom struggle were leftist in their leanings (Netaji Subhas Bose, Bhagat Singh …) or were from the           Congress party. Wonder how Netaji Subhas and Gandhi and millions of youths who sacrificed their lives for the Country must be feeling now up there from heaven. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are feelings that their struggle have come to naught. ..



During the erstwhile Congress regime, we had encountered the much abused term: pseudo-secular (sickulars according to the bhakts). Now during the BJP rule, we are witnessing a newer breed: pseudo-nationalists. The country needs to distance itself from these two types if we really dream of making the Indian republic to be counted as ‘great’ in the comity of nations. My thought on 70th Indian Republic day… have a great one…


Up for estimation
Creativity, Wisdom and Knowledge
Decider of human competency
And the lack of it
Millions undergo the knotty ordeal
Some emerge victorious
Some are crestfallen
Some bid adieu
Killjoy and killer
Like the mysterious Lord Krishna
Upholder of righteousness
Firmly entrenched in our midst

I heard this on the air today in an FM channel. The news item struck for its shock value. These days sports shops seem to be doing a brisk business in selling hockey sticks. While you might conjure in your mind about a revival of the game of hockey, on probe by the sports shop owner it was discovered that 70% of buyers don’t play or would be playing hockey in the future… they intend keeping the hockey stick in their car. With road rage cases already touching alarming figures in Delhi, such unregulated sale of hockey sticks would only exacerbate the already grim scenario that prevail in the Capital …

As he looked

Sea of Humanity appeared

Out of Nowhere

They seemed headed in the opposite direction

He thought he was one of them

Deep inside he knew he wasn’t

Some idiot had said

Seeing is believeing

The teeming millions laugh

They believe in The Unseen

Their cockiness unbelievable

They can trade life and death for inherited belief

He was afraid

Meeting the fate of dinosaurs

Strangely he felt transported in a Jurassic Park

The approaching crowd seemed like marauding dinosaurs on the rampage

He began to search for an escape to save him

And wondered whether Humankind can ever escape from the scourge of irrationality




I have been told that Baba consented to marry Ma without ever looking at her photo. Inconceivable for youth of today’s generation… But this was the early 1960s and couples entering a conjugal life being almost strangers were not totally unheard off.

Baba worked in an Insurance company. I am not sure of the number of lives of people he insured, but he did think of making a few, within his limited means, for his family. Often, on a Sunday morning, a few people laden with gifts would come to meet him. Much as I wanted to see what lay behind those wrappers, Baba used to disappoint me. He would return the gifts politely. A pre-teen lad was unable to comprehend the distinction between gifts, bribes and a principled view of leading an honest existence. On the other hand, on several occasions, I would see Baba return from office with packets of sweets. This was offered to him during office parties, and under pretext of having it later, he would bring them home for me.

Fond memories abound of childhood days. Studying in a missionary school in a hill station, I didn’t have a chance of picking up my mother tongue quickly.  Baba bridged this deficit and every night used to read out story books in Bengali to me. However rudimentary, this cemented a love for literature in one’s own language. When I see my son now grappling with foreign and other languages, I wish I could have replicated similar efforts to instill in him a love for his own culture. Increasingly, in modern society, the youths are becoming rootless …

Continuing with childhood recollections, I remember accompanying Baba on many an occasion to Burra Bazar, popular as Iewduh in the local language. We would wander the labyrintine lanes of Iewduh (Khasi for big market, or Burra Bazar) for our daily requirements. I remember the kindly Kong (Kong is a Khasi lady) selling fish rewarding me with 10-20 paisa regularly, a great incentive for me in those days to go with Baba whenever he went to Iewduh.

Baba led a disciplined life. He woke up early and made tea and bread for the family. I am yet to come across anyone on this planet who could match my baba’s skill at toasting bread over slow coal-based fire with such perfection. The crispness that came with it was simply unbeatable. Thereafter, he went to Polo Ground, a ground of four furlongs, for his morning walk. At 9:30 sharp, he would hit the road for his office.

Later in the evenings, when he returned from office, he would spend his time with the children of our joint family. He was always fond and affectionate towards the younger generation. His grand-son would vouch any day for his selfless love towards him, and keeps him on a much higher pedestal than his own parents. Baba was fond of singing, particularly Rabindrasangeet and songs by Hemant Kumar – his favourite singer. He used to sing Rabindrasangeet numbers in office functions, without Harmonium accompaniment which he couldn’t play unlike his brothers. He shared a commonality with Rabindranath Tagore – both shared the same date of birth and both died when they touched just eighty…

Exuding optimism was like second nature for Baba. On my wedding day, owing to the intense heat of Kolkata in the month of June, he fainted but he regained his composure and characteristic spirits after a score of minutes.

He was a foodie and never thought twice of buying groceries at a premiun for household consumption. On a rainy day, he would request his favourite ‘Kichuri’ (a dal and rice preparation) to be made in the house. In Shillong, the hill station where I lived, it rained throughout the year and Baba could sample his fave dish quite regularly. We always celebrated his birthday in a quiet way as he disliked ostentation – Ma made payesh (sweet preparation of Milk and Rice popular among Bengalis) and sweets were distributed among family members in the house.

“Who do you love the most in this world?” my wife had once asked. I replied – Baba. He taught me the basic lessons in life – to be honest, to live within one’s means, to not always covet things that others possess or be jealous about them.

Towards the end of his career, Baba started writing with left hand because his right hand had startedc shaking. He picked up left-handed writing ability with a resolute determination as he knew he had to provide for his family. During the last few years of his life in Faridabad when he was unable to walk properly he never gave up hope- when physiotherapist came to treat him for a month he was up to the strict regime of the instructor. Among his last wishes was a trip he wanted to make to go to his home in Shillong. Alas, that dream never got realised.

When Ma left for Kolkata for a few days for an important work during his eightieth birthday, Dad had asked her “So, you’re not going to be around for my birthday?” Ma tried to reason saying that it was necessary to go and that she would go to the Bipodtarini Mandir (a temple dedicated to a form of Goddess Kali for warding off evil) and would pray for him. I didn’t ask Ma what she had asked in her prayers on that day … Did Baba have a premonition that he was going to leave us. I can’t tell you assuredly, but the void lingers on four years after the exit from the mortal existence …

A moment, a minute, a breath can deform,

And the shape of the world assumes a new form.

   (Src:   Khushwant Singh’s DELHI A Novel, Pg 162)    


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  • Subhajit Ghosh: Have been reading that he had 'left' leanings in some articles recently..
  • mystic wanderer: Well put. It's difficult to imagine the sacrifices of our freedom fighters. But can Netaji Subhash Ch. Bose be called a leftist? Nationalist perhaps
  • Subhajit Ghosh: Your wish has been granted, and look how! Even NDA possibly didn't dream of this huge victory. Let's hope they deliver, and take the nation forward.