People & Memories
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For someone from Kolkata who had boarded the âDeluxeâ train from an overwhelmingly large and frighteningly busy Howrah station, the railway station of New Delhi appeared to be very small and so quite provincial. This was during the biting winter of 1967. I had been told by panicky relatives back home to wrap my muffler tightly around my neck and over my ears. I had complied with this instruction until our taxi stopped before a group of smartly turned out in bright school blazers greeted us with unstoppable giggles.
Manmohan Singh never opened up to anyone about his problems as he had mastered the art of suffering in silence. That is why we hardly knew how bad his health was until he left us suddenly â without any photo ops in the hospital or any media blitz.
The year 1991 is etched in the history of India as the first significant break with the economic policy that was so dear to the Congress after Independence. It was then that I first met Dr Manmohan Singh, who served as the Finance Minister in Narasimha Raoâs cabinet.
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When a short, lanky 22-year-old Malayali lad from Ernakulam got off the Madras Mail at Howrah Station, he could never have imagined that he would become famous as the âbarefoot historian of Old Calcuttaâ.
Many people in Kolkata, which includes my wife and I, are shattered to learn that our dear P.T. â P. Thankappan Nair â the barefoot historian of Kolkata, is no more. He was 91 and died in his home in Aluva, Kerala.
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Just a couple of days after the sad death of the one and only Ameen Sayani, I stumbled upon a photo with him, taken by his son at the NCPA, Mumbai. âAugust 2019â was scrawled on it and I had gone there to deliver the Jamshed Bhaba Memorial Talk on Indian Culture. I was his great admirer and came to know him well from the time I headed All India Radio and Doordarshan, as CEO, Prasar Bharati.
Just a couple of days after the sad death of the one and only Ameen Sayani, I stumbled upon a photo with him, taken by his son at the NCPA, Mumbai. âAugust 2019â was scrawled on it and I had gone there to deliver the Jamshed Bhabha Memorial Talk on Indian Culture. I was his great admirer. And came to know him well from the time I headed All India Radio and Doordarshan, as CEO, Prasar Bharati.
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As a normal human being who prefers not to jog or climb unless compelled to, it was rather foolhardy to agree to my wifeâs persuasion to visit Amaranth. Once trapped, I did a bit of reading and panicked when I learnt that it is one of the most strenuous treks, with unnecessary exertions.
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Sri Aurobindo, the venerable sage of French Pondicherry, turned 75 on the very day British India â which he had quit after leading its first revolutionary war of liberation â attained Independence. The sheer coincidence was not lost then, though it is almost completely forgotten today, on the 150th anniversary of his birth.
The Sangh's mouthpiece, Swaraj, in its issue of June 23, 2019, insists that Syama Prasad Mookerjee had actually saved Hindu Bengalis from "imminent annihilation", and its powerful social media repeats this claim incessantly. The PM renamed Kolkata Port Trust in his name and there appears a renewed interest in Mookerjee â the founder of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh that later metamorphosed into the Bharatiya Janata Party. As the son of the most powerful Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University â Sir Ashutosh Mookerjee â Syama Prasad's academic achievements were under a bit of a cloud in the 1920s.
I have always shied away from gurus and cults, and those who know me well would be surprised at the title that I have chosen. But it encapsulates a deep sense of gratitude to a person who, incidentally, would have roared with laughter had he read these words. When I look back at the seven decades that I have gone through and the many people I have come across, I have absolutely no qualms in acknowledging RP or Shantul Gupta, as a guru without whom the world around would not have been so enriching.
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In Writers Buildings, there was a sense of shock when word of Basanta Choudhuryâs death spread through the centuries-old corridors of power. This was exactly 21 years ago and many of us moved on to the Nandan film complex, Basanta Choudhuryâs workplace in some sense, to express a collective sense of grief. I had known him for over two decades and had become fairly close in the last few years, enough to take cheeky liberties. What all of us really regretted was that he had left us much too early.
In this highly politicised and polarised state, the Left frontâs hegemony extended into its culture for 34 long years, and it was followed by a regime that also demanded absolute allegiance to its version of culture and politics for the next decade. Ghosh was among the remarkable few who defied both regimes and held his head high. His clear views were never accompanied by any overt display of belligerence, but appeared through his extremely popular writings and rare utterances. His pithy verses simplified complex issues of politics into eloquent but firm statements that ripped apart the hypocrisy of the ruling elites. The soft spoken poet and essayist had obviously more fire in him than most professional revolutionaries.
