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Alms and the man
Walking along the turbulent crowd of 'Police Bazaar' in Shillong one may easily miss him but not his music. Somkanta Roy is a blind who literally thrives on mere begging after his superannuation from 'Assam Rifles', a paramilitary organisation serving north-east India. It was a fiercely emotional experience to find the blind man singing Rabindrasangeet (Songs of Tagore), one after the other. Even at seventy-five he easily recalls the pages of Swarabitan (A series of volumes on musical notes pertaining to Tagore's songs), which he rigidly follows. There was a sense of relief to know that a hotel owner provides him and his physically challenged wife a free space to sleep. Joy does reside along with sadness. Otherwise good Samaritans from the State Bank of India wouldn't have bothered to raise funds to buy Roy a harmonium he had lost. You can never make him sing a Hindi film song, he utters with a sigh of satisfaction. His one time acquaintance with 'Calcutta Blind School' wayback in 1947 brings him to tears. How many such individuals do you find on the streets of Calcutta? Is it not enough to put to shame those who think are the only ones who uphold the rapidly declining culture of Bengal.

FORGOTTEN AND UNCARED FOR

A learned man's house

Imagine yourself, back in early sixties in Calcutta. Mind the city's name , it was Calcutta then and not Kolkata. Never would you find a slang word around while walking down the streets. Taken the left turn, beside the presently shutterd "Sutripti Mistanna Bhandar" (the sweet meat shop) on the Gariahata main road, you still will find that nostalgic look. Old buildings are there, though many of them half broken, crumbling or their electricity turned off. Some changed into modern establishments called flats. Even now I recall stopping by a well lit portico on the right. A rich man's house where large ball shaped lampshades hung. A durwan manned the huge gates, carefully closed. My father would stop there, expecting me to look carefully, more carefully than I would as a child. A house so clean, cinematic, out of the world, yet so solemn and eternally untarnished. I wondered why didn't my father allow me a glimpse of the dweller of that mesmerising building. Now I do. People had so much respect for the man sitting inside, that they preferred a world of silence around. You were not supposed to bother a respected, educated man in those days without a genuine cause. It was the seat of learning and the pinnacle of human culture and taste, I was told. You were only to walk past and pay your respect. The dhoti clad man sitting inside was Prof. Suniti Kumar Chattopadhyay, a man so learned yet so humble. The present generation will never know that he was the true 'last man standing' in linguistics. The lights are still shining but its not the light that would dwell upon a sense of humility in you. I am not sure whether any of the Chattopadhayas stay there or not. The two floors have turned into a a garment shop 'Fabindia'. It is likely the least thing the learned man was interested in.

FORGOTTEN AND UNCARED FOR

202
There is nothing in this number which can decant you from a world of electronic nonsense into a poetic slumber but a nostalgic walk on a sunday morning from Deshapriya Park to Gariahata in Calcutta will put you in tears. I believe you to be a literary by heart reading this blog. It's 202 Rashbehari Avenue, a house defaced worst than those by hypocrit political graffitis. It is hard to walk along this southern pavement on a weekday. You can't even notice the house obnoxiously cramped behind innumerable makeshift shops many of them proudly displaying cheap undergarments for sale. In true sense this house is in a dilapidated state. The best way is to locate the shops (see photograph) and the narrow interface leading to this hallmark establishment. Buddhadev Bosu the poet, who lived in this house affectionately named it "Kabita Bhavan" (eng. House of poetry). It was a long acquaintance from 1937 to 1966. You won't have to be a believer of supernaturals to be enthralled by 202. Just close your eyes, hold your breath and lean on the walls, pressing hard your ears on them. You can still hear vibrant emotions of Samar Sen, Jibanananda Das, Bishnu Dey, Samaresh Basu and galaxies of literatis, flowing. (also read BOOKS and BOOKS)(also read FACTS NEWS VIEWS)