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.
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.
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