🌳 The family tree and old pictures

This post is a work in progress as I try to collect old pictures and more stories to go with the names in this family network:

Chart credit: Madeleine. 

Additional notes:

- By Biswajit Basu: My grandmother was Parimal (nee Mitra). Her eldest son was Piyush Kanti, who died in college of meningitis. 

(Edit: See Memories from another era for more stories about her)

- From Shoma (Somomita Taneja): 

My parents formal names were Subir Ghosh and Gayatri Ghosh. I’m married Kashayap Taneja and have a daughter, Tannya Taneja. My Grandparents were Surama Sinha (grandmother) and Pashupati Sinha. 

Further check required: 

Sidhartha Basu has two sisters, nicknames - esha mashi and thabi mashi. Then one more brother. Will check with tapati mamima for their formal names. 

Old pictures:

L-R: Sharada Mitra, Madeline; Pashupati Sinha; KP Mitra; Robin; Margot Mitra; Gayatri Ghosh; Surama Sinha; SN Mitra; Subir Ghosh; circa 1967-68

From Shoma: This had been clicked at 35 Feroz Shah road, where Ma and Baba used to stay with Pronab Mukherjee and his wife. Baba used to write his speech for the next day in Parliament. 

Sharda Prasad

Margot

Robin Mitra


L-R: Anima Basu, MK Basu, Monisha Choudhury/ Moon, Pronoti Dey, Biswajit Basu; 1959

L-R: Bashob De, Biswajit Basu, Anuradha Bose/ Runki, Swati Basu; 1974

Panna and Monisha Choudhury/ Moon; 1978

Nandalal Ghose (d. 1904)

From Sudeshna De:

Shri Nandalal Ghose was my paternal grandfather's grandfather. He was a lawyer and was good friends with Vidyasagar who officiated at his wedding. They used to meet often and have discussions over drinks though Vidyasagar didn't drink. Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar was a famous Indian educator and social reformer in the nineteenth century. (More about Vidyasagar here.)

📝Letter from a grandfather to a grandson

The Quantum Indians

Following this documentary, I (Biswajit Basu) have written to Prithvi (grandson) as follows:

Prithvi.....I want you to see this entire video properly and ponder over it.  It is about Satyen Bose, CV Raman and Meghnad Saha. Bose and Saha were Bengalis and Raman did his research leading to the Nobel Prize in Calcutta.  Think of the legacy they leave behind and that you are so close to those of Saha and of  Bose with whom you share a surname (Basu and Bose are the anglicised form of Bosu).

One of the anchors, Mr Partha Ghosh (with the white goatee) is Sudeshna auntie's own uncle (her father's brother) and also a great physics scientist of today.

You are of their lineage and thus a part of their great legacy. Your birth has brought you so close to these great men and even more greats like Subhas Chandra Bose (his ancestral house is still in Changripota which is now called Subhasgram which is our ancestral village) and to Swami Vivekananda (Narendra Dutta) who was related to my step grandmother).

Do something good in life.  You are so close to these great people and must live up to their legacy.  Remember that in whatever you do.  Study hard, be honest and moral and you will automatically live a good life.

_{(Swati Basu, Prithvi, Biswajit Basu; Delhi June 20, 2021)}

👵🏼👵🏼👵🏼Three Grand Ladies

^{(Picture from Monisha Choudhury’s collection. Place: Netaji Nagar. Sometime in the 1980-90s)}

In conversation with Biswajit Basu, to tell us more about these three lovely grandmothers:

On the left is my mother, Anima Basu, your grandmother.  She was born in Shimla in the times that the summer capital  of British India transferred to Shimla every summer.  Her parents were Basanta Kumar Dey and Parimal Dey (née Mitra, Madeleine's family). She married my father after he returned from World War II, in 1948. I was born in 1949 and Monisha in 1953. She passed away in 2004.  You must have heard a lot about her from your mother. 

(Author Note: Indeed, I have many recollections of my Dida! She was a prominent figure of my childhood. She was also present at my wedding in Dec 2002! Some more about her, as told by my mother, is in this post - Memories from another era)

In the centre is my Jethima, Shefali Bose.  She was the wife of my Jatamoshai (my father's elder brother), Rabindra Kumar Bose (note that Basu and Bose are the anglicised version of Bosu).  I remember my Jatamoshai as extremely fair with red hair!  He retired as the GM of the Chittaranjan Locomotive Works in Asansol.  He died in Gwalior while working for CIMMCO.  Their father was Girendra Kumar Bose who lived in Changripota (now called Subhasgram) to honour Subhas Chandra Bose whose house, in ruins, is still standing (when I saw it last, there was a tree that had burst through its roof).  Apparently he is related to us and was my father's uncle.  Shefali Jethima had 3 children, Arati didi (who lives in Bangalore), Deepakda (deceased) and Khukula (in Gwalior).  My step-grandmother was a Dutta said to be of the family of Swami Vivekananda.

The third lady on the extreme right is also my Jethima (Chhabi Rani neè Mitra) whom I fondly called Jodhpur Jethi as she lived in Jodhpur Park.  She was the wife of Srutiraj Ghosh, my father's cousin and Toto's grandfather.  She died on 9th September 2008 (date corrected). She was also a Mitra before marriage.

That brings me to the end of my nostalgic journey!

Author Note:

Another Grand Lady from our past was Nina, Jodhpur Jethi’s mother-in-law. Here is a wonderful article about her by her granddaughter, Prajna Sen - Memories of the Matriarch

🌌Life - A poem by Biswajit Basu

LIFE

I

I look up at the starry firmament

Heavenly stars dot the velvet curl of the sky,

Trillions of planets, billions  of miles away

Seemingly living forever: never to die.

II

Cast your eyes through the verdant forest

Vertical trunks support the spreading branches in everlasting rest,

In a silence broken only by the songbird

Cedar tops sway as the wind whispers through its crest.

III

Look at that lovely landscape

Undulating fields of golden corn that lean towards the gurgling stream,

Laughing at their private joke in nature's open book.

As they go along their lives as if its an unending dream.

IV

Look at the hills yonder of varying height,

Colourful toy houses cling to their basking sides,

Illuminated by the soft light  from a clouded sky

Wherefrom the sun filters through its misty light.

V

Look at the lonely cheetah poised high on a tree

And the herd of elephants in the turgid stream

Trumpeting their happiness, gambolling.

Celebrating their existence in this life, a dream.

VI

But the beauty of our world is not for all to see

My just born puppy lies forlorn and quiet on my lap,

Eyes unopened, hoping to live in a new world

Breathing softly as if in a dreamy nap.

VII

I put him in an old woollen sock and close to my chest

To keep him warm and keep him alive

I stayed awake whole night long,

And wiiled the powers that be to make him well and thrive.

VIII

But it was all in vain for he died early that morn

And I remember I cried so, for a life snuffed out for no reason at all

I realised that day that everybody lives according to his destiny,

Its duration is till you get the call.

IX

It has been written when you will be born and when your time will be up

And nothing can deter the course of your destiny

For life and death are preordained

And lives in mysterious secret within Mother Earth.

X

What remains then is the intervening time

Which we call life and is fraught with uncertainty

And what you make of it has a bit of your choice,

But is still mostly a continuous series of devious  probability.

XI

So I look back now at my own passage through the vicissitudes of life.

Happy it has been interspersed infrequently with events, sad

And I realise that my days of undulating corn fields, whispering cedars and bubbling brooks are gone 

And they will not come back again to be had.

XII

When destiny rings the bell to end my watch, like on my ship

And this world takes me back to its folds,

Some will grieve my departure but I will be beyond any worldly care

As I walk through the whispering cedars on other worlds.

-Biswajit Basu 

-----------

🔬Journey into Cytopathology

When I started this blog to record the memories of our older generation, little did I know we would lose Ma, Dr. Monisha Choudhury, within 3-4 months. Her recollection of facts, places, events and people always added and expanded the narrative, painting a richer picture of times gone by. She had so many stories to tell, such an amazing life lived… I wish we had more time to record her memories. Alas, all we have now are snippets from her old conversations and recollections from her colleagues and friends. Here is a glimpse of how she got into CytoPathology. 

From Dr. KB Logani (her senior at Lady Hardinge Medical College, Delhi) on her memorial website:

We all, professional colleagues, are extremely proud of the great work done by Dr. Monisha in Cytopathology. Initially, Dr. Monisha was not interested in this subspecialty of Cyto, but when I re-joined LHMC in 1985 from MAMC, we advised that she must develop expertise in it so as to be recognized as cytopathologist in the future and; if I remember correctly she was later awarded Commonwealth Medical Scholarship to U.K. on her excellence in Pathology. She has excelled in this sub-speciality beyond our imagination and she has become a decorated National and International cytopathologist. Dr. Monisha and her professional work will be remembered by younger generations in the time to come. 

As Dr. Logani mentioned, she was indeed awarded the Commonwealth Medical Fellowship in Cytopathology at Imperial College, London, UK 1992-93. She went on to get her Diploma from the Royal College of Pathologists in Cytopathology, London, UK 1994. Recently, I found a mail from her to one of her many students who had requested her help in applying for a technical fellowship. In the mail, she refers to her own fellowship and recounts a bit of her history:

My qualifications are MD MNNMS DipRCPath(CYT) Lon. FIAC
One can do a CYT diploma only after FRC but my MD and experience and recommendations from Imperial College made me eligible for Path CYT Dip. Cleared it first shot and first person from London and India to do it. In its very first exam started by Royal College in 1993. Just some history for you! Since pass percentage is less than 43 they decided to stop the exam I think!! Ashish (Chandra) cleared in second attempt after his FRC and one yr in Cytology training school. Check RC website. 

- Dr. Monisha Choudhury, 7 April 2021

Indeed, from those beginnings, she charted a trajectory in the area of Cytopathology that rose to National and International acclaim. Dr. Radhika Srinivasa, Secretary of the Indian Academy of Cytologists said in her Prayer Meeting address - “Dr. Monisha won literally every award there was to win in the area of Cytopathology!”

Indeed, her list of accomplishments is long, and that includes being elected the President of the Indian Academy of Cytology! Her career details and other tributes from friends and colleagues can be found on her memorial site 

here.

<sub>On the cover of St Mary’s Hospital during her fellowship from Imperial College, London



With the Duchess of Kent and other commonwealth fellows, 1992-94


Representing India as a Commonwealth Fellow



With her IAC Presidential Medal and PN Wahi Oration Medal


With her students, Dr. Mukta and Dr. Ashish Chandra. Dr. Chandra is part of the Executive Council of International Academy of Cytology, 2019-22 as Vice President, UK.</sub> 

🇬🇧My Early Memories of the UK (1955-56)

We reached London in August 1955. It was probably the worst time in the year to go to the UK.

We disembarked from SS Batory in Southampton and went by train to London. We had a flat on the First Floor on 5, St Charles Square, Ladbroke Grove, London W 10 with a kitchen and a bathroom on the left as you look upwards and our bedroom/drawing room on the right facing the front. I went back to this address around 2005 and it was still there.  Better painted but still otherwise the same. In front of our window, where earlier there was nothing, now was a school.  Beside our house on the lane on the right was a bus terminus which is not there any more.

My earliest memory is of post-war London. Cold, grey, drizzling and an acrid smell in the air. I first joined Oxford Junior School but it was quite far from home and I changed over to Bevington Primary School which was closer and at the junction of Portobello Road, famous till today for its Saturday market when second hand goods and antiques were sold for a pittance.

My classrooms were bright and airy we were always in one fight or more at the same time (especially with the girls). At our 11o'clock break we would get a sealed bottle of whole milk which was compulsory but an ordeal to drink because it was so cold. Then we would go out into the playground to play or fight (usually wrestling). We would play a game called "conkers" where we would attach a thorny fruit (a conker) to a string and swing it about the adversary's conker and deftly pull the string till one conker broke away.  The conker that had parted with its string was the loser.

It was back to classes till lunch which was in a huge hall. There we would have to collect our plate which would have some bread, potatoes, vegetables (usually spinach) and some gruel with a piece of meat. Ma told me many times to enquire whether it was beef and then not eat it if it was. But I never did because there was no substitute and if it was beef then I could not eat it and would have to go hungry and attract the attention of the teachers whose main purpose in life seemed to be to ensure that the children gorge themselves right up to their throats. In any case it tasted good and the brown sauce was a treat. Sometimes it was fish and chips which was also nice. Then, at the end of the school day, it was a weary walk back home with Ma and Moon in her pushchair stroller pram. Ma would take this opportunity to do her shopping on Portobello Road. I was always fascinated by the wares that were sold and also the big Woolworth's there. Ma had a stiff leather bag shaped like a bucket which Daddy called "balti bag" into which she would stuff her purchases. Once, I remember, her purse was picked from this bag and we never got it back.

Right at the junction of our school and Portobello Road was a butcher's shop. Ma would buy lamb (no goat's meat there) and our weekly treat would be lamb curry and rice. This had a superb flavour and taste which I have never tasted since. They also sold some exquisite cold meats which Ma would buy once in a rare while as a special treat.  After all, we had to subsist on £80/- per week which was the allowance Daddy got (an absolute pittance in today's money but somewhat reasonable for us 4 then). The unsavoury part of the story was that the meat had been in cold storages for a decade or more as a wartime buffer. On the other corner was a post office which sold all kinds of stuff from newspapers to cigarettes and everything in between including small eats. Moon would often get a lollipop from this shop if she had been a good girl.

Ma soon started attending evening classes in cooking, knitting and sewing (probably what is known as fashion design in modern parlance). I remember she would come home awfully late at night while Moon and I cowered in fear as the roads were not safe at night. Daddy studied on oblivious to the world.

Then came the shattering news that the Suez Canal was closed and we could either wait till it opened or go back to India round Cape of Good Hope as Vasco da Gama had done about 450 years earlier to reach Calicut. We waited a few months and then, when the Suez War was getting more strident, Daddy took the decision to return via the Cape. So we returned to Bombay on SS Circassia boarding at Liverpool with a stop at Cape Town riddled with apartheid. Circassia was a more luxurious and faster ship than Batory, but I do not remember it being as much fun as the Batory where the Cheese Scrambled eggs were divine and it was my first sea voyage. I think we finally reached Delhi in March/April 1957 and I joined back St Columba's for half a year before starting in St Joseph's Bangalore in January 1958.

Added by Biswajit Basu based on the displayed picture:

In fact, this first one is THE very house as it looks now. It was a dark red during my time. On the lane running beside the house was a bus terminus where there were a couple of double-deckers which are not there now.  At the back we had a retractible double rope on pulleys strung to the back of the house behind to dry our clothes in those rare days of sunshine.

You would climb up the stairs to the front door.  The owner, Mr EP Young stayed in the Ground Floor and his daughter, Mary, would often answer the bell.  Once inside you walked down a short corridor (with the only phone) and turned left, to go up the stairs.  On the first floor landing, on the left was the kitchen and the bathroom and across the landing corridor was the door to a huge room which was our combined bedroom and drawing room.  The bed was huge and all 4 of us slept on it.  There was a sofa and some chairs and a lovely cosy fireplace which we only ran occasionally and lived to the heat from a paraffin heater in the centre of the room.  The huge windows that you see in the front of our house on the first floor were our bedroom/drawing room windows.  The Pathak's were on the second floor and were replaced by the Gangulys.  Their son, Monomoy Ganguli, who was not yet born then but retired recently as a Lt General as the Director General of Medical Services (DGMS).  He is presently the head of the Parsi Petit Hospital in Bombay.  Their flat, above ours, was exactly the same as ours.

I would come down the stairs, emerge out of the door and turn right to go to school.

I can draw you a sketch of our flat to give you how we lived in these cramped circumstances for 2 years.  I got appendicitis on that bed in December 1955!

Post Script:

Daddy went to study for DO (Diploma in Opthalmology)

Author note: 

More about the voyages are in these posts -

My first sea voyage

The first voyage back home

A mention of neighbours is in this post - 

Famous neighbours from the past

🖋My Life - A poem by Biswajit Basu

MY LIFE

By Biswajit Basu

‘Dedicated to my sister, Moon’

1

I look past the drizzle on my window at the mellowed sun

Mellowed by the decades of passing clouds of life,

And I sit today and look back at years of ups and downs,

Mostly up and rarely down, I must honestly admit.

2

But it has been a respledent, flowery and full life.

With every path therein forecharted into an indistinct passage

With slight tinges of design sometimes  thrown in. 

More in hope than any certitude of events to follow

Visible mostly in retrospect, rather during its passing

The journey has been  the life of a venerated old ship

That has toiled its life in the service of mankind

But was never spared the buffeting of vicious storms

when they came a-roaring by.

Only to sail victorious into calmer seas that always followed a rough passage

As I look back at the years that have passed,

A feeling of peace settles deep in my heart

And I know I have done in the brief flash that was my life

Playing to mankind a small but significant part.

But everything in this Universe that is born

Is destined to be consigned to flames in the end

Whether it be billions of years in the timeline of the Universe

So it is to roughly seven decades allocated to a  man

It all ends in fiery glory to a grand finale.