Remembering Panna Choudhury on his 75th Birthday

Remembering Panna Choudhury on his 75th birthday, Jan 11 2022. 

By Pallavi Choudhury Tripathi

(Sikkim, late 1990s)

Hi Baba,

It’s been 7 years since you left us. You would have been 75 today. You would probably have been the most youthful 75 ever! Miss your presence everyday. Not having you around to ask for advice, use as a sounding board, complain about Ma, start another home improvement project, discuss the world, finance, cricket, kids, movies, drinks, travel, anything and everything … your touch was so subtle and understated, the void it left is all pervasive. 

You made everyone around you shine brighter. And you made everything so simple. “Eat less, do more”; “Hope for the best, expect the worst”; “You don’t have to know the answer, you just need to know how to find it”; “Whatever you do, be the best”; … even the cheeky ones were wise - “If you have to lie, don’t get caught!” You could sit smartly suited up with the top policy makers of the world and debate on global issues, and were equally likely to be found sweeping the driveway in old worn clothes, enthusiastically discussing efficient brooms and mops. You were always doing something. Your ability to juggle work was amazing. Day or night, you always had ten things to do! And yet, you always had time to listen. I can’t remember ever learning anything from you from books, Ma had that department fully covered! And yet, I learnt everything from you from what you did, and the way you did it. 

You were always there … till you weren’t. It hurts to know that your grandchildren will only know you from stories about you. I remember standing on our terrace in our newly built Noida house, just a few months before you left us. There was construction all around, flyovers were being built, high rises and malls coming up. We were discussing the history of this house and other houses in the larger family. You said - one generation builds, the next enjoys - and I said, well we’ve both built this house so we can both enjoy it! You just smiled. A few months later you left. The flyovers got built. Our house, well it’s a never ending work in progress. Some high rises got built, others got stuck in litigation. Life moves on. I think I understand your smile a little bit more now. All of us have our own purpose. It’s up to us to own it, embody it and enjoy it. Just as you did. 

Miss you forever. Happy Birthday Baba. 🎂

Remembering Monisha Choudhury

Remembering Monisha Choudhury on her birthday, January 10.

By Pallavi Choudhury Tripathi

You would have been 69 today. Still can’t believe you are no longer with us. When we were kids, we thought it was very cool that your birthday was on Jan 10 and Baba’s on Jan 11, so the midnight between the two, we could technically wish you both! We actually did set alarms a few times to do exactly that, and you went along even though you were not a late night person. But we still wanted two cakes!! 

Funnily, since we shifted in together to Noida in 2014, we’ve always ended up with 2 cakes for almost every celebration, whether it would be you baking or getting one, or Tuki baking or sending one, in addition to the one I would get to mark the occasion. But you only had one birthday with Baba in Jan 2015, before he left us that September. The double cakes continued. Now, you are both together again, and for the first time in my life there are no more January double cakes to start a new year of birthdays. 

Happy Birthday Ma 🎂 🎂. Miss you everyday.

Some memories from your last birthday:

A Narrow Escape

 (By Biswajit Basu)

*A Narrow Escape*

When you travel a lot, you open yourself to a lot of dangerous situations.  I had a narrow escape from a bomb blast about 30 years back.  On 12 March 1993, I was scheduled to join Shibesh, Swati's brother, for lunch at the Oberoi where I was staying.  On the morning of 12 March, Shibesh called to say he would not join for lunch as he was returning to Calcutta immdiately.

If I remember right, 12 March was a Friday and I thought it better to return to Delhi that day itself as I had finished my work in Bombay.  So, around noon, I walked down to the Air India building next door to change my airticket.  I finished this change and walked back to the hotel.  Soon thereafter there was a  terrible sounding muffled thud.  A bomb had ripped through the Air India building!  There was absolute chaos in our hotel with people running around in the lobby.

I returned to Delhi by an evening flight that day.  It was a narrow escape.  I dread to think of the consequences in case it had taken a bit longer to change my ticket!  I would probably not be around to write this.

Terrorism is a terrible thing.  It is an act when trained killers target innocent lay persons with death.  It is an act of cowards on an unarmed public who cannot retaliate, even in self defence.

I had also got stuck in Himachal Pradesh in June 1984 when Operation Bluestar was on and there was no way we (My boss Mr Verma and I) could return to Delhi.

Finally we made it by going for miles on the bed of a dried-up river (on an old  Ambassador car) strewn with pebbles, rocks and boulders till we found a lane to shimmy up to a road with the help of villagers.

Barely 4 months later, I was going for a meeting in Janpath Hotel and I had to pass between Safdarjang Hospital and AIIMS.  I saw a huge crowd there and while passing asked a bystander what it was all about.  He told me that Princess Ann  (of UK- who was visiting India then) was in AIIMS and he did not know for what.  I found this rather incongruous that such a large crowd would be present to greet a princess.

When I reached Janpath Hotel, there was absolute silence with a huge crowd in front of the lobby tv.  There I learnt that Mrs Indira Gandhi had been shot and was battling for her life.  I rang up Monisha, my sister, who was then an working in Safdarjang Hospital.  And she told me that her boss had been called to AIIMS and had returned with her saree spattered with blood.  She had told Monisha Mrs Gandhi was dead.

I immediately summoned all our chaps with whom I had a meeting (they had come from my Head Office in Vizag) and told them to check out and get out of Delhi by whatever route they could get tickets on.  Fortunately they did not get stuck in Delhi when the riots  started that day against the Sikhs.

But another Area Manager, Mr Ruud Cornet, who had come from the Netherlands to meet us got stuck for 15 days or so but did a good deed by shifting our local Agent (a sardarji), Mr Joginder Singh Anand and family, to his room in the Maurya and hiding them till the riots were over.

Those were scary days as our neighbours in R-1/2, Hauz Khas were sardars and we stood guard in the roof of the corner house (then Mr Kaul's) with grass cutters like swords as marauding mobs with fiery torches paraded in front of our house looking for sardars to kill.  Very tense and scary days.

Added by Tina:
Wow. Didn’t know any of this. I have one indelible memory of the 84 riots, though I was very young 5-5 years old. We were living in RK Puram. I remember Ma making Baba hide in the store room. Apparently, there were people shouting in the street for ‘doctor sahib’ and had seen a car with a Dr. sticker parked outside. I remember we had a small brown carved twin blades decor item. Ma made Baba take one of the knives and hide in the storeroom. 

I have another memory from our RK Puram days, which I think is from the same event. Nene mama (Bashob De) was in IIT hostel that time. The phones were not working. Since it was close to our house, Jorbagh Dida asked Ma or Baba to walk across and check on him, which they did. 

🌳 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 

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