Two deaths in the last days have shaken me up. The first was the death of my teacher from Gauhati University Professor B.P. Chetiya and then a day later Biren Datta Sir's baideo. I was not in direct contact with either of them in recent times. They were both ailing for some time. So the deaths were not unexpected. But still these two deaths have affected me in ways that I cannot explain at the moment. Let me try to put the facts down here and try to understand what happened.
The last time I had met Chetiya Sir was in the university. So I had not met him in the last twenty years at least. Even when he was in the university, we had a strictly formal relationship with him. He was our teacher, and an excellent teacher at that; in fact, his excellent teaching was the reason why I decided to take up group theory as my subject of doctoral research. After finishing my M.Sc. I started my Ph.D. under him at GU. But all those years as a student at the university and also later when I briefly joined the university as faculty, I did not ever talk about other things with Sir. It was always strictly about business. He was not forbidding, don't get me wrong. He was always smiling and very welcoming. But since he never brought up anything personal, it was hard to not do the same. As a result I had no idea about his personal life, where he lived, if he had a family at all and if yes, then further details, etc etc. That meant that when he retired from the university, he simply disappeared for me. Since there was nothing else that connected me with Chetiya Sir, I made no effort to meet him in the following years or to keep track of his life. Then just recently, perhaps a month or so ago, I heard that he was seriously unwell. I wanted to visit then but was told to refrain from doing so -- he was not well enough to be able to be happy about the visit, and for me it would be a shock to see him in that state. And then he was gone...
His going has left me feeling that I should have done more to keep in touch with him; I should have made an effort to find out where he lived; I should have gone to meet him. When Papu and I went to visit his family yesterday, everything was new, I was seeing his home and meeting his wife and daughters for the first time. They were very welcoming and could figure out who I was immediately, but I felt very uneasy. Is this how it should have been? Should I have not thought of visiting them already many years back? I knew that Chetiya Sir was around, why did I never feel the need to go and meet him? And now it is too late to make amends. There will never be another meeting.
I discussed this with my other batch mates -- they also felt more or less the same. Only those who had something to do with the Assam Academy of Mathematics had been in more frequent touch with him. Why did we not make an effort while there was still time? Nobody had any answers. As a lesson we have decided to go and meet a few of our former teachers who are still around and pay our respects to them. We do not want to make the same mistake again...
But the other case is even more curious because Biren Datta Sir and Baideo were almost our neighbours in Silpukhuri. I have been a frequent visitor to their beautiful ashram-like home while Datta Sir was alive. Baideo was always welcoming and warm, even in those last years when Sir was ill and confined to his bed. Baideo would greet me with a smile and never let me leave before having tea. Often she would make some pithas especially for me because she knew I loved pithas. Sometimes she would also tell me about her own health issues, but somehow I did not quite understand. I would go there, talk with Baideo about how Sir was doing, chat with Sir a bit if he was able, have tea and then come away. That Baideo was also ill and needed care came up, time and again, but somehow I chose not to pay any heed to the information. I could see that Baideo was having a tough time taking care of Sir, but somehow for me it was always about Sir. Then one day, Sir left us forever...
It was an emptiness that comes with having to let go and the fear of having to face the familiar home with one very familar face missing that kept me from going back to their home for the first few months. I just could not handle going back, even though one little voice kept telling me that I SHOULD go and ask after Baideo -- that dear and loving Baideo who had been so nice to me whenever I had gone to meet Sir. But I just did not go... Then I heard that she was unwell, seriously unwell. I still did not go... Then came the news... Baideo was no more...I still could not push myself to go. My guilty conscience overwhelmed me... Why had I not gone to meet Baideo in all these last months? I have often gone past that little path on which their home stood, I have often thought of going in, but had just not done it. WHY!
Then one night, a couple of nights ago, I dreamt of Baideo -- the same beautiful smiling face. She was standing there as usual on their front verandah, waving at me and urging me to come in. Tumi aahiba dei... I had not been back to that beautiful home since Datta Sir's death. I went the next day and told the children about my guilt. About how awful I felt. Dawor and the girls were gracious, forgiving, they were as cordial as ever. Rather than be cross with me, they presented me with a lovely coffee-table book that they had brought out with their mother's paintings, sculptures and other works of art. They had got that book published while she was still alive; that had made her very happy. For their mother was also a fine artist, a gifted sculptor, a poet and writer. But the world had not known. She had always remained behind the shadow of their very famous and much acclaimed father. Just as for me, she had never been anything else but Sir's baideo. She remembered thta she had shown me a Saraswati murti once and had told me that she had made it herself. Why had I not reacted? Why had I not asked her more about what else she had made? Why did I never consider her as anything more than Sir's Baideo? Her children knew their mother better. They had made sure she got some recognition before it was too late.
The final shock came last. Before I left, they gave me an invitation to her shraddha. Reading the invitation I realised that the lady in question, Datta Sir's Baideo, also had a name -- Eva Datta! I had never known that. And had never felt the need to know. Why? Why had it never occured to me to find out? I even had her phone number. She had given me her number once when I had gone visiting. And I had saved it. As what? I checked. I had saved it as Biren Datta Sir's baideo! I had simply not taken heed of her as an individual in her own right, with a name of her own, with her own likes and dislikes, talents and sensibilities. She had remained an extension of Sir for me all her life. It is only after her death now that I have found out that she also had a name independent of Datta Sir, that she was Eva Datta... So much for my independent, pro-women views! So much for my dislike for patriarchy and male-domination! Baideo had even tried to reach out to me but I had failed to grasp her hand. Shame on me! Will I ever be able to forgive myself for this?
My friend and batch mate Sangita Sharma (now Baruah) who was also a student of mathematics had this to say after reading the blog: Very well written. But u know many times me n my colleague wanted to visit him but we didn't know his address n another colleague who knew that address discouraged us. So it went on. But Sir I knew a little personally since he was also from Sibsagar n friend of my khura. Also Sir had a beautiful anecdote about how he was seriously ill when a boy n my grandfather Dr. Bhaba Sarma, a doctor who had served in the WW II, cured him.
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