Tithi, my strong but silent friend, is now still forever

Her trademark smile: 18.6.24

A tribute to my dear friend Tithi (Monjari Barooah) who passed on the 3rd July 2025, after a 14-month struggle with a deadly disease.
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Reckoning with death

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.
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Travelling in God's own country

The three of us at the Padmanabha-
-swami Temple in Trivandrum

Kerala has been on my bucket-list for a very long time. So when Jaynee, my British friend from Leeds, UK, mooted the idea of travelling to Kerala and doing a trip together of the main sights, I was excited. Yesssss! Here are some thoughts on the 10-day trip that Jaynee, her husband Dugald, and I did starting at Trivandrum and ending at Cochin on Diwali day 2024. Our actual travel itinerary* is at the very end. 
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Chatting with Jayantada

Excerpts from my Whatsapp conversations with Jayantadada since the 2020 Covid lockdown. 

Photo taken by Bisheshwar Das in Jayantada's home 'Chandrabhaga' in Tinkonia Bagicha, Cuttack on 9th April 2023, my last meeting with Jayantada.

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To Jayantada, from Dublin, with love

Photo credit: Bishweshwar Das

Jayantada (the renowned poet Jayanta Mahapatra) left us for ever on the evening of Sunday, 27th August 2023. I was in Cork then. I went numb. My flight back to Germany on Monday the 28th August was cancelled and I suddenly found myself in Dublin on Tuesday, the 29th August, with nothing else to do but wander around, while waiting for the flight rescheduled for Wednesday. This is what I saw that day, in the company of a lovely Finnish woman, whose flight was also rescheduled. I wrote the poem at 2 a.m. on the night between Tuesday and Wednesday... Talking to Jayantada helped.... here it is...

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They don't come any fairer!

I had not finished saying farewell to my lovely friend Srutimala Duara when disaster struck again, and this time took away from us our beloved Deepika Phukan baideo. If the too early departure of a bright, beautiful and vivacious human being that Sruti was has stunned and numbed me, Deepika Baideo's going was perhaps less unexpected but has left me feeling like an orphan, all over again.  And now, as I sit at my desk trying to make sense of these goings, I understand more clearly than ever before our transience in this world we temporarily inhabit. Nobody is a survivor, Sruti had rightly said, for in the end nobody will survive the condition of being alive. 

 But then why is it so hard to say goodbye?

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Too many deaths

There has been too many deaths these last months of people who I was close to -- it began with Neelda's going last October. Then  Nilmoni Phukan khura in January, followed by Srutimala Duara, and Deepika Phukan in February and March... among many others...Some were sick and ailing, some were old and frail, but still...

Why is it so hard to say goodbye?

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Sunflowers will always remind me of you

My tribute to my sister-in-law Inez Maria Ruscheweyh who passed away in Bremen on the 18th April 2022 at the age of 82 years.

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Πeter Neumann is no more...

Peter M. Neumann liked to spell his name with a Π (the Greek letter Pi). He preferred to call himself a plain Mr. and not Dr.  He was a proud recipient of the OBE in 2008 for his contributions to Mathematics. I had started writing this piece on the 16th Dec. 2020 while trying to order by thoughts to send him a birthday greeting for his 80th birthday on the 28th December; but his death on the 18th Dec. from Covid has forced me to turn it into an obit, my homage to the man who I considered to be my father, in the years after the death of my real father. 

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Not wanting to let her go...

On 14^th August 2020 it will be three years since my mother, Renuka Devi Barkataki, left us, suddenly, quietly, without bothering anybody. I had arrived at the hospital straight from the airport that hot summer afternoon in 2017 only to find her hardened mortal remains.  In the midst of the bustle, it had suddenly felt very cold and lonely. That feeling has not gone away. There have also been other major disasters in my life since, but somehow I am still not finished with Ma’s going yet.  That house in Panchabati that used to buzz with activity all the time mourned her for a while, before killing itself. Now it has transformed itself into a bad-tempered, unhappy ghost – shrouded over, musty and dark, waiting silently, to be exorcised.

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Not about his poetry

He had surprised us all when he said, ‘I don’t care too much about poetry. What I care most about is human relationships.’

This photo is from 10th April 2023

When asked why he wrote poetry then, he told us, ‘I write because I have to, but the emotions do not go away. They stay, choking the throat, dimming the vision, making the voice tremble.’

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International e-conference on Solidarity in a post-Covid world

The Solidarity e-Conference organised by Professor Mirna Džamonja from the 22nd to the 26th June 2020 was a platform where 'engaged intellectuals and cultural workers could give their personal vision of the world after Covid-19'. It was possibly the first such conference of its kind and was successful in bringing together more than forty experts from many different disciplines, many countries and many ideological inclinations to the same platform. The aim of the conference was There were musicians, artists, writers, lawyers, journalists, theatre directors and philosophers besides mathematicians and scientists, all of whom tried to grapple with the idea of the post-Covid world in their own ways. The central theme was global solidarity, which the conference assumed to be the only way forward in order to survive this crisis, and the conference was described as ‘an international video conference where selected leaders from the world of science, culture and civil society would meet and offer their vision of the world after the crisis’.

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Precious lines

It has been a long while since I have felt like posting anything on my blog. When the brain is blocked with sadness and worry there is no way to be creative. And I don't always want to be negative in what I write. But a few people have said some unusual things to me in the last months that have helped me to cope. They need to be put on record.

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Truly one of a kind: Kotoky Sir

My tribute to Professor Prafulla Kotoky Sir, written on 5^th June 2018, on getting the news about Sir’s demise

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Some women have it tough

A salute to some really tough women I know on international women's day! Some others are forced to be tough. This is a story based on some real life incidents...

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The house died too that night

My tribute to Ma, a month after she left us...

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The jajabor moves on

The news of Bhupenda's death came as a shock -- you expect some things and some people to last forever, one simply does not reckon with their not being there. I was numbed by the news but reasoned with myself, if he was sufferring in hospital for so many months, then it was better for him to be spared more pain. In any case, he was living in Mumbai for the last years, and although he did come to Assam often he seemed to have somehow moved on. In fact I doubt how many people in Assam really knew (or really cared about the fact) that he was in hospital for the last so many months.

But the Assamese people did not seem ready to let go of him,even in death,

if the unbelievable public outpouring of grief of the Assamese people at the news, is any indication. I could not restrain my tears either, but asked myself what it was about Bhupenda or about the Asamiya people that had brought about this incredibly emotional reaction from so many. True his songs had touched many hearts, true his deep melodious voice was haunting and unforgettable, true he had become a legend in his lifetime by singlehandedly winning Assam a place of pride at the national level,true he had achieved much more than any other Asamiya has in postindependent India, but still... it is hard to really understand or explain what one saw happening in Guwahati these last days.

Some time back I had tried to write a dissertation about Assamese identity and what it could be. Playing back and listening to some of Bhupenda's songs again these last days I think I know now what was missing in my dissertation -- for the events of the last days have made it clear that if any one person could be thought to be representative of and to symbolise Assamese-ness today to the rest of the world, then it was Bhupenda -- he was Assam's identity in the big world outside. And to the Asamiya, he was their conscience-keeper. He often said unpleasant and harsh things about the Asamiya, but they could not be offended by him, because they knew that he spoke the truth, he was like an X-ray that laid the Asamiya bare -- there was nothing they could hide from him... Assam has not always treated him well, he has also not always been loyal to Assam, but in death, no quarrels remain, by shedding so many tears the people of Assam have told him that everything is forgiven, and that they will always remember and cherish him in their hearts, for all that he has given them.

I do not know what he would have made of this massive show of love and respect if he could have known while he was still alive that this would happen. Would he have been happy? Although one can only respect and be astounded by this spontaneous outpouring of grief, it does have a sense of belatedness about it, doesn't it? After all, how many of us made any effort to tell him that we cared while he was still alive? What good can all our tears do him now? Why then are we crying? Are we crying today because we are feeling sorry, not just for him, but also for ourselves? Is it because we are feeling orphaned, vulnerable, insecure, because we no longer have his strict yet loving and caring hand over us? And if that is the case, does it not show how selfish and small we all are? And with this present demonstration we have proved once more what we already knew for a fact, that we are a very emotional people...

But are we nothing more? Is it enough to be just emotional? If we really wanted to show him our respect and admiration,one thing we could do besides crying is to resolve to listen to and to follow his message -- his message about what is wrong with our society and how we could rectify it, his message of love, of humanity and of brotherhood, his message of fighting against injustice and against all kinds of oppression...only then would we have made sure that he did not sing his heart out in vain, and that he will live on even in death... if we really love him so much he deserves much more than just our tears, we have to promise that we shall not let him down... that even without him to show us the way and to remind us of our duty, we will strive towards creating that Xonar Assam that he dreamt of and wanted to conjure up to gift to all of us... But are we ready for this?




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Saurav Kumar Chaliha on the web

For those of you who have not already done so, please visit the website SKC. I do not want to say more about the great SKC -- the website says it all... just want to say how happy I am that this website has really happened and pay my tribute to two true and noble SKC fans who 'double-handedly' made this happening possible -- renowned filmmaker Altaf Majid da and young enterpreneur Nazrul Haque. My hats off to both of them!

Comments for improvement are welcome. We'd also be grateful to hear from more SKC fans and also from those SKC fans who can and are willing to translate some of SKC's untranslated stories ... there is a lot still left to do before the work will be done...do come and strengthen our hands...

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My father, Munin Barkotoki

Munin Barkotoki (1915-1993)

Excerpts from the 'Foreword' written by Ranjit Kumar Dev Goswami to A Munin Barkotoki Miscellany (1998, Guwahati: Book Hive).

A distinguished mind of our times, Munin Barkotoki was a man of wide-ranging curiosity and exceptionally varied interests. His passions included literature, journalism, theatre, film, music, painting, sports and - of course - politics. Though his literary output was sparse - comprising almost wholly of just twelve stories and sketches, five poems or pastiches, a one-act play, sundry essays, notes, belles-lettres, reviews, letters to the editor and a book of biographical studies(Bismrita Byatikram) all publishd over a long span of six decades -- Barkotoki exerted a quiet but effective influence on the literary scene in Assam in his role as a conscientious man of letters open to new ideas and experiments. Deeply contemplative, yet warm-hearted and convivial he lived a rich inner life untainted by any mundane quest for glory, power or profit. ....

Munin Barkotoki was born at Jorhat on the Kati Bihu day (October 16-17) of the year 1915, the younger son of Raisaheb Durgadhar Barkotoki, then Divisional Inspector of Schools, and Kamalini Devi, daughter of Padmavati Devi Phukanani (1853-1927) whose Sudharmar Upakhyan (1884) marks an early phase of the development of Assamese prose fiction in the nineteenth century. From his mother's side, his great grandfather was Anandaram Dhekial Phukan (1829-59), pioneer of the nineteenth century Assamese renaissance, and his great great grandfather Haliram Dhekial Phukan (1802-32), an important custom official at Hadira Choky during the Ahom rule who rose in the esteem of the East India Company officials by virtue of his intimate knowledge of revenue administration and socio-political history of Assam. [End of Excerpt]

A few other sundry facts worthy of note:

Munin Barkotoki's elder brother was Satyen Barkotoki, whose Escapades of a Magistrate (1961), is perhaps the first book of its kind in English written by an Assamese.

In 1959, Munin Barkotoki married Renuka Devi Barkataki, who was elected to Parliament in 1962 and again in 1977, when she became the Minister of State for Education, Culture and Social Welfare in the Janata party ministry headed by Sri Morarji Desai.




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My favourite artist

Neelpawan Barua

For me, Neelda is the absolute 'top' Assamese artist, and I am putting him into my blog because I would really like him to be much better known. Also because he and Dipali Baidew are the sweetest couple I know. You cannot help loving them. Although his absolute inability to take care of his own paintings drives me nuts everytime I meet him, thinking about it later invariably makes me cry. More about all that later, first a little more to help you place Neelda ...

For those of you who know the region a little, Neelda is
(a) son of eminent Asamiya poet Binanda Chandra Baruah,
(b) a graduate of Kala Bhawan, Vishwa Bharati University in Shanti Niketan, and
(c) husband of well-known Asamiya singer of yesteryears Dipali Borthakur.






He founded the Assam Fine Arts and Craft Society, Guwahati, and still runs a Sunday morning art school for little children in his house.

Though originally from Jorhat, his present co-ordinates are: Saurabh Nagar, Beltola, Guwahati -- 781028, India.

Rather than talk about this art, his technique and his work, I'm posting a few of his paintings -- let them speak for themselves.



The one above right is called 'Lora-Roja' -- the boy-prince, the second one on the left clearly depicts the ten-headed king of Lanka 'Ravan' (Curtesy: Helena Pihko) and the one below is titled simply 'Three Birds'. All three are done in 'mixed media', and have a special 3-D effect. He also paints on canvas and believe it or not, on newspaper, matchboxes, what have you... Do let me know if you would like to see a few more of his paintings.



Now back to what I had started to tell you: Neelda and Dipali Baidew are both lovely people. They are also very well-known and much admired in Assam. So much so, that between them they have probably won every possible award that they could have possibly won in Assam. But that is not even half the story...

But let that be... I want you to judge Neelda on his merits, and give him his due. So, if you happen to like his work, have some space on your wall, and some money to spare, then do please pamper yourself and gift yourself one of his creations. Your best chance would be to visit him when you are in Guwahati next -- I would strongly recommend a visit to his beautiful ashram-like home in any case, I can assure you you will come away with more than you had gone in with.

But let me warn you, it will not be easy to get a painting from him -- first he will tell you that he has no paintings at all (don't believe him, he is plainly trying to fend you off), and if you did manage to get to the point when you have coaxed him to show you a few, he will refuse to quote a price for any. But please don't give up -- he usually gives in once he is convinced that you will take good care of his 'daughter' (Hope you begin to see now why he can be so difficult :-)

Finally, and please treat this as an absolute last option, if you want me to intervene at any point, especially if your chances of being able to visit him in Guwahati are not very high, then let me know. I go home to Assam at least once every year and will be happy to help in whatever way I can.

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