I was a few hours away from catching my flight to the US of A. Figured there was time enough to squeeze one last intersection point. I had to have dinner somewhere anyways. What better way to have dinner than with a guy that I had not seen for about three decades?

In fact, one of the last times I saw him – if not the last time – is the picture in the inset. Avijit’s mom had called Supriyo and myself over for lunch. Supriyo is the one with the trousers with the fullest flair, as it were, and that thin stick on the other end – yeah! – that is yours truly!!!

Even after the last meeting, I had made a few contacts with Supriyo over the next few years. He was one of the few guys who had an email id at work. Even in the mid nineties, it was a novelty in my friend circle. But once he quit that job, I lost touch with him.

The trail had gotten completely cold, till Facebook came around. Without Facebook, I would not have been able to sit with Supriyo and catch up on his mom (who I remember from a trip I had made to their house in Burdwan in 1985) last evening. Unfortunately for me, uncle is no more. I was able to fill Supriyo in about the whereabouts of some of our friends from those days. And we had some laughs about a particular incident where he got into deep trouble for committing a gross transgression of our dorm rules. We agreed it did not seem that funny at that point of time.

In a rare moment for me, I had completely forgotten about his sisters. Not sure how I forgot about them. Turns out one of them is in Durgapur – not too far away from my in laws. In fact about a stone’s throw and a half. Seems like more intersections points for the future!

That was a great way for me to finish up my trip to India – catching up with yet another friend from high school that I had not seen for way too long a time!!

I am not the best writer in English. For that matter, I am not the best writer in any other language. I have run ons in my sentences, I sometimes let my participles dangle and I start my sentences with conjunctions. That said, there are two teachers in my life that I remember the most who were deeply influential in whatever grasp I have over the language English. This trip, I managed to locate one of them – Ms. Devyani (thru Mrs Bose). The other one was a Mr. Samanta.

He used to come to our house in his bicycle on his way back from Shivaji Boys High School with a “pan” in his mouth, wearing a flowery shirt and then for hours, would sit with me and help me thru the difficulty of giving expression to your thoughts in a well arranged sequence of English words.

Then I became I close to his son – Kaushik – who was of the same age as I, but we never studied in the same school. I can certainly recollect spending quite a few afternoons with Kaushik and Avijit – my best friend of those days. If we were not solving global hunger problems during those sessions, we were probably solving even bigger problems like how to impress the next door neighbor girl.

Regrettably, my long searches for them about ten years back came to the worst possible way of ending. I learnt that both of them were no more. By the time I had managed to locate them, they had both escaped me by a couple of years.

As I sat last evening with Papiya-di (my teacher’s daughter who also had become close to me in the early eighties) and Sourav-da (her husband and my senior from middle school) before getting ready for the long flight back to US, I could not help having the pangs of regret of not getting a chance to say one last Thank you to Mr. Samanta or sitting down with Kaushik for one last afternoon of getting the world closer to a few more solutions!

If anything helped me thru that struggle, it was what a great company Papiya-di and Sourav-da were. We have very similar interests in terms of adventure, visiting places that are slightly off the usual touristy interests, importance of staying fit (Papiya-di is a gym rat) and in general how to prioritize time in life. Both of them are accomplished photographers. I am no where even close to them, but I knew enough to be dangerous during our conversations.

The last time I saw Papiya-di was somewhere around the late eighties (I think it was 1989) when I walked into Mr. Samanta’s house to say Hi (I think I had just come home from Chennai) and landed in the middle of a big drama. Mrs. Samanta complained to me about some hissy fit Papiya-di was throwing about her impending wedding. In spite of me giving extreme details of what happened that day, Papiya-di conveniently washed her hands off any role in that drama. Fortunately, Sourav-da remembered enough to back my story up!

I might have to come back to spill more beans on Papiya-di till she owns up!!

I had promised Santanu a few months back that I would make sure I visited his family and parents during my next trip to India. Since he was very high on my list this time, I had fixed the time and place to meet him even before I started from USA. Of course, the place was going to be his home since I would not have expected his parents to travel.

On my way from Kolkata to Kalyani, I dropped by at his house. Normally, I refuse to eat at anybody’s place in India. It simply takes away time from the limited time I have to meet my friends and their families. Especially if one of them is busy in the kitchen.

Santanu, being very special, was the only exception where I had said that I would be eating breakfast at his place. To make sure that I do not miss out on “talk time”, I stayed for a little more time in his place. I am glad that I had allotted more time to the visit to his house because I spent a lot of time with his dad as well as him.

As you can see in the picture, his dad and I spent quite some time on the terrace where he took me thru his life journey from undivided Bengal to Jalpaiguri to Kolkata. He talked about his days in Public Works department as well as introduced me to the different types of plants he had planted on the terrace.

Santanu’s mom was quiet for most of the time. She is recovering from some long sounding ailment that Santanu explained to me which I cannot remember but the good news is that she is pretty much fully recovered.

Spent some time with his wife – who had cooked the delicious luchi-torkari-dim breakfast for us – and his kids.

With Santanu most of the time was spent on discussing psychiatric patients (my mom is one and he is a psychiatric doctor), our Ramakrishna Mission, our old high school and the batchmates from there. For once, I got more updates about friends than giving updates. Santanu is very active in keeping up with our classmates.

Hope to see him and his family again. I have to anyways come by to return a couple of books that I picked up from his place.

Having wrapped up all the intersection points in Bengal for this time, my brother and I were cruising down Kalyani Expressway when I came to a familiar intersection. For a person who likes to plan and organize everything, I started furtively glancing at he watch … “Could I? Should I?”. I had twenty minutes…tops thirty, I reckoned.

Decide to give it a shot. “In a minute, you will see a tall red building called Godhuli to our right. We are going to stop there for a few minutes”, I told my brother. That is how I landed up in the old age home that my friend’s father stays in.

I have visited him couple of times before and I had made a lot of friends with very elderly people who would flock around me to hear stories about the USA. Many of them were in old age homes because of the precise reason that their sons and daughters all live in the USA. Some would even excitedly tell me about their visit to America. Stopped by for a few minutes to say Hi to them.

Mr. Lodh looked healthy physically but clearly his mental faculties including memory is not getting any sharper. He did remember that I had visited him before but beyond that he could not recollect much.

Spent about twenty minutes with him enquiring about how he was doing and talking about his son (my friend) and his grand kids in Atlanta as he soaked in the winter sun sitting outside.

I told him eventually that I had a flight to catch. “Thik aachhey. Jao ekhon. Abaar eso kintu. Erokom katha boltey paarley bhalo laagey”. (Ok. Go now. But come back again. It feels good to talk like this).

The last few words kept ringing in my ears as I got back into the car. Why was I even debating whether to stop for a few minutes or not? What was I thinking? There was never a question to begin with…. If I can’t give my time to elderly people like him, I need to recheck my priorities on how I spend time…

Our scheduled time to leave for the airport was 10:30 am. I changed my plans this morning to start half an hour early! I had tried to call a friend of mine from 11th and 12th grade last night. I thought he lived in Kalyani. But I never got a chance to talk to him (phones were off). This morning I found out why. He called me up from Delhi to let me know that he is out of town with his wife. I had almost put the phone down promising to meet next time when, out of a hunch, I asked him “Do your parents live in Kalyani?”. He said “Yes”. “Okay, I will swing by to say Hi to them”.

And that is why we started half an hour early and very soon my brother pulled up in front of Debasis’s house. Both of us went in and introduced ourselves. Debasis had already called up his parents and let them know. Which was a blessing because his elderly parents did not start howling that burglars were invading their house. On the other hand, that gave enough time to his mom to make some food and she kept insisting that we have something before we left.

We explained that I have a flight to catch and then caught up about Debasis and my Narendrapur days. He was in the same dorm as I. And apparently, his parents visited him every weekend. So, my guess is that I have seen his parents a few times but I certainly could not recollect.

Now what I did not tell you is that when we sat down in their living room, there was another set of elderly parents in the room. We assumed they were visiting Debasis’s parents and that we had interrupted them. I figured we would just be there for half an hour and leave without hopefully interrupting them too much.

In any case, I did turn around and started talking to the other gentleman..
“Aapni-o Kalyani-tey thhaken?” (You live in Kalyani too?)
“Hnah” (Yes)
And then he asked “Aapni kothay thhaken?” (Where do you live?)
“USA”.
He got a little excited… His wife made the next statement “Aamader chhele-o to USA te thhakey” (Seems like their son is also in the USA).
“Tai? Kothay?”, I asked trying to find out where .
“Atlanta”, she said.

Now it got interesting….
“Ki Naam?” I wanted to find his name.
“Partha. Partha Das”, she said.
Frankly, I could not say that I knew a Partha Das in Atlanta. So, I tried other ways – like where exactly he lived (they did not know), where he worked (Cognizant), but nothing led me to make any connection.

So, finally, I asked “What is his wife’s name?”
“Sreyashi”.

I thought there might be a connection! One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi… Yes! I think I go it!

“Tell me something”, I asked. Did Sreyashi’s mom visit them in Atlanta in the last twelve months?
“Indeed”, they said.
“Aha”

To tie the other loose end of the string of this story, I have to take you back quite a few months. I was getting ready to leave for India when I got a call from our dear friend Sudakshina in Atlanta enquiring if I could bring some medicine from India. I was totally okay as long as it was not overly bulky. I also wanted to know if everything was okay.

She explained that the medicine was for one Sreyashi whose mom was visiting them and she needed that medication. And then Sudakshina told me that she will have Sreyashi call me up. I was not sure I wanted somebody I did not know feel indebted to me for a small help. We did not know each other at all. So, I requested Sudakshina not to bother telling Sreyashi how the medicine came but to assure her that the medicine will arrive. I had duly handed over the medicine to Sudakshina after I went back to Atlanta.

And that was that!

Till today!!!

Of course, now that I have met their parents (in laws), I have to become friends with Partha and Sreyashi when I go back. Not to mention that when I am back in Kalyani again, I have to go back to Debasis’s house to spend more time with his parents. And hopefully this time he and Joyoti will be there too!!

The lasting memory I have of Happy Ghosh is way back in 1985, when he was pacing up and down the corridors of Gouranga Bhavan – the dorm that we were in, in our residential school with a book in his hand (organic chemistry, no doubt) cramming for the exams. You know how I remember that? Because I was doing the same and I was pacing along a cross corridor. Both of us learnt an important lesson that day – long before you were warned about texting and driving, there should have been a similar warning of potential crashing if you read and walk at the same time – especially with the book held up to your nose steeped in fear of the looming exams. To this day, I have not yet figured out why some of us used to pace in the corridors while cramming. It is not like we were made to wear Fitbits or anything like that in that strict disciplined school 🙂

The other memory I have of Happy is his hair. Unlike pacing up and down, which of course, both of us did, the topic of hair is something on which we totally differed. I could not care less about my hair. If I could comb it once a day, I would have been ahead of my game. For the curious – yes, I used to have a headful of very thick hair at one point of time. I recognize it is difficult to visualize now. In my defense, I don’t walk up and down the corridor cramming with a book in my hand either 🙂 Happy, on the other hand, used to take exquisite care of his hair. He kept it long enough that he could curl it at the end just so – following the style of a famous movie star in India – but all the while not crossing the boundaries of what our school rules would allow.

Around 1987, I had a short meeting with Happy again in his engineering college when I ran into him while visiting another junior student. Who, as it turns out, eventually became my brother in law (Sharmila’s brother). Well, there is no mystery in those turn of events. I know exactly what I did 🙂

And then jump forward 30 years. A few days back while having a great time with my parents at the resort outside Kolkata basking in the sun by the pool, his wife – Paramita – who had recognized me – had walked up to me and introduced herself. I promised her that I will come and visit the whole family during this trip.

Evening before last, m dinner with brother’s family at the ITC restaurant (this part of my visits – having dinner with my nephews at a city restaurant of their choice is a near-religion for me) went very late. It was quarter to eleven at night when we were done. But Happy insisted that I come and spend some time with him. Justifiably, I was a little worried.

I really had nothing to worry about. Moment I walked in, we hit it off immediately. We, of course, talked a lot about our school and our progress in life in the interim. By the way, his is the first house I have seen so far in India with a very well designed bar stocked up nicely with a quite a stack of bottles of red wine. If you find me more often at his house, you know which corner to find me!

I spent some more time with his shy daughter – Amrita. And closed the loop with his wife Paramita about the mutual friends we seemed to have on FB that I found out later that day after I met her.

As great a get together as that was, I paid one price for showing up late… Happy’s mom had gone off to sleep. I missed meeting her this trip. Hopefully, we will fix that problem in a later trip.