I haven’t seen Debananda Chowdhury for days. Has he gone somewhere? I asked someone in the office. “Oh, sir, you don’t know? He is not well and is in Apollo Hospital”. My God! I must go and see him! The same evening I went to see him. It is quite a thing to locate a patient in the Apollo Hospital. Somehow, I could locate his cabin.
A warm smile greeted me upon entering. Despite his condition, Debananda Chowdhury’s curiosity about current political affairs remained. I gently urged him to focus on recovery, promising to discuss politics later. His brother-in-law and sister-in-law were present, and after a brief chat, I left the hospital with cautious optimism about his health. But he told me, “This time I shall go up.” “You shouldn’t be speaking like that”, I said.
Two days later, my worries materialized. Kunki, his niece, informed me of a cardiac arrest and his placement in the ICU on ventilation. I was saddened by the news but still hoped he would come out of the ICU. My hope flickered, but news of his passing on March 2nd, delivered by Sujata Chowdhury (his sister-in-law), extinguished it completely.
The Chowdhury Tila will no longer be graced by the sight of Debananda Chowdhury in his signature lungi.
I have known Debananda (Babul) Chowdhury for the last two years after joining Northeast Now. I developed a sort of intimacy with him. Normally I would see him sitting on the veranda of their house instructing the workers in the workshop. Once he showed me how he himself made a machine. Often I would ask: “How are you?” “Just trying to keep myself busy.” At times he would call me for a chat upon my arrival. Or would come to my room. We would talk about anything under the sun. When I would say something he would retort: “No, no you haven’t got my point.”
He was a man of varied interests. He could discuss with you anything from politics to farming, from education to literature. The way he dressed and carried himself he looked very ordinary. But after speaking to him only you would realise how intelligent and sharp-minded he was. He knew the real world and the reality of people. No doubt he was a wealthy and propertied man. But he had a touch with reality.
Of course, this is the common trait of the entire Chowdhury family. They do know who’s who in the society. But they are not show off. And if someone tries to act smart they know how to show them their place. From my conversations with him on different occasions, I realised that my understanding of society was very superficial. But people like him knew the society inside out. He knew the life of a common man.
The language of a common man expresses their joy and sorrow. Once he narrated to me the language and behaviour of the people who frequent Kashari Bastia, near Ulubari. Those were the truths of a common man about which our writers and novelists know nothing. Chowdhury also knew the Guwahati of bygone days. One day he surprised me further.
He said: “What do the writers write these days? Earlier Bangla novels were so good! Do you know Bhaben Barua had once published a magazine called Sanglap?” He even knew about Bhaben Barua’s magazine, “Sanglap.” This well-informed man, a modern mind housed within a traditional exterior, will be sorely missed in Chowdhury Tila.
Adieu, my dear Chowdhury!