BONUDI -- IN MEMORIUM

 22 August, 1952 to 6 February, 1974

To the silhouetted memory

Merged in the lonesome meadow 

Where the silence whispers around you.

Shadows -- they keep on coming.

Shadows of the coffee you made,

Of the cakes you will not make,

Of burnt ashes and charred moments --

They keep on coming.

I love you to live 

In the dreams of wispy dolls,

In the soft sun before the even glow 

And in the unlit corners of my life.

Goodbye, 

Dada.

P.S. : This poem was composed by Babuda (Abhijit Bose/Gabby Bose) at midnight after returning home from the crematorium where his just departed younger sister Bonudi was bid farewell. 

Bonudi (Anjana Bose), a juvenile diabetic, a gifted artist, one who revelled in making cakes, coffee and dolls out of broken egg shells besides brushing delightful paintings, died a Guinea pig at the hands of Patna's famous physician Dr. Ghoshal who irresponsibly experimented on her by treating her free of insulin and entirely by controlling her diet.

Dr. Shatrujit Dasgupta of Kolkata had predicted a lifespan of 21 when Bonudi was about 10 or so if this treatment continued and his prophecy came out uncannily true.

Dr. Ghoshal evidently was trying to win international recognition by proving his test case before the medical world which cost Bonudi her life. Strangely enough, Bonudi's mother, that is, my aunt, Ashalata Bose, never blamed Dr. Ghoshal for the death but, enlightened and liberated as she was, an economist and academic of repute, Principal of Magadh Mahila College, and a lady of matchless grace, she continued to harbour respectful feelings for the doctor who had gone so wrong. Even my uncle (my father's eldest brother, Amalendu Bose and Bonudi's father) bore the doctor the greatest of respect despite it all. Babuda bore no ill-will either. 

Bonudi studied in Patna Women's College, an undergraduate, when she passed away. I still remember that evening of 6 February, 1974. I was 12 years and 8 months old and studying in Class 7. Father drove back home and mother, as usual waiting by the balcony for his arrival from office, stood by the open doorway to welcome him. We lived on the first floor and father, having climbed upto the intermediate landing, in a broken, loud, lamenting voice let out, "Bonu nei (Bonu is no more). Dadar telegram esechhe (A telegram from elder brother has come)." My mother instantly responded, "Ki (What)?" and spontaneously broke down into tears. I could scarcely make more sense out of it all than that tragedy had struck our family with a star having fallen from the sky.

P.S. From Babuda today, a sequel to the original poem.

Was all that real?

Is mellow yellow sunshine real?

Where is the star that winks at me?

In the chequered latticed gaps of so many days and nights,

pains and dreams have been born and extinguished,

the legacy strokes of your paint brushes sparkle

amidst the shattered egg shells we could not save.

Composed by Babuda (Abhijit Bose/Gabby Bose)