I have never had a guest blogger here at RTDM. But as of today, I am going to make an exception. I present (fanfare)—-my mother. A little context: My father, a professor at IIM Calcutta is going to retire in February. So on his last LTC, Baba and Ma went to Andaman Islands—both for some peace and quiet (they deserve it for having brought me up) as well as to visit Andaman Cellular Jail—-the place where my grandfather (my father’s father) , Jyotirmoy Ray [his picture in the Cellular Jail museum on the left] spent 4 years of his life [his sentence was for 7 years commutted to 4 as part of an amnesty program] as a political prisoner (He was part of the revolutionary movement in Bengal and transported arms to the revolutionaries). He died in 1991.This post is based on a mail my mother wrote to me after coming back from Andamans—-I have added some things to it based on phone conversations I had with her since then. In all, it’s a joint effort between mother and son—in some places the feelings are Ma’s (as conveyed through the telephone) and the words are mine and in some places both of them are Ma’s (being part of her original letter).
With January 26 here, I thought of sharing it with you.
Dear Phuchiburo (that’s me) and Mago (my wife),
Our first stop of the day was the Cellular Jail. The weather in Calcutta was cold but Andaman was hot although it was also officially winter there.
There is a museum 
inside in the jail where the pictures of freedom fighters who were detained here are kept. We did not know that Dadu’s picture features prominently there. So when I saw Dadu’s photo on the wall with “Armed Action Case” written on the top of it and his name below, I froze– literally and emotionally. You don’t expect to see your own kin as an exhibit in a museum and that too someone who has been around you physically.
All these times we have gone to so many museums and seen so many people’s pictures and their personal effects but I never ever felt any sort of emotional twitch anywhere in my otherwise very emotional mind because all of them were just “people”– mere statistics to me . Yes they were heroes–noble people whom I respect but who are ultimately strangers—the kind that stare back at you from history books and from the walls of museums. You stop, look at them, feel respect and then move on to the next picture.
But this was different. The man in the picture was someone I knew–in flesh and blood. I called him Baba, I touched his feet, I loved him and I got mad at him for certain things that he did or didn’t do. This was Jyotirmoy Ray, my father-in-law, revolutionary, member of a dangerous anti-British secret society and one of the prisoners of Andaman Cellular Jail.
The same man who also lovingly called me khukuma.
After my son’s marriage, I really came to know what emotional value that simple word “ma” conveys because I call my daughter in law “maago” and nobody knows better than me how much I love her. Same relationship, same love, same hate, same agreements, same disgust, same happy moments. The only difference is that I can’t talk to him now but my daughter in law can talk to me and that is a gigantic difference.
I realized that tears were now flowing down my cheeks. I felt terribly breathless — the impact of controlling my emotions in a public place. Now I know what celebrities in the public domain feel like; not that I am a celebrity but my father-in-law is. I shuddered to look at your father because I knew what was going through his mind.
If this is how I felt, then God knows how he was coping . After all he is his youngest son and the most favorite and pampered of all the three brothers. I really did not want to look at him but my impulse took over. God, he was a mess. I wanted to hold his hand but could not bring myself to because instead of being a source of strength to him, I myself would break down and make a fool of myself in a public place.
Plus he seemed to be lost in a world of his own as he looked at the picture—lost in the memories of his father and his own childhood. So intensely personal to your father was this moment of sadness, remembrance and pride that I did not want to impinge on its tear-soaked purity.
So I just pretended to look at other pictures of freedom fighters who are heroes but definitely not my kin —in order to get a grip on myself and attain the demeanor of an objective museum-visitor. Your father did the same thing for the same reason. We did not look at each other on purpose lest the emotions come flooding back again.
Anyway, we took some pictures and moved on to the next section. This is where the exhibits are. I came to learn that the British authorities made Indians torture fellow Indians. According to them if any prisoner needed any punishment, which was pretty often, then they were to be whipped by Indians—the white man did not want to get his hands dirty with the blood and the sweat. The whipping was done while the prisoner was strapped to a frame by hand and feet so that there was no running around or change of position to lighten the torture. Prisoners’ non-cooperation or hunger strike or failing to fulfill the work quota called for various degrees of punishment as Britishers consider themselves to be fair minded!
The Cellular jai
l was built by convicts. It had seven wings spread in the form of seven spokes of a wheel, though unequal in length. There were 696 cells specially built for solitary confinement of the prisoners. A three storied central tower was built at the centre of the convergence of the seven wings. A single guard could supervise all the seven wings from this vantage position. Another unique feature was the total absence of communication between the prisoners in the different wings, since the front of one row of cells with verandah running all along, faced the back of the other wing.
Each cell measuring 12ft by 7 ft had an iron grill door. A 3 ft by 1 ft ventilation 9 ft above provided some light and air. A verandah about 4 ft ran all along the front of the row of cells from one end to the other end of the wing. Each cell grill was well secured with sturdy iron bolt and lock which ran through a rectangular channel on the outside of the cell wall a few feet away from the entrance door. This way the prisoners could not even touch the lock for tampering. Each wing had a courtyard in front with a workshop where the prisoners toiled during the day. There was only one 
kitchen for the prisoners of the whole jail. The prisoners ate in their cells. The food was passed through a trap door.
There was a pot (similar to the one in which they ate) which was to be used for urine and stool within the cell that were to be cleaned by the prisoners when they were let outside in the morning for toiling. They ate, slept, wept and plotted for the freedom of their land in those dingy dark rooms with the stench of excreta, blood, tears and sweat and the screams of pain emanating through the walls as their only companions.
In the jail, work in the oil grinding mill was all the more terrible and caused several deaths. The quantity of work they were made to do was not humanly possible. Thus almost every day was a punishment day. The punishment varied from whipping to hand cuffs for a week to bar fetters to solitary confinement. With hand cuffs the prisoners had to eat and drink like an animals. Bar fetters were long iron rods joined from hand cuffs going down to the ankle cuffs. This way the prisoners could not bend any way. If they decided to lie down, they would have to throw themselves on to the ground and thus get hurt in the process. Some of them were fed boiled wild grass and their drinking water was collected rain water with worms in them.
A majority of the prisoners went through these unimaginable indignities and punishments but did not give in. Some committed suicide. Some lost their mind. For some, their body gave way but not their spirit and they went onto a more peaceful place.
Going through all these made me feel absolutely drenched out. Honestly I could hardly move. I did not ask your father about how he was feeling because I knew the answer.
Just like any Indian, I have read about freedom fighters and the freedom struggle. But I never really realized the actual depth of the zeal that drove them even though I knew that it involved my father in law. The incidents were just dates and events you had to memorize and analyze for examinations though it gave you a warm fuzzy feeling to read about the sacrifices of so many. But somehow such emotions only scratched the surface—-it made us feel “patriotic” in the way an Indian victory in a cricket match makes us feel.
However this Andaman visit and the associated experience and emotions touched a chord that ran much deeper. Is this the reason why psychologists refer to the experience of going back to your “roots” as so important a part in the process of self-realization?
If this is the reason they do, then I fully agree with them. Of course I must also add that had it not been for my own association with a freedom fighter whom I loved, I would surely not have this depth of emotion and understanding in spite of my first hand experience.
We went to the ground floor cells. Barring Savarkar’s cells, all cells were unmarked because the prisoners were quite often shifted from cell to cell. This means my father in law was anywhere and everywhere over here.
By this time my brain cells were asking me to stop due to the physical discomfort from the knee problem. (my mother has a debilitating knee condition which has severely hampered her mobility) But my heart was on autopilot—and somehow in this place the consciousness of your own physical discomfort pales in comparison to the realization of what the people here had to endure for years.
I decided to climb up the two floors above. Your father knows my knees’ endurance level so he was surprised at my decision. I told him “I want to show my respect to my father in law in my own way”.
We went two fligh
ts up looking at those empty dingy cells as if searching for the man who directly and indirectly gave me all I have. The cells were, in a way, frightening—despite the apparent peace and tranquility that reigns today, there is still a brooding sense of pain, suffering and death that hovers over the place like a cloud—invisible yet palpable.
But no there was something else which is even more powerful—a light ethereal wondrous presence that dispels the darkness of suffering.
Hope. The hope that sustained these men (your grandfather among them) despite floggings, torture and subhuman treatment. The hope that one day things would be different, the hope that their sons and daughters would grow up in a land free from foreign oppression. And as your father stared into the dark abyss of a cell reaching out for a part of your grandfather forever lost in these walls, I could not help thinking that somehow your father’s presence here, as a free man and as a professor of a premier institute of higher education of a proud resurgent India, is a vindication of the sacrifices your grandfather and his fellow prisoners made.
It was getting late. We moved away—leaving behind the shadows of your grandfather and his fellow patriots. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness , great pride and a deep sense of understanding of what a hero my father-in-law really is. In a way, it seemed as if I was knowing him all over again—so many years after he passed way.
As we went out of the gates, a bird, catching the last rays of the sun, spread its wings and vanished into the sky. Looking up, I silently thanked your grandfather for everything and I am sure that he heard me all right.
Do visit this place if an opportunity arises. You owe it to him.
God Bless you
Ma
Thanks Arnab for such an wonderful post !! This is the first time I came across ur blog, and the very first one was a great one .. now going through the others too ….
I came here to laugh a little on a gloomy day and you have made me cry. Thanks for sharing it with us.
goosebumps a million times over… especially on your blog. I’d have to say, this is by far the best post ever on your blog… I know ‘coz I’ve spent the last 3-4 months wading through your archives and a lot of it is fresh in memory. I check your blog 3-4 times a week and have never left disappointed.
In the future I see my children or grandchildren reading this blogpost in a history / english textbook. Thanks.
Thanks for sharing that letter. As Arun said, goosebumps a million times.
What a nice post. Wait..what’s this strange thing rolling down my cheeks at work…..
I agree with all the readers (Supratim, dreamweaver,Arun Swami, sd) till now, that this is one of your best post I read. I just cried. Thank you and your mother for sharing your thoughts with us. It is very true that we read about these heroes but never really realize the actual depth unless one is directly involved. The timing of the post is also very appropriate. You must be proud of your grandfather. Is this the reason why in your last post, you talked about your DNA? You sure have a good DNA and sure have enough reason to be proud of your DNA.
A great post and wonderful experience. I cannot help but feel the depth of melancholy in the post and in the place. Well written and very emotional.
Came here expecting to laugh and you’ve stunned me into silence instead. Wonderful written. Absolutely brilliant.
Also, a huge thank you to your mother and you, for sharing her and your private thoughts and feelings with us. We are privileged and grateful. Thanks once again.
Both moving and interesting at the same time. If you don’t mind sharing this information, I am curious when your grandfather was born and what years he spent in the Cellular Jail. The inhuman jail conditions remind me of Henri Charriere’s Papillon. Although that book is the story of a petty criminal and cannot be compared to your Grandfather’s, there is no doubt that any person needs exceptional mental strength to come out alive and sane after years of such confinement.
While it may evoke feelings of patriotism, I personally feel those sentiments are unproductive in today’s world..
Absolutely amazing post Arnab. Thanks again to you and your mother for writing it and for posting it for us.
When I was in school I’d read this book called ‘Nirbashiter Atmakatha’ which were the memoirs of someone who had spent time in Cellular jail. I don’t know if you’ve read that - it was a very good book.
Thank you for a great post!
I have lurked on this blog before but this is the first time i’m commenting…
I’ve been to Andaman too - was quite some time back but the horror and disgust that hits you at the Cellular Jail doesnt leave you. I still cannot forget it, the sound and light show at the end made an all together deeper impression.
without much drama, i want to say - never forget.
In case I didn’t make myself clear in my earlier comment, I think this post should be mandatory reading for every Indian.
Nice post Arnab.I had come actually to amuse myself through your literary prowess, but could not help myself from crying. I too had visited cellular jail a few years back and trust me I had cried then when I heard of those attrocities which were commited. It´s a kind of a deja vu.
Arnab
I was at IIM Joka for a couple of months (before heading off elsewhere to pursue graduate studies in economics) and attended your father’s lectures. Dont know why I am mentioning this, but I suppose I am trying to establish a connection here (we have corresponded once before, thanks to Joy, if you recall). Anyway, I am a long-time reader of your blog, but have not commented before (or have I? I dont remember) and I was deeply moved by this post. Just wanted to pipe up and offer my gratitude to you for sharing this.
Deep
I dont usually thank people for making me cry but this was wonderful. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Cant really express my feeling in words so would just say - Thanks!.
… I could not help thinking that somehow your father’s presence here, as a free man and as a professor of a premier institute of higher education of a proud resurgent India, is a vindication of the sacrifices your grandfather and his fellow prisoners made.
And what about you ? How would he feel about you ? That very father’s son ? After all you chose to leave India. Aren’t you a vindication that the sacrifices were not justified ?
Dear Arnab
Pardon me if my comment is too long! Some years ago my friend and I organized a Charlie Chaplin series. Everyday we would watch a Chaplin movie. On the last day, he called me up and said, he had hired ‘Limelight’. I had no previous idea about the movie. I was expecting same fun but I ended the movie in tears.
Today after an exhaustive Research methods class, I wanted to read your blog. Actually, I discovered your blog only two days ago. But I really enjoy your humurous style of writing. And what do I find. No, I am not crying actually - but i don’t remember that in recent past, when was I so thoughtful and lost in memories, after reading something! Probably I am also cherishing my roots. My grand father was a social servant and lived a life dedicated to people. Your blog reminded me, how much do I owe him. You don’t know how grateful I am, to you and your Ma.
One more thing. I am also a student of PhD in Management. It’s a pleasant surprise to know that you are Dr.Alok Ray’s son. I have always admired him a lot. Sorry to say, your talents don’t surprise me anymore.
Once again, thanks!
I bow in deep respect to your grand father and all those who suffred like him.We woe so much to them. Thank you and your mother for sharing your feelings with us. It is an unforgetable penetrating experience.
Dilip KH
God bless your grandfather. There are very few people like him in India today. And most of them are in the Indian Army.
@Supratim, Dreamweaver,Arun Swami, Gawker, SD, Megha, Debashish, yourfan, Ashishg,Urmea, Aditya, Nikhil, Ventilatorblues, Amrtia, Vik, Kandarp, Dilip KH, Raj
Thank you. It was an intensely moving experience for my parents and we (as a family) wanted to make all of you a part of what we felt. And Gawker, yes I understood what you said in your first comment and I am humbled by your appreciation. And thanks Megha for putting this post as a highlight on your blog.
Debashish, I confirmed by calling my father—my grandad was imprisoned in 1932, served 4 years of his 7 year sentence (released as part of a political bargain). He was born in 1908. He was awarded the Tamrapatra for his contributions to the freedom struggle.
Bengali Guy,
It’s indeed sad that you decided to pick on me over here where this post is about something much nobler and higher than me or you.
But to reply to what you said there is a factual error. I am merely an H1 visa holder for now–hence not a permanent resident of US. As to whether working in US makes me less of an Indian than someone who works for say TCS in India is open to debate. However this is one place/time I do not want to engage in a war of words—if you think that my working in US somehow does not vindicate the struggle of my grandfather’s generation then so be it.
A factoid: My dad, like me, got his PhD in US, worked here, got tenure at Cornell Univ, quit and went off to India where he first taught at Delhi University and then joined IIMC as a professor a few years after it first started. And my grandfather was always very very proud of him.
Arnab ,
I am a regular reader of your blog , but never commented till today. I have noticed that you get a lot of hate mail - people who are critical of you for no good reason. I think its better for you not to dignify their rants by responding to them. Hit the ‘ignore’ key.
Heart-wrenching. GB is the undisputed word-master in the Indian blogosphere. And now he is being ably supported by his mother. I had to sniff away the tears while reading this–Its a pity that we always get to hear about the sacrifices of the big-and-the-famous the Gandhis and the Nehrus but never enough of the footsoldiers of freedom.
Your grandfather was there!? that, I cannot imagine..
I’ve been to that place. Goosebumps is not the right way of describing it. There is no right way of describing the experience. The whole place is still alive, in a dead sort of way. You wont believe, until you get there, that you’d actually gone there as a tourist - with snacks, cameras etc.. Everything stops making sense. It still doesnt make any sense to me.
The tour guide, who you’d been attentively listening to till then, suddenly gets zoned out. His voice is barely audible. On the outside it looks like any other building of historical interest, they keep painting all the walls… but something just doesnt leave the place. It sticks. And you can feel it. Same goes for Ross Island(but not as much as the prison)..an island where the officers stayed, but also reserved a prominent place to hang prisoners.
Sometimes I wondered if I was the only guy to have felt that way. But there is truly no justified description for the experience.I cant thank my father enough for taking me there. You must simply visit this place to see for yourself.
Although, I must add that its very disturbing. Your name, your family, your future plans, your thoughts, worries..all go right out of the window. All you’ll know is that you’re feeling whatever you’re feeling only because you are Indian. Nothing more, nothing less.
Thank you very very very much for the post. My grandfather too spent a year in the Cellular jail following the Quit India movement (He was accused of treason and sedition
). After a year there, he was transferred to the Bangalore jail where he spent the next 2 years.
Although I never had a chance to know him well (he passed away when I was 5), I always felt his presence. I still have the letters he wrote during his time in prison, hopefully some day I will translate them and get them published.
I am not one of those who wear patriotism on their sleeves but whenever I remember him I understand that there are some things in life which are worth fighting for, things which mean more than wealth, family, religion or god.
I had almost forgotten his face; your posts rekindled his memories. Sure, I will visit the cellular jail this time when I am in India.
Again, thank you very much.
@ Bengali Guy: You wrote: “Aren’t you a vindication that the sacrifices were not justified?†I am really sorry to say that you are not only pathetic but also ill informed. The sacrifices that the freedom fighters like GB’s grandfather made culminated in free, thriving India which is now globally competitive. And in this day of globalization, it hardly matters where the person is working. The freedom fighters’ passion was for freedom – freedom from any restrictions, prejudice – freedom to choose, freedom of thoughts, knowledge, movements. If somebody chooses to stay somewhere who are we to belittle his sincerity or genuineness and thus say that the sacrifices have gone in vain?
All I expected to see when I’d been to Kalapani was the great structure that used to serve as an isolated prison on the pictureseque island. But, what I saw was a microcosm of the courage and the perseverance of my fellow Indians for freedom and the shame and torture that they went through to achieve it. The noose in the middle of the courtyard, the huge bell to be rung each time a prisoner is executed, and the sentry posts where gun-totting sentries were ready to shoot anyone trying to escape, all cried out to us the prisoners’ constant reminder of death.
I can’t describe my feeling when I saw the beautifully built prison. How can one glorify the idea of depraving another man’s freedom… A utilitarian building wouldn’t have caused so much pain. Kalapani reflects such apathy towards human suffering that words can’t describe. The elegant and artistic architecture built my hatred towards the rats that chewed away on my beautiful nation…
I was there on this day four years ago… on our republic day. The sound and light show in the jail, in the evening, brought tears to all of us. The images of our struggle to claim what’s rightfully ours, depicted by Om Puri’s commentary went deep down inside my heart to stir the patriotic spirit in my shameless soul. Shameless as all I had in my mind was to go swimming in the sea instead of being in a jail for a couple of hours…
@Raj Mehta: I wish I could hit the “ignore key†after reading Bengali Guy’s comment. I just couldn’t – that is why I had to write to him.
@GB: You wrote: “And my grandfather was always very very proud of him†- here you were talking about your father. I am positive your granddad would be proud of you for what you are and certainly for the way you write.
Now now, I can see your ma deeply anguished that you think she has a demented mind too.
Excellent post greatbong
I know you banned me from posting here, but here i am, saying hi.
Hi
Hello, yourfan.
nice post. Honestly. Now are you gonna be friends with me or not?
-4
Beautifully-written and evokes poignant imagery. I could literally sense being at the Cellular Jail and having your granfather as a captive there for four years must have made it intensely personal for your parents. Thanks for sharing.
@Raj: It’s ok—comes with the territory.
@Tamal: Yes we have little in our school books about the “foot-soldiers”–of course that’s the problem with history all over the world.
@//pukercense//: Thanks for sharing your experience.
@Anil: Thank you too for talking about your grandfather—I am sure that going to Andamans will be a similarly moving experience to you too.
@yourfan: Thank you for expressing what I wanted to say in such a succinct fashion.
@jackmeister: And thank you too for your Andaman experience—it’s a pity (perhaps because of its isolation) that more people do not visit the place.
@Anon1: The Demented Mind here only applies to me —maybe I should have made it clear as a disclaimer.
@Comic Project: Thank you..
@4WD: I never banished you from my blog—never deleted your comments did I? There was certain things about a certain comment I didnt like and I expressed the fact that I shall not respond to such comments in the future. You are free to comment here always and I shall certainly reply to them even if they are critical. As you can see even this post hasnt avoided criticism.
@Patrix: Thank you.
HI Arnab,
I will tend to agree with the sentiment expressed by many others here that this is probably the best post I have come across your blog. Your grandfather was a great man, I salute him and thousands others who endured great physical and emotional anguish in their struggle for life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.
Honestly, I am yet to see a freedom fighter who, 40 yrs on, is happy that they fought for India’s freedom. I know a few, and they are all some very misrable men and women who think they wasted their lives for a lost cause. Its funny that we, the outsiders think so highly of them and their deeds, when they, on the contrary, are very disappointed. Maybe one or two of them become politicians and they have some good things to say. Dont know about your dad, and dont know what you will do, but most US/PhD-returned-to-India-became-profs I know off are extremely unhappy folks. In general they buy plane tickets to US for their kids as soon as they can. I feel, there is nothing wrong with that. Just saying as I see it.
Didn’t intend to pick on you. It was a very open question, and one that was begging to be asked. Someone had to ask it. I’m not sorry that I asked. It was a very relevant question.
what is meant by phuchiburo?
and mago?
kindly translate.
- Robin
Absolutely Brilliant!
This is by far the best post I have read on your blog in all the few weeks that I have followed your blog. For one thing, it really stunned me and made me think.
Those jails were horrific for sure, and frankly I admire the people of those years too had the zeal and patriotism to do something for the country - they had a dream, at least, and many of them lived through it too. For some the dream turned sour, for many it didnt.
…Something, we of today’s generation sadly dont possess is the capacity of those freedom fighters. At best, we keep cribbing about India, Indianness and Patriotism, often mixing it up with videshi-swadeshi pseudo patriotic sentiments, and we do it without the slightest understanding of what everything really means.
What a post to read and reflect on this republic day - hats off to you greatbong!
Suyog
Nice post.
I’ve been there - and been bewildered how human beings can treat each other that way. Thanks for sharing and remembering.
ps: amar dadur naam o Jyotirmoy Roy cchilo.
Thanks for the wonderful post Arnab…I identified with it, my grandfather was also a freedom fighter…stories of his exploits are told and retold still by many people who knew him. Some of the extreme ones involved blowing up an entire railway station in rural Karnataka and robbing a train carrying supplies to a British regiment.
It seems difficult to live up to such a legacy, but I strive to do all I can, in my own way.
Great post…made me a bit misty-eyed. Quite apt for Republic Day too, even if I sit here in Melbourne (where it’s Australia Day).
Anyway…I’d be proud to have had a grandfather like that. In any case, I’m proud of him as a fellow Indian and needless to say, utterly grateful.
This was an inspiring and moving post. Thanks for sharing this.
The history of British oppression, both economic and political, is quite understated in our textbooks. As a result of that, in our collective consciousness, the British rule often appears more benign than it actually was.
World GDP Share: India’s fall and UK’s rise
It took more than a few hunger strikes and round-table-conferences to get rid of them. My deepest respect to your grandfather and his fellow prison inmates.
Hats off to your Grandpa…
Friends: This Republic Day, watch the malayalam film Kaalapaani to get to know the suffering/sacrifices made by our forefathers for the freedom that we enjoy now.
Jai Hind
Aah! That was such a poignant post. Please convey our regards and appreciation to your mom for such an honest and heartfelt recounting of her experience. That solves the mystery behind your writing skills. All the bloggers who envied you for your brilliant writing can now just take heart that it was after all in your genes.
The post brought back memories of an Amar Chitra Katha book on Veer Savarkar I had read when I was a kid. The pictures of British soldiers whipping Savarkar mercilessly while he was grinding the oil on the mill were etched in my memory.
And special thanks for the last paragraph. It was a reminder, at least for me, of what I owe and how much I take for granted the sacrifices of those valiant men and women who fought for the freedom I enjoy today.
Been there as a child- it was haunting.
As was the prison in Ho Chi Minh city where dissenters were tortured in horrific ways.
And as would so many other prisons be all over the world I suppose.
Even the high tech supermax prisons won’t sterilise a conscience years from now.
You must be proud that your grandfather shared the pain.
Have run out of superlatives now to describe your writing…a very vivid and poignant read as someone pointed out. My grandfather was a freedom fighter too, this has made me want to ‘discover my roots’ as you put it. Thanks.
Whew! First up, please pass on my thanks to your Ma. Maaji, thanks a lot for writing this wonderful mail. Greatbong, thanks for posting the mail. As a lot of others have already said, a really poignant post.
Bengali guy made a good point in what I think is a wrong way. There is nothing wrong at all in your going to US for studies and job, but it is true that we have not treated our freedom fighters as much as we could have. We figure we have done enough by not indulging in blatant corruption, and staying away from politics, while squarely putting all the blame for the current state of afairs on them. Sadly, we- who call ourselves patriotic and honest and who could actually make a difference- lack the drive/determination/just plain old guts, to do what it takes, very much including yours truly; instead congratulating ourselves on a bad-job-not-done. Wish we could be more like your grandfather, more of a doer. Great post o the one with the demented mind.
Thanks Arnab,
It was by far the best post of yours in this weblog and I know it’s no news to you as I’m not the first person to say it. Today is Republic Day and it’s supposed to be a holiday for me but I had to come to office for some urgent work and the moment I entered your weblog in search for some refreshment to enjoy a few minutes out from this boredom, I saw this. I always expect something new when I enter your weblog but this was really really really really really surprising, it set me thinking, it made me shed tears but it was a pleasant experience going through this. I’ve never been to Andaman but I always wanted to visit the place. Now this has become a “must go, must see” for me.I’ll surely be there very soon and mail you my experience and photographs if you don’t mind.
Thanks again, for the brilliant post.
Thank you some much for that wonderful heartfelt, honest post. It unknowingly led me to a sincere soul searching and I realised how far away I had come from being the girl who got a lump in her throat every time she saw the national flag unflurl. We all get so lost in our own worlds that all these subtle feelings are unknowingly forgotten. While in college I had felt a similar surge of emotions when I visited the hostel room that Savarkar occupied in our college premises (Fergusson College). It is difficult to explain how it felt. An immense sense of pride was definately what I still carry in my heart, pride at being a part of that college where men like Savarkar, Tilak walked.
Thank you once again for this wonderful post!
Arnab,
Sometimes one wanna say a great deal, but words dont come out..So just would like to say Thanks to you and your mother for making this Republic Day a memorable one. Eternally grateful to your grandfather and scores of others who fought for India’s independence.
It is just sad that we are pretty much unaware of the supreme sacrifices of the people who fought for our freedom. Someone commented that freedom fighters are sad that they fought for India’s freedom and their effort have gone waste. I simply failed to understand that. My maternal grandfather too was one of the smaller foot soldier in the freedom struggle. He didnt have to go thru the pain or joy(depends upon which way u look at) of being in the jails for a long time but he still played a small part in the political awakening of the masses in his region. And he never expressed sadness on me being able to live in a free India. We, the young generation for whom freedom means coming home late at night or the freedom to go to clubs/discos probably would be at a loss to understand what it is to be in bondage!
Also, believe that we need more of our independence struggle to be thought to our as well as our future generation. And this should go veyond Gandhi,Nehru,Bose,Bhagat Singh. Bengal played amjor role in India’s freedom struggle and eternally grateful to those great forefathers.
Sorry for this long comment. But just wanted to write something.
@ Bengali Guy: May be to some extent some of the freedom fighters are bitter but definitely not all of them as you portray. Aren’t we all bitter at something or the other? So what is the issue? I agree that all the time we have not treated them right. All the time, we have not given them their dues, we have not taken good care of them physically and we have not taken care of their thoughts and beliefs. We may have failed in actions but we definitely respect them and their sacrifices a tremendous lot. Just look at all the comments.
I am again sorry to say that you are ill informed. Where on earth did you get this information: “most US/PhD-returned-to-India-became-profs I know off are extremely unhappy folksâ€. Are you talking about the profs of all the premier institutes including the IITs, IIMs, scientific research institutes? For your information they are all happy and thriving.
@ Anonymous who said at 4:19 PM: “Now now, I can see your ma deeply anguished that you think she has a demented mind tooâ€. You are incapable of understanding the writings. If according to you, GB’s writing is a yardstick for demented mind then I am positive that GB’s mother would happily want to have at least a double demented mind.
@4WD: I have never thought myself to be your enemy just because I disagreed on some points of yours!! I have the capability to appreciate differences of opinion but definitely not personal attack and abusive languages.
It was indeed a pleasure reading this post which took me right there to the prison. You must really feel proud to have had such a grandfather. Thanks for the sharing the post.
And I agree with gawker that this should be made a mandatory reading for every Indians, and of course what an Apt topic for the republic day.
I shall of course try to visit the same soon.
We of this generation that takes freedom as a default setting, need to be reminded periodically that this freedom was made possible through sacrifices of countless number of people. Some sacrifices of specific individuals - the icons of the movement, if you will-have been well documented, publicised, even dramatised. But many like your grandfather suffered silently and their exploits remained unsung. The Puchiburo and Khukuma duo have come out with a wonderful piece of writing, which more than a tribute to their grandfather/father-in-law is an ode to all the hitherto unsung freedom fighters of that era!
Great post. My R-Day post is a link to this post. Can’t think of a better way.
Wonderful post on the Republic day. You made my day. I can’t help but just link your article on my blog without adulterating. Thanks for sharing
wonderful post
am linking you too
@ Bengali Guy: As far as I know none of those involved in the independence struggle expected anything in return from the Government or the people of India. They fought only because they wanted the destiny of India to be decided by Indians and not by a foreign power. And as far as I know we are still in control of our destiny.
Has free India lived up to their expectations? May be not. But I am still proud of what this country has managed to achieve.
brilliant post, thanks Arnab
2 things.
all my respects to your grandfather. most touching account of the freedoom struggle. the post made some history chapters come to life. thanks.
secondly your ma.her devotion , sincerity to her fatherin law just taught me a lesson or 2. indian traditional and family values still lives on.
rgds
nonick
Nice post Arnab
On a tangential note, your dad was Alok Ray??? He taught us Development Economics - great course. The econ faculty was outstanding at IIM C as a result of which most of us were either deeply in love with all of them or wishing desperately that we could major in economics and become econ professors like them.
You’re one lucky guy!
Cheers
Neela
@Vivek,Supremus,Quizman,Padmini, Rahul,Nand Kishore,Dipanjan,EMC3,Chetan, Inkblot, Tapan, Puranjoy, JAP, Dev, Manasi, HP,Anthony, Raj, Gaurav, Nishit,Hutumpacha, Anil, Nonick,
Thank you all again. Not just for appreciating this post but also for penning your personal experiences of visiting Andamans, your opinions on patriotism, your thoughts on visiting Tilak’s room at Fergusson, about your own freedom-fighter grandfathers and about grandfathers who had the same name as mine ! I also would want to thank many of you who have linked this post on their blogs—I would like everyone to read this..not because it’s my grandfather but because amidst the pomp of the parade and the pictures of Gandhi-Nehru-Tilak-Sardar we sometimes tend to forget the contributions of the “foot-soldiers” (as someone here said) of freedom.
@Robin,
Now “Phuchiburo” means nothing–Ma always called me Phuchi and the “buro” which literally means “old” in bengali is a suffix of endearment tagged onto my name (which has not *nothing* to do with me turning 30). Maago is actually Maa-go because my mother addresses my wife as Ma (mother) and the go is just “Oh” as in Maa-go is “Oh mother”.
I know it’s confusing to understand why my mother calls my wife “Oh Mother” but suffice to say that “Mother” is also a term of endearment used to refer to a girl by someone older to her.
I missed Neela’s comment when replying as it had been posted when I was writing my reply. A few of the other commenters have also mentioned my father…and yes he is Dr. Alok Ray who is a professor (will retire in a few days) of Economics @IIMC. I spent a lot of my childhood days on campus—fiddling with my dad’s computer, diving into the excellent library, eating the fine food at the convocation ceremony and batting for the faculty in the staff vs faculty cricket match.
I am very happy to see so many students of my dad visiting this blog. Needless to say, I am very proud of him.
This is a heart wrenching read. Wonderfully written. I salute freedom fighters like your grandfathers.
Thanks for sharing it with us. Also me being a big movie buff this reminded of the movie ‘The shawshunk redemption’.
~Basav
oh gosh! where do i begin…i have this lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. it was a fitting way to end Republic Day by reading your, or rather your mom’s post. Thank you for sharing this with us. I must also say that your mom should start her own blog…she expresses herself so well.
Arnab,
Thanks a lot for this wonderful post. How often engrossed in our selfish lives we forget to give a moment’s thought to those fine men and women who were responsible for today’s free India for letting us lead our lives in a free country with honour.
I salute your grandfather. You and your family are truly blessed.
It also reminded me of a lovely poetry written by Veer Savarkar when he was serving his sentence in the Andaman jail. The poetry was composed into a lovely song made eternal by the Mangeshkar siblings.
The song brings tears to ones eyes and makes every strand of hair stand up. It’s in Marathi and I hope I’ll find it soon and put up the translation. For the time being here are a couple of lines
“Ne Majhsi ne parat matrubhoomila, sagara pran talmala”
“Take me back to my motherland O ocean, I’m dying here in pain”
To someone who spent a good 17 of the 29 years of his existence in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, the post certainly brought back good old memories.
The Cellular jail most of the time during my stay there was just another landmark which the State Transport Bus passed by on my way home.
But after a good 12 years of leaving that place, the joint efforts of your mother and you allow me to rewind those days of my life.
Thank you once again for the post.
Greatbong,
This is really poignant.
I wonder if any Pakistanis visit Cellular Jail…I’m sure there were prisoners from that part of the world there as well.
Interestingly, I came across a blog about your shared history…do many Indians share this view? http://flying-donkey.blogspot.com/2005/11/in-defense-of-pakistan.html
Great Post, Arnab…
I remember having read your father’s macro-econ articles in BusinessLine/TOI…
The connection was a pleasant surprise.
extremely moving.
I don’t know what to write….but am very moved.
This was a very poignant and moving post. Thank you so much for sharing it. I have been to the Andaman Cellular Jail - but my feelings were vastly different. Your mom in fact put it so well - to me they all were “noble people whom I respect but were ultimately strangers… You stop, look at them, feel respect and then move on to the next picture”
touching !
and to think some one comments on ur workplace, ur moms mind. people do miss the point by a million miles.u have made each one of us maybe redefine patriotism for ourselves and realise that the freedom struggle meant much more than the names like Nehru Gandhi.there were many names which endured as much or more.
that ur blog is not for comic posts only ,and that u dont appreciate any sort of generalisations is glaringly obvious, so dont even bother to react to these kind of comments.besides making people laugh as against analysing current issues o r presenting interesting experiences onblog is serious buisiness and needs a wee bit more intelligence if not more.[besides u sit thro everything of the likes of ‘mohabbattein’ which ordinary mortals like us start nauseating ]have begun my year going thro ur archives ,relishing every bit . a good note to start the year with !varsha
Really Amazing post…
@Greatbong:
Before I embark on a futile attempt to brainwash “Bengali Guy”, I have to thank you and your mother for this extremely moving article. I don’t really know what to say, but I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes. Thanks again.
@Bengali Guy:
I do not see why you attack someone who has to live and work abroad, however briefly, for the sake of his career.
Does it strike you that yours is perhaps the only dissonant note among the comments posted?
Don’t be too quick to judge people.
Don’t be such a frog-in-a-well. These are your interests as listed on your profile?
Calcutta, Kolkata, Bengali, Bangla, World Affairs, Life, Photography, Business, Insights, Jadavpur, Shibpur, Ballygunge, Tollygunge, Dhakuria, Shyambazar, Gariahat, Dakhineshwar, Kalighat, Rishra, Howrah.
From your blog, it looks like you are so narrow minded.
Hey, get out more. Allow me to tell you a little about myself: I was born in Hooghly, grew up in a lower middle class family residing in an old, dilapidated house in a narrow lane in Shyambazar, went to school near Moulali, learnt the game of chess on the pavements of Fariapukur and played cricket with rich kids and kids from the local basti in Deshbandhu Park and in the narrow lanes of Shyambazar, and later went to IIT Kharagpur, where most of my friends were from all over the country, did time at an Ivy League university where I was the only Indian student in my year in my department so I got to know a lot of people from all over the world, before escaping to ISI Calcutta in Bonhugli, and then again moving to another university in another part of our country where there are people from all communities in India. Travelled to various parts of the world (as a result of which I am perpetually out of money), and can speak (apart from Bengali, Hindi and English) German and a smattering of Spanish and Korean, and learnt a few gaalis in Telugu, Kannada, and Malayalam from my South Indian friends too. And after all this, I’d again love to come back to Bengal and work there.
I was not born with a sliver spoon in my mouth either, but I am not complaining.
And this is nothing compared to what many of my friends have experienced in their lives.
Do not think I am glorifying all this either.
So stop nitpicking. I do not think you are the happiest person on earth. Try to solve your own problems before pointing a finger at others. I am telling you this because I was like you at some point of time as well. There is much in your nascent blog that is due to skewed perception.
Get out more, and enjoy life. Don’t make yourself miserable.
@GreatBong:
Hey there, thanks again. Tell your Ma it was a wonderful letter. And I apologize for squabbling on your blog.
Hi Arnab, this is patently unfair of you. I came to your site to read some more humour, maybe some demented review of a demented hindi film, and what do I get? A sublime, beautiful, poignant post by your mother on Cellular jail that knocked the stuffing out of me!
I come here wanting to be amused or to leave a nasty message to provoke you in response to whatever you wrote; instead I leave here anguished, solemn, with a lump in my throat. Damn you!
And this has happened with me twice in two successive days. Yesterday I watched a brilliant, touching, funny, sad, provocative movie called ‘Rang De Basanti’ and again I left the theatre with a with my throat choking. I must be getting soft in my old age.
My humble ‘pranam’ to your grandfather. I wonder if all of us can ever live up to the standards that he and his ilk have set for us.
And then there are some morons who think Savarkar should not be honoured. Whatever.
I am not a Bong, and I must say Bongland has been a great enigma to me. With people like Vivekananda, Subhas Chandra Bose, and other lesser known people like Greatbong’s grandfather, hailing from Bongland… to me it is a big riddle how come a majority of Bongs worship Karl Marx and Jyoti Basu instead. Never could understand this.
Really really touching. It really is true, that you need to be in that place associated with memories to really feel them to that an intensity..
Hi,
Enjoy your writing and am a regular visitor to your site. I also had the good fortune to be taught economics by your father at IIMC and it comes as no suprise that the genes have spilled over!
khub bhalo lekha, pore besh valo laglo.
While I have problems with words like “proud†and “patriotismâ€, I feel gratitude to all the people who suffered in the cause of freedom. I always remember that I live in such a free society today because so many people, like Jyotirmoy Ray, who gave up their freedom to earn our freedom. The thing is that the struggle is not over yet. Jyotirmoy Ray and others did their bit to earn it. We should do ours to secure it and further it. We should be ready to be jailed by the government or get shot by a terrorist to protect this most precious possession of ours. The reason I have problems with words like “proud†and “patriotism†is because these are the words governments use to limit our freedom in the name of national security. We must be vigilant.
If it is not personal, can you share a little more about the life and work of Jyotirmoy Ray before and after his imprisonment? A google search got zero hits.
@Anon
“I am not a Bong, and I must say Bongland has been a great enigma to me. With people like Vivekananda, Subhas Chandra Bose, and other lesser known people like Greatbong’s grandfather, hailing from Bongland… to me it is a big riddle how come a majority of Bongs worship Karl Marx and Jyoti Basu instead. Never could understand this.”
This is a national myth. A lie propagated by few to bash Bengalis. Grow up man!
How many Bengalis you’ve met?
Why dig into pre-Independence history?
A cursory glance at list of the three Service chiefs or to be recent… a list of gallantry awardees during Kargil conflict (inspite of the fact, Bengalis don’t have an infantry regiment…so all awardees come from officer ranks) will be enlightening for you.
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Arnab! Excellent post, a fitting tribute to the Republic Day.