My Incomparable Pradipda

Once in the 1980s at a seminar the Sports Minister Subhash Chakrabarty asked me to help sell wads of 10-rupee donation cards to the general public for the construction of the Yuva Bharati Stadium. He added, “Please do not worry. My men will be with you at the Moulali junction. Here the common people respect sportsmen. They will love to buy from you.” I hesitated not knowing if I would be able to do the job. Pradipda, unarguably the most popular speaker present, encouraged, “Just stand and flash your smile. The tickets will vanish in 5 minutes. When the stadium comes up, you can tell people of your contribution!” What a way to motivate.

He was a modern-day Socrates. Generously served his wisdom to all and sundry who gathered around him freely and frankly. Could hold his audience enthralled for hours on any subject. Like Plato he trained a host of teachers who made successful careers of themselves.

 Thank God he did not get the Dronacharya award. No, no, that was certainly not for him. He was not a vulgar teacher who would ask his pupils for guru-dakshina. Rather he was a replica of the Avatar Parashuram who freely gave away his acquired knowledge to all those who asked for like Karna and Drona.

Unfortunately in our country we could not find a place for Pradip Kumar Banerjee as an independent candidate in the Parliament. He would have changed the complexion of India’s sports ethos within months. He had that kind of personality, dynamism and vision. People of all age-groups, provinces, communities, class and creed revered him for his wisdom and total lack of bias. He was a kindred soul who traversed the earth alone to meet and educate people.

He was never an Establishment crony. Never gave undue respect to politicians, sponsors or the influential. He was the People’s Man. A man who always held his head high and walked tall with purposeful strides. Found time for the poor and the needy; for the weak and the ordinary. I remember once at a Blood Donation camp held at Netaji Indoor Stadium he went up and down the street to enthuse people to come and donate blood. The pedestrians followed him and the magic figure of 1000 donors was reached for the first time. When he came to my bed, he shrugged his shoulders at the blood bottle, “Oh! Raju, yours is also red! How wrong I was!”

Once when my wife Seema was hospitalized, Arati boudi and Pradipda arrived with a big box full of sweets. We protested but to no avail. Pradipda gave the attending nurse one huge sandesh and told her, “These are not for them! Keep these for the visitors who come to see my daughter!”

Mid-1970s. Calcutta Maidan. Every morning the Bengal women’s cricket team would use the Kalighat Club ‘nets’ for their practice sessions before we began ours. One elderly lady – warm, matronly and ever-smiling – would be present from start to finish. As it happened, she and I got along very well. We would discuss any and every subject possible. One day she asked me, “Raju, why do you avoid physical training?” Told her that I hated running. She laughed, “Wait, I must tell PK about your laziness.”  Only then I came to know that she happened to be the wife of the legendary football player, PK Banerjee, who at the time was riding the crest of a wave as the coach of a local football club.

Next season, as it transpired, PK Banerjee was appointed to guide the Bengal Ranji Trophy squad in physical training. As usual I would run just about two laps of Eden Gardens and find excuses to rest. Pradipda, who had developed a great liking for me (I suspect because of Arati boudi), once said, “Rajubabu (that’s how he generally called me), unless you do your physical training seriously, you will forever remain as physically weak as you are.” My Jadavpur University background surfaced: I argued that cricket was a mind game and physical training was not that important.

Instead of getting upset, in his softest tone he confided, “I am sure you have a health problem, Rajubabu. Otherwise a person like you will not have this wrong notion.” Much later, after 25 years, it was actually diagnosed that I had a congenital heart ailment. How was he so sure? I am certain he had a fascinating intuition which separates these men from ordinary mortals like us.

Pradipda and Boudi did not attend my wedding reception. Pradipda said, “No way, Rajubabu. People will crowd around me and spoil all your arrangements.” This was no immodesty; no idle boast. The kind of ‘traffic-stopping’ popularity that he enjoyed, his presence would certainly have caused a pandemonium.

If he was born under straitened financial circumstances, nothing in his conduct suggested so. His generosity would embarrass many a wealthy man. Larger than life in everything he did. When Arati boudi and he invited people to a meal, that would invariably be a ‘spread’ that never seemed to end. If boudi’s speciality were prawns and hilsa, she was as brilliant with the basics of rice, dal and rakamari torkari.

Innumerable meals my wife and I had at Pradipda’s residence, both at Salt Lake as well as at their Qaiser Street Eastern Railway quarters. Once after a very heavy meal of shukto, posto, prawn malaikari, keemar chop, fried chicken followed by malpoa and payesh the magnanimous hostess Arati boudi actually packed a tiffin carrier for us to take home! When I mildly protested, Pradipda’s fond reply was, “Shey ki ray, khabar bedhe niye jabi na? Kemon bamun tui? ” (What kind of Brahmin are you that you do not want to carry food back home?).

Wonder if Pradipda is the householder-rishi that Sri Ramakrishna had in mind? He was truly a saint: a karma-yogi, like Swamiji, in the most appropriate sense of the term. He was so very sincere and absorbed in his effort that the result would not cross his mind. In addition, he was the epitome of a husband and father. If he was a wonderful father to his two marvellous daughters, he was no less a father-figure to his brothers as well as to his innumerable students. He did not need to crave for respect. He earned reverence by his deeds.

Once at our Lake Road residence Pradipda brought a basketful of gifts for us. I was very embarrassed. Pradipda’s loving rebuke was, “This is for Seema, not for you. I am merely carrying out Arati’s orders.” Even today my friends have not forgotten the fabulous time he gave us that evening which stretched for hours. Our adda continued beyond midnight with not a drop of liquor involved. Just goes to show that it’s the company and nothing else that matters for a genuine, worthwhile adda.

After Arati boudi left for nirvana, Pradipda just could not come to terms with the loss. He seemed to have misplaced his soul. He tried to involve himself full steam in various social activities, but he was practical enough to realize that his salad days were no more. His daughters and the nursing staff worked wonders to keep him in high spirits as he readied himself to reunite with boudi.

Pradipda is (tense intended) very much in our midst. His life is a perpetual source of inspiration. Even people who have not met him or seen him have been motivated by his actions. His life-story is a tale of positivity and idealism. What a raconteur of incidents he was. His orbit and depth remain unmatched.

Exceptionally strong both mentally and physically, the iconic gentleman’s goodness flows in abundance:  generous to the extreme; magnanimous in praise of others; impeccable integrity; honest effort without bothering about the consequences; courage in the face of odds; completely away from petty issues; never bothered about posts and awards; never conspired for any influential position after retirement.

Once he casually asked me, “I must be your favourite football player?” I replied, “Not really.” Surprised he raised his eyebrows. I added, “Well, they are Tulsidas Balaram, Arun Ghosh and Yousuf Khan.” He patted me on the back, “Excellent choices. Where do I figure?”

I bent low and touched his toes. He put his hand on my head and, raising me, embraced. I said, “Pradipda you are not a mere sportsman. You are a Real Man. The most admirable all-round personality I have ever met.” Pradipda looked at me and just said,” I have one message for you: Just be as you are.” That has remained my diksha-mantra ever since. I have no hesitation in sharing my diksha-mantra with the world. With Pradipda’s blessings, I know it will remain that way till the last breath.

In 1955 when the teenage ‘right-wing’ recruit from Jamshedpur was running circles around defenders for Calcutta’s Aryans Club at New Delhi in the Durand Cup, from the stands the legendary India football coach Syed Rahim realized that he had found the gem India was waiting for. Next year he joined Eastern Railway and was on the flight to Melbourne for the Olympic Games to begin the 6-year chapter of India’s best-ever football era, 1956 to 1962.

 If Swamiji was his inspiration, he himself is no less an inspiration to millions. I can still feel the power and the warmth of his embrace. He is still in our midst in more ways than one. He is beyond compare.