Bijay Kumar Panigrahi, an Indian Police Service officer of the 1952 batch, though three years senior to my father in service, was a close family friend. He had made a name as an upright, efficient and outright honest officer. His wife, Lalita Mausi, apparently a tough lady was very affectionate. After retirement as head of Odisha Police, Panigrahi had Alzheimer’s and very soon was not able to recognize anybody due to dementia. Lalita Mausi took utmost care of him not bothering about the consequences. Family members and friends would drop in to sympathize and rub it in that the changes in him were irreversible and that he would never be normal again. She would reply very curtly, “I don’t care whether he recognises me or not, but I do recognise who he is. It gives me tremendous satisfaction that I am able to stand by him unconditionally when he is not able to take care of himself. I can handle everything, neither I need anyone’s support nor any unsolicited sympathy”. In 2004, he passed away peacefully. Many thought it was a great relief for Lalita Mausi. But I remember her telling me, “People don’t understand, for me a vacuum has set in. He mattered the most to me, was there by my side all the time and now is not there. How does it matter, whether he recognised anyone or not?”
Laxmidhar Jena was my classmate in BSc and MSc. He passed the ISc examination from Puri College and was amongst the ‘top-ten’ at Utkal University. An unassuming and mild-mannered person, many found it ridiculous that despite having a brilliant academic career he never desired to appear for any competitive examination and was happy to join as a lecturer at Banapur college, near his village. He even didn’t want to join a government college. After our post-graduation, he just disappeared and remained a bachelor who loved teaching students from his village almost without charging any fees. I once tracked him down and had a heart-to-heart talk. He told, “I come from a remote village and know how difficult it is for someone from such a background to pursue higher studies. I could, due to the support of my teachers and family. Now it is payback time. I cannot express the satisfaction I get by teaching underprivileged students from my village.” Appeared quite illogical, but I was convinced. He might not have been successful in life as per societal yardstick but got the fulfilment which others hardly get.
Lachhmi was our part-time household help for a brief period. She was a hapless middle-aged widow living with her unsympathetic relatives. I thought she was a jovial woman as she never complained and always sported a smile. But, my mother told, “She doesn’t complain because she knows she won’t get sympathy from anyone. She is in such an unenviable position that she just cannot help getting exploited and still be blamed for it. I am thinking of taking her to Basi Mausi’s clinic (my mother’s cousin who was a gynaecologist) to get a tubectomy done on her. I think that would be a much better option than repeated abortions.” Lachhmi was very happy and responded “Ma, everyone condemns me as a slut. I am so happy that at least there is one person who understands my plight”. And, I was really proud of my mother.
Dadu joined me in Class VII at Ravenshaw Collegiate School, Cuttack. He had lost her mother a few months back and understandably was very withdrawn. His father married again which further added to his discomfiture and he never had the best of relationships with his stepmother. From the beginning he was a very principled person; “What is the point in all these preachings unless you practice those,” he would say. Many ridiculed him for being an impractical idealist. However, this quality in him attracted me and we struck up a close friendship. In the matriculation examination, he was the topper of our school and later the 2nd topper in Utkal University for post-graduation in Economics. While in the University he became close to two girls, in one of them he sought motherly affection which he had always craved and the other went on to become his life partner. His intimacy with these two girls made him the butt of jokes and ridicule from his classmates. He was very hurt but maintained a stoic silence; “I don’t need a certificate from anyone”.
His father and stepmother passed away before he was settled in life and he took on himself the responsibility of looking after his siblings. He got married early and his wife stood by him in his principled stand. He consciously decided not to take up any job that he felt would come in the way of discharging his self-imposed family responsibilities. He joined as an officer in Punjab National Bank, but declined promotion offers so that he could stay with his extended family at Cuttack throughout his career. His wife also joined a Bank and followed the same strategy. He kept aloof from the rest of the world. With a bit of effort, I could meet him about ten years after his marriage. He had two daughters and all his siblings were staying with him. He received me with warmth and we talked for hours. He explained why he wanted to stay away from everyone. I realized he didn’t want anyone to confuse his magnanimity with his timidity. His family was his world, nothing else mattered. Professionally, he was highly competent and left no room for complaint by anyone. He told, “Siddhanta you are my childhood friend, you always understood and appreciated the position I have been taking throughout. However, socialising would drag me into a situation where people would again get a scope to ridicule me. Society and ‘friends’ have broken me several times, but they didn’t realise ‘broken crayons still colour the same’.”
