Friends who had read my status message on 18th October 2014, may perhaps remember of my trip to the Tilak Nagar Market and some events that occurred therein. After that, I did not go to any major market. I normally go to big busy markets only on office work. Else, I stay at home or office. Not much shopping or entertainment. That explains why I have gotten so deep into Facebook. This afternoon I was in the Nai Sarak Market of old Delhi, one of the largest markets in Asia for Indian bridal dresses, stationery, publishers of educational books etc. To be sure, several publishers have moved to places like Daryaganj and even further, but Nai Sarak will remain the stationery and book market and the lehnga chholi market of Delhi in the memory of old Delhiites. After finishing my work, as I was walking back to where the office car was parked (a distance of over 3 kilometers), my colleague Kailash Chandra, who was with me, received a phone call. After talking on the phone for a minute, he told me that Nissankara Bhargava was dead. It turned out that he just fell down in the corridor of his office in Visvesvaraya Industrial and Technological Museum in Bengalooru, and died. He was taken to a room and CPR tried on him, and immediately thereafter, he was rushed to the nearby Mallya Hospital where he was declared, “brought dead”. So Nissankara Bhargava simply just fell down and died at 3 PM today, when I was walking towards the Nai Sarak market some 2500 kms away. I knew Bhargava since 1993. He had a degree in Fine arts from the JNTU in Hyderabad. He was about 5 years senior to me in office and perhaps 4 years my elder in age, and a man of taste. He enjoyed life, the arts, and music and was in my opinion a man with a consummate eye for beauty. He was a very senior exhibition officer in the organisation. He, I and a few other friends spent practically every evening together, in the south of Kolkata, in one of our quarters, staying up well past midnight. Bhargava like some of the others who were all approaching 30 or going away from it at that time, was worried as to when we would ever get married. Eventually Bhargava got married to Visalakshi and had a son, Tarun Krishna. I accompanied Bhargava when he went around distributing his wedding invitation cards to friends. I accompanied Bhargava when we went to buy sweets from Rabindra Sadan, on hearing news from Hyderabad that his wife had delivered a baby son, and I accompanied him when he went around distributing these sweets. Bhargava cherished his son more than I have seen any parent cherish his son. He was cynical about most things but he was proud of the fact that he brought up Tarun Krishna from a chit of a boy to a strapping 3rd year student of Engineering today. Tarun was a stubborn child with a will of his own, and gave Bhargava many anxious moments. Like many fathers, he silently worried about Tarun. Like many fathers, he did not tell many people except those he trusted deeply about his worries. Like many fathers, he loved Tarun with an intensity that only fathers are capable of. Tarun recently became a star when Partridge published a book by him. The book was a best seller and Bhargava was ecstatic. Thereafter, his life revolved around that achievement and moment of fame that Tarun had achieved. About 50 days ago, Bhargava was in Delhi to be assessed for promotion, and he got that promotion, the last that he would get as an Exhibition Officer. Bhargava had suffered a lot, but had bought a good house in Bengalooru, seen his son become a celebrity author, reached the topmost stage in his career and generally became – atleast to superficial observers – a very successful man. If he had griefs he hid them well from many who were not very intimate with him. I for one was rather intimate with him. This time yesterday, Bhargava must have sat down in front of the TV watching a channel showing an old Hindi Movie with a glass of Scotch in his hands, very like me, except that I sit in front of my laptop. Bhargava was not very tech savvy. He was an artist, first and last. But twenty four hours later, he lies in the morgue of the Vijay Mallya Hospital in Bengalooru, while his wife and son are on their way from Mangalooru to see him one last time. From your book Tarun, I understand that you have resilience. Good for you. I remember Bhargava recounting to me an incident. He had once asked you whether you would be sad when he, Bhargava died. Tarun had replied asking Bhargava “Where is your father?” Bhargava replied that his own father was dead. Tarun asked him if he cried everyday for his father. Bhargava though a little taken aback said, no, I don’t. Tarun told him therefore that “everyone dies one day, and one does not keep crying for dead people” This was when Tarun was very young. Bhargava was very proud of that defiant attitude of Tarun, in the manner of fathers who are proud of everything their little kids say or do. He has recounted that tale to me and to many others several times, with pride. But for MY sake Tarun, I hope you see this post, though I am not able to tag you, your father loved you so much, and just because I ask you to, cry for him and the tumultuous life that he lived for just a second. Placing my head on the feet of Nissankara Bhargava, I tell his soul. We will get together once again very soon Bhargava Sahab, in another, better world. Very soon indeed. As a postscript, I wonder if it is a good idea for me to visit big markets. People seem to be dying suddenly on the past two such occasions. Is that coincidence or a warning?
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 15:04:03 +0000
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