It is wonderful to listen to Smt Ramaa Chowdhury reminiscing about Sri Anirvan. She is ninety years old now, and still looks beautiful. She was wearing a white Bengali saree with a delicate red border and motifs. We conversed in her living-room, presided over by Sri Anirvan holding a stout walking stick and smiling down from a framed photograph high on the wall. Anirvanji's wardrobe is in the room, and wooden shelves are filled with his books which he gave Ramaa Di. She showed me an inscription of her name written by Sri Anirvan in one book. She talked about her trip to Tokyo, Japan where she gave a lecture on Sri Anirvan at the meeting of the World Religions Organisation.
SMALL ANECDOTES ABOUT SRI ANIRVAN
Do you know why Sri Anirvan invariably wore a cap?
It was to conceal from view the protuberance on his head which is a sign of Buddhahood. It is round and raised, and it is to be seen on all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. To avoid unnecessary comment on this unusual bump on his head, Sri Anirvan preferred to wear a cap always, and was rarely seen without one.
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When Sri Anirvan passed away at 11:45 am on May 31, 1978, the whole of Fern Road where he was staying was filled with the perfume of an unknown flower, possibly a lotus. The scent lingered for over a full day.
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A Nepali boy that Sri Anirvan had known, tasted something new and in delight he exclaimed, "It tastes so sweet."
Sri Anirvan took pleasure in his joy, and remembered the words.
The day before he died, in "Aditi," the journal he was writing at the time, Sri Anirvan wrote -
"A cruel truth is that even the Maheshwar or the Great Lord has to be the bhokta or enjoyer. As on one hand that enjoyment is the poison turning the throat blue, on the other hand it is the ambrosia of Uma's body. There is no way of rejecting either of these. One who is able to enjoy both is verily Maheshwar or the Great Lord.
Maheshwar is verily the true enjoyer, for He alone is the connoisseur. To him good and bad, pleasure and pain, all are " honey-sweet."
This is verily what is Brahmaswad - the taste of Brahman or savouring by Brahman, whatever you may call it.
The intense heat of May - "Honey- sweet." The unbearable intestinal pain - even that is "honey-sweet."
The unuttered mantra of the whole day is this, "Honey-sweet, honey- sweet." - "Om Madhu, Om Madhu, Om Madhu."
My self-consciousness is "Madhu" or "Honey" - let it be pleasure or pain, whichever.
While in the body I am counting out pain like taxes, that too is honey.
One day I will not need to count it out any more - even that is honey.
"Om Madhu, Om Madhu, Om Madhu.
"I am Madhucchanda."
This was the last thing he wrote.
*The Madhu vidya or the doctrine of mystic honey is found in the 5th chapter of the second book of the Bŗhadāraņyaka Upanishad -
Please see http://www.vedah.com/org/literature/upanishads/delight.asp
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THE COFFEE HOUSE AT COLLEGE STREET, CALCUTTA, NEXT TO SRI AUROBINDO PATH MANDIR http://youtu.be/DyEAac8Wzqw
http://youtu.be/GQia3x7ZHdU
Sri Anirvan would come and give series of lectures on "Savitri," the Vedas and the Upnishads at the Aurobindo Path Mandir right next door to the Coffee House. Situated at the heart of the literary world, the Coffee House of Calcutta is a landmark that is familiar to every Calcuttan. The history of this prestigious building dates back to 1876 when the Albert Hall was founded. Later the coffee board started the Coffee House in 1942. It gradually became a meeting place of people from the world of arts and culture. The patrons could be broadly divided into two groups – those who patronised the House of Lords and the others who frequented the House of Commons. The Lords went to the upper floor and the commoners remained downstairs. The uniformed bearers would run from table to table taking orders or serving them. They knew the regulars and took special care for them. The atmosphere was always noisy – still, people spoke and could be heard through the din. There never was a quiet moment. The Calcutta Coffee House is a landmark that is familiar to every Kolkattan – located in the proximity of the Calcutta University, the Presidency College, the Hare School, and the Sanskrit College, it is right in the heart of the literary world - bookstalls line ether side of the College Street. There are large publishers with small and medium sized ones who rub shoulders with innumerable shops that make a living by selling old and rare books. Here under the high flapping ceiling fans and within the fading mildew covered brown walls sat tragic young writers with fragile egos; the air was thick with philosophical rantings. Albert Hall, as the place was known before the present sobriquet was bestowed by the Central Government, was already a favourite with Rabindranath Tagore and Subhash Chandra Bose and could boast of a legacy of swadeshi meetings. A place that had carved out a niche for itself as the most popular adda was thus the easiest choice for the promotion of coffee in a city till then an excellent market for tea. Smoke from countless cigarettes spirals up to the ceiling as people drink their coffee with an accompanying glass of cold water, reading newspapers while eating samosas . Elderly turbaned waiters in faded white uniforms drift from table to table. Everyone knows about Calcutta’s love for talk especially about exalted topics from Dosteovsky to food and Indian cricket and the songs of Tagore. The Coffee House of Calcutta has had the honour of seeing the emergence of literary figures who are household names today. It used to be the meeting place for those who tried their hands at penning prose or poetry. The promising ones got willing listeners who listened in rapt attention and commented – all over a cup of coffee. Then there were the little magazine crowd who took to printing their own works because no one else wanted to give them the breaks. These young hopefuls harboured thoughts of one day rising up to the level of the established ones. And, one just cannot ignore the ones who sought each other’s company for brief moments in between regular classes – to share their innermost feelings and profess love. The Coffee House was the gateway to freedom; it was a way of life for the collegians.
The wonderful song by Manna Dey really takes one back in time to those carefree days at the Coffee House, when dreams were woven and broken, when the leading lights of Bengali literature, cinema, arts and politics spent hours discussing and debating various matters. It was a place steaming with gossip, curiosity, political intrigue and slander.
Satyajit Ray would dream up films here, while many a writer consumed coffee beneath its vaulted arches. Noise, gossip and cup-carrying waiters seethed between the writers and their subjects.
All the literary giants and household names came here, but the days of intellectual revelry have gone.
- Quoted from articles by P.Ghose and A.Mahajan
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