Brothers in arms

The passing of Jishnu Sen today, and that of Samir Gangahar last year, have deleted a whole section in my life’s book, and I cannot write about one without including the other, because they came into my life together, back in 1989 in HTA Calcutta.

They had just graduated, and within a couple of days after we met, we became colleagues, and very soon after, friends. They were by far the youngest in the office. I was a Calcutta tyro, going there with the trepidation of sailing in uncharted waters. So, in a sense, we were all new to the circumstances we faced: they to life in the corporate world, and I to a completely different corporate world from which I had been for the past ten years. The only difference was they wanted to be there, and I honestly didn't!

Yet, it was they (and a young but old hand named Pradipta Roy) who helped me navigate the choppy waters over the next three years. They brought a spark, energy, youthful intelligence and, most importantly, a sense of humour with them to the office. They took me back to my college years and made me young again.

The reminiscences abound, unforgettable: playing every sport together, especially the Merchant’s Cup tournaments, in which all Companies in Calcutta participated. One of the most memorable was the five-a-side football tournament, played thought the monsoon in the muddy fields of the CC&FC, after which we all looked as if we’d been in a mud-wrestling competition; carousing and drinking beer till late in the DI; picnics on a launch in the Hooghly and upcountry bagan baris; watching ODI’s at the Eden Gardens in the mellow winter sunshine, in the days when there was no ‘security’, carrying flasks of vodka-tonics with us… there are so many that come to mind.

The one evening I will always remember was in 1990. It was a Sunday. The final of the football World Cup and the Wimbledon Gentlemen’s final were on back-to-back. Jishnu, Sam, Derek, Pradipta and I sat together in the balcony of my apartment and watched both games, doing complete justice to a couple of cases of beer and a couple of bottles of vodka.

But if you are thinking that all we had was fun, we did a bit of work too. Whatever time we ended the previous evening, we were at work on the dot the next morning.

Jishnu and Sam made Calcutta for me, so much so that when I was transferred back to Delhi in 1992, I didn’t want to leave. In truth, as I have said before, I was their boy.

I was really happy when they became my colleagues in Delhi too. I relied immensely on them, and they were part of some of some of the most outstanding campaigns we created, such as the ones for the Indian Army Recruitment and Pepsi.

And they were family for us too. Jishnu was the first person outside of my immediate family to hold my newborn daughter in his arms at the hospital. Perhaps that sums it up more than anything else.

Unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances were instrumental in our drifting apart for many years. No one is sorrier than I, and lost more than I can say. That they rose to great heights in their careers during this period, is a tribute to their capabilities and the experience they brought with them.

They were the closest of friends and yet were quite different. Jishnu was the more forthright and ebullient, while Sam was more restrained. Jishnu laughed out loud, Sam gurgled inside, which made him quiver with quiet laughter. Jishnu strode, Sam ambled. They were both sides of a rare and precious coin which I have lost forever. But their roles in my life, the friendships and the laughter, fun and games, the parts of their lives which they shared with me, will remain etched in my heart.

And, up in the heavens, I’m sure the beer will always be chilled for them.