The last journey…

But then the tempo was not a part of the ceremonial procession of Jyoti Basu’s last journey from the state Assembly to Mohar Kunj (where his body was handed over to SSKM hospital). It was just meant to ferry a retinue of media persons from one venue to the other,giving the photographers and camera crews the best possible view of the procession.

So,I stood in front of the ramshackle vehicle as it purred to life. In front of us,margined by a barricade,was a sea of humanity. Men,women,children,placards,wreaths and rajanigandha sticks —- an intimidating sight,a sight that most of us will remember for the rest of our lives.

The winter sun was a mellow one that Tuesday afternoon,a blur of yellow against grey clouds. As we looked around for standing space on the vehicle,a senior journalist next to me quipped,“This is quite disappointing. There are hardly any people around. Subhash Chakraborty’s procession had more people.” So,this is it? I wondered. Kolkata’s last goodbye to one of her most famous sons,a disappointment?

Of course,I didn’t have to worry. Even before we slowly crawled a distance of a few metres,our doubts were put to rest. Both the sides of Red Road were bobbing with heads,and perched on our tempo we managed to attend a considerable amount of attention.

Lal Salaam,they roared,Bhulbo na (We will not forget),they promised.

An hour earlier,I had spoken to 60-year-old Sudeshna Lahiri,a resident of Salt Lake,who stood patiently on the queue outside the Assembly to pay her last respects to her “favourite politician”.

“I have bought a bouquet to place near his body,” she had said.

As we made our way towards Mohar Kunj,I spotted Lahiri amongst the sea of faces,her bouquet of white roses still in her hand. They were wilted now though,crushed as they were by the surge of the crowd. Evidently,she was denied the opportunity of saying a proper goodbye to her “favourite politician”. Mitra looked uncertainly,before throwing the bouquet in direction of Basu’s approaching hearse car. A missile of white against the winter sky —- a sight so heartbreakingly beautiful that it brought a smile on my face.

We were greeted by many such missiles before we reached Mohar Kunj that day; we spotted many Sudeshna Lahiris in the crowd that day too.

I’m sure our procession left a trail of white flowers on the Red Road,I am sure most of these flowers were trampled by wheels even before they hit the ground. And they say goodbyes are always dignified.