Protima’s Final Bow

For those of us who knew Protima, there is solace in the thought that she would have liked to go this way. That she had handed over the reins of the dance village, Nrityagram, to Lynn Fernandez, saying her baby had learned to walk and did not need her anymore. That she had died a contented woman. That she had led a full life and was ready for the experience of the next world.

Protima had a premonition about her fate. The day before she left Mumbai, she was staying at her friend Dolly Thakore’s flat. In the morning, the dancer told Dolly that she had a dream about being buried alive under the mountains. Apparently, she had the same dream on her last night in Bangalore and shared it with Lynn. A heart patient, she dreaded the thought of dying of something as boring as a heart attack. It was like she had scripted her last act. Contrary to media reports, Protima’s body has not been recovered. Just as well, for the little that I knew of Protima, she would have wanted to remain in the mountains she cherished all her life. The body had little significance for someone who thrived on the soul.

Protima and her companion were scheduled to join an earlier batch of trekkers. On reaching the station, they discovered that the friend’s passport had been misplaced. So, they had to wait for the next batch, which meant another month. The couple then went to Kullu and came back to join the next group of trekkers.

Of late, the Himalayan ranges were Protima’s favourite retreats. It was there that she went to seek solace and grieve the death of her only son, Siddharth. The last time I met her she talked of wanting to spend the rest of her life near the Ganges. She spoke of the joys of pure air, pitching up a tent, washing and sleeping on the river banks. She joked about flirting with some of the handsome sadhus out there.

Protima was a woman after my own heart and undoubtedly one of the most energetic women I have ever known. From someone who sought media attention with a scandalous lifestyle, Protima had evolved to becoming a person worth paying attention to. She never wanted to be mediocre. She was assertive without being brazen. Self-assured without being arrogant. She had shed acquired behaviour and worked at keeping that loveable madness alive. Most of all, Protima never apologised for being herself.

After my first meeting with her, I had written that Protima is someone whom you approach first as a subject for good copy and then end up becoming a lifelong friend. From then on, whenever she was in town, Protima made a point to call saying that I had thrust the responsibility of friendship on her. I miss you, my friend!