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The mail arrived on July 31. My closest friend, a dear brother, Robin Banerjee to all, Robida to me, was perhaps living his last days.
I arrived at Robida’s “magical kingdom” on August 2, my wife and daughter Sonali by my side. Unlike other times, he was not sitting in the balcony, waiting for us, smiling his welcome. His chair was there, but Robida was in his room, lying ill.
We tiptoed in, wrung with anxiety. Robida was sleeping, too weak to open his eyes. Indrakshi, Jitu and Nitish, who took loving care of him, told us that he had been enquiring about our arrival since morning. But I did not want to disturb him. He looked so pale, my heart twisted in pain.
Robida and I go back a long way — 1967 to be precise — when we first met in Kohima. The rapport we struck then was to grow deep. We soon became family.
He used to visit us often in Calcutta, stay with us, give us insights into life and his “passion” — nature.
Around five o’ clock that evening we were told that Robida had woken up. He lay quite still, looking at us, trying to say something.
There was affection and welcome in his eyes. He was too weak to talk, but I knew he was aware that we were there.
Since his birthday was around the corner we had taken a shirt, a bottle of perfume and some sweets for him.
Robida was very fond of perfumes and his eyes lit up with pleasure. He accepted the gifts by nodding his head and lifting it a little to kiss my daughter on her cheeks.
I asked him if he would like to have a sweet. He nodded again. Sonali gave him a tiny portion of a sweet and a few drops of water.
Thereafter, Robida lay motionless, holding my hand and simply looking at us. We talked to him, speaking of old times, old memories that entwined our lives. He just listened and after an hour or so, was lulled back to sleep.
I remember having spent the rest of the evening walking around the house, recalling those halcyon days when my best friend and I would sit in the garden and share his many-splendoured stories.
I also remember the sinking feeling, the kind one has when hope passes us by.
Early next day, I got a chance to talk to him again as he was awake. My wife and I sat next to him for a long time, soaking in the pleasure of silent companionship.
That was the last time I saw him awake. At noon, before leaving for the airport, we tried to say goodbye. But Robida was asleep.