Mihir Sen

On Mihir Sen’s 17th death anniversary, his daughters pay him tribute by sharing with Metro a flood of memories

On a clear balmy morning in Cuttack, a young boy asked his father “Baba, how big will I be when I grow up?” The gentle, soft-spoken doctor pointed to the tallest palm tree around and answered “Babu, one day you will be as big as that tree.” This affirmation filled the nine-year-old boy with an overpowering sense of pride and confidence that he could achieve anything in life — reaching for the sky where his name would be displayed among the stars, bringing fame and glory to a country struggling to emerge from the shadows of British imperialism.

Mihir Sen (Baba to us) was a pillar of strength who miraculously made all problems vanish into thin air. He was extremely down to earth and a dedicated family man who often boasted in mock despair that he was completely “henpecked” since “all members of my family are female, even the dog”.

Powerful and charismatic, he exuded untamed energy in a world prone to yawning. When he handed you his business card he would write 8am-8pm against the numbers for his office, in this land of 10am-4.30pm. Baba’s motto in life was: I never give up what I begin.

Our mother described him as “a man with a purpose who always saw through whatever he undertook”. He was a man who, in spite of stress, strain or disappointment, was never depressed or defeated. He was full of enthusiasm and optimism and believed success was always round the corner. He was a man in love with life. For us, Baba was the axis around which our world revolved.

A most wonderful memory is of our annual Christmas vacation in Gopalpur. At the crack of dawn on December 19 every year, we would scramble into a white Ambassador and set off. We siblings always fought over who would sit near the window but the scenic surroundings eventually calmed our flared tempers. The drive itself was magical. The delicious dhaba meals and tea breaks en route were interspersed by Baba’s interactions with local people in Odiya. He would humbly remind himself “I never forget where I come from.”

Our vacations in Gopalpur were packed with activities, much bantering and laughter. To be part of this chaotic family, one had to possess a superb sense of humour and a spirit of adventure. Being a sportsperson, our father was a highly disciplined taskmaster. He set high standards and had zero tolerance for lazy, unmotivated laggards, much to the irritation of his daughters.

At 6am sharp, we would be rudely woken up with “Boys, time to wake up!”. He always called us “boys” and thought it was very funny though our mother was not amused. Off we went on our morning excursion of rock-climbing. After an hour of invigorating exercise, we would rush back to the hotel for a sumptuous breakfast followed by our 9am swim in the sea. He would flip onto his back and disappear into the horizon unfazed when huge breakers crashed over him and three hours later one would spot a lone, tiny silhouette miles away striking towards shore. Emerging from the sea he would shout “everyone out!” because at noon the changing tides and choppy waters became too dangerous for even the most proficient swimmers.

Mihir Sen was an idealist, a principled and incorruptible individual who fought against injustice. After passing the Bar in England, he practised in Calcutta High Court in the 1960s and was incensed because most of the proceedings were still conducted in English, a language the accused rarely understood. Most of his clients were poor people. Our mother recalled there was a beggar who was once charged with murder. Nobody was willing to argue his case. Baba turned down his senior’s plea not to take up the case and not only pay the court fees of Rs 20 but also argued convincingly enough to get the beggar released. Eventually, he quit the legal profession because “you don’t find truth in law, it always goes in favour of the rich”. He moved on to establish a successful silk export business.

Although Baba was as respected as he was feared, we, his daughters, had him wrapped around our little fingers. We were his pride and joy and his love for us was unconditional. Certain “bribes” worked wonders to motivate the Sen daughters to participate (albeit reluctantly) in unpleasant sports activities. This included being woken up every morning, drinking sour lemon juice and jogging for two miles around the National Library. Our reward or “bribe” was a steaming hot cup of tea accompanied by mouthwatering freshly made jalebis and biscuits at a dhaba in the corner of Belvedere Road, opposite police court.

One morning, Baba barged into our room at 4am as usual and took us out on our daily jog. After some time, we noticed that people were staring at us and laughing. On returning home, we discovered to our horror that Baba had, prior to waking us up, painted whiskers on our faces!

Ours was a home filled with love, positive energy and the belief that “girls are as good as boys”. Baba taught us to be positive and to never take “no” for an answer.

Mihir the sun will never set on the real son of Bengal. The nine-year-old boy emboldened by his father’s faith in his abilities grew up to achieve extraordinary fame and be a strong, loving father.