He’s my eldest first cousin’s son — and, in essence, my nephew. His name: Bangalore Ramesh. That he was some years elder to me led us to refer to each other as cousins. That’s one part. On the other, I was always in awe of him — a distinguished psychiatrist, scholar and educator — who faded into the sunset, recently — just as much as I am with his elder and younger brother, who are as accomplished in their respective fields.
Come summer holidays, we would spend time together with other cousins — playing cricket and reading comics. For a shy lad, I was always the quiet listener, also observer, absorbing whatever my bright cousins would deliberate, like a sponge. To cut a long story short, our childhood was akin to a vibrant, idyllic, countryside tapestry — a roseate apotheosis.
Circa 1974. Ramesh passed his MBBS, with impressive credentials — and, it was at this time that I got to know about his fond aspirations. His eyes would light up like stars, at night, and his ears would ring like temple bells — what with that doting thought of moving, nay emigrating, to the US, and finding, also fulfilling, his big dream. That he achieved whatever he’d yearned for was the real icing on the cake. Yet, what added dainty resplendence to his charming persona was the manner in which he worked tirelessly — with utmost diligence and fidelity — while making a name for himself.
That he got ‘bowled’ over by a local maiden was, perhaps, yet another dream-come-true. They made a great couple — of two hearts, two minds, yes, but beating and ticking as one. Such a refined ‘harmony of the spheres’ epitomises their children — and, their outlook to life and career.
I remember a hilarious incident. When Ramesh had spent a few years in the US, I happened to restate that I was a huge fan of Robert Redford. I communicated to him, rather ingenuously, if he’d manage to get me an autographed photograph of the Hollywood actor. Ramesh would have laughed out loud, but being the ever gentle guy he conveyed to me that he’d try, albeit US wasn’t India — where you’d walk and find innumerable posters, also photographs, for sale at the local newspaper mart, or movie-centric kiosk.
I kept in touch with Ramesh via e-mail, from time to time, sharing my literary work, among other things, including our mutual interest in Eastern and Western philosophies. He often peppered our e-conversations with his sublime insights and always had a kind, genuine word of appreciation for my professional forays — viz., writing, editing and publishing.
I last met Ramesh, a decade ago. Its nostalgic visage now resides in my mind just like yesterday — as the Beatles crooned.
— First published in The Himalayan Times, Nepal
