Bittersweet memories

Rina Datta, (acj 1999-2000)

I heard of Jyoti Sanyal back in Kolkata 1997, much before I heard of ACJ. His daughter Reshma was my classmate in Jadavpur University, Dept. of English Literature. I was proud of my writing skills then. At ACJ, Sanyal wiped it out on day one.

All I knew about him was that he ran some journalism course in Bangalore. I read his columns but not often while I immersed myself in exactly the kind of English he later taught me to despise. At our introductory lecture, he told us we were lousy. We didn't believe it then, but today, I think we all agree he made us better.

It was never an easy relationship with Mr Sanyal. We were a little taken aback by his love for the four-letter word on day one. He continued to shock us by shouting and swearing his way through session after session. Frankly, he enjoyed the effect he had on us! Many of us couldn't stand his straight talk and temper, but Mr Sanyal grew on us. His lifelong passion for diction was addictive. We could not deter him from getting a little bit of himself into each one of us. I thought him invincible, until last week.

But beyond all that he was a father at heart. He took care of us girls, especially those of us staying at the hostel. I remember once the bathroom drain was clogged and Sir came home after the day’s work. He put his hand down the drain and took out all the hair and the dirt and the grime with his bare hands. We girls stood shocked and shamed that we put him through that much trouble. Shamed that we couldn't get ourselves to do it.

I had a terrible sinus infection once. Every day, as soon as I reached ACJ, Sir would call me in. He marched me to the rest room with a cup of hot salt water in his hand and made me draw it up my nose... and oh! though I still can't forget the pain, it was something that even my father failed to get me to do.

We heard many stories about him, that once he thought students had poisoned his coffee and once they’d locked him up in the bathroom. Or that someone let a monkey inside his office! I have no idea if any are true but he gave us many a good laugh. Once Mr. Sanyal, Meena, Ram and others took some people out for dinner. Next day we heard that he had thrown a fit over no bamboo shoots in his bamboo shoot soup and garam masala in Chinese food.

Sanyal Sir is a part of such bittersweet memories, I wonder what I could pick out about him that could sum him up. No way! What and who he really was inside is a riddle. His daughter Reshma said to me on his death: I know a part of him lives in me, but then a part of him has died too. That echoes with us, his students.

Good bye Sir, and though he would have greatly scorned at it, God Bless!!