write up by Ash
Being from the same squadron, trying to take the mind back to remember a person with whom you have spent so many years – it in a manner becomes a way of looking at life, bit by bit, using memory to string the bits together almost like examining a dark room with a flashlight, with a very narrow beam. After all, memory is the most elemental thread, by which the tapestry of experience is actually revisited, feelingly. And in that rich embroidery, there is patch that belongs to Koustuv.
The NDA passing out journal depicted Koustuv’s pen picture, mildly smoothened here, “A complete innocent case, who used up all the OG paint in the squadron for himself to little avail. Good at academics and outdoor games like crossword puzzles, etc.”
Assiduous by nature, serious by his disposition, Koustuv as we remember him, was a giant of a man with the heart of a monk whose even temperament wouldn’t allow even the fiercest provocation to disturb of what could have been the outcome from his typical Bengali ancestry, turbulence. He could find kindness in other people, after all kindness enriches our life; with kindness mysterious things become clear, difficult things become easy, and dull things become cheerful.
The Grim Reaper came early in his life, the ravages inflicted by an ailment, provided the excuse. Ladies and gentlemen of the course, this day is Koustuv’s birthday.
🙏 May his soul rest in peace 🙏