This article is based on the interaction between Mr Aloke Ghosh, Faculty in Art, and Dr Smita Trivedi, Staff Editor, Review. It describes the journey of an exceptional artist.
When I talk to him about how his sojourn has been, his eyes beam and the otherwise pensive mood of his gives way to a smile that knows its boundaries, for he has always been a quiet and an unassuming worker. He loses himself in recollections- from the time since he must have had the understanding to look about himself and find that his legs did not support him in his endeavours to the time when as a teenager who couldn’t walk on his legs but dreamt on the bed, to which he was confined to- of climbing a mountain. His life has been a harsh struggle which was metamorphosed into happy reality by his grit and determination. He feels his life has been a great achievement, a gift by God- not a cruel destiny, for
he believes that “The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”
He harks back into the hazy remembrance of his childhood. When he was only six months’ old the disease of polio engulfed him. Amazingly, as we look at him today, it would be so difficult to believe that he could not walk on his legs till around fourteen long years of his life. There was a huge courtyard in his house, when he was small. Early in the morning, his duty bound mother would make him sit in the courtyard and he would take a stick and draw with it on the soft, mud- pasted floor. He smiles broadly as he says that he had no other work to do for unlike his other seven siblings- school wasn’t his reality. The parents said nothing, but barely hoped that he would be able to walk on his own. The parents kept silent for they did not want to discourage the child and the child one fine day had a great revelation to himself. He thought that if he proceeded to live his life like that the courtyard that saw the bloom of Art in him would be his nemesis. He would never be able to move out of it. He recalls it as God’s voice in him; the stream of consciousness. He set out to challenge, what had come his way. He tried to get up and walk-there was indeed an excruciating pain that emanated from such an effort but he clears up that he had no pain-it was only the ardent desire to be equal with others in their physical strength. This is also the story of a family which supported this teenager with whatever they could do for him. They tied parallel bamboos in the courtyard and with its support, this youth set out to mow down the physical limitations.
Later, a walker took the place of the bamboos and he walked. There was a master who came to teach the children in the evening. All children would gather around him to be taught and this boy would be made to sit, too. He started picking up the Bengali language but he recalls he was never forced to learn. Interestingly, as he started walking a little, at around fourteen years of age one day his father asked him if he wanted to go to a school. He replied in the affirmative and the headmaster of the nearby school agreed to admit him. He did not receive formal primary education but he cleared the tenth grade with Bengali, Math, History, English and Geography as his subjects. His elder sister was of the view that he should take up painting and pursue it. Someone suggested to the family that Shantiniketan would be the best place for him. The first time, he tried but he did not get a chance to be admitted but the second time, luck came his way and he entered into the portals of a place which was to decide the direction of his life forever. Shantiniketan was an extremely motivating force and those who are ailed by ‘peer pressure’ must know that his friends exhorted him to learn to ride a bicycle and indeed, he learnt to ride!
In 1996 after the entry into Shantiniketan, fate brought him to the threshold of another change- The Scindia School. From this point of time, there was no looking back. He was indeed on the top of a mountain, both in a physical and metaphorical sense. Cricket is a game that has always fascinated him and he loves the game of football. Earlier, back at home he would escape from a window of the house to participate in football. The family members were fearful of debilitation by another injury so they barred the window. He still loves the game and also has distinct memories of the 1983 Cricket World Cup. He also reiterates that Ms Kirti Ghosh, his wife has always been an immense support for him.
Lastly, it is important to mention about his absolute attachment to his teaching of wood carving and stone carving in the School and the genesis of it. He says that he had not been to school in the way that all other students go to a school and thus, concludes that The Scindia School- is his school. He walks around with the heart that swells with pride like an Old Boy which this ancient Fort has nurtured and reinvigorated for so many long years.
Resuscitating Glass…t I Be Thy