When friends request me to pay tribute to Tapan Bose, at times I feel that it is a sort of punishment for me.
Tributes are usually paid by juniors to their seniors. Why am I left to write a tribute to a dear friend who was 10 years younger than me? A reversal of roles? Why am I, an octogenarian, outliving a young friend who should have lived longer than me to offer more to the cause of, and struggle for human rights?
As far as I remember, I first met Tapan in Delhi sometime in the late 1970s. After the lifting of the Emergency, I had come out from jail, returned to Delhi and joined like-minded people to organise a movement for defending civil liberties and democratic rights. It was in the course of this that I got in touch with Tapan.
Some years later, in his journey to defend the poor and persecuted people, he discovered the victims of a horrendous state-sponsored atrocity – the blinding of prisoners in a jail in Bhagalpur in Bihar. Through meticulous research and interviews, he came up with the documentary An Indian Story (1981), which exposed the nexus between landlords, police and politicians. Quite predictably, the film censors – toadies of the ruling powers – refused permission for its exhibition, and Tapan had to approach the Bombay high court, which finally cleared it.
Tapan followed this first venture in the film world by producing a number of other films, which were consistent with his steadfast commitment to the goal of exposing cases of atrocities and violation of human rights. Two films deserve mention – Behind the Barricades (1993) and Jharkhand (1993). He decided to extend these concerns of his by moving beyond the film medium, and by engaging in a life-long campaign of upholding human rights. He chose the conflict-hit zones of Punjab, Kashmir and Nagaland, to organise fact-finding missions there to investigate into the plight of the local people.
I remember joining him in several such investigative trips to those areas. We visited Kashmir, in the late 1980-early 1990 years when the government tried to brutally suppress the popular upsurge against its discriminatory policies. We brought out a report exposing the misdeeds of the administration which had led to a war-like situation in Kashmir. Tapan, very appropriately chose its title: India’s Kashmir War, harking back to Neville Maxwell’s famous book India’s China War.
As for our association with the Naga human rights movement, I remember both of us undertook a trip to Bangkok in Thailand sometime in 1998-1999, to meet two legendary Naga leaders – Thuingaleng Muivah and Isak Swu – who during a long interview there, narrated their experiences of leading the insurgency against an oppressive Indian state. Persecuted by the Indian government, they had at that time taken refuge in Thailand.
Tapan’s concerns for human rights and struggle to uphold them did not remain confined within the boundaries of India. He was one of the founders of the Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy, which was set up through collaboration by social activists from both the countries to further the cause of mutual friendship and communal harmony. I remember, when we gathered together in Lahore in the early 1990s to form the organisation, Tapan prioritised the name Pakistan for the title (instead of India, which was the big neighbour). This friendly gesture reassured our Pakistani friends, that we treated them as equals.
But apart from our involvement with such serious political developments, both Tapan and I also shared a lot of lighter moments in ‘addas’ at my flat in D-33 Press Enclave in New Delhi in the 1980s and 1990s – rendezvous with friends to have idle gossips, exchange jokes about politicians over drinks followed by dinners. Once Tapan brought some Thai recipes which he picked up from Bangkok, and cooked a delicious meal over the gas stove at my kitchen.
Towards the end of his long life of political struggles, Tapan was constrained from active participation in the socio-political movements due to health problems. But even then, till the end, he continued to extend his support to the activists of these movements through the media, his beaming face appearing on the TV screen every now and then.
I’ll miss Tapan’s voice and hearty laughter when he used to ring up greeting me: “Sumanta da, how are you ?”
Sumanta Banerjee is a historian, journalist and cultural theorist.
