We didn't notice that the driver looked sleepy: Rajib Das

Please don’t give graphic details of the accident,” requests

Rajib Das

, vocalist of Dohar and also its soul-keeper, after the sudden death of

Kalika Prasad Bhattacharjee

on March 7 last year. A year on, much has changed in Dohar. The performers are finding their feet anew, but Rajib does not have a single framed photo of Kalikada, as everyone called him, forget putting a garland on his image. “He was, he is and he will always be there,” Rajib tells us, setting the ball rolling for a trip down memory lane. Excerpts:

Dohar was founded in 1999. Did you know Kalika Prasad from before?

I know him from 1998. Like him, I too am from Assam. I’m from Karimganj and he was from Silchar. I grew up with music, but never thought of pursuing it as a career. After my graduation in 1994, there was pressure from my family to pursue higher studies in Kolkata. Kalikada, three years my senior, also came to Kolkata after graduation. He was the GSec of Silchar Gurucharan College in Assam for a long time. An SFI leader, he lost two years of academics because of other commitments. He also graduated in 1994 and joined JU to do his Masters in Comparative Literature. A commerce student, I joined the Institute of Cost Accountancy. I wanted to train in Rabindrasangeet and an acquaintance asked me to get in touch with Kalikada. The first time we met was in Kankurgachi. I wanted to buy a harmonium and went with him. But the store was shut for the afternoon. We had a few hours and sat at a tea shop, trying to know each other. I was aware of his family; everyone was well known in the arts circuit. His kaka was a collector of Lok Nritya and as a family, they also ran a music school. He told me about another uncle who had a music
outfit. Kalikada would play the tabla in that group. At the beginning of 1998, that kaka passed away. He had a vast collection of Lok Sangeet and dreamt of reaching out to the Kolkata audience. Kalikada suggested we do a show in his memory.
What happened next?
Back then, I used to stay in a mess. One day, Kalikada dropped by with his dubki. We first started rehearsing with a gajan song. There were a few more boarders from the Northeast, who joined us. Later, we asked Phanindra Natta, who belonged to the famous Natta Company family — known for its contribution to

Bengal

’s jatra — to join us. We also invited Niranjanda to join us. On August 7, we did our first show at Students’ Hall on College Street. We needed a name for the show and professor Avik Majumdar, with whom Kalikada shared a great rapport, suggested we call it Bhalo Dohar. Dohar means chorus and later, we analysed it differently. As a group, we collect Lok Sangeet and present it to the urban audience. By doing so, we act as the chorus for the artistes. The show was a grand success. After the show, we left a gamcha on the floor and urged people to contribute, as we had spent some money to organise the show. The money that we collected not only covered the show’s costs, but left us with an excess. We had a gala dinner with that.

How was Dohar formed?
The songs were so powerful that people wanted to listen to us. We got a call from Doordarshan to do a programme called Suprovaat. After that, we got a call to sing live at Dashamir Ghat for Doordarshan. The programme was a huge hit. There were enquiries about us and we decided to do a solo show at Sisir Mancha. Pressure from home was also building up to earn money, and I shared this with Kalikada during rehearsals. He had joined Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Samiti, as he thought the job was challenging. Simultaneously, he was working on a project on industrial folk. He was very positive and asked me to stay on till the show. The rehearsals were on and through his sources, I got a call from Haldia Petrochemicals. At the same time, there were back-to-back full houses for two shows. I was scared that I would lose my music career if I took up the job. Eventually, I did joined the company and found tremendous support from my colleagues till 2011, when I finally resigned. Once Dohar was formed, there was no looking back.

Tell us about the man, Kalika Prasad, not just the musician…
He would always allow people to talk — absorb everything and never give an opinion. Talking to him was therapeutic; it was like visiting a doctor. Also, he could never say no. I remember, when newspapers and magazines asked him for write-ups, he would always say yes. Then he would become unreachable and all the calls came to me. After he joined SaReGaMaPa as a mentor, he would work 24x7. Apart from him, Amit, Mriganabhi and Sudipto from Dohar would work in SaReGaMaPa, while I handled Dohar’s shows. We had a contract, so as to balance Dohar’s shows with the programme. Kalikada was our frontman, while I worked behind the wings. But we never fought.

You had a show a day before the accident…
Yes, we performed at Baguihati Krishi Mela. A few days back, we again performed there and were flooded with memories. Last year, Purnendu Basu was still the state agriculture minister when the show happened. He came up and spoke to us. We had an hour-long chat. The organisers wanted us to stay back and have tea. Since I stayed nearby, I came home while Kalikada and the rest stayed back till 11 pm. We had a Bangladesh tour lined up and I had to keep the papers ready.

What happened on the day of the accident?
The next day, our car came from the city’s south to pick me up. In our car, there were Kalikada, his nephew, Sudipto, who is the junior-most member of our team, Niladri and Sandipan, who comprised our recording team, and I. At 8 am, they picked me up. The accident happened at 9.20 am. No one was tired and we would often travel like that. Kalikada used to work till 3 am and I too would stay up. We would often have discussions post 12 and our wives pulled our leg for that. My wife would say, ‘Tomader ki emon alochona je dorja bondho kore korte hobe?’ Kalikada was a thinktank, while I was good at executing his ideas.

What was Kalika Prasad’s last conversation like?
We were going to Suri to shoot a performer called Srishtidhar Badyokon, who did ‘saapnachunir gaan’, which interested us. After we crossed Dankuni, we realised we were running a bit late, and I informed Srishtidhar. He lived some 5 km from Suri. In the evening, there was a performance at a college. We were a bit tired, but no one was sleeping. We were travelling in an SUV, it was a better car than what we usually take. Every time we travelled, Kalikada would sit next to the driver and I would be in the middle row, next to the window. I wouldn’t like to give the graphic details, but after the accident, there was dust all around, making it impossible for us to see each other. We called out each other’s name, but there was no response from Kalikada. Later we came to know that the driver had fallen asleep. Generally, in difficult situations, my mind works well and I reacted fast after the accident. Sudipto, Niladri, Sandipan were all injured and needed to be rushed to the hospital. I was concerned about saving their lives. In a hapless state, I said we were from SaReGaMaPa. All the villagers came forward. There were cops and an ambulance. They were taken to

Burdwan Medical College

. I first made a call to Chhotu from our team in Kolkata and asked him to inform a politician, as I feared we would lose more lives if there was any delay in paperwork. An accident is an accident — we didn’t notice that the driver looked sleepy; sometimes it’s hard to understand. For the past seven years, a driver had been taking us to the different venues across Bengal. He is the owner of a car. But that day he was not there. Kalikada did what he would always do, leave the responsibility of so many people on me and disappear with a smile.
Personally and professionally, how tough was it to come to terms with this crisis?
Kalikada was not just my colleague. He meant a lot more. Suddenly, when he left, I was dumbfounded. I had to save the rest, but at home, in my private space, I would feel his absence. For long, I would wake up at 4 am and would be overpowered by his memories. He would call at least five times a day. He didn’t know Kolkata roads, so he would call me and ask. Suddenly the calls stopped. Since losing my father, I had never felt this lonely. I also wanted his wife, Ritacheta, to be involved with his works more than ever before. She was earlier a part of greater Dohar and now she handles a lot of our works. She is helping Pavel complete Rosogolla, the score for which was given by Kalikada. We got tremendous feedback for Kaushik Ganguly’s

Bishorjon

and there’s one more film, Ashish Roy’s Sitara, for which he was composing. For the shoot, the songs were structured earlier. By end-March, we’ll complete that work. In times of trouble, he would ask me, ‘Ki Sadhu, tensione pori gela?’

How is Dohar carrying on?
He has left a vacuum. I have accepted it as fate. After he left us, I now conduct shows. Interacting with the audience is not my forte, but I am learning. Many said, ‘Kalikaprasad used to speak so well.’ He was a phenomenon, but there’s still a lot of talent in our music outfit. The number of shows remains constant. After SaReGaMaPa last year, there was a boom in live shows; from that, it has come down to the usual. In April, we did our first show after Kalikada. The corporate house stood by us, but asked us to include Lopamudra Mitra. There were 60 artistes and when we asked Lopadi, she agreed to join us. My first few programmes were tough as Kalikada and I used to maintain eye contact. I would now keep my eyes closed. He used to play a dubki, so we started keeping it on a stand. We had decided not to frame his photos or garland them, as we feel he is with us. His dubki is now our constant companion.