My beloved father, Jayanta Kumar Kundu, was not only a headmaster of a primary school – he was the headmaster of my character and my life.
In the world’s eyes, he was a simple man: a primary school teacher who rose to become a headmaster, a quiet Marxist who believed in equality and justice, a man who spent his life among children, books, and chalk dust.
In my eyes, he was so much more – my inspiration, my strength, my ideology.
My mother was also a primary school teacher in another school. Together they built a small, principled world around us – where education, honesty, and hard work were not big slogans, but part of daily life. I did not grow up in luxury, but I grew up in dignity, and that is worth more than any wealth.
The Bicycle That Carried My Dreams
Some of my most precious memories are linked to an old bicycle.
When I was in classes 1 to 5, my father used to take me to school on his cycle. I can still feel the cool morning air on my face, the sound of the chain turning, the slight shake whenever the road was rough. I would sit in the front or back, holding my small bag, while he carefully balanced both of us and pedaled forward.
Those rides looked ordinary from the outside. But for me, they were everything.
On the way, he didn’t speak big, complicated words. He spoke simply:
- “Read properly. Education will make you independent.”
- “Never look down on anyone.”
- “If you promise something, you must try to keep it.”
There were no microphones, no cameras, no audience. Just a father, a son, and a narrow road leading to a small primary school.
But that road turned into a path for my whole life.
From that bicycle, I learned that true progress is slow but steady. Step by step, pedal by pedal, you move forward – not only in distance, but in discipline.
A House Built on Ideals and Love
My father was a Marxist Communist by ideology. He believed deeply in equality, in justice for workers, farmers and teachers, in standing against exploitation. But at home, his Marxism was not a theory in a book. It appeared as simple fairness and humanity.
He never allowed us to insult someone just because they were poor or uneducated. He respected fellow teachers, school staff, and villagers. He didn’t divide people by money, status, or power. For him, every human being carried dignity.
My mother balanced him with her quiet strength and warmth. She supported the family with her own teaching job, managed the home, and silently sacrificed her own comforts so that we could study and grow. The combination of my father’s ideology and my mother’s gentleness made our home a small training ground for life.
Today, when I talk about justice, truth, or equality in my work, I know those seeds were planted in that humble house by two primary school teachers who rarely thought of themselves but always thought of their children and their students.
A Life of Simplicity, Ideals, and Courage
My father did not chase fame or titles.
He lived simply – but with strong principles.
He believed that:
- Teaching is not just a job, it is a responsibility.
- Politics is not about slogans; it is about standing with the oppressed.
- Family is not only about providing money; it is about values, guidance, and presence.
Even when life was difficult, he did not compromise with dishonesty. That sometimes created problems, but he never taught us to choose the easy wrong over the difficult right.
He was not perfect. He could be strict, he could get angry, especially about our studies or discipline. But even in his anger, there was concern. He wanted us to become better human beings, not just successful professionals.
The Pain of Loss, the Power of Blessings
Losing my parents is a wound that never fully heals.
When my mother passed away, the main pillar of my father and me fell. When my father passed away, I did not only lose a head of the family. I lost the person who silently stood behind every step of my life. Suddenly, the house of childhood memories felt very empty.
There are moments, even now, when I instinctively feel like picking up the phone to tell them some news – a success, an award, a milestone – and then I remember they are no longer on the other side of that call.
And yet, I feel them, every day.
I feel my father’s calm strength when I face a difficult decision.
I feel my mother’s soft care when I am tired or sick.
I feel their blessings when life tests me.
During my treatment in Delhi, when I was physically weak and emotionally vulnerable, I felt them very close. I thought of my father taking me to school on his bicycle, of my mother standing at the door with worry in her eyes but trust in her heart. I felt they were still by my side – invisible, but present – telling me:
“You are not alone. You have survived many things. You will survive this too. Your life still has a purpose.”
Their blessings became a kind of invisible medicine that no hospital can prescribe but every child understands.
Daily Rituals of Remembering
Every day, I stand in front of their photos and pray for them.
Some people may see this as a simple habit. But for me, it is a daily reminder of where I come from and who I must try to be.
When I fold my hands, I am not just following a religious or cultural ritual. I am:
- Saying thank you for everything they did.
- Asking for forgiveness for the times I made mistakes or caused them pain.
- Requesting their blessing so that I do not misuse the position and opportunities I have now.
I talk to them in my heart:
“Baba, Maa, if I take a wrong step, please guide me back. If I become proud, please pull me down to the ground again. If I become tired, please give me strength. Stay with me, stay with my wife, stay with my children.”
They are no longer here to cook for me, to wait at the door, or to ask, “When will you come home?”
But they are still my silent companions in every room I enter, every journey I start, every decision I make.
Without Them, I Would Never Be Here
People may see my achievements – my work, my role, my position.
But behind everything stands the invisible support of my parents.
Without their sacrifices, I would not have had the chance to study.
Without their values, I would not have had the courage to dream.
Without their blessings, I would not have had the strength to continue when life became difficult.
My father taught me to stand for humanity, equality and justice.
My mother taught me to remain human and kind even while chasing big goals.
Whatever I do today, whatever platforms I build, whatever voice I raise – all of it is tied to the foundation they created. That is why I always say: without their blessing, I would never have come to this position.
A Son’s Promise: To Be a Real Human Being
On my father’s 80th birth anniversary, I do not only remember him; I renew my promise to him.
I want to be, before anything else, a real human being.
A human being who:
- Contributes something meaningful to other humans, not just to himself.
- Respects and protects the environment, understanding that nature is not our property, but our shared home.
- Stands for peace, not just in speeches, but in daily behavior and decisions.
- Tries, in his own way, to make the world slightly better than he found it.
This is my commitment – not just as a son, not just as a professional, but as a human being who has been shaped by the love and ideology of his parents.
For You, Baba, On Your 80th Birth Anniversary
Baba,
On your 80th birth anniversary, I bow my head to you with love, grief, and gratitude.
You were my inspiration, my strength, my guiding ideology.
You took me to school on your bicycle; now I try to take your values into the wider world.
You spent your life in small classrooms; I try to use my work to reach people across the globe – but the heart of the mission is the same: to serve others.
I pray for your eternal peace and for Ma’s eternal peace.
I pray that I never do anything that would make you feel ashamed of me.
I pray that your blessings stay with me, with my children, and with my wife as we move forward in this uncertain world.
You may not be here to hear these words, but you live in every part of my life.
In my choices.
In my conscience.
In my dreams for a better, fairer, more peaceful world.
Happy 80th Birth Anniversary, Baba.
You are not just a memory—you are the living foundation of who I am and who I am trying to become.
