*Ode to Gupta ji*

Ode to “Guptaji”:-

by
Subhash C Sharma

“Guptaji passed away last night.” These words from a friend who rang me hit me like hammer strokes, drowning out the sundry details like: “How?” “What?”, and “Where?” And as the import of these stunning words sank in, I was lost in a sea of nostalgia.
Way back in the late 80’s, Jagdish Prasad Gupta, whom we lovingly called “Guptaji”, landed one fine day on the balmy, verdant valley of Palampur. Held in spell by the lofty peaks of the snow-crested Dhauladhar, and soothed by the soft whispers of the Neugal river, he decided to make Palampur his home. The rest is history.
He hailed from Mathura, a city rich in legend and lore of Lord Krishna, and also popular for its sweetmeat, ‘Pede’. Guptaji had a sweet tooth and when offered any sweet dish, with a hearty grin and exuberance, he would say, “Kyon nahi, Sharmaji. Khoye a pedon-waale Mathurawasi hain hum.” A diminutive man, he was possessed of a towering intellect that would dwarf all those around him. Guptaji belonged to an illustrious family and had an equally illustrious career too. He was a teacher and did his stints in a couple of African countries, rising to the position equivalent to that of a Director. Bitten by the travel bug, and eager to explore, he went on a world tour. On return, he opted for a quiet life away from the maddening crowds and the chaos of city life. Thus began his tryst with the Palampur valley and Palampurwallas. He built a self-designed, artistic, beautiful home with an overview of the Neugal at upper Bandla. Against this serene backdrop, his poetic appetite, stoked by the Dhauladhar, the swaying Pines, the hills, and the ceaseless murmurs of the Neugal, he composed poems and delved into the deepest intricacies of ‘astrology’, as a pastime. Later, he moved to another house nearby, where he breathed his last on 12 December 2024.
We, a clutch of a few friends of his, were regular visitors to his cosy ‘nest’ for our sunsets and sundowners, and laughter and banter in his exalted company. He regaled us with sheyars, poetry, humour and anecdotes aplenty, laced with wit and humour…and a bit of Osho to boot! Invariably, we returned home liberated, inspired, and fulfilled.
His poetry was a fine, exquisite blend of Hindi and Urdu- the two languages, as well as English, he could wield and use with elan and magisterial authority. He churned out several anthologies, translations, and novellas numbering about 13, self-published for the pleasure of those who had an ear and appetite for such spirit-uplifting, ennobling engagements of the heart. Of these, his lyrical, heart-tugging collection ‘Mehfooz Lemhe’ is with me. Alas! How cruel and ruthless Time can be. As we got embroiled in the whirligig of existential dilemmas and pressures, a wedge, a chasm began to build, grow and widen. Our ways parted and we lost contact, much to our own loss.
He lived to be nearly ninety. And – God bless those kind souls! – he was well looked after by his adopted daughter Indu and her bright young son Ayush… as well as some of his closest friends in his last days, preceded by a brief period of ailment. For such an exalted soul, however, another ninety or even more would have been still less.
Guptaji, you have left us and a light has gone out of our lives, but your wide grin, the nobility of your heart, and the loftiness of your intellect will keep burning bright in our hearts and minds for ever.
“अहसान है अँधेरों पर उन ख़्वाबों का
चमकते हुए जुगनू से जो आते हैं ,
लमहे मुहब्बत के उजालों के लेकिन
कोह पर बर्फ़ से महफूज़ रहते हैं ।“
-‘महफ़ूज़ लमहे’: प्रसाद