November 5. “Button, I overheard this conversation between Dost and an old friend of his from Kolkata and couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Tell me fast.”

“To begin with, I can’t imagine how Nirad Chowdhuri could have been his friend being much older than him but Dost, the writer and poet since his Kolkata days, was in the habit of making friends with men and women much older than him.”

“Come to the point. What is it you overheard? Or were you eavesdropping? By the way, who is Nirad Choudhuri?”

“He wrote in English and Bengali. Apparently Dost invited Niradbabu (as he was called by everyone) to his tiny six feet by six feet one room apartment in Pearl Avenue for dinner and had an exhilarating conversation.”

“And what was this conversation they had?”

“During the course of dinner and talks, Niradbabu narrated an incident where a book reviewer, Jyotirmoy Dutta, once critisied a book of his. At a public function, where the two met, Nirabbabu chased Mr Datta out of the hall where the function was being held clutching a shoe in one hand threatening to beat him up. Even his wife, Amiya, who was much taller than him ran after him shouting – Come back. Please come back. He is a critic. He can write what he wishes. Surely, he can be critical of your writing if he chooses.”

“Weird!”

“Visualise this tiny man (Niradbabu was really tiny) with a shoe in his right hand (maybe hand stitched in England), running after another man with his wife, running after him requesting him to return. And the way Dost narrated it, had me in splits.”

“Happy Diwali.”

“Happy Diwali, Button. Did you like the Lindt chocolate I fed you this afternoon?”

“Simply loved it.”