Celebrating Prof. S.K. Acharya: A Brilliant Mind with a Playful Spirit

Reflecting on His Impact and Unforgettable Moments, 30 Years On

A Familiar View–Sketch by Prof Acharya 

As we approach the 30th anniversary of Prof. Salil Krishna Acharya’s passing on November 17, 2024, a flood of mixed thoughts comes to mind. While I’m proud of his pioneering work—like his blueprint for connecting the Ganges and Brahmaputra, which envisioned bringing Northeast India onto the international maritime map, and his founding of the Shillong Commerce College with groundbreaking courses—the lack of recognition by the authorities remains a painful reminder.

In Thought

In the 1970s, shortly after the formation of the State of Meghalaya, Dad prepared a ‘Blueprint for Industrialisation of Meghalaya’ and conducted a study on ‘Agriculture in Meghalaya, Mizoram, and the Mikir & North Cachar Hills’. His insights on education were also captured in articles such as ‘Professional Education in Degree Colleges’.

Beyond his intellectual achievements, Prof. Acharya had a deep love for the arts. An avid admirer of Indian literature, he was a fan of George Bernard Shaw, Shakespeare, and T.S. Eliot, and he even dabbled in poetry himself. His intricate sketches were renowned for their detail.

But, amid all his serious endeavors, it’s the other, more humorous side of Dad that sticks with me.

The Petticoat Episode

Dad had a habit of waking up early, cleaning the verandah, and settling in with his morning essentials: a cup of tea, a packet of cigarettes, The Statesman and The Economic Times, a Philips transistor radio, and sometimes his typewriter or a stack of papers. He loved this morning routine in the warmth of the Shillong sun. One autumn morning, however, my siblings and I were woken up by our mother, whispering, “Something’s off with what your dad is wearing!” We crept closer and burst into laughter—Dad was wearing Mom’s petticoat instead of his pajamas! Mom had mistakenly left it on his clothes rack the night before, and Dad, absorbed in his thoughts, put it on without realising. He even had dinner in it without anyone noticing!

The Case of the Missing Tie

Another gem was during an important conference at Gauhati University. After three days, Mom asked Dad how it went, and he spoke glowingly about Bellevue Hotel, where he stayed with S. Gurudev, a representative from The Statesman. They shared long conversations and a double room with a breathtaking view of the Brahmaputra. However, Dad mentioned that he was puzzled when he saw Gurudev wearing “his” blue Zodiac tie. When confronted, Gurudev insisted it was his own, and Dad, not wanting a fuss, let it go. But when he got home, Mom found his blue tie in the wardrobe! She stormed over, showed him the tie, and scolded, “You left your tie at home and embarrassed that poor man!” Dad, laughing, immediately called Mr. Gurudev to apologise.

The Suitcase Mix-Up

This final story is a classic family tale, passed down from my mom and aunts. One winter, Mom had escaped Shillong’s biting cold by staying with her parents in Lucknow. Dad was busy with his work and planned a trip to Lucknow to bring her back as spring approached. He packed his suitcase carefully ahead of time. But, in the morning rush, he grabbed the wrong suitcase—a near-identical one filled with old saris, blouses, pillow covers, and tablecloths. When he arrived in Lucknow and Mom opened the suitcase, expecting his clothes, she was mortified! Dad, however, found the whole situation hilarious, laughing heartily as he admitted that he’d been too preoccupied that morning to notice the switch. It was typical of him—so engrossed in his thoughts that practicalities sometimes took a back seat. Despite the inconvenience, the incident became a treasured family story, one that would make us laugh every time it was retold.

Another Hilarious Episode: Half-Human, Half-Cow!

Sometime in 1988 or 1989, while I was pursuing my post-graduation at NEHU, Dad traveled to Calcutta to make arrangements for our family's relocation. A few days later, he sent a detailed letter to Mom, excitedly describing a large flat he had rented in South Calcutta. The letter had a vivid description of each room, the washrooms, and the ample space for our Lhasa Apso, Dicky, to roam freely. Dad even wrote about the peaceful ambiance of the neighbourhood and its promising residents.

Mom read the letter aloud to me, but something about it didn't quite resonate. The next morning, as soon as I woke up, I recounted a bizarre dream I had to Mom. In my dream, the South Calcutta neighbourhood appeared outdated and shabby. Even stranger were its residents — from the waist up, they looked like normal humans, but from the waist down, they had cow-like legs! Every resident was a strange mix of human and bovine, half-man and half-cow!

Mom found my dream absolutely hilarious and shared it with Dad in her reply, followed by a trunk call. Dad was so entertained by my absurd vision of South Calcutta's half-human, half-cow residents that he brought it up many times over the years, laughing each time as if he had just heard it for the first time.

Dad’s playful ode to our beloved pet, Dicky, complete with a charming sketch and colorful signature.

Words from afar—a heartfelt letter penned from Calcutta during Dad's work trip.

Creativity on the fly—an old Air Mail envelope transformed into a sketchbook, capturing a slice of our surroundings – 'Bonokusum' House as viewed from our compound.

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