Raunak is flanked by his proud parents ,Pushpak and Aparna
Raunak (son of Pushpak, grandson of late Paramesh Bhattacharya and great grandson of late Purnachandra Shastri) is the latest sensation in scholastic achievement in the family.He has maintained the standard of his ancestors by scoring 98% marks in PCM, 95.4% in aggragate(class xii Board Exam) and then cracking IIT-JEE,09.
He is not only a scholar of excellence,but a good tennis player and a devoted singer. He continues our tradition of regular meditation (sandhya)at dusk.
His contact No.: C/O - Prof.Pushpak Bhattacharya,IIT-Mumbai,Tel25721955,25768718
All of us congratulate Raunak and pray to the almighty for an outstanding career.
(I took his photograph at Prodipto's flat in Mumbai on 24.06.09)
Pushpak (Rana) is with the faculty of Computer Science and Engineering at IIT Bombay.
ReplyDeletewww.cse.iitb.ac.in/~pb
Aparna teaches Biology at SMPR School, Mulund, Mumbai.
Kanchan kaku: do we not need any introductions:)
Dear Pushpak,
ReplyDeletePlease help me in introducing yourself,your parents, Aparna and Raunak with full details.I have heavy expectations from Raunak as the representative of the youngest generation to regularly visit the site and tell me how to make it more attractive.
He will be our successor to maintain the continuity.
Thanks
-Kanchan Kaku/ 07 July, Kolkata
Letter by rabindranath on his 27th birthday
ReplyDeleteFrom: Prodipto Bhattacharya (prodipto.b@gmail.com)
Sent: 05 July 2009 16:26PM
To: PK Bhattacharyya (jointdirector@hotmail.com)
Baba,
Hope you are good.
was generally browsing the internet when I came across a letter written by Rabindranath on his 27th birthday. i am going to be 27 too this year. It really feels strange but somehow I share the same feeling..
July 1887.
I am in my twenty-seventh year. This event keeps thrusting itself before my mind--nothing else seems to have
happened of late.
But to reach twenty-seven--is that a trifling thing?--to pass the meridian of the twenties on one's progress
towards thirty?--thirty--that is to say maturity--the age at which people expect fruit rather than fresh foliage.
But, alas, where is the promise of fruit? As I shake my head, it still feels brimful of luscious frivolity, with not
a trace of philosophy.
Folk are beginning to complain: "Where is that which we expected of you--that in hope of which we admired
the soft green of the shoot? Are we to put up with immaturity for ever? It is high time for us to know what we
shall gain from you. We want an estimate of the proportion of oil which the blindfold, mill-turning, unbiased
critic can squeeze out of you."
It has ceased to be possible to delude these people into waiting expectantly any longer. While I was under age
they trustfully gave me credit; it is sad to disappoint them now that I am on the verge of thirty. But what am I
to do? Words of wisdom will not come! I am utterly incompetent to provide things that may profit the
multitude. Beyond a snatch of song, some tittle-tattle, a little merry fooling, I have been unable to advance.
And as the result, those who held high hopes will turn their wrath on me; but did any one ever beg them to
nurse these expectations?
Such are the thoughts which assail me since one fine Bysakh morning I awoke amidst fresh breeze and light,
new leaf and flower, to find that I had stepped into my twenty-seventh year.
Regards
Babu
Awesome family of talents!
ReplyDelete