While the world may see her as the daughter and niece of two of Kolkata’s most illustrious freedom fighters, Sarat and Subhas Chandra Bose, Roma Ray was much more. A spirited patriot, adoring family-woman, and fierce individual, she breathed her last at the age of 95, on October 16. Her daughter, Piali, looks back upon a life well lived.
“From the start, excellence was a norm at the Bose household. This one time, my mother returned from school (St. John's Diocesan Girls’ H.S. School) with her report card. When showing her excellent English marks to her father (Sarat Chandra Bose), he asked her what they were studying. ‘Macbeth,’ she replied, bringing a smile to his face. When he asked her to recite it, she fumbled, arguing that it was impossible to recite such a long book without any cue. He promptly broke into an impromptu elocution of the Shakespeare play without any book before him, while my mother gaped in awe!
A profound love for the nation was inculcated within all the Bose children. (L-R) Roma in the Rani of Jhansi uniform and dressed as a Congress worker
One of the pillars of her life was my father, Dr. Sachis Ray, whom she met for the first time whilst still a teenager.
A student at Calcutta Medical College, he was involved in the Azad Hind Ambulance Service, which would pick up injured people from the streets and take them to the hospital. The service was headquartered at 38/2 Elgin Road, which would go on to become Netaji Bhawan. This is where my young, debonair father met my maternal grandfather, and impressed him with his English and Westernised dressing sense. In fact, he was so impressed that my grandfather took him to the family home at 1, Woodburn Park. Not only did he introduce my father to the men in the family, but also the women, which at the time was a massive break from tradition.
Roma with sister Chitra on horseback, during the 1947 INA Day procession at Hazra More
However, the relationship between my parents only blossomed when my father began visiting the house every evening to check up on my grandfather’s deteriorating health.
In those days, the difference between Ghotis and Bangals was very apparent. His was a family that came to Kolkata from Rangoon during World War II. Hers was a well-established family known for producing Kolkata’s most popular statesmen. His was a family that enjoyed Western culture. Hers was a family that was mild-mannered and subtle. When the two decided to get married, my mother was terrified of breaking the news to the family. It was my father who was quite the daredevil, walking up to my grandfather to ask for her hand. To their surprise, he was overjoyed!
It was 1950. My mother was 21 when she married my father.
There was a definite culture shock as she moved to the new home, more so because of my father being a strict disciplinarian. However, her upbringing prepared her for life. She integrated into the new family with ease, and a perpetual smile.
Roma and Sachis were married on February 7, 1950
In less than a year, she was pregnant with my elder brother. At the same time, my father had to move to Vienna to pursue a postgraduate degree. While living abroad is fairly common now, at that time, having your first child abroad was unheard of. The family would’ve never allowed her to travel if they knew of her pregnancy, so my parents hid it from everyone and set off on a long and arduous journey.
Within a few months, she had my brother, who was the first Indian to be born in Austria. The entire hospital staff would gather for a glimpse of this baby with dark hair and dark eyes. Even when she took him around on a pram, the passers by would stare. Watching a lady in a saree, with a baby who had dark hair and eyes was an unseen sight on the streets of Vienna.
Vienna was also where she got close to Emilie Schenkl, the wife of her Rangakakababu (Subhas Chandra Bose).
After Vienna, my parents moved to London for a year. But when my father got an opportunity to study at Trinity College, Dublin, my mother put her foot down, insisting that she was going back home. She wanted to raise her children in India.
Roma and Sachis in Vienna, in 1951
Their marriage was very unique. The Rays largely spoke in English, while the Boses emphasised on the importance of studying Bangla sahitya. My mother had taken it upon herself to teach him Bengali. He wasn’t a great student, so she gave up!
The tussle came from the other end too. Be it Vienna, London, Dublin, or even back here in Kolkata, my father always wanted her to complete her education. He would say, ‘Roma, you’re getting such wonderful opportunities here. I don’t want you to waste your potential just looking after kids.’ But she was always adamant that family was more important to her than ambition.
That is also what made her an extremely devoted mother. She never had any expectations from her husband, children or even their spouses. It was quite extraordinary, to be brought up by a person who never engaged in any conflict.
This quality seeped into my father too, making him much calmer. A few years after their marriage, an uncle was visiting us. When he met my father, he asked my mother, ‘What have you done to him? He’s a changed man. He doesn’t rave and rant anymore. He even smiles and laughs!’
Their love continued to grow, and she would physically tend to him when he fell ill. When he passed away in 2007, she was unusually calm and stoic. There was acceptance, but also the internalisation of grief.
Some of my fondest childhood memories are of the bedtime stories she told us, where eminent personalities like Gandhi and Nehru were her house guests. Growing up in such an environment instilled in her a deep sense of national pride, which passed down to us. So many of her stories were about how Netaji trekked through the Khyber pass and escaped under the watch of the police. All of my patriotism is because of her. At the same time, I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her after Netaji’s escape, with both her father and brother being arrested while she was just a young girl.
Roma’s earliest pic, and (right) a picture from her last birthday on February 9
As a patriot, there was definitely a sense of dejection within her, as she saw the country come to where it is today. She felt that her father and uncle hadn’t dreamt of the country we see today, or the ‘politicians’ running it.
She was ill for four months before passing away on October 16. But even in her last days when she would forget people, she never forgot her kindness. This 95-year-old woman would apologise to people half her age, for forgetting their name. This innate goodness within her stayed till the end.
In those last few months, she would sing patriotic songs in her father’s memory, who was her greatest influence. The one song that she kept coming back to was Utho Go Bharata Lakkhi, so much so that us cousins started calling her Bharat Lakkhi. And she really was.
Whenever I made mistakes, she corrected me, and whenever I felt hurt, she consoled me. I am the daughter she had, because I had her as my mother.
The presence of her absence is new, and I’m still trying to come to terms with it. Every time I enter our bedroom, the empty space strikes me. There is a void and I can’t sleep. The closure only came to some extent when we poured her remains into the river, from the ghat of her father’s house in Rishra.
She was my life partner, in every sense. My best friend, confidant and adviser.”
