We just lost another warrior against war, an activist wrote on his Facebook post, within hours of the passing away of Tapan Bose. Tapan was not just any ordinary warrior, he was the marg darshak and mentor for many warriors like us.
A fountainhead of inspiration and an ocean of wisdom, it was his steely and stubborn determination, his energy, and his clear vision for a liberal world order that made him a shining north star for many liberals, activists, academics and journalists.
This is, perhaps, why the news of his death is shattering, even though he had been battling several ailments in recent years. Losing a trusted friend, comrade and dependable guide is like being left rudderless in a moving boat. But far bigger than the deeply personal loss is the huge void his absence creates in the struggles for peace, human rights, and justice in South Asia.
Tapan was a rare blend of wisdom, foresight, unwavering principles, conviction, courage, compassion, boundless generosity and genuine warmth. A multifaceted personality whose vast canvas of life encompassing filmmaking, peace activism, and writings in pursuit of upholding humanistic values calls for a celebration. Whichever hat he donned, he invested his best with youthful zest despite his failing health in recent years.
I had the good fortune of having a long and close association with Tapan, both in our peace work – mainly through Pakistan India Peoples Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFPD), South Asia Forum for Human Rights and Other Media (organisations in which he played a key role) – and at a personal level.
His guidance was instrumental in shaping my work in peace and human rights activism. Though my initial interest was sparked by the colossal violations of human rights around me, witnessing the brunt of India-Pakistan hostility on the people living at the borders in Jammu and Kashmir, and inspiration from my father, Ved Bhasin, it is to Tapan, and his wife Rita Manchanda, that I owe a debt for pulling me out of my father’s shadows and helping me create my own path to channel my convictions into meaningful action.
B.M. Kutty, I. A. Rehman, Admiral Ramu Ramdas, Tapan Bose at PIPFPD Convention, Bangalore, 2000.File Photo
Before I met Tapan in the late nineties, I was familiar with some of his work – notably his films on Bhagalpur blindings and Bhopal gas leak and his phenomenal documentation of human rights abuse in Kashmir. The admiration deepened after meeting him – his vast knowledge, clear vision coupled with his articulation and oratory were powerful. I found his humility and warm smile endearing.
Tapan was a close associate of my father, both founder members of Pakistan India Peoples Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFPD), and they shared a common passion for peace, democracy, equality and justice. My initiation into the PIPFPD and other human rights interventions were to a large extent a result of his encouragement and mentorship.
One of my biggest lessons from my association with him is to keep looking for possibilities in the face of impossibility and not give up. Tapan was an obstinate optimist. “You can’t keep waiting for the right situation to start working for change. You must work towards making it happen. That’s how situations change,” he would say, pointing to the birth of PIPFPD – a movement of people from across the borders to rally for peace and democracy – which happened when India-Pakistan hostility was at one of its worst. “We could do it then, we can do it.”
It was this belief that energised his involvement with whichever issue he worked on – South Asian peace and unity, media freedom, Naga and Kashmir crisis. He not only led movements and campaigns for peace, but he also worked tirelessly and inspired many. In whatever he did, he was passionately involved and continued to remain invested in each issue he pursued – though the momentum of work would vary.
It was always a pleasure to be around Tapan and listen to his views on every issue, often his conversations were laced with wit and humour. Unlike many of his stature, he was also a very patient and observant listener. He would take a young activist or a student as seriously as he would take a senior colleague, without being patronising.
Our commitment to similar causes brought our families closer. Tapan and Rita often stayed with us whenever they visited Jammu or Srinagar, and I have enjoyed their warm hospitality in Delhi on a couple of occasions. Their house was an open space where like-minded people would always converge over coffee, drinks, or for collaborative work.
Whether it was work, music or food, Tapan was passionate about everything, even about polishing off a packet of biscuits with his morning tea. He didn’t live life; he loved every bit of it.
In 2016, Tapan was in Jammu as the keynote speaker at my father’s death anniversary, commemorated with poetry, literature and music themed around peace. It was difficult to talk about friendship with Pakistan those days when the Hindu rightwing fervour had reached a feverish pitch in the city. But Tapan minced no words in his speech, speaking both against Hindu majoritarianism and batting for a people-centric peace and talking about the centrality of Kashmir in India-Pakistan peace.
Tapan made the crucial distinction between state-level and people-level peace. Whichever government is in power, he said, state-led peace is inherently unstable and vulnerable. Real, lasting peace must be built at the people’s level.
In 2018, when Rita and I were collaborating on a Kashmir-related project, they stayed with me in Srinagar. If he had the time, Tapan would sometimes accompany us on our field trips. It was a year before the Article 370 abrogation, but one can recall the early signs of tightening restrictions, particularly in South Kashmir, were already visible. When we were on our way to Pulwama, the security forces at a barricade tried to stop us from entering the town, Tapan disarmed them with his words. I can’t exactly recall what he said but they were convinced and let us move ahead.
The last I met both of them was at their house for dinner in the early summer of 2022. After that, I may have briefly chatted with him several times over phone. The only detailed conversation I had was in March 2023 when I interviewed Tapan for a PIPFPD collection over Zoom. Tapan looked frail but he was just as clear with his foresight and strong with his arguments.
His health deteriorated after that, and he had been in and out of hospital several times. Despite his condition, his death came as a shock.
How do you let go of a person whose existence is valuable to the world and your own life? At a time when the world needs more people like Tapan Bose, his departure makes the weight of loss heavier.
My solidarity with Rita, his daughter – Mishti, his grandsons – Rudra and Somansh, and his vast circle of close friends. They must be shattered. But in this mourning, there is a celebration of his life. His absence will be filled by his memory in our hearts and his words in our minds, as a guide. Long after he’s gone, he will continue to live.
Adieu Comrade! Long Live Comrade!
First Published on kashmirtimes.com