There are people who live tremendously, as great artists, beautiful people and far away stills. These are the people you read about in papers, brush past awkwardly at public events, and wonder what their life would be like.
Prabuddha Dasgupta was a beautiful man. I remember seeing him once from a close distance and I, among many other women was instantly in love. He looked effortless, friendly and humbled. He smiled not at anyone in particular, but just as if he was having a good day.
This was at a PDG exhibit I went to sometime in my second year of college, extremely emotional and somewhat high, with an ex boyfriend who claimed to an keen photographer but was a total idiot. As he strode past all the work, basking in his own idiotic arrogance, I stopped at each, unable to stop a lump in my throat. I looked around and saw hoards of important Delhi people and kicked myself for almost tearing at a cool event. But I looked around again and noticed that everyone was feeling like me. There was bunches of staring people in front of every photo, overwhelmed and shaking feet nervously. Prabuddha's work is like that. It is loaded and passionate.It shoots into your heart and evokes every little nerve. It makes you think of things that have made you feel the same way. It is calm and aesthetic but in the same frame it primal and common. His work is like the first step in a cold river, and like a hand brushing your hair behind your ear.
May he rest in peace.