I grew up in Kolkata at a time when public life carried a certain dignity. Politics was not merely a contest for power; it was also an exercise in restraint, language, and moral posture. Disagreement could be sharp, even uncompromising, but it rarely descended into vulgarity. There existed an unspoken understanding that how one conducted oneself in public mattered as much as what one believed. That sensibility was shaped by a political culture associated with what came to be known as the Bengali bhadralok. The term is often misunderstood.

It did not simply denote privilege or social standing, though privilege certainly played a role. More importantly, it described an ethos: a belief that education carried responsibility, that power demanded self-discipline, and that public disagreement required civility. Many of the political figures of that era had been educated in England. While deeply rooted in Bengal’s intellectual and cultural traditions, they had absorbed a regard for institutional conduct and ethical restraint from British parliamentary culture. Debate mattered. Language mattered. Conduct mattered. Politics was adversarial, but it was not brutal.

As a student, I was particularly struck by figures such as Jyoti Basu and Siddhartha Shankar Ray. Ideologically, they stood on opposite ends of the political spectrum – Basu a committed Marxist, Ray a loyal Congressman. Yet their political rivalry never curdled into personal hostility. They disagreed passionately, often sharply, but they did not dehumanize one another. What is often forgotten today is that beyond the public stage, Basu and Ray shared a genuine personal warmth. They visited one another’s homes, lingered over conversation and their favorite Scotch, and sustained friendships that transcended political alignment.

Their ideological differences did not foreclose intimacy; rather, it was precisely their mutual respect that made such intimacy........

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