This happened around five years ago. I was in 9th grade at the time. There was going to be a social science fair in school. It’s like a science fair, except with models of historical monuments and things like that. I’d spent most of middle-school splurging my free time in arts and crafts and watching kids’ science shows on TV. The country assigned to us was Russia. I plunged head-first into the idea of making a model train set that resembled the trans-Siberian rail network. Naivety aside, this wasn’t exactly a good idea. I had almost no prior experience in making moving models and I only knew how to make bulbs glow using batteries, wire, and lots of tape.

I listed out a few parts for the project: LEDs ( these were the exciting new thing around that time ), switches, batteries etc. Now I just needed to buy them. Most of the electrical shops I dragged mom to turned me away. They mostly sold tube lights, ceiling fans and the like. None of the small parts I needed. After a few days, I stumbled on this little shop tucked away in the corner between two buildings two streets away. It wasn’t exactly hiding, but you wouldn’t notice it amongst the glowing signboards and bustling traffic. Above the storefront was a humble signboard, lit up from the tube-light behind; “Chakraborty Electrical Works”, white on Navy blue, all caps. I beckoned to mom and we decided to give it a try. The shop wasn’t very impressive. There were shelves with boxes on two of the walls. Below them was a table at the far end of the shop with various equipment on it. The counter had a window with more boxes.

The shopkeeper was an old man, thinning white hair, falling teeth and everything. He was sitting at the table engrossed in a newspaper as we approached. He got up a few seconds after we’d reached the counter, folded his paper and came up to the counter with a smile. “How can I help you?” he asked in a voice I always associate with old men. A sort of voice with the feeling of an impending cough that never arrives. I showed him the parts list. He asked me what I was trying to make. I tried to describe my idea to him as best I could. His face lit up and he shuffled back to one of his shelves and brought out a box. From within emerged a variety of small toggle switches, the kind you would find on old television sets. There weren’t more than three pieces of each kind and some kinds had fewer pieces. This wasn’t his usual trade. He brought them over and helped me choose some, explaining how some of them worked. It seemed to be of great interest to him. Then he found a few LEDs and some 9-volt batteries for me. These were all things he kept but hardly ever got to sell. He explained that you could only buy these things from the market in Chandni Chowk, where they sold all kinds of switches and motors and LEDs. He also told me that in case I needed something next time, he’d get them from Chandni Chowk when he visits. I thought that was rather nice of him. We got everything we needed, thanked him and left.

I went back to his shop a few times over the next few months for similar purchases. He was always kind and helpful, asking what I wanted to make and giving me ideas about them. I used to walk with mom in the evenings and whenever we passed his shop I’d see him sitting at his table reading the newspaper. The sign outside was still the same white on navy blue lit by a tube light behind. We soon moved to a different house a few blocks away and I got involved in other stuff. We hardly went to that road during our evening walks anymore. But whenever we did, he was there with his newspaper.

About a year and a half later, I was participating in a science fair at school. I’d come up with an idea that I was sure would revolutionize the world. I was still rather naive. I showed up at the shop with mom again one evening. Mr. Chakraborty greeted us getting up from his table, newspaper folded. He looked considerably older than he should have. “You haven’t come here in a while. What are you making this time?” he said with the same smile. Yet again I described my idea to him. This time, however, he couldn’t help. I was a bit too ambitious and he didn’t have the parts I wanted. He suggested I go to Chandni Chowk. I was a little disappointed but I bought a bunch of batteries and LEDs from him anyway. I think he felt good that he could help me somehow. I didn’t return to his shop after that

Time passed. I went away to college in Delhi. I’d come back between semesters and occasionally when we got week-long holidays. On my fourth such visit something changed. I still went for evening walks with mom. This time we walked on that road every day. I noticed something peculiar. The shop was closed. No light on the signboard. It was closed the next day too, and the next and every day until I left. I had a sinking feeling in my gut. Mom didn’t know what had happened either. A few weeks later, when I was on the phone with mom, she mentioned that Mr. Chakraborty had passed away. I felt somewhat bad about this. I had hardly known the man. I had no reason to, but nevertheless, a sense of loss engulfed me still. Mom told me that his wife now sits at the shop. I saw this the next time I visited. We were out on one of our evening walks. There outside the store on a wooden bench was an old woman talking to some other people. I couldn’t get myself to walk up to her. What would I say? What would I buy? Should I console her on the loss of her husband? Did I have the right considering I barely knew him? I kept walking without a word. I wondered how long she’d tend to the shop. Did she know the trade? Was business good? How was her health? The questions floated around in my mind until I had bigger fish to think about.

I came back to Calcutta after Durga Puja this year. It was the mid-semester break, one of those week-long holidays. When I was walking down that street, my eyes instinctively searched for the white-on-blue signboard. I didn’t see one. The shutters were pulled down. The signboard was plain, white and dark. There was no bench in front of the store. I wondered what had happened? Had Mrs. Chakraborty passed away like her husband had a year ago? Did she die from the grief and loneliness? Or had business simply not been good enough to pay the rent for the shop? I don’t think I’ll ever know. I can’t get myself to cross the road and ask someone. I don’t believe I have the right.

I have since found a different shop for electronics parts. It’s a bit far but it has what I need. The shopkeeper is younger, but even his hair is graying. I still remember Chakraborty Electrical Works sometimes. Soon there will be another shop where the it once was. It might sell food or clothes or even electrical goods again. But it will never be the same shop.