In Bengali seasons, Hemanta is very short-lived. In Bengali songs, Hemanta sweeps through across the seasons. In spring, he breezes; in summer, he cools; in rains, he pours; in autumn, he is festive; in the quickly drawn shadows of Hemanta day-end, he broods; in the lazy noon of winter, under the can-make-do wrapper, he warms. When I hear him, I sometimes wonder, if he is really absent from our eyes so long.
The tall and straight man, wearing full-sleeve white shirt, sleeves rolled out to elbow, and dhoti; with clean-shaven chubby face, black-framed glasses, bountiful, well-oiled back-brushed hair iconised the singer.
His irresistible romantic appeal in “Sedin tomae, dekhechhilam bhorbelae” can change to an enchanting revolutionary call to the masses: Pathe ebar namo sathi, pathei habe e path chena. His pathos in “Aj dujonar duti path ogo duti dike gachhe benke” can merge with a nocturnal rendezvous: E raat tomar amar…. . Hemanta is such a magic.
The Bengalees, the Rabindrasangeet lovers, hardly can ignore the lilting question Hemanta asks, melodically, persuasively, persistently, yet wistfully: Protyaho sei fullo shirish proshno shudhae amae dekhi,/ Esechhe ki . We do not know, if the elusive man, dear, so dear, in our life, ever comes calling. We keep waiting. That is, perhaps, what life is.