Brethren, The 19 has just turned four! On the 24^th of June, — on the day Modern Freemasonry came into being in England some three hundred years ago. A CORONA baby, a fledgling that had been  accorded altricial nurture by some caring persons, from the RW District Grand Master, to the erstwhile District Grand Secretary, GN, to the  ever-accommodating staff,  Kousik, of the website maintenance concern. Alongside have rallied a host of brethren, across the spectrum of the Lodges, who have enriched the newsletter with their eminently readable articles over the years, including some from that embodiment of charm, resilience,   industry, sacrifice, valour and fortitude in the face of adversity, the Principal of Masonic Montessori House (MMH), Ms Archana Sudan. Thank you, everyone.

With the Annual Communication a few days away, and in the very likely event of  the District Grand Master resolving not to suffer any longer an editor whose locution has variously been ridiculed as verbose, long-winding, circumlocutory, verbiage, wordy, loquacious, prolix and voluble, and of replacing him with a more matter-of-fact, economical-with-words redactor, this issue might just be the last lyric of a dying swan . Been a very satisfying three years, though, brethren, going back the road of a not-too-distant lang syne. The brickbats have been there. In abundance; though, one recognizes and respects the reader’s inalienable right to criticize. And even as one learns from these. One, at once, derives solace from the bouquets, never mind these have been few and far between. Brethren, thank you, all.

All right, enough of syrup, saccharine, sentimentality, mush, maudlin, mawkishness, — a brace of alliterations, what: let’s now get down to the work at hand; a recount of the goings-on at 19 in the last two months. One harks back to the third edition of Masonic Premier League. Does one sniff a whiff of what might just be termed literary expropriation?  Bro Arijit Sen gives below a graphic account of the day-long event. Known for his lucid style, brethren curl up jack-knifed, lounge on a deckchair, relax supine on a bed, or sit straight-backed on a chair with a mug of coffee for an interesting read.   

That ephemeral spring quickly gave way to a summer that singed. A never-before-heard-of 42 on the Celsius scale at Kolkata – the mercury almost on the verge of evaporating in the capillary – and resolutely staying there for over a month. Global warming, global warming, heed the warning in the air. Add to that the humidity of Kolkata, and you get a taste of what awaits you post sloughing off your mortal remains, should you, dear brethren, stray beyond the straight and narrow. I, never quite known to be one of the holier kind,  now know what is in store for me. Immediate outcome: fall in footfall. Especially for those Lodges which could not commandeer the only AC temple. The District has lately  come up with an innovative solution: letting out the Eastern Banquet Hall – with a powerful 17-tonner  whirring away – for labour, as well as refreshment. At once a Temple and a festive board. Suits the pockets of most Lodges.

Be that as it may, harking back once again down the path of  wistfulness, one fondly remembers a certain Denzel Alfred Hilt. A martinet to the hilt, who did not ever countenance  the slightest deviation from, and shortcut in, the rituals, it had, indeed, been a pleasure to watch him perform the ceremonies. In my twenty-four years of Freemasonry, I am yet to see a better ritualist. Others, who have been around much longer, nod in agreement. A District Grand Secretary, who was much more familiar with the Book of Constitutions and the Bye-laws of the District than the back of his wizened hands, he was just as proficient with the contents of the little blue book. As he was with the clavier; his repertoire was, to borrow an understatement, inexhaustible. Those scrawny fingers would blur on the ivories, churning out melody after euphonic melody. Short and slender, this sprightly man bestrode 19 – in a recourse to an apparent contradiction in terms – akin to the behemoth that goes by the cliched antonomasia, Colossus. Had he been around, one alludes to Denzel, not the behemoth, we would have celebrated this his centenary year. On the 14th of June  . He had been a mentor to many a member. He had been my guru. The 19 raises a toast – yessir, a glass of your favourite rum – to a Mason whom terminal affliction couldn’t cower. Even in his last fading days, when he was virtually not ambulatory any more, he had me set up a to-scale diminution of a temple in his modest drawing room and would have me simulate the Installation Ceremony – I was to be installed the Master that year. May you, dear Denzel, carry on with your customary good work of reforming any unworthy who might have given St Peter the slip and sneaked in  past the Pearly Gates.

Over now to the third great principle of Masonry, charity. Lodge of St Andrew of Kulti came forward to honour a couple of meritorious girl students. Bro Vipul Madeka gives a detailed account below. Not to be left behind, its monozygotic sibling, with most members common, their deoxyribonucleic acid – DNA, should you find the pronunciation of the sesquipedalian, polysyllabic word  a jawbreaker — identical, Lodge Pioneer donated dry rations to a retirement home, Ma Durga Briddhashram, at Hillview Park, Asansol on 11^th June. This is a recurrent charity of theirs, having given to the hospice in October of last year. And earlier.  Bro Tilak Bose gives a recount of the recent charity done by Lodge Darius, another Lodge known for its benevolent disposition.

Then, the refurbishment of 19 goes on. With the Charter Room having gotten  a makeover, the Principal of MMH gets a decent place to meet and interact with the parents. In the evening the room doubles as a festive-board venue for a modest crowd of fifteen or sixteen brethren. The Robing Room, mangled over the years by the elements, is now in its freshly refurbished avatar. The District Grand Master has resolved to use it as his office. To keep an eye on the brethren not performing dutifully in the five Temples around him? But, Bro Sanjay Neogi takes the cake: even as this issue goes to the press, he painstakingly restores the Scottish Room, that had virtually run to seed, and the crumbling toilets of Eastern Banquet Hall, into spanking new incarnations. All of these and those preceding, reported in the earlier issues – the air-conditioning of the Eastern Banquet Hall, the restoration of the Banner Room, the waterproofing of that enormous sieve called roof, the sprucing up of the foyer, the fresh coat of paint on the façade —  on a war-footing in a desperate race against that relentlessly inexorable intangible, time. To have the premises spruced up for the Annual Communication.

That Annual Communication is being graced by M Wor Bro Jonathan Spence, M Wor the Pro Grand Master. Along with three District Grand Masters. An impressive array of dignitaries, one notes with awe.  His first visit to the oldest District, the officers and staff of Bengal are taking no chances. Tickety-boo is the mantra. The 19 extends a warm welcome to all brethren, some from distant shores.

And finally, venturing an educated guess as to who might take over the quill – or, the QWERTY board, to emend an anachronism — from me, I can assure you, brethren, there could not be a better selection. I most happily demit in his favour. These, then, are the valedictory words of yours truly as the editor of The 19. I take your leave, gentlemen. Adieu.