The Governor Who Stood Up—And Stood Out!!!
Biswanath Bhattacharya
January 19, 2026
The clock had just touched 1602 hours when I entered the Governor’s chamber—two minutes past the scheduled time. Two minutes that suddenly felt like a breach of discipline when I saw him already standing, waiting, greeting me with folded hands. That single gesture carried the quiet thunder of dignity. In a world where power often lounges in its chair and expects others to bow, here was a man who rose first.
In Tripura, we have known officials who treat courtesy as a burden. Men who remain glued to their seats as if rising would crack their pride. Their arrogance is so vast it could swallow the horizon. They greet visitors with the cold indifference of someone brushing away dust. Their audacity is a monument—towering, unyielding, and utterly shameless. And then there was this man—standing.
Our conversation began with tourism, but it quickly became a journey through the soul of Tripura. I spoke of the hills that blush at dawn, the lakes that cradle the sky, the temples that hum with centuries of devotion, the forests that whisper stories to the wind. I told him how Tripura could transform itself from a neglected corner of the map into a destination that captivates the world.
He listened with the intensity of someone who intends to act. His eyes did not wander. His mind did not drift. He absorbed every word like a man gathering tools for a task he fully intends to complete. When he asked me to send some of my articles to his Secretary, it was not a polite dismissal—it was the request of a man who wants to build, who wants to understand, who wants to change.
Then came the revelation that shook me.
No professor at MBB University.
Forty professor posts are vacant at Tripura University.
It hit me like a sudden storm—sharp, cold, undeniable. A university without professors is a temple without priests, a ship without a captain, a future without a guide. The silence of those empty classrooms echoed louder than any protest. It felt as though the very spine of education had been allowed to bend, crack, and crumble.
Yet even as the weight of this truth settled, I saw something shift in him. His expression hardened—not with anger, but with resolve. He was not a man who would let institutions decay like abandoned houses. He would not allow the system to rot in neglect. His presence carried the unmistakable energy of someone ready to shake the dust off the machinery of governance and set it moving again.
We spoke of retired officers—those seasoned minds now scattered across the country. He was determined to tap into their experience, to bring their knowledge back to the soil that once nurtured their service. He spoke like a man who sees experience not as a relic but as a resource. His conviction flowed like a river that knows its direction even when the banks are uncertain.
At one point, I mentioned KV Satyanarayan, an IAS officer. Instantly—without hesitation—he recalled him.
“He worked for me at Nalgonda LS constituency in 1980,” he said, “before joining the IAS in 1982.”
It was not memory. It was a living archive. A mind that stores people, not just names. A mind that remembers service, not just hierarchy.
Our conversation drifted across many subjects—some serious, some light, all meaningful. His demeanour remained warm, unhurried, and inviting. Emboldened by his gentleness, I invited him to our simple home. He listened with kindness, though he did not commit. Even that restraint felt dignified.
We meet countless people in our lives. Most pass through our memory like shadows—seen for a moment, forgotten the next. But some people carve themselves into the heart with the quiet force of truth, humility, and presence.
His Excellency, Shri N. Indrasena Reddy, is one such man.
The memory of our meeting does not merely linger—it glows.
It refuses to fade.
It has etched itself into me like a signature written with light,
a presence that will remain long after the clock forgets 1602 hours.
(Tripurainfo)
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