In Memory of Prof. AC Roy

In Memory of Prof. AC Roy
** © Bimalendu Som, 1967, Department of Architecture
** © Narayan Prasad Mukhopadhyay, 1967, Mechanical Engineering

Architect Making Characters
Bimalendu Som, Department of Architecture (1961–1967)

As I pay my tribute to the ‘Architects of Character’ – those mentors who shape lives – on the occasion of Teachers’ Day (September 5, 2025), I am reminded of the legendary Principal of B.E. College, Prof. Atul Chandra Roy; a truly incomparable figure! To the best of my recollection, he held the position of Principal at B.E. College from the early 1950s through the mid-1960s.

The golden days at B.E. College were a truly unique and cherished experience of my life! I was admitted to the Department of Architecture at B.E. College in mid-1961. For our batch, the architecture curriculum spanned six years! The greater part of my student life there unfolded under the tenure of Principal Professor A.C. Ray—an administrator who embodied the duality of being, to say in Sanskrit “বজ্রাদপি কঠোরানি, মৃদুনি কুসুমাদপি” which means “harder than the thunderbolt yet softer than a flower.” We first met during my admission interview at the college!

Although I did not have him as a teacher in the classroom later on, I had the face-to-face encounters with him – my Guru, my Mentor outside of class-room about three times! Each of these incidents created bittersweet memories of my B.E. College days. Even after all these years, those moments remain vivid in my memory! To me, A.C. Roy; the legendary Principal of B.E. College was an ideal teacher, a true ‘architect of character.’ Through the recollections shared below, I offer my salutations and tribute to Sir on the occasion of ‘Teachers’ Day 2026′!

** First experience: A test of my presence of mind!
Let us start with a day in May or June of 1961, the day at B.E. College, I was facing the toughest hurdle of my academic journey – the oral examination. I was under immense mental pressure, but by following the tips given by my *Mejda* (an alumnus of the 1957 batch) to the letter, I aced the interview and was absolutely overjoyed! His first piece of advice was: “After entering the office and receiving permission to sit, pull out the chair silently and sit up straight, but make sure the chair doesn’t make a sound. And things like your knees shaking under the table or biting your nails – those are signs of nervousness! You have to give the answers smartly, whether true or false but without fumbling at all.” Make sure none of that happens.
And, there was the next tip: A.C. Roy, a man of commanding presence will likely be the central figure on the interview board, flanked by various department heads. Advising me not to let Professor A.C. Roy’s piercing, brilliant gaze rattle me, *Mejda* said: “Answer every question fearlessly, while showing him the due respect.”

By relying primarily on the tips from my elder brother and using my presence of mind to field the barrage of questions directed at me, I could manage to lighten the solemn atmosphere of the interview room a bit! I simply cannot resist sharing a few examples of the IQ-testing questions fired at me by the board members, including the then-Principal, A.C. Ray: (the entire interview was conducted in English)
– You passed through Shalimar’s third gate; can you tell me how many railway tracks are there?
– So, Bimalendu, how many steps did it take you to get from the college’s main gate to the portico?
There was another question directed at me: “Is the capital of Australia Melbourne or Sydney?” …and so on.
Finally, the Principal shared the good news: “Bimalendu, today you have been selected for admission into your second-preference discipline, Mechanical Engineering! The interview for your first preference, Architecture, is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. You must not be absent under any circumstances! If you aren’t selected in that interview, only then will you be able to enroll in your second-preference discipline!”
He then asked me, “Bimalendu, is that clear to you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied in agreement.
“Okay then, your interview is over for today! You may go back now and enjoy!”
“Thank you, Sir,” I walked out, filled with a sense of great joy, as if I have climbed onto the top of Mt. Everest!

** Second experience: Punishment for dereliction of duty, or forgiveness?
It was November 1961; I was a first-year student staying in Hostel No. 13. One Sunday, Subir and myself were on mess duty. After we had collected the lunch rations from the store that morning, Subir proposed around eleven o’clock, “Bimal, we haven’t seen the movie *Junglee*. Let’s go watch it then! It’s a huge hit; the screenings at the Society have been playing to packed houses for the past year.”

By the time we retured after conquering the world, it was nearly 7:30 PM evening. Even before reaching the hostel, we sensed that something was amiss. Our hostel-mates had returned from the weekend break, and upon seeing us, they unleashed a torrent of abuse. The reason? In our absence, they hadn’t been able to access the store to collect the afternoon rations. It was Hostel No. 12 that extended a helping hand in that crisis! It simply hadn’t occurred to either of us to leave the store key with anyone.

The news spread like wildfire! Apparently, even the Proctor had come to check on the situation. He had left instructions for the two of us to meet him as soon as we returned to the hostel. So, Subir and I rushed over to the Proctor’s quarters. Apologizing to him proved futile; he spoke with intense annoyance: “The Principal has ordered you both to meet him in his chamber tomorrow at 11 a.m.” So, it was clear that we were in for trouble. Back at the hostel, we had to endure the taunts of our friends though, really, what was the use of regrets now? “Now, go ahead and have the farewell dinner hosted by Hostel Number Twelve!” After dinner, I returned to my room, but I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, consumed by the humiliation and anxiety of having to return home for good.

The next day, at exactly 11 o’clock, myself and Subir entered the Principal’s chamber, obviously with his permission. He looked at us, his eyes blazing like balls of fire! I felt a chill of dread run down my spine. Subir went first; they asked him his name, where he lived, how he commuted, the taxi fare, and so on. I was also in the same panic, but unlike Subir, I didn’t live in Delhi! I lived in Dum Dum Nagerbazar; the fare would be ten or twelve rupees at most! In a split second, I devised ‘Plan B’: I couldn’t tell the truth! I would claim my address as Cooch Behar where my elder brother was posted!

After Subir was grilled, it was my turn. Under a barrage of questions, I had to explain that there was no direct train connection to Cooch Behar and that one had to travel via a Fokker Friendship flight. Upon hearing about the fare and other details, he instructed: “Hmm, alright; go collect the money from the head clerk, I’ll call and let him know. And listen, you must vacate your hostel room today itself!”

My head hung low in shame; how could I possibly tell my family? That I have been expelled from college! Leaving the Principal’s chamber, I went to see the head clerk in the administrative office. Although he delivers a lecture with a solemn air, he remains tight-lipped when it comes to the matter of money. Unable to voice my frustration, I simply stood there with my head bowed. Finally, he says, “I had to deliver that sermon on your behalf under the Principal’s orders.” He also mentioned that there were difficulties in processing the refund from the office, so neither of you needs to vacate the hostel for the time being! He has pardoned your lapse in duty this once, but warned that he would not forgive such an offense in the future!

** Third experience: The consequences of breaching discipline!
It was around end of 1962. I was a second-year student then, living in Slater Hall. I had returned to the hostel by the afternoon following the Puja holidays. About half a dozen of friends suddenly decided to go to the movies! The film *Suryashikha*, starring Uttam and Supriya, was showing at the Alka cinema hall near the Shibpur tram depot. We agreed to catch the evening show. We were short on time, so the six of us set off immediately. Fortunately, we had no trouble getting tickets. However, on the way back, the number 55 bus was packed to the brim, and there wasn’t even standing room! We let the first bus pass, hoping to catch the next one heading towards the college. As a result, we were quite late getting back to the hostel.

It was well past nine o’clock; besides our gang of friends, there were a few others in the group, all from the college. As our large party passed through the turnstile at the college’s second gate and walked a short distance into the campus, we noticed two gentlemen standing in the shadows beneath a *Debdaru* tree on the left side of the road, leaning against a black car. Little did we know that danger was awaiting! We were so engrossed in discussing a ‘hot scene’ from the movie *Suryashikha* that we didn’t even glance at the two men. Completely unbeknownst to us, the vehicle coasted silently down the slope, then the engine disengaged, and came to a halt, splitting our group into two. Somesh Biswas, Priti Kumar Nayak, and myself were on the right; Subir Saha, Anup Mitra, and Shubhesh Majumdar, along with four others were on the other side of the road. Our Principal stepped out from the front right door, accompanied by an associate from the left, while two security guards emerged from the rear doors. As if we are facing a lion, the Principal demanded an explanation from three helpless “lambs” for their breach of discipline. Finding the answers unsatisfactory, he unleashed a barrage of indiscriminate slaps upon Priti, Somesh, and me. After punishing the three of us on the right, he crossed the road to the other side. There, too, a flurry of slaps began raining down. By then, two security guards had detained everyone. The gentleman accompanying our Principal was busy noting down everyone’s names and hostel room numbers in a diary. No one escaped the slapping. Then, weary and exhausted, the Principal started the car and drove off with everyone, taking the road to the left. The next destination was most likely the ‘Operation’ senior hostel; sounds of boisterous revelry could be clearly heard drifting from there as well!

** Fourth: A Caring Guardian!
It was late April or early May of 1963, about 4 or 5 months after the Uttam-Supriya’s *Suryashikha* incident. The second year’s final examinations were scheduled to conclude on a Saturday. Just before that, on the Friday afternoon, a uniformed messenger arrived, sought us out, and handed us a letter. The address written on the envelope was ‘Slater Hall’. The messenger said, “I have come from the Principal. He has invited you all to his bungalow for tea tomorrow evening at six o’clock!” I was surprised and frightened, both. However, opened the envelope and found the listed names of the six of us who were returning to the hostel following the Puja holidays—had gone to watch the movie *Suryashikha* that very night. And on our way back, those who were punished for a breach of discipline. We were all surprised by the invitation, had absolutely no idea about this affectionate side of our formidable Principal! Subir had to leave for Delhi on the night train, so he wouldn’t be able to attend the Principal’s tea invitation.

On that Saturday evening, the five of us, dressed as presentably as possible arrived at the Principal’s bungalow. An orderly in a white uniform ushered us onto the spacious veranda and asked us to take our seats on the chairs that had been neatly arranged there, before heading inside.

Within a few minutes, Sir arrived and welcomed us with a smile! He was dressed in a crisp, spotless white *pyjama-panjabi*. In this casual attire, his personality seemed to take on a whole new dimension, he appeared to be a completely different person. One by one, we rose from our chairs and touched his feet in reverence; he, in turn, blessed us all. We then apologized for the incident where we had breached discipline.

With a touch of emotion in his voice, Sir said: “Everyone knows me as an extremely strict administrator. Perhaps that is the truth; the burden of responsibility has, over time, made me a stern man. The families of some fifteen hundred students at B.E. College entrust their sons and daughters to my care, resting easy back home. They harbor but one dream: that their child – son or daughter alike returns home one day as a renowned engineer. If a student has their parents as guardians at home, then the guardian for nearly fifteen hundred students at B.E. College is the Principal. It may not be possible for every student to become a renowned engineer and bring pride to their parents! But I do want all my students to grow into truly good human beings. I would never want the futures of BE College students to be overshadowed by my mistakes. You were not the only ones to suffer from the harsh act of my raising a hand against you; I, too, endured equal mental anguish. That is why I feel so much lighter today, having been able to speak my mind openly. I had hoped everyone would come, but that did not happen; I heard that the others had gone home.” That was for the first time Sir spoke in Bangla. He hailed from East Bengal, and his speech carried a distinct East Bengali accent.

The orderly arrived with a plate laden with sweets, savouries and snacks, arranging them neatly on the tea table. Shortly after, he served cups of steaming hot tea. Bringing his emotionally charged conversation to a close, Sir said to everyone, “Well then? Come on, start eating; the tea will get cold!” Then came the time to take our leave. After paying our respects to Sir, the five of us friends headed back to the hostel, filled with a wonderful feeling.

I cannot teach anybody anything;
I can only make them think.
– Socrates

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In Memory of Principal A.C. Roy
Narayan Prasad Mukhopadhyay, Mechanical Engineering (1967)

I entered B.E. College as a student on a rain-swept afternoon in 1962. My residence was Downing Hostel, an old edifice of British architecture. Thus began a new chapter of my life – my engineering education. Mr. S.F. Downing was the first Principal of B.E. College, and the hostel was named after him.

I cannot speak of the British era; however, I can speak of another principal whom I witnessed firsthand, that a man whose name is still remembered with reverence in the hearts of his students. He was Atul Chandra Roy, known to us simply as Professor A. C. Roy. Although a Bengali, he was every bit the quintessential ‘Sahib’ in his manners and speech. We had him as our principal for a brief period of three years, from 1962 to 1965. Subsequently, he left to assume the role of Vice-Chancellor at North Bengal University.

There was a senior of mine named Samir Pal, two years my senior, and we lived in the same neighborhood in Nabadwip. Samir-da had secured the fifth position in the Higher Secondary examination. Even before entering college, I had learned a bit about Professor Ray from him. Samir-da had already told me that he was a strict administrator – a man of imposing presence. Both teachers and students alike held him in high regard and treated him with deep respect. He also mentioned that he was known as the “Black Jewel of Glasgow.” When I asked the reason for such name, I was told that he was a brilliant student and an engineer from Glasgow; he earned the nickname because his black complexion. But nevertheless, he was a Jewel, no doubt.

I first saw him at the college oval playground during our annual sports prize-giving ceremony. He was accompanied by his wife, a stunningly beautiful woman. I listened, spellbound, to the speech he delivered in English that day; I do not recall ever hearing such an excellent English speech before.

At that time, courtesy the British era, our BE College had few tennis courts that was comparable to the best tennis courts of Calcutta. The famous Indian tennis player Premjit Lall used to come to the BE College tennis courts for practice, and through this connection, he frequently visited the Principal’s home. One day, out of curiosity, a few of us were loitering near the Principal’s residence, peeking here and there, hoping for just a single glimpse of Premjit Lall. Suddenly, we saw the Principal coming out, accompanied by his wife and his daughter, Georgina. At the sight of them, we were absolutely terrified; we were practically frozen with fear. I barely managed to save myself that day by scrambling away in a desperate rush. Thank goodness he didn’t spot us; who knows what would have become of us otherwise.

In another incident, when I was in my second or third year- now I can’t recall exactly- when we got into a confrontation with the neighbouring ‘Bataitala’ group. We had even rushed out of the hostel armed with mosquito-net rods, ready for a fight. Upon hearing the news, Sir immediately hurried over to where we were. That day, I witnessed firsthand how firmly he brought that volatile situation under control. “Boys, go back to your hostel. Move fast.” That order was so strict that we dared not disobey it- “Move fast”

Although he appeared stern on the surface, he was actually a man with a great sense of humor. We were likely in our fourth year at the time. Professor Amitabh Ghosh used to teach us ‘Theory of Machines’. One day, we were waiting in the classroom for the professor when, suddenly, the Principal walked in. Immediately upon entering, he asked, “What is the subject in this period? Who is the teacher?”
We answered. Immediately came the next question, “What topic is he teaching now?”
We replied, “Flywheel.”
Then came the follow-up: “Why is a flywheel named that way?”
Professor Ghosh had introduced the topic of flywheels in the previous class, but he hadn’t actually explained the origin of the name! We all sat in silence. Ashok Mallick, the top student in our class, stood up and tried to say something, but he was so nervous that none of us could understand what he was saying. The professor asked again, “Is it because the wheel flies in the air, or because a fly sits on the wheel?”
I did not initially grasp the answer hidden within his jest. He then explained how the word “Fly” originated from the “fly balls” of a governor mechanism and the “fly press.” Anyway, shortly thereafter, Professor Ghosh entered the classroom, and we felt a sense of relief.

His personality had such a profound impact on my subconscious that, even in my later years, I would occasionally see him in my dreams – many a times, it seemed, conducting an interview with me. Sitting nearby would be Professor Durgadas Banerjee, Professor Shankar Sen, or Dr. Baral at different times. Meanwhile, the Principal would question me sometimes about the college clock tower, at other times about the Howrah Bridge, or perhaps about the angel atop the Victoria Memorial.

I heard from a friend that he hailed from the Barishal region (বরিশালের বাঙাল) and spoke the distinctive *Bangal* dialect with ease in informal settings.

Throughout my five years as a student and my subsequent forty-year career, I have never encountered anyone else possessing such extraordinary knowledge, personality, and administrative acumen.

Indeed, a towering personality of knowledge, affection for students, and also an administrator, are truly rare in the academic world.

A leader … is like a shepherd. He stays behind the flock, letting the most nimble go out ahead, whereupon the others follow, not realizing that all along they are being directed from behind.
-Nelson Mandela

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