Sambhunath Chattopadhyay (1930-2018) lived the better part of his life in Manirampur, a sleepy town on the outskirts of Kolkata, India. Having chosen to remain outside the poetic movements and fraternities of Bengal, Chattopadhyay never received the limelight of his contemporaries. Neither was he bothered about it. In an interview with Prohor (Hours), a Bengali literary magazine, he remarked, “I wander about like a lonely child. The scenery around enchants me. I pick up whatever I find—feathers dropped by birds, red wild-berries, ripe tamarinds, an egg abandoned by a wild pigeon (could also be that of a snake). Those are my life’s savings. When I leave, I’ll leave them to the road. I’ll not turn back to see if they ever shone in sunlight. This wandering life has given me more than I could have asked for.” Sambhunath Chattopadhyay died in November 2018.