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My name is Soma Chatterjee, but he never called me that. To him, I was always “Babna.”And he — Sarbatrik Chatterjee will always be “Baban” to me.
That’s what we called each other from the day we met — two names that made the world feel smaller, softer, safer.
Today my Baban is fighting for his life after suffering from a severe brain injury and a major hemorrhage that caused the left side of his skull to collapse. He remains unconscious and on ventilator support, receiving intensive medical care and multiple procedures to stabilize his condition. His treatment includes brain surgery, implants, constant monitoring, and critical ICU support.
The Beginning of Baban & Babna
We met on July 16, 2016, at Howrah Station — two ordinary people who didn’t know we were about to begin something extraordinary. We watched a movie, roamed the streets, laughed over nothing… and somewhere in those moments, something beautiful began.
We became Baban & Babna. He was calm, confident, and endlessly kind. Whenever I worried, he’d smile and say,
“Tui chap nisna, ami to achi…” (Don’t stress, I’m here for you.)
That one line could silence every storm in me. He wasn’t just my husband — he was my home.
The Man Who Lived to Ride — But Always Rode Safe
Baban’s heartbeat was the sound of his bike. He often said, “Even if I die one day, I want to go riding.” But he was never reckless.
He believed that a true rider respects the road. As a core member of the Riders Community of Bengal (RCB) and admin of Wanderers on Wheels, he always preached safety — helmet checks, speed limits, discipline, and awareness. He guided new riders, led responsibly, and cared deeply for everyone around him.
He rode for peace, not thrill — for freedom, not danger.
The Night Everything Went Silent
On Sunday, 12th October, around 7 PM, while returning home near VIP Crossing, fate struck without warning. The accident… the sirens… the rush to the nearest hospital — it all blurred together. His left skull collapsed inward, causing a major brain hemorrhage.
He was shifted to a bigger hospital, where he’s been unconscious and on ventilator support ever since. The same man whose laughter once filled every corner of our home now lies in silence —and every beep of the machine feels like my heart refusing to stop hoping.
A Little Boy Still Waiting for His Papa
Just sometime back we had become parents to a sweet little boy. My Baban cared for all my needs, and cravings during the entirety of my pregnancy. At 2 AM when I craved anything he would step out, and do anything to get that.
Our baby boy is just nine months old. He can’t say “papa” yet, but he knows something is missing. He cries at the door, waiting for the sound of his father’s bike.
Even our three pet babies sit by the gate every evening — still waiting for the man who never forgot to hug them first after every ride. The house is full of life, yet painfully quiet without his laughter.
The Promise of Babna
Every morning, I visit him in the hospital, hold his hand, and whisper —
“Baban, you have to wake up. For me. For our baby. For all of us.”When I return home, I hold his clothes close and replay our old videos — that’s where I find my courage. My mother-in-law and maasi ji care for our son while I manage hospital visits and bills.Baban isn’t just my husband — he’s my heartbeat, my laughter, my forever. He’s only 35 years old — we still have dreams to live, rides to take, and a lifetime to build.
His dogs patiently wait for their "papa" to come homeIf you’ve ever loved someone so deeply that the thought of losing them feels unbearable —then you’ll understand what it means when I say, I’m not giving up.
Your support can bring him back to his family.
Every contribution, every share, every prayer is a step closer to another chapter of Baban & Babna.
“Abhi to aur jaana hai, Baban… tere saath. Let’s start again — together.” ❤️Milaap urges you to stand with Soma (Babna) and Sarbatrik (Baban) — your donation today can help bring a husband, a father, and a biker back home to his family.
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