What do you expect of a child who has lost his father at the age of six to grow up lonely and neglected? For starters, you can expect growing bitterness and disillusionment.
What do you expect of a young boy whose childhood is spent in a decaying neighbourhood, chequered with poverty and stagnation? The last thing you expect of him is to pick up a paintbrush to get himself heard.
When that young boy turns into a man and his mundane existence is streaked with mindless violence all around, the first colours you expect his brush to pick up are shades of red.
The expected, though, rarely happens in life and art. For that we should be thankful to Bikash Bhattacharjee, the artist who was deeply humane all his life, while the world all around him least expected him to be so.