Homecoming

Srini was returning from the US after fifteen years. He was coming to attend the alumni meet of IIT, Madras. Many of his college friends were coming and he was excited to meet them after so long. After graduation, he had moved to the US for his masters and, thereafter, got a good job at Microsoft where his progress was exceptional. A huge house with a pool and garden, cars and high-end labels to wear. The only thing that he, possibly, lacked was someone he could share his life with. He had married his co-worker Althea early in his career but soon she was down with cancer. She battled hard for many years and Srini devoted much time and tried all possible treatments all over the world. She lost her battle some years ago and he went into a phase of depression. His parents had moved in to take care of him. Gradually, from a social recluse he had since taken small steps to connect with new people and reconnect with the old ones. The alumni meet was one such step in the direction to his normalization.

Srini arrived in Chennai a couple of days in advance. He wanted to see his lovely hometown again. He had many fond memories of the place. He landed very early in the morning and asked the cab to drive straight to Mylapore for his breakfast. While going to his old favourite Mami’s Tiffen House, he saw that the imposing Kapaleeshwarar Temple. He decided to go there first and had an excellent darshan of Goddess Karpagambal and Lord Shiva. He was able to locate the famous tree in the temple that made the wishes of devotees come true. Srini hung a toy wooden cradle on the wish yielding tree, closed his eyes and bowed his head and, possibly, made a wish. After enjoying ghee podi dosa and a cup of finest filter coffee, he asked the cab driver to take him to his old residence at the Railway Officers’ Flats on Sterling Road and his school Chinmaya Vidyalaya on Harrington Road. He then checked into a hotel and relaxed. Next morning, he boarded the Vande Bharat train to Madurai for his mother wanted him to seek the blessings of Meenakshi Amman.

Since he reached Madurai early, he utilized the day to see the other temples and historical places in the city like the Nayakar Palace and Gandhi Museum. He had an early dinner and woke up sharp at 4am to the ringing of the alarm. He took a quick bath and wore his veshti (dhoti) and short sleeved kurta and took an auto to reach the temple for the morning darshan. After depositing the mobile and slippers in the counter, he entered from the west-side gopuram and followed the other devotees to the northern side where he stood in the single line queue with a small plate of offering for the puja. He wanted to take the paid speed darshan line but the guard told him at this hour he need not do it for it would hardly take ten minutes to do the darshan. Obedient as he had always been, he quietly stood in the general queue which was moving well till a point and then it suddenly stopped. At this moment he saw some people walking briskly in the adjoining lane which he understood was the paid queue. And among the people who passed him was a woman in green and gold Kanjeeevaram sari with fresh jasmine gajra  on the hair and a boy of ten whom she was tugging along. She went past him in a jiffy but he recognized her… that is Mala for sure.

Srini was stuck, neither was the queue moving ahead nor could he go back now to take the paid line. He wanted to cross over the steel railing to the other side but two things stopped him from doing so… one was being caught by the security people stationed there and, more importantly, he had worn the veshti after ages and, in trying to jump over, it could lead to embarrassment of a greater kind. He saw her rushing ahead and wanted to shout her name but somehow his voice refused to align with him. Helpless and hopeless, he stood there till the time the queue started moving ahead. Srini went inside the sanctum sanctorum and slowly but steadily he reached the Meenakshi Amman idol. He handed over the plate containing a garland to the priest and put a five hundred rupee note. The priest gave him a flower from the thali with the lamp and a handful of dark red vermillion that he put inside a paper packet and quickly went out of the place. He had planned the darshan of Lord Sundareshwara but now he started walking quickly, standing on his toes at times to see if the woman he was searching for was anywhere around. He folded up the veshti up to his knees which freed his long legs to walk faster. Running in the temple premises would have looked silly.

The problem with this temple is that it is too big and is like a maze. You can easily get lost and the most difficult part is that it has four main entrances with giant sized gopurams. The temple has fourteen gopurams in all, big and small, and thousands of pillars numbering more than 14000 with innumerable carvings of deities and other mythological characters. Srini rushed to a point from where he could see the movement on the western and the southern gates but then the other two exits were out of sight. Mala could have easily gone out of the ones he could not see.  Srini somehow felt that she must be somewhere inside the temple and he took long strides to take a look at some other places in the temple. He first went to the beautiful pond with the golden lotus, which Lord Indra had offered Shiva on finding the Swayambhu lingam. On another day he would have spent some time admiring the place but not today. He decided to come back the next morning in the wee hours once again. As he continued with his search, he walked into another corridor and came face to face with an elephant who was blessing the devotees who came near him with his trunk. Srini wanted to save time and avoided the small queue before the elephant. He walked around the temple and missed enjoying the intricately carved rock cut structures and idols and the colourfully painted ceilings. His mind was elsewhere and by the time he nearly completed a full round of the inside of the temple, he felt exhausted. He sat on the steps of the Thousand Pillar Hall with his head bowed and hands on his forehead in a completely dejected and disappointed state. He felt like crying and just then he saw a boy in white kurta-pyjama come down the steps of the Thousand Pillars Hall. Srini recognized the boy. He was the same one whom he had seen earlier in the morning with Mala. He lifted his head and turned around… Mala stood two steps above from the place he was seated. She smiled and loudly asked… Sinu you? What a surprise! When did you come?

I came yesterday and will be going back tomorrow morning.

Here, this is Chandu, my son. We have been living here in Madurai since my marriage with Bala. Please come home. It will be so nice talking to you, knowing about you and your family.

Although Srini had planned to see more of the city that they call the cultural capital of Tamil Nadu but this unexpected meeting with Mala and spending time with her was something for which he would gladly give up anything.

Ok. Just give me your address and I will reach in some time after changing into more comfortable clothes.

She wrote down the address on a piece of paper and said… stay the day with us.

Srini returned to his hotel and quickly changed into his shirt and trouser and lay in bed with his eyes wide open and his heart thumping. He was feeling extremely happy. He started recollecting the growing up days in the Railway colony at Chennai. He used to be a tall and lanky lad and she was a short and pretty lass. He was the quiet, serious and studious one, while she was chirpy, cheerful and a prankster. Both studied in the nearby school and would walk to and from there daily. They would even bump into each other during tiffin breaks and whenever she forgot to get her pen, pencil and other stationery to school. He was her go to person who would also, in his spare time, help her with her homework which did not stop her from pulling his leg or eating away his share of cakes and cookies. Despite all the differences and show of displeasure at times, Srini always enjoyed Malathi’s company for she was all that he wanted to be; she brought a gust of freshness and joy into his otherwise dull life.

He remembered many instances of their growing up days but one incident held a special place for him. This was the time Malathi had cleared her school and joined Stella Maris College in Chennai, and he was in his third year at IIT, Madras.  He had shifted to the hostel as his father had been transferred to Vizag. On some weekends, Srini would find time to go to her house in the city for lunch or dinner and spend some time chatting with her. He always looked forward to seeing her, and on days when she was not at home, he would be very disappointed.  One afternoon, Srini put the coin in the college pay phone and dialled her house number where the mother picked up the receiver…

Hello..

He quickly recognized the voice and said, Auntie, this is Srini. Is Mala there?

Yes, she is here only… hold the line.

Hi Mala. Are you busy?

No. just watching television.

Hey, I got two passes for the rock concert night at Saarang, our college festival. They are getting some really big artistes this year. Will you come?

Thanks for the invitation but Amma will not allow me to go out late in the night and that too for a rock concert.

I will ask Auntie… just give her the phone please.

Auntie, there is a college musical show on Tuesday evening. Can Mala come for it? I will drop her back home safely.

When you are there, we have nothing to worry. She will come…

The day arrived and so did Mala in her smartest attire of jeans and tee. Srini had been waiting anxiously for her for over an hour and when he saw her, he felt over the moon. He ran towards her and took her around the campus. She loved every bit of the sprawling campus that was full of greenery and buzzing with youngsters. They then trooped inside the amphitheatre where the rock show was to happen. The place was completely jam packed and all were trying to push inside to reach a good spot to enjoy the evening. Mala reached out and held Srini’s hand tight lest she got trampled or lost. For Srini, this was like high voltage electric current passing from his finger tips to his entire body. He just didn’t know how to react but clenched her hand tight, as if saying in his mind… I won’t let go of you!

The show began with great fanfare and the bands played with great gusto all the popular songs. The people around were wildly waving their hands in the air, clapping, making noises and the air had a different intoxicating smell of pot. Mala was finding it strange at first and then started enjoying the same for that was the only air you could breathe there. There were times when the crowd went into a trance and people were dancing all around. Mala pulled Srini to join her in enjoying her first late evening out. Srini was a lost man for he had hardly ever danced in public before but then Mala said… no one is watching you. Just do what comes to you naturally and enjoy. He smiled and tried a few steps here and there when Mala held his hands and started raising them up and down while going round and round, all the time singing with the band and the crowd till she took a look at her watch…

It is already 10.30pm… I should have been home. Amma and Appa must be worried.

While Srini did not want this happiness to stop, he said… ok then let us take a cab home.

As they walked out of the amphitheatre, Mala said… hey, won’t you show me your hostel room. I want to see if you still keep it as clean as you used to in school days in your house and then want to have the same fun of throwing your stuff all over and making a mess. You can then come back and clean it up… ha ha..

No.. not now. It is already very late and girls are not allowed in our boy’s hostel.

Don’t give me this shit, Srini. As if you don’t know how your friends sneak their girlfriends inside their rooms.

Srini had never done it before but had seen many of his friends talk about a back entrance. The danger was that if you got caught, then it would mean immediate rustication. But today he was a changed and charged man. He took Mala quietly from the back lane and, fortunately, the guards there had also gone off to sleep or had joined the music fest. He opened the lock and switched on the light. Mala went straight in and sat down on his bed and was admiring the place which looked so neat and clean. She looked at Srini with his back pressed against the door and smiled. They then went out of the room and while walking out of the dark alley, Mala suddenly stopped, wrapped her arms around Srini, stood on her toes and gave him a peck on his cheek and softly said… You’re my hero! The boy went frigid and did not know what to say or react.

Without saying another word, they took a cab home. Srini went to her house, met her parents, had a nice cup of filter coffee and then walked back to college. It was almost morning when he reached the college for he had walked for over fourteen kilometres like a zombie, all through the night. As was expected, the good boy missed his classes next day for neither could he sleep nor wish to step out of the scenes of the previous evening and the night. Anyway, the boy was shocked out of his slumber by the results of the next semester and his father’s terse letter asking him to concentrate on his studies. He once again went back to his old ways of books and library and went to Mala’s house rarely for fear of getting distracted. Her father retired from service and they moved to their family home at Pallakad.

But who can forget his first kiss and the girl who kissed him… never! As luck would have it, Srini got involved in his higher studies and work in the US and one day, he got a marriage invitation card from India. It was Malathi getting married. Srini felt sad but then he was far too committed to his career and accepted his fate and followed his fortune in the new world.

And today after so many years, Srini was feeling very happy having met Mala. He put on an extra round of Hugo Boss perfume and combed his hair well before driving away to her house. He remembered and thanked the Wish Yielding Tree for making his wish come true.

The Wishing Tree.
Courtesy Internet

SS 

The Laundromat

 I met a gentleman two months ago. He seemed hale and hearty and we sat down for a cup of tea and talked for some time. One month ago, got the news from his son that the same man is down with leukaemia. Recently got to know from his daughter-in-law, that the man is in critical state. 

That’s the fickleness of life- only certainty is its uncertainty. It means the end could come anytime so a man’s best laid plans and dreams of future vanish in no time. What should we do in the face of such uncertainty- believe in karma and just wait, pray and hope that life ahead will be good and the end peaceful? That is a good thought but have you thought of what you will leave behind when you undertake the final journey?

Should you consider the option of ‘death cleaning’? No, this is not a morbid thought but a way to clear the clutter of possessions, emotions and regrets and leave the world in peace, love and grace. This is not an original thought in the tiny head above my shoulders but based on a stray forward on social media which got me thinking and expanding the idea.Later, on checking, found that this cleaning of possessions concept is based on Margareta Magnussen’s book, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning,” and is meant for people over sixty-five.

The first part of clearing the desks, drawers and almirahs of clothes, gifts, souvenirs and things that you really do not need and use today, is possibly the easiest of the things to clean. The way to go about is to objectively open up the spaces inthe house that stores the worldly possessions like clothes, shoes, accessories, furniture and mementos and segregate the ones that are hardly or ever used. Step two is to either sell what can be done or give them off to anyone who needs them,to people working at your homes, society and work place. If you cannot find such people in your circle of influence, then search out some NGO or self-help group that will accept the same and give it to the needy. Don’t worry whether the things will go to the right people or not. Just give it away, free up the space and feel light. 

Do this gradually… a shelf at a time, a drawer at a time and then cupboard by cupboard at a time. 

Simultaneously, to this physical cleansing is the resolve to resist from buying things you do not really need. Forget the lure of fifty percent off sale and taking to e-commerce for the best deal of the day. Buy what you really need. And then for the rest of all that stays behind or what you leave behind in terms of possessions, make a will. Do not leave it to your children to clean up the pile of clothes and goods nor would you want them to run around the courts solving feuds of property and wealth that should have been bequeathed as a natural and smooth transition. 

Now examine the other cleaning- cleansing of your heart. This is not part of the Swedish book. Cleaning of the heart would lead to clearing the space currently occupied by negative thoughts, ego, shame and hatred and make way for only good memories, good emotions and inner peace. This part will be truly challenging and may not be easy but then the end state should be your driving and compelling force as you power wash the devils in your mind and heart. 

The three steps to this ‘chamko’ cleansing are:

a.​To those people you may have hurt, go and say sorry;

b.​To those people who may have helped you at some stage in life, go and say thank you;

c.​To those against whom you have grudges, let go of the same and forgive.

The most important part of this activity is to draw up the three lists. Do it by writing it down on a piece of paper. If you are able to write it after rounds of scribbling, changing and editing, half the work will be done. And if you are going to tell yourself that you have no one to say sorry to, or no one to thank for, and no one to forget and forgive in the life lived so far, you obviously must be God for sure. Mind it, all our gods and goddesses had their failings and even they would be able to write down a few names against each of the actscommitted. Just make the list of the first three names for each of the heads. Saying sorry, thanks and forgiving the dead doesnot count. To them, you can do it anytime by just closing your eyes and conveying your heartfelt feelings. This, too, matters but for now work on the living lists. You need not even write down the reason for your putting down the names in any of the lists for that is very personal and only you should know why, what, where… offer no explanation or justification to anyone. This is very much your list and your self- accountability.

My Sorry List 

1.

2.

3.

My Thank you List

1.

2.

3.

My Forgiveness List

1.

2.

3.

Now after writing, start reaching out to one relationship at a time. Do not rush this like a check box because this is going to be mentally very taxing and only if you sincerely believe why the person is in any of the lists, will you muster up the courage to say those magical words. Go beyond the realms of shame, embarrassment and awkwardness to do this cleaning. If you think that speaking to the people after ages of the events that led you to put their names in your life’s list may be strange for both them and you, conjure up the person in your mind while sitting alone one day, speak to each one of them individually and reach out through the telepathic signals ofyour mind. That, too, would go a long way in putting your personal laundromat to good use. And as you do it, you will make space for purity of the heart, clarity of the mind and tenderness of memories.

Now with each act of doing away with the dirt, there will also be some extra void created. To fill this emptiness, start filling up simultaneously with something you may call, ‘the life list’. This involves adding to your life till the very end. Just two thoughts come to mind immediately.

a.​Help someone unknown without putting it out on FB, Insta and WA. Remember how we acted during the dark days of the pandemic- we all wanted to feed the hungry, render assistance in any manner to the sick and be thankful forwaking up every morning. This is very much doable and will leave you with a feeling of joy beyond words. Keep doing this repeatedly.

b.​ Start having some fun to life by knocking off some items of your ‘bucket list’. Every place visited, every food tasted and every activity knocked off from the list will fill the twin buckets of heart and mind with joy, satisfaction and inner peace. Do things that make you truly happy at no one else’s expense.

In the end, just wish to quote from the immortal lines of the song, Laaga Chunari Mein Daag by Sahir Ludhianvi who echoes somewhat similar feeling of a distraught person whose heart and soul have been soiled with worldly desires and wonders how he will ever be able to look into the eyes of his Creator when he meets him.

Kori chunariya, aatmaa mori 

Mail hai, maya jaal

Voh duniya more babul ka ghar

Yeh duniya sasuraal

Haan, jaake babul se nazarein milaun kaise….

 

Yes, each one of needs a good cleaning in their personal laundromat in this life before undertaking the journey to the next.

SS

The Don

 Speechless in Elevator

I get along with little children. The toddlers kind of love me because I whistle at them, clap my hands and make funny faces. When they feel comfortable and smile, I extend my arms and when they come walking towards me like drunken men, with their squeaky shoes making funny sounds, I pick them up, throw them in the air, catch them and twirl around. Once the action stops, the kiddos start giggling and crave for more.  This connect has never failed me ever… not ever. For once, however, I faced a rather difficult situation.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was returning from the market after buying a box of chocolates. These were for the participants of a training programme that I was to conduct the next day, something which I always do to bring fun into the sessions. For my earlier programmes, I had given away Five Stars or KitKats. To bring in freshness, this time I had bought a box of Fuse chocolates. This box had a very different look and the shopkeeper put it in a white plastic bag that was semi-transparent. As I entered the lift, I encountered a young mother with a three-year-old girl. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and pressed the buttons for our respective floors. I smiled at the little girl who looked at the packet in my hand. With a grim face and a heavy voice, the kid said…Chocolate! It was not a question but a very affirmative way to say… you have chocolates in your hands. 

Yes, beta. 

This was a sealed box of chocolates for my work place. One for each of the participants.

She was not listening to my explanation and this time roared…Chocolate do…

It was a no nonsense and forceful way of saying, I don’t care, just give me the chocolates. The way she said it was like someone putting a gun to your head and saying…your money or your life….

The mother pulled the kid away from me but this one was of a different kind all together. She was simply Un-Put-Downable. She wriggled out of the mother’s grasp and rushed towards me and once again snarled and shouted…. Chocolate do!

By now the lift had reached the 10th floor and the door opened for the mother and child to exit but the kid put her finger on the switch that keeps the door ajar and once more made the demand.

I thought that it would be better to open the packet and hand over a few pieces to this ‘bandita’ and save myself any further threats and embarrassment. For I had never been reprimanded like this for a long time. Last I remember my mother and some of my school teachers scolding me in this fashion. But the mother of the kid added- Please don’t give her. Her teeth have all gone bad. She forcefully pulled the kid out of the elevator and the door closed and I reached the safety of my home.

D opened the door and said… why are you looking so pale? I narrated the whole incident who started laughing aloud… a kid just terrorized you…. I can’t believe it! 

Yes… you are right. For those twenty seconds, I was completely zapped. But I feel bad for the kid. I must buy her some chocolates and give it to her today. D readily agreed. And so, I went down again to buy two big bars of Cadbury’s Silk chocolates. I thought this would be a good way to repent by giving big bars to the girl and her elder brother. This time I insisted on packing them in brown paper envelope to ensure no one could see what was inside and make another demand. 

After my evening walk, I requested D to accompany me to the kid’s house while I handed over the chocolates and she agreed. I pressed the doorbell and held my breath as I saw the house help open the door with the little girl in tow. As I extended my arm to hand over the packet, the maid said…. The parents are not home. Please do not give this to me. I cannot accept this.

I agreed to what she said and was withdrawing my hand when the little one charged at me and made the loudest voice… Mujhe chocolate do.

The maid forcefully pulled her back and shut the door quickly and saved me from being mauled. D was witness to this encounter and she once again had a good laugh at my expense. Next morning, I was sure the kid would have gone to school and I took the lift down one more time, this time even more terrified than before as I rang the bell. The mother came out and I felt somewhat relieved. Despite her protests, I hurriedly handed the packet and rushed to the safety of the lift… I said to myself….jaan bachi toh laakhon paye….

After a week or so, I met the girl’s father and jokingly told him about the incident. The father laughed and said… Meri beti Don hai!

I could not agree with him more. 

Main Hoon Kaun…

The next story also involved a kid, one who was just six months old and the parents wanted to celebrate the ‘annaprasan’ or the rice ceremony. It was a happy occasion and we thought we should definitely go. What caught the attention of was the address on the invitation which got D thinking… actually overthinking. It read... Di Don October Housing Society. The word Don made the antennas on her head turn blue and red intermittently like the flashlights on police vehicles. 

She first did a Google search to confirm that the sender had sent the correct address or made an error in typing. A quick search and the details of the building and pictures popped out…. Hmmm this is a stand-alone complex which has recently been redeveloped. That was her first observation. 

Why will someone have such a strange name? I am sure the local dada or goon would have done the redevelopment and named the building as Di Don. 

But why October? I asked.

It maybe his birthday month.

Sounds illogical but anything is possible nowadays.

Maybe, he is developing a set of twelve buildings in the area and naming one after each month of the year. 

You may be correct for in Mumbai the only activity that is happening is redevelopment of houses. And the land sharks are the real Dons of today.

You will not take your car for the function… she said sternly.

Why not? It is a Saturday morning and the traffic will be less. With you wearing a silk saree and me in kurta-pyjama, it will be more comfortable to drive down and we will arrive in spick and span state.

No, means no! The Don’s gang will be around and by the time you have had your celebratory lunch, you might find your car missing. You are a retired man now and you cannot afford a new car now. 

Since the screening of Pink, I have understood what it means when a woman says No. So, for the sake of maintaining peace and harmony at home, I agreed to take an Uber. 

On the appointed day, we took an Uber cab and reached the Don’s lair. It was a pretty nice building but D examined the place from right to left and top to bottom before entering the lift where she asked… Did you see any shady looking characters?

No, not at all. I did not even see the other buildings named JFMAMJJASND. 

What’s that?

Possible first letters of the Don’s other buildings named after the remaining eleven calendar months.

She was not amused at all.

The anger gave way to smiles as we enjoyed the ‘annaprasan’ ceremony, blessed the baby and his parents, met the other guests there and enjoyed the sumptuous lunch. We then bid goodbye and came down the elevator where we booked an Uber. The wait for the cab was about ten minutes. 

By now, having interacted with the people at the ceremony, I had come to know that Don in Marathi is ‘Two’ and Di was the literal translation of ‘The’. In short, it meant that this society had been named in respect of the Father of the Nation whose birthday was celebrated each year on second October. D by now had walked up to the security guard stationed at the entrance and asked most innocently… Where is the Ek October Housing Society?

The poor fellow did not know what to answer but said… Yeh Gandhi ji ke naam pe society ka naam rakha hai. Yahan koi Ek October society nahin hai.

I was in splits…She was still unconvinced… What is there to laugh? Who names a housing society as The Second October?

I have seen Tees January Marg in Delhi but this truly is new to me as well.

It is almost fifty years ago that Amitabh Bachchan’s movie Don was released and I saw it twice on the same day at a theatre in Delhi. I got reminded of an oft quoted dialogue from the movie that says…Don ka intezaar toh gyarah mulkon ki police rahi hai (the police of eleven countries are looking for Don). I smiled at my luck of having found him twice in Mumbai recently.

SS

 

My Friend Muchu

Muchu joined the school in class two. He was a chubby chhota sardar who wore the slightly tilted green patka over his tied hair on his head. Thanks to Bunny, a tall lanky sardar in the class who happened to be my good friend, Muchu became my friend. Both their fathers worked for Customs and Central Excise and had known each other for long. My connect with Muchu became stronger as we travelled to school each day in the same Z1 school bus. He would get off at Moti Bagh 1 while I went further down to Moti Bagh 2 which was also known as Nanak Pura because of the big Gurudwara right at the entrance of the government colony. He invited some of us for his birthday party at home and that is when I got to meet his lovely parents and his elder brother who was then studying in college. Somehow the warmth of the parents and simplicity of the boy was something that made me feel comfortable at his home. That was the beginning of a great friendship of two people who had nothing much in common and yet stuck together. Don’t ask why.

While Moti Bagh 1 and Moti Bagh 2 were both government flats, but apart from the name, the two places had little in common. He lived in a palatial house with gardens in front and at the back. It had three large bedrooms, huge living room and kitchen plus an outhouse for the couple of persons working in the house. His father was a very senior government official and they had a nice Fiat car apart from his father being driven in the office vehicle every day. My house was much smaller with no house help for my mother who actually did everything from cooking to mopping to clothes to knitting. And she also worked in a government office, in the lower cadre of course, and all of us in the family travelled only by public transport called DTC. But possibly, those were good old days when position, wealth and material things were secondary to basic human needs of friendship.

One day Muchu said that his mother had to go somewhere in the afternoon and he would be alone in the house. It would be nice if I were to join him and we could have fun together. It sounded good for at home with both my parents at work and sisters who never really bothered where I was, this was a perfect afternoon getaway. I got off the school bus at his bus stop and we walked to his home where he asked me to call my father at work to tell him about my whereabouts. I had never made a phone call ever before and he showed me a beautiful green phone in his living room. I was nervous. I picked up the receiver and put it to my right ear and flipped open my school diary where my father’s office phone number was written. But before I could put my finger in the holes made on the dial with numbers written from 0 to 9, I felt my heart go dhak dhak in the fear of unknown, I quickly dropped the receiver down and requested Muchu to make the call. He was confident as he spoke to my father and also asked him to pick me up from his house in the evening on way home. From the next visit onwards, I got over my demons and called father who would happily come to Horjib’s house (that’s how my father pronounced Harjiv) in the evening and take me home. I can say, thanks to Muchu, I felt at ease in using the phone at an early age.

Soon the post school visits became frequent and the good thing about going to his home was that on those days I would do my homework with him before we got down to playing. One of our pastimes was trying to outrun the scooters that passed his house. We were like strays that run after every new bike or scooter which makes an entry into their territory. Needless to say, I beat him in these races but he was sporting and never complained. He participated eagerly and gave his best in every race. Another of our sport was to enact the comic book heroes. In those days Indian Express used to be the usual newspaper in most homes and it contained a Tarzan comic strip every day. With no one in the house, we would strip down to our undies and play Tarzan and mimic his war cry…. Kreegaah Tarzaan Bundolo! Muchu had a good collection of DC comics and we played Batman and Robin as well. We used to cut the black sleep eye masks his parents would get in the international flights to make masks and then tie towels around our necks to look authentic.

The day-spending now gave way to night spending. My parents were reluctant but due to my tantrums agreed to let me do a sleepover at Harjiv’s house. I had till then never stayed away from home and on the first such night, while a party was going on in his house with a lot of guests, I suddenly felt home sick. Muchu saw that I was not feeling well and told his mother about it. She understood the problem and quickly drove me home even though there were guests at her house. In the next planned stay, I finally, slept well at his house in a cot that was placed next to Muchu’s. Next morning we headed to the dining table for breakfast where nice porcelain plates were laid out on pretty mats with shining knives and forks. Auntie made a nice omelette and placed two fried sausages with bread that was crisply toasted. Muchu started eating the food immediately. When auntie came to the table to ask if I needed more food, she saw that I had not touched the food. Even without my saying she scolded Muchu, You should help your friend to use the knife and fork like this… and she placed the knife in my right hand and fork in my left and showed me how to eat with these things, something I learnt from her and has stayed with me forever.

I could beat Muchu at everything from running to playing cricket to painting. But he beat me hollow where it mattered the most… academics. He would be in the top ten percent of the class in almost every subject while I was in the other end of the scale. He was among the favourites and blue-eyed boys of all the teachers while I had to find a place to hide myself somewhere in the background lest someone picked on me to showcase their fine art of using the scale and the cane. One incident stands out when we were giving our Chemistry practical exams for the class ten boards. We were standing in rows as per surnames in alphabetical order. The first person in the row was Sudhin Sarkar, next to him was Harjiv Sawhney and to his right was me. Both the Bongs were completely dependent on the intelligent sardar to bail us out with external invigilators roaming around. Whatever Harjiv would do, Sudhin and I did exactly the same like picking up a tube and then measuring some liquids, mixing the same to see what colour the combined liquid had turned into. God knows what liquids Sudhin poured into his tube, there was sudden, minor explosion and the liquid from his tube burst out and fell on Harjiv’s answer sheet. The examiner quickly rushed to the place and had the placed cleaned up.  Muchu was annoyed but he steadily completed the experiment and wrote the answer down by covering the sheet from the two idiots to his right and left. Both Sudhin and I begged him to show us the answer which he finally agreed to do and we diligently copied the same without doing our experiment any further. Chemistry for me was the weakest subject and when I took the written exams for the school boards, I had all the symbols written on the reverse of the wooden ruler. Thanks to my prized ruler and friend Muchu, I managed to pass the examination.

During our day-spends, we used to do a lot of sketching and painting with crayons. I was pretty good at it and often Muchu’s mother would come to see our pieces of art. She would admire my drawings more than her son’s who never felt bad. Whenever there was a science exhibition or drawing contest in school, some of my paintings would always find a place there. However, only once did Muchu beat me in drawing. We were in class nine and there was a poster making contest on the subject of excellence. I worked hard and made two paintings that came out beautifully. One was of a sportsman on the podium for excellence in sports and the other was of a decorated army officer for excellence in patriotism. Everyone’s entry was placed on the walls around the class room and the class teacher had to pick the three best which would then compete against the best of other sections. My paintings missed making the cut and Harjiv’s was shortlisted. He had drawn a donkey and wrote… Excellence in Foolishness. The theme caught the eye of the judge and Muchu came out trump.

Muchu had all toys and games in his house. I was amazed at his collection of Dinky cars. He had so many of them ranging from the sports models with Benson and Hedges written to Volkswagon Beetle. He had many relatives living abroad who would bring him toys and gifts. We used to play with them often. My favourite was the 007 James Bond Aston Martin car that he used in the movie Goldfinger. It has a beauty and had three levers. With the first lever, a protective shield would pop up on the dicky that was supposed to protect the spy master from the bullets fired by the gangsters from behind. A push to the second lever led to two automatic guns coming out just beneath the front headlights. Bond could drive the car in speed and yet fire relentlessly at the speeding cars ahead. The third lever was the best. The moment you pushed it, the roof top opened up and a small suited man would be thrown out with the seat springing up. This man was none other than a gangster who had a gun pointed at 007 who was at the wheel. I dreamt of the car on many a night. When we grew up and stopped playing with toy cars and got into playing table tennis and cricket, this car remained stashed in his cupboard. One day, I just could not resist taking it away and played with it at home. No toy was ever so important to me even though it was ill gotten. But somehow, I never felt any qualms about it as Muchu had so many exotic toys and games that he never missed it. For me, it was my prized possession.

After class ten in 1980, we moved apart with him joining the commerce section and me moving into humanities. There were no more days spending and night sleepovers together but I was always an invitee to his house on his next few birthdays. We then grew up and got lost in our own worlds of different colleges, new friends and thereafter to work and settling down with our families. We were then brought together twenty-five years later in 2005 when one of our old classmates settled in Australia decided that we should come together. The spirit of the boys of 10-C, now men, was simply amazing and they descended from all over the country and abroad at Delhi on the scheduled evening at a classmate’s farmhouse. And that is where Muchu and I got together once more. Thereafter, whenever I visited Delhi on work, I tried meeting him. On a couple of occasions met his mother and father, who were always very loving and talked to me for hours together. Every year in November or in December, the class reunion happened and Muchu came for most of those. His health was failing fast. He would often speak to me over phone and also do video calls whenever he felt lonely. Then one day the fateful news came. My dear friend was gone.

Seeing the advertisements and social media posts recently made me sit up and think that in our times we never had a Friendship Day. We just had friends. We never had to send messages and gifts to remind each other of our bonds. We shared what we had. We fought, we played, we laughed, we cried and we lived.

RIP Muchu, my friend. Hasta Manana, till we meet again.

SS