Friends Forever...

I have been empowered by the Universe to make friends easily! Does that sound weird? Not really? But I could think of no other way to phrase a natural ability without sounding affected or even pretentious. Several of the friends I made I have shed along life’s journey, not because they were unworthy or I was callous but due to the simple fact, twenty four hours ceased to suffice. Raising two little ones along with the responsibilities of home and hearth, were more exhausting than exciting, I confess, and further, usurped all my waking hours.

 However, a few of my friends remained at the periphery of my life and a quick letter or card during my precious minutes of leisure were all I could afford them and all they needed to keep in touch with me. They remained loyal and steadfast despite the isolated years of neglect.

Usha, my closest and best friend comes first and far ahead of all the others who follow. Dr Usha Kiran Rai, who I christened Ush! I admit, shrinking that beautiful name to a three letter appellation that could even denote impatience, if given a stern intonation, was not one of my best ideas. The name however stuck and she remains ’Ush’, to this day. Usha was the first friend I made in college and not entirely due to my prowess at making friends. She in turn calls me ‘Vins’, making me feel a winner.

Usha and I in 1991

Summer of 1970

It was the first day of college - St Xavier’s College, Bombay. I attended the introductory lectures in a haze. My head was aching and I felt feverish and unwell. Those were perhaps the first signs of the flu that would keep me in bed for the next three days. As I stood at Marine Lines Station waiting for the local train to arrive, a girl came up to me and rather sheepishly, asked me for a rupee. She was too well dressed to be seeking alms and spoke with a convent school accent. Still dizzy, I smiled and gave her the rupee.

 “My friend Nita,” she said, “was holding my purse while I used the restroom, and seems to have walked away with it.”

 I smiled again and croaked, ‘It’s ok!”.

I’ll return it tomorrow” she continued, “we are in the same class”, waving her hands to indicate the two of us. She didn’t give me her name and I felt too ill to give her mine.”

And more recently in 2014

The next three days found me in bed, with Mamma fussing around and coaxing hot chicken soup into me. Chicken Soup was Mamma’s cure, for all ailments. When I returned to college, Usha came to me at break and smiled as she returned the borrowed rupee. I was so glad to see her! Not because I had anticipated the return of the rupee as much as the fact that I had not a single friend in that class of hundred odd students.  First Year Arts it was! We exchanged names and I had found a friend. A friend who was to remain by my side no matter which ends of the world we were in. A friend for life!

Fast Forward to the Summer of '76!

Rajeev and I were married on the 14^th of July 1976. He had no leave to his credit, having spent all of it on trips to Bombay to meet his girlfriend.  I still giggle at the thought of it!  We had to wing it back to his unit at once.

Life in Ferozepur, a one horse town so to speak, after the hustle and bustle of Bombay, was a change I was unprepared for. Whoever had the time for such enquiry when sweet nothings were all we could think of

The moment we arrived and the Adjutant had conveyed the news to the Commanding Officer, he ordered Rajeev to proceed immediately to the OP area. (Operations Area). - War exercises were on and there was apparently a shortage of officers. No concessions whatsoever were made to accommodate newly married officers! The harsh reality of being married to the Army was just being revealed to me.

 Capt Rajeev Khullar moved to OP area without delay, leaving me alone in a large house with a large garden, allotted to Major Ramesh Nagpal. The army has a rule that does not allow allocation of houses to married officers under 25 years of age. Rajeev was 23. The other officers of the unit however were kind enough to lend their houses to us when they proceeded on their Annual Leave of 60 days. Thus we lived like Gypsies, until Rajeev’s 25^th birthday.

The very morning Rajeev left, an Officer in uniform came to visit me,

“Capt Khevinder Singh Brar, Maam” he said, saluting smartly.

 He wore a turban, as all Sikh officers do and spoke with a clipped accent. I returned his greeting, without the salute of course and before he could finish enquiring after my welfare and needs, bombarded him with a barrage of questions. Once again I was alone and friendless and here was this officer obviously sent to make sure I had no problems settling down. He answered all my queries and returned to work after refusing my offer of refreshment. He was both formal and correct in his manner. This was a far cry from Bombay’s unique form of friendliness.’ Bindaas’ is the word! I was learning, learning fast!

That evening another officer called on me.” Hello Maam,” he said.

 I said, “Hello” a hint of enquiry in my voice.

This was an officer in civvies - civilian clothing. Non-Sikh, I thought, seeing he was turban less and had a short crop of hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. I hesitated, waiting for him to introduce himself.

 He laughed aloud and said, ”Maam, you haven’t recognized me, I called on you this morning?” “Capt Khevinder Singh Brar at your service Maam!”

I blinked and blushed at the faus pas I’d made. All I could articulate was a lame, “Oh!’.

Out of uniform and turban Capt Khevinder Singh Brar was a distinctly different person.

This time, with his uniform, he had also shed his cloak of propriety and robotic disposition.

 Several meetings afterward, I asked him to stop ‘Maaming” or “Mrs KhullarIng” me and call me ‘Vinny’ and he asked me to call him ‘Khevi’. He is a good friend to this day! Another friend for life!

As chance would have it, both Usha and Khevi were born on the 19^th of November. 

The painting of the sketch

Very recently, Khevi found a sketch which I had copied from his Autograph book and mailed it to me. Since it was too small to share here, I dug out the painting I had made of the sketch, 38 yrs ago. During the melee of the ensuing years, it was neglected and folded away. Here it is along with a picture of Usha and myself taken in 1991, on one of my yearly trips to Benaras, where she now lives, and one, of the two of us in 2014.                            

C’est la vie!