The Laughter, The Arguments, The Regret and The Relief

My first memory of Jagdev goes back to Class 10 in school in Ranchi.

The session had already started a few weeks back and one of the classes was going on when a teacher walked into the classroom with a very lean, quiet Sikh boy and asked him to take a seat. That was Jagdev. If my memory is not failing me, he was wearing all whites - so maybe it was a Saturday - and had a green patka (A patka is a smaller, simpler form of turban worn by Sikh boys and sometimes by Sikh men during sports or casual activities).

To everybody’s amusement, instead of sitting in the boys’ section, Jagdev crossed the entire width of the classroom - straight to the first bench in the girls’ row - and sat there calmly. The entire class found it hilarious. Jagdev, however, looked completely unfazed.

I do not think we became friends immediately. In fact, when I think back about Class 10, I do not remember too many incidents involving him and me together. We must have been cordial - like everybody else in the class - but not particularly close.

He stayed in the main Dipatoli military cantonment on the outskirts of Ranchi and I stayed in the officers’ quarters in the middle of Ranchi. I am not even sure whether those were technically separate cantonments or part of the same military establishment. The two places were several kilometers apart and, in those days, friendships depended heavily on physical proximity. There were no mobile phones, no internet and no social media. Once school ended, everybody disappeared into their own part of the city.

Things changed a little in Class 11 when both of us joined the Commerce section. Ours was a smaller section with around fifteen or sixteen students while the Science and Arts sections were much larger. Smaller groups naturally create more interaction.

I started visiting his house occasionally. His family was warm and welcoming. His father had risen to officer rank in the army and they lived in officers’ quarters. Jagdev had sisters and he was the only son in the family. I could sense that he was deeply loved and probably the most naughty and pampered member of the household.

He was introverted. He spoke very little. But whenever he did say something, it was either unintentionally funny or unintentionally awkward.

And sometimes both.

The Haircut

One of my strongest memories from school involves Jagdev and a very unfortunate haircut.

When Jagdev had joined the school in Class 10, he used to wear a patka. At that point, like most Sikh boys from traditional families, he had long hair and had probably never imagined cutting it.

Then suddenly one day he decided to chop it all off. I still remember him telling me that with his hair gone, he was probably no longer welcome at his grandfather’s house in Punjab.

Why did he do it? I honestly do not know. Maybe he wanted to blend in better with the rest of us. Maybe he was tired of standing out. Or maybe, like most teenage boys, he thought a new hairstyle would dramatically improve his appeal among girls. High hopes!! That did not happen at all.

Initially, everything was fine. After the first few days, everyone got used to seeing Jagdev without a patka or turban. The novelty faded away and life moved on.

And then fashion happened.

Back in those days, a particular hairstyle had become extremely popular. Boys kept their hair longer on top while shaving or trimming the sides and the back almost to zero. Jagdev decided to go for it.

The result was unforgettable.

Since his scalp had remained covered by long hair and a turban throughout his life, suddenly exposing it fully revealed skin that was unbelievably white. It looked so strange and unexpected that the entire class found it hilarious. Even teachers commented on it. It made Jagdev awkward and conscious.

The next day, however, something miraculous happened.

Jagdev entered the classroom and his scalp looked completely normal. The shocking whiteness had disappeared overnight. For a brief moment we were genuinely wondering how he had managed that....Till he started sweating.

Slowly, very slowly, thin black streams began appearing near the sides of his head. That is when we realized the truth. To darken the exposed white skin, Jagdev had applied black liquid shoe polish all over his scalp. And now, because of sweat, the polish had started dripping down. People laughed uncontrollably. Even Jagdev eventually saw the funny side of it and started laughing himself.

Even today, after so many years, the incident brings a smile to my face.

Another thing that I remember from that entire haircut disaster is that Jagdev started getting a lot of flak from teachers for his new hairstyle. So, in what we believed was a great act of friendship and solidarity, some of us decided that we too would get the same haircut. I do not remember how many actually went through with it, but I definitely did. The hairstyle looked ridiculous on us. I blame the barber.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge

Another memory from those days is when he suddenly came to my house and insisted that I accompany him for a movie. The movie was Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.

Both of us had already watched it, but he wanted to watch it again. He had truly loved the movie while I had found it just “okay”. So I was a little reluctant, but looking at his enthusiasm I joined him. He watched the movie like a complete fanboy and lived every moment of it. I could make out that the movie had made a significant impact on him. That remains one of my key memories of Jagdev from school days.

Shared Stupidity

There were also the usual immature school incidents that now seem ridiculous and funny in hindsight.

Once Jagdev made a remark to one of the girls in our class which offended her badly. She was furious enough to complain to our class teacher, who also happened to teach us Accountancy.

Now this particular teacher already disliked our group because we bunked his class quite regularly. So the moment he realized he finally had a legitimate reason to thrash one of us, he arrived in the classroom with the speed and aggression of a man who had been waiting for this opportunity for months.

Back then teachers could thrash students and easily get away with it. In fact, many parents probably considered it part of a teacher’s responsibilities. Nobody questioned it too much. Sometimes I miss those days (this is for a specific reader..my daughter)!

Until the teacher stormed into the classroom, most of us had absolutely no idea what Jagdev had done. The teacher entered, walked straight up to Jagdev and slapped him immediately before even beginning the lecture. The entire classroom froze for a second. Then he announced to everybody what Jagdev had apparently said to the girl.

The girls in class were scandalized. The boys - like boys - found the entire thing hilarious.

There stood our friend getting thrashed while the rest of us idiots struggled desperately to suppress our laughter. Some were giggling with heads down. Some were hiding behind notebooks pretending to be serious. We all ran the risk of becoming the next target.

School friendships are strange. At that age affection rarely expresses itself through emotional conversations or loyalty. More often it hides itself behind mockery, laughter, leg-pulling and shared stupidity.

Lost Touch

After Class 11, Jagdev left school. His father got transferred to Delhi (if I am not mistaken) and, like countless friendships in army/cantonment life, we lost touch completely. That was normal in the 1990s and before. People vanished from your life without closure. My father served in the army and I had already experienced this cycle repeatedly while growing up.

Reconnect-Disconnect-Repeat

Years later, social media happened.

Somewhere around 2012 or 2013, old classmates found each other again on Facebook and WhatsApp.

Jagdev was in Australia by then, living with his wife and daughter and working with Harvey Norman. I was in Malaysia with my own family.

Unfortunately, adulthood had changed all of us. In school we bonded over jokes, cricket, movies, girls and harmless stupidity. Now everybody had political opinions.

Jagdev and I often found ourselves on opposite sides politically. Initially the debates were manageable, but gradually they became personal and unpleasant. He would sometimes comment aggressively on my posts or on posts by some of my friends or colleagues, even though he did not know them personally. Heated exchanges became common.

To be honest, even in school we were never inseparable friends. After reconnecting online, we were more like old batchmates rediscovering each other.

Yet, when he blocked me on Facebook after one argument, I found it deeply strange. I could never understand how school friendships could become casualties of political disagreements.

Then one day he disappeared from the WhatsApp group too. For a couple of years, we did not interact.

Then one day in 2016, I randomly called him.

I have noticed something strange about myself over the years. I can remain angry with someone for a long time, but eventually the specifics fade away. That is a good habit in me. Unless I have felt insulted, I forget about the specifics of any argument or fight. I do not recall who said what. That makes it easy to overcome any bitterness. Sometimes all it takes is one normal conversation to rebuild a bridge.

That day I was sitting at KL Sentral in Kuala Lumpur when I decided to call Jagdev.

We spoke for a very long time. He spoke about spirituality and about a Guruji he had started following. He said he sometimes felt like leaving everything behind and staying in an ashram. He had actually discussed it with his Guruji but was discouraged from doing so. 

I asked him if everything is alright.

He told me that his marriage was going through a difficult phase. His wife had moved out and was staying separately with their daughter. I do not know the full story and therefore I cannot judge what happened between them. I told him that while I do not know the specifics, it seems that the issue is not something that cannot be resolved through communication and understanding. 

During the conversation, what I could clearly sense was the pain of separation from his child. Jagdev came across as a sensitive person and he sounded emotionally shattered. I realized for the first time how deeply he loved his daughter.

I believe that daughters change men. They make even strong men vulnerable in the gentlest possible way.

That conversation affected me deeply and I prayed for him.

In the months that followed, he again went into a shell and unfortunately we again lost touch. I did try to reach him a few times but could not.

Regret

Probably the first time I regretted a social media argument was sometime in 2017.

Years earlier he had unfriended and blocked me after a political argument. Later he had again sent me a friend request on Facebook. I ignored it. Not because of ego. Not because I hated him. I think I simply felt hurt that somebody could throw away an old school connection over silly online debates.

Now I realize I was being equally silly.

In mid-2017, I got the news that Jagdev had passed away in a motorcycle accident in Punjab. It was a hit-and-run case. 

He was visiting his family in India. During his trip, he bought a motorcycle and had taken it out for a ride at night. A car hit him and sped away. He lay injured on the road for some time before help arrived. (source: a friend of Jagdev, who I reached out on Facebook when I heard the unfortunate news)

And just like that, a school friend was gone...forever.

Honestly, when I heard about his death, grief was not the only emotion I felt. I felt regret for losing touch. I felt regret for not accepting his friend request. I felt regret for not speaking to him more often.

But, above all, what haunted me most was the thought of his daughter. In 2017 she was just a toddler. I kept thinking that when she grows up, she may not even remember her father’s face clearly. She may never fully know how much he loved her.

And that thought broke something inside me. That silly argument and not accepting his friend request haunts me and will haunt me forever.

I made a silent promise to myself that if I ever get to connect with his daughter, I would tell her that her father truly loved her and cared for her deeply.

Relief

A few weeks ago another friend and classmate from school - Jinish Thomas - who is stays in Australia told me that Jagdev’s wife and daughter are doing well. They are in touch with Jagdev's family in Punjab and even visited them. He told me that Jagdev's daughter is growing up well. She is doing well in studies and extracurricular activities. She is happy. 

Hearing that gave me immense relief.

Jinish shared a video of Jagdev's daughter where she is wishing Happy Diwali to everyone. I felt that she looks like Jagdev but Jinish said she looks more like Jagdev's younger sister. I do not recall the face of Jagdev's sister so I cannot comment. But the video made me very happy and relieved.

I do not know if I will ever meet her in person or connect with her digitally. But if I do, I will tell her this -

"Your father loved you and cared for you deeply. More deeply than words can explain."

Jagdev, I miss you, my friend. Life took us in different directions and somewhere along the way we allowed silly arguments and distance to come between us. But when I think of you today, I remember the awkward, funny, sensitive boy from school days and the father who loved his daughter deeply. I will always pray for your daughter’s happiness, strength and well-being.

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The above is my FB post in 2017, when I heard the news. Much of what I had written, remains true even today. I still regret the silliness of those arguments and the distance that followed. But after hearing recent updates from Jinish about his daughter doing well, growing up happy and staying connected with Jagdev’s family, I finally felt a sense of relief. Somehow, that mattered to me more than I can explain.