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 wife and especially 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. 

Girl on the Foot-Over Bridge

Yesterday, my wife showed me news reports about the death of Ali Khamenei’s granddaughter in a joint USA-Israel strike on Iran. While I personally support Israel’s position in this conflict, the photograph of the 14-month-old child visibly unsettled my wife and made me pause as well. I found myself thinking about the fate of the child, who would not have understood what is going on around her. Well, she was not alone as no one completely understands what is going on.

This brief exchange with my wife somehow took me back to 2016. To a personal experience but the context is of Syrian civil war and the refugee crisis.

I would not go into the details of the crisis but by 2015, millions of Syrians were attempting to flee the conflict, seeking refuge across borders. Several neighboring countries like Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, Iraq and Egypt hosted millions of refugees.

In Europe, Germany opened its doors to a large number of asylum seekers. I remember that I would often joking remark that Germany appeared to be attempting to correct a historical wrong, though I questioned whether such a gesture was necessary or prudent. Countries including Austria, Sweden, Netherlands, and Greece also received significant numbers of refugees.

I remember being particularly struck by France’s position. France has had issues with Islamic fundamentalists. It probably started with the 2010 ban on face-covering veils (burqa). Then in January 2015, the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris were attacked by Islamist gunmen, resulting in the deaths of 12 people. The assault was motivated by the magazine’s earlier publication of cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammad, which had generated significant controversy. “Je suis Charlie” (French for “I am Charlie”) emerged as a worldwide slogan, hashtag, and emblem of solidarity in defense of freedom of expression and the press.

That France was also among the nations that extended shelter to Syrian refugees – though in comparatively small numbers (roughly 50,000) - struck me as bizarre! France indeed has been facing issues as there have been concerns about security, national identity, and the capacity to integrate migrants.

Back in 2015, in various discussions and on social media, I was vocal in criticizing what I perceived as an overly casual and permissive approach by several European countries. I argued that unchecked influx of Syrian refugees was risky as it was believed that even radicals, involved in mass killings in Syria, were using the situation to get into Europe. I maintained firmly that Syrian refugees should remain within neighboring region.

Yet, even as I held that view, a single image shook me. In September 2015, a two-year-old Syrian boy drowned in the Mediterranean while his family attempted to reach Europe. The photographs of his small body on a Turkish beach became the symbol of the crisis. The image haunted me for some days and may be weeks but then like it always happens, we moved on and forgot about it. My strong opinion about the Syrian refugees did not change though.

Then something happened in late 2016. It did not change my opinion but gave me another perspective.

It was the time when me and my family were preparing for our relocation from Malaysia to India. We had spent 5 years in Malaysia and were looking forward to the move to India. We were quite busy with the packing, paperwork and coordination with the cargo company. Our departure was probably a week away and then – like always in the last minute - my wife reminded about my daughter’s bicycle. My daughter was 5 years old and was extremely fond of her pink and white bicycle. It would have been prudent to sell off the bike and buy a new one in India but so much was about to change in her young life that I did not want her to part with something familiar and comforting.

Transporting the bicycle required dismantling it properly, so we decided to take it to the same shop from which we had bought it. The incident happened on the way.

It must have been around 3PM and we took a cab to go to the bicycle shop. At a busy traffic junction, I noticed a well-built man in a thick brown T-shirt and grey trousers. He was barefoot, moving from one vehicle to another, asking for help. Homelessness and begging, while not as visible as in India, do exist in Kuala Lumpur, so at first I paid little attention. A few seconds later, I looked again and saw that he was holding a piece of cardboard that read: “Syrian Refugee. Looking for Work and Help.” I looked at him for few seconds as I had not met or seen someone from Syria before. I was certain that I would not give him any money - primarily because of my strong opinion regarding Syrian refugees.

I looked away.

Near the junction stood a foot-over bridge (or pedestrian overpass) and I noticed a little girl sitting on the stairs. She was about the same age as my daughter. She was fair, had unkempt hair, and was barefoot. She was wearing a soiled frock - which I am sure would have been white back in Syria. Both the frock and the little girl looked as though they had seen much better days.

She watched the Syrian man with an expression that can be best described as a combination of affection, hope, and a child’s boredom. I looked at the Syrian man and at that point I noticed that, while he was busy going from one vehicle to another, he was regularly looking at her. While I am not certain, but I think she was his daughter.

Even in that condition, the little girl was strikingly beautiful. Her face radiated innocence. I kept looking at them – especially the little girl.

(Since I am sure you are thinking about it, let me clarify that it was a busy signal and we were there for few minutes.)

Then something else happened. A ragpicker – apparently a Malaysian homeless man - appeared from nowhere and started climbing the stairs of the foot-over bridge. He too had unkempt hair, wore a dirty shirt and khaki shorts. He was wearing a pair of slippers. When he reached the girl, he stopped. I felt a surge of anxiety. I looked at the Syrian man but at that moment, he was not looking at his daughter. This made me even more anxious.

Suddenly, the ragpicker reached into his bag and took out a half-eaten packet of potato chips. I distinctly remember shouting a silent “No” from inside the car. The girl looked at the packet, then at the man, then back at the packet. I hoped she would refuse, worrying that it might be unhygienic. I also questioned the ragpicker’s intentions. We clearly had different concerns in mind. She was thinking of hunger, I was thinking of hygiene and her safety.

She glanced toward the Syrian man, who at that very moment - much to my relief – looked toward her. He paused briefly and nodded, giving silent permission. The girl smiled. I still clearly remember that beautiful smile. She looked at the ragpicker, smiled again, and accepted the chips. The ragpicker gently and lovingly touched her head and walked away. I felt a sudden strange pain in my heart. It broke my heart to see she was so hungry that she was willing to take a half-eaten packet of chips.

Just then, the traffic began to move. Argghhh!!!

I do not know why but I asked the taxi driver to stop. He refused, saying he could not halt in the middle of the junction. Of course! I asked him to cross and stop beyond it. He replied that our destination was only 400 metres ahead and that it would be better to stop there. I agreed.

When we reached the bicycle shop, I carried the bike inside and asked my wife to supervise the dismantling as I have to go somewhere. She looked puzzled but did not question or stop me.

I ran back toward the junction hoping to find the girl there. I was desperate and ran as fast as I could. Somehow, it still took a while! When I reached the junction, I was relieved to see that the little girl was still sitting on the same step, eating the chips slowly, as if determined to savor each bite.

I crossed the road and approached her. She was startled to see a chubby Indian man hurriedly approaching her - while gasping for air!! (okay, I am not a runner......yeah yeah, I am not even a walker)

I stopped and looked towards the Syrian man, who by now had noticed me and was hurriedly moving towards us. When he reached us, I asked him if the girl was his daughter. That is when I realized that he does not understand English. He obviously did not understand Hindi, and I did not understand his language. He was looking at me with suspicion.

So, using gestures, I tried to explain that I too had a daughter of similar age. I took out my wallet and handed him all the cash inside. I do not know how much money was in it as I never have an idea about the money in my wallet, but it was not a small sum. I handed him the money and tried to explain to him that it is for her, and he should buy her something to eat. With gesture, I blessed her.

I do not know how much he understood but I think he did get some of it. He no longer looked at me with suspicion. He said a few things softly, but I did not understand him. He extended his hand and we shook hands. He had very thick, very strong hand and a firm handshake. I looked at the girl and smiled. She was looking at us and had a puzzled expression on her face. I wanted to say something to her. I think I did. She did not understand me. I said bye to both and turned back to go to my confused wife and my little angel - who was probably thinking that we have come to buy another bicycle for her! When I reached her, I hugged her and silently prayed that she stays away from misfortunes.

Three thoughts came to me on that day - two immediate, one later.

The first was that I wished I had more money in my wallet. They clearly needed help.

The second thought troubles me to this day. I wish I had bought her some snacks on the way. There was no time to buy a proper meal, but I could have stopped - during my marathon - to buy her something to eat.

The third thought came hours later. And it returned yesterday, when my wife showed me the photograph of the deceased granddaughter of Ali Khamenei. Whatever positions we may take on conflicts between nations, religions, races, or political ideologies, when we arrive at the most fundamental human level - the level of an individual, especially a child - our instinct is not to argue but to feel for them. And if possible - unless the person is truly evil or it's a matter of nation's interest - respond with humanity.

That is the way it should be. Before we are citizens, supporters, critics, or opponents, we are human beings. And it is precisely this reflex - to see the child before the flag, the person before the politics - that is likely to preserve what is best in us. If anything can sustain humanity through its divisions, it is that simple, uncalculated impulse to care. 

Heartbreaking News

Life is so busy and everyone has their share of problems. Where is the time to feel the pain of others? I often hear that from people and I do not blame/question them at all. That is because it makes sense.

But then, I do get moved by pain of others and get the strong urge of doing something for them. It could be financial support or just putting an arm around them and hearing them out.

Just now, I read the news regarding a man in Chhattisgarh, who walked 10 KMs carrying the dead body of his 7 year old daughter. The child was suffering from high fever and extremely low oxygen levels. She succumbed to her conditions in the morning. When questioned, the authorities said that the man was told that a 'hearse' (a vehicle that is used for transporting a dead body to funeral) would be provided but the man left with the body. It does not sound convincing but that is not the point.

What must be going through the father's mind during the 10 KM walk? He must have been dying inside as his daughter was no more. Did he feel the weight? Did he speak to his daughter's body during the walk? Did he want to walk with his daughter as he would have got the chance to hug her all through the long walk? Was it difficult for him to put down his daughter at the end of journey? 

I called Ananya, hugged her and cried. She kept asking the reason but I could not say anything. I just hugged her for several minutes and kept crying.

I looked for the details of the man on internet....I do not know why...

May be its because of my love for my daughter, a father-daughter story especially moves me. I still cannot get over the incident in Kuala Lumpur involving a little girl and her Syrian refugee father.