Christmas without Santa

This Santa, was in more ways than one, like the other. He with the big tummy and flabby body, who arrived with the gift of bringing cheer and laughter in whichever close circle he roamed in. Most often than not, the subject of laughter would be himself, and the group would take a trip on him. Maybe that's why he was nicknamed Santa!

Santa was the last one to get into our batch, but found his way into the hearts of at least a few of us who got to know him quite well, within no time at all. In a place filled with all sorts of weirdos, Santa was a 'refreshing' friend to have. The first year was quite tough on Santa - he had taken a big decision of discontinuing the course at another top B-school after the first year and was having self-doubts of whether he did the right thing or not. Post summers saw Santa return with a vengeance - and thanks to the sleeping habits of my corridor mate who was the "paper writing" partner of Santa, I got to know Santa better. He would just walk in, get me out of bed and promptly make himself 'comfortable'. After a couple of hours, he would return, blaming Shahnas for not being very serious about paper-writing.

Santa would do a strenous work out + jog (literally forcing one of us to accompany him), only to more than compensate the loss of calories with "butter chicken" later on in the day. One asked him why he is a "Paul" rather than a "Pal", as is common with Punjabis, he retorted ... "arey, dadaji ne pseud banne ki koshish ki! Phir bhi kuch fayda nahin hua!" Such self-deprecatory humour was Santa's forte.

Santa getting carried away was a very common thing. Especially while making presentations in class, the danger bulbs flashed when Santa quoted examples of Coca Cola, irrespective of the subject! But one presentation was unforgettable. For some reason, the most "time pass" of guys came together in a group to participate in an IT presentation competition conducted by a leading FMCG company on campus. Each of us contributed in bits and pieces and none of us knew a clue about what the other had done. We thought that we'd get time to collate and synchronise while one of the other groups made the presentation. But, the worst case scenario unfolded ... we were the first group called. And Santa was in full flow ... managing the show till the time the presentation was collated and loaded onto the PC! And how he spoke that day. He really set it up for us. To cut things short, although there were far better prepared teams that evening, the first prize was won by us - a bunch of 'nobodys'. Needless to say, we nominated Santa as the team leader to collect the cash prize. After sharing the spoils at a Hazratganj joint (other batchmates who happened to be there could not believe their eyes seeing such a disjointed set around a table!), Santa gave the remainder cash to me saying that "we" would definitely spent the sum some day.

Santa loved playing tennis. The first time we played tennis on campus, Santa's rusty tennis resulted in him going down 0-6. Santa returned with a vengeance the next day, to win 6-0! The third and 'final' set was left pending.

The happiest moment for Santa and for all of us who knew him quite well came during placements. By a strange combination of design and luck, Santa who was the first on the wait list for his favourite Coca Cola, found himself being told that he has been made an offer. The mountain of a man just broke down ... and how! The bear hugs that followed were just so memorable.

It is with a broken heart that one writes about Santa in the "past" tense. The bubbly and cherubic Santa - with so much hopes and dreams, fell prey to that moment of madness on the roads, while he was travelling in a taxi. Say 10 years on, if one wondered who all one would meet in campus and would behave with you the same way as he/she always had, Santa would have definitely been one of the first on my list. It's almost as if that chapter is closed.

May his and Manju's souls rest in peace ... and God give courage and mental strength to their near and dear ones to endure this phase in their lives.

A stone for Machaan

“Are you awake, macha?” The booming voice and characteristic laughter was enough to disturb the sleep of even the most steadfast sleeper. “Let us arrange a bike, will you come with me?” More than a question, that was a request. “Where to Manja (as I used to call him)?” The electrician in our campus had apparently told him about a local mela in his locality. To which our amiable friend had promised that he would definitely attend.

Borrowing the bike from a friend ("Sada" used to be so passionate about his bike that he would never entertain such requests – but then, Manja had a knack of getting such things done!), the two of us were off by midnight. With great difficulty – the Lucknow winter did not make things easy, we finally managed to reach the place. This was a classical mela – they had Himalayas, including Mt. Kailas constructed as a tableaux, with people queuing up to pray (!), bhajan singing, honouring a “dada” called ‘kaala baalu’ (off went Manja and his raucous laughter causing more than a few concerned heads to turn!) and some songs sung by the “local” Mohd. Rafi. In the midst of all this, the electrician friend spotted Manja. His face just lit up (it had to be seen to be believed). He got us (“sahib logon ke liye”) steaming cups of chai.

Arming ourselves with bricks and stones – there were rumours that petty thugs occasionally waylay travelers, we reached the campus at around 3 AM.

But then, the happiness on the electrician’s face was worth the whole effort, was what Manja felt.

That was Machaan. Barely 3 years hence, in the same badlands of UP, they killed him gruesomely, for doing his duty, snuffing out the blossoming flower, who considered it his duty to bring happiness and joy around him.