Okay .. sorry for that exuberance ! Just expressing anticipation of more occupied evenings, much to the consternation of some of the FmXt, and perhaps … well never mind ..

An old old friend from the days of Allahabad, wrote in - Syed Rifaquat Ali. He was in school with me at the Boy’s High School, now a journalist writing for Hindustan Times and sent me an article he did recently. Nostalgic. Here it is -

BHS … the boys school. And GHS its sister school for girls, some distance away. Came to BHS from St Mary’s Convent, where I was till the upper KG and then all the boys were asked to leave, because St Mary’s was for girls. Their brother school was St Joseph’s next door. But my parents put me in BHS and there is where I remained till the 7th, before moving to Sherwood in Nainital.

Yes Ali, I do remember you and the cricket with Ashok and Sudhir and that wonderful day on the school pitch when you and fellow classmate Subhash Bose made centuries. Ashok and Sudhir remained with me in Delhi too, in University and then in Kolkata, where we were all together hunting for jobs. We ‘chummeried’ together. My own expression of the more common ‘chummery’ used to describe a living arrangement where a number of executives working in managing agency houses, lived together in an apartment or rooms. We were all together in Clacton Apartments on Little Russel Street in one, yes one room on a bed and breakfast facility. At any given time we were never less than 8 of us in there. On beds closely strung together, on the couch, on the floor at Rs 300/- per month. And my salary was Rs 500/- which after taxes etc came down to Rs 450/-. One room, not more than 15′ by 15′ and one small bathroom, with an ancient gas system to heat the water in winter. Ashok, you may know passed away from a very strange illness and Sudhir who worked with a bank, I think Grindlays, became pretty big and important. We met up several times in Mumbai too. I am uncertain where he is now. I remember Grindlays because Sudhir asked me to open my savings account there, which I did and which I had great pride in, because I had been able to save up almost Rs 400/- in it. I mention this with some alacrity, because it had a moment for me when I was in Mumbai looking to join the film industry. On a particularly desperate day in this beautiful city, when nothing was working, when there was no job, when feeding myself was getting difficult, I suddenly remembered that I still had not closed my account in Kolkata at the bank and that I could well use the saving there, for my meals, at least for a few days. I made repeated visits to the branch here and kept pestering the management to transfer my money to Mumbai so I could use it. They kept stalling the process and after many reminders and futile attempts I walked into the Manager’s Office one day, offended that the bank was not giving me my money. The Manager was calm and well mannered and most politely told me that my balance was indeed not 400 rupees but a mere Rs 5 and 48 paise and that even that was being utilized as transfer fees, so I in fact had nothing in the bank ! There have been many embarrassing moments in my life, but the walk back from the bank that day was one that I shall never forget. I never had the courage to look up and match glances with a host of bank employees staring down at me !! I was ashamed at myself, at my condition and my state. And when I see youngsters today on these reality shows on Tv, so keen and determined to excel and be accepted because their Mother’s sold the last piece of their jewelry for him to enter the competition, I am moved beyond expression. I was one of them or perhaps worse and I thank the Lord for his kindness and care towards me. Life changes without warning. It took care of me soon enough after that bank incident, but banks came back into my life in the middle when everything was going well. At the time of the formation of AB Corp, banks of immense presence and value used to be sitting in my office pleading that we take our funds from them and give them the honor of being associated with me. And when the company went bankrupt, when I went bankrupt, those very same banks invaded my premises, abused me for not returning their money, threatened me and filed court cases against me. Life changed again. I was alive again and liquid. I paid back all that I owed money to, banks included, but I shall never forget those representatives and those senior administrators, or those chairmans of these lofty institutions that had maltreated me. I will not name them, but I shall never forget them for their attitude to me and I shall never ever bank with them, god willing.

Yes, Ali I remember all that you write about. 17, Clive Road and those unbearably hot summers and the visits to my house in the middle of the day when I used to sneak out to play marbles. I visited BHS again during the time when I fought an election from Allahabad. So much has changed since the time when we were there. I remember most of the anglo indian names that you mention. Some of them I had encountered on the playing fields and in the boxing ring. I remember the 2nd standard classroom and our race to reach it first after a break and how Sudhir had accidentally pushed his hand in through the glass window of the door and lacerated his entire hand. He still carries those scars, I may inform you. I wonder too if you remember Rajni Kant Verma. He joined the foreign service and I met him long time ago when he was posted in our mission in Pakistan. I met Prabhat Govil if you remember him. The brilliant student who always came first even when he had had a double promotion into our class. Met on a flight once. He was on his way to USA where he had become a most promising doctor, I think. And do you recollect the Brar’s. Some of his family remain in touch. The Brar’s, his Mother, that ran a hospital in Allahabad, the hospital where I was born in 1942 ! Such old tales. And Unniyal. I met him recently in Delhi. Our grandchildren, his and mine, were performing on stage at a function put up by my daughter Shweta for a noble cause.

Thank you Ali, for all the memories and enjoy your stay and life in Sydney.

Gosh !! Takes a while to come away from those days and those times. Somehow time stands still in those corridors. These are the doors that never close. Those are the times of our lives. The happiest ever, irrespective of the circumstances.

I was wanting to devote today to so many pending thoughts. Yes the medical and another of value, but I think they shall have to wait for another day. There were some cuttings from a news paper that had ignited my thoughts. But let me see. I shall perhaps work on it tomorrow.

BHS … goodness .. so many memories … coming in the first three in class, standing on the victory podium at number 1, first in all the track events and a proud and excited Mother taking my photographs, getting hit by a shoe thrown by one of the seniors because I refused to be bullied by him, my head splitting open and my father taking umbrage at the incident, my first time in a boxing ring, my first caning in the school by the principal, a sharp chisel in the carpentry class going through my finger as I missed the wood, finger hanging in two pieces and getting it stitched up, the mark still there with me, the boy scouts, the camps in the hills of Kumaon, the marathon that we ran through the city, not eating my lunch and throwing it away in the bushes at the bus stand where I got off to walk home, getting caught one day for it, the thrill of being in a chemistry and physics lab in school for the first time, playing ‘gulli danda’ beyond school hours, and yes totally forgot, how accidentally I hit the ‘gulli’ into Sudhir’s eyes on one occasion … the school stage appearances, reciting childrens poems written by my father - ‘gubbaron ka lekar dhaer, dekho aaya hai shamsher’ , a poem on the ballon man, and at a particular juncture to having to burst a balloon with a pin that I carried surreptitiously, but it not working because the air in the balloon had diminished …

I could just go on and on and on …

“… those were the days my friend …”

Love.. nostalgic … permanent

Amitabh Bachchan