Haath Chhod..,

It came naturally to him. Whenever he was in the company of the fairer sex he would hold their hands while talking to them. And the women on the other end never seemed to mind. They were very comfortable with their hands in his hands in the most public of all places, the NM canteen, Rasraj, Prithvi Café, Class rooms for crying out loud. And that’s where I met him the very first time. Just before Professor Iyer’s class, explaining Standard Deviation to a maiden while a few guys sitting on the bench behind made cat calls of “ saale haath chhod”.

To say that Chirag didn’t leave her hand is an understatement. He kept holding her hand through the discourse on Variance. And then it hit me. He was not doing it for some cheap pleasure. He was doing it because he was supremely confident that he could do it. And get away with it. Like he could get away with shirts which had every shade from the Asian Paints Diwali catalogue. Or he could get away with asking Talwani for his notes and keeping the originals and asking Talwani to study from the photocopies as he didn’t like that smell. Or he could get away with actually receiving a bribe from a Bombay Police traffic mamu.

He could get away with this and a lot more because he was very comfortable in his shoes. Very few people are. Only those who have the intelligence and know that they have it. He was, unarguably, the most intelligent person I have met. But there is more. Underneath that confidence that sometimes bordered on arrogance, was a gem of a human being. I was a small town boy, gawky, unsure, trying to find my way around the madness that was Bombay when I met him. And he not only showed me the way, he also taught me how to find my own way. I could make my own path because I knew if I went to unchartered territory he was just a call away. There was always that safety harness. Today that harness is gone.

There are things that you take for granted in your life. Sun rises from the east, London is always damp and cold, Air India will always make you feel like giving up flying, and when you dial a certain number you will hear that unmistakable “namaskaar”. Noone bothered to tell me that these “namaskaars” are finite. That I will have to consciously start using the past tense. That someone who personified life itself is not there any more.

We spent a year listening to Madhushala between NM and the rest of the world to Ravi’s constant consternation and never thought life will imitate art, and how.

छोटे-से जीवन में कितना प्यार करुँ, पी लूँ हाला,
आने के ही साथ जगत में कहलाया 'जानेवाला',
स्वागत के ही साथ विदा की होती देखी तैयारी,
बंद लगी होने खुलते ही मेरी जीवन-मधुशाला।

How can this be a just world. Please God, stop, rewind 10 days, play again.

And this time I promise I will make sure the day doesn’t end without an exchange of namaskaars. I promise I will write better and more cohesive sentences, I will not give him mustard oil in a shampoo bottle, I will even eat frozen aloo paranthas and give up rajma. Rajesh will be more responsible and not leave weeks worth of effort in the local. Ravi will not go to the library to “study” without asking. We will do that long pending US coast to coast. We will push a fully functional car on Worli sea face when its pouring. We will watch reruns of Govinda movies. We will…..

We had made it an art of leaving movies halfway. Little did I know you will walk out halfway from the movie of our life. We are waiting in the theater, calling out to that angel who is leading you…”haath chhod”.