I first met Pod more than fifty years ago in that prestigious college in Delhi where we were to spend five delightful years together. While in college, Pod (not his real name of course, but a poignantly evocative nickname) and I, along with the rest of our gang, had plenty of fun. Tutorials, scrambled eggs and toast at the café, taxi-rides to Sheela Theatre, Dara Singh movies followed by dinner at Tare-Pyare dhaba, bunking classes, the occasional Chinese dinner at Mikados, a cabaret show, heavy drinking sessions (mostly cheap rum), duck shoots and picnics on the Yamuna, treks in Himachal, raiding the fruit-shop, and much later, in our M.A. days, parties with girls!
After college, Pod joined the Administrative Service. He soon got to Delhi, where I was then posted. To my delight, he was appointed the Resident Representative inDelhi of his State and moved into his official residence, the opulent palace of the former ruler of one of the princely states. My wife and I spent many weekends at his palace, in the ruler’s luxurious suite. One day, after a particularly enjoyable weekend there, I was in no mood to go to office. Egged on by Pod, I rang up my boss from the bedside phone — sheer luxury in those days!
As soon as he heard my voice on a Monday morning, the boss knew what was coming. ‘Yes, young man,’ he asked patiently. ‘What’s your excuse this time?’
‘Sir,’ I told him quite truthfully, with Pod giggling uncontrollably by my side, ‘I’m in a palace, sleeping in a maharaja’s bed, there’s a swimming pool just outside the room, and I just don’t feel like coming to office today. May I take the day off?’
There was a slight pause, followed, incredibly, by a chuckle at the other end, and the boss said, ‘ Acha baba , enjoy yourself. Take the day off, but don’t make it a habit.’
Pod had a fleet of cars at his disposal, including a Mercedes-Benz. He visited us frequently at our humble second floor flat in Saket. It was a treat to watch him arrive: the dapper Pod in a chauffeur-driven limousine! Our status went up in the neighbourhood for him.
After his stint in Delhi, Pod went back to his home State. We missed Pod and decided to visit him. As usual, Pod was the genial host and arranged comfortable accommodation for us at a Government Guest House in the State capital. A junior officer then, he must have had some difficulty in arranging the place for us. Many years later, when he was Home Secretary of the State, he sent me a telegram which said, ‘Come soon. No accommodation problems now. Am Home Secretary. Jails come directly under me.’ Pod had a sense of humour!
Pod’s rise in the bureaucracy was spectacular, and before we knew it he was occupying the top slot, that of Chief Secretary! Though not an abrasive character, Pod was a principled man, scrupulously honest, and totally dedicated to his work. He soon fell foul of the politicians, and resigned in disgust, though he was allowed to retain the innocuous designation of ‘Adviser to the Government’ till the end.
And then, suddenly, I got the news of his death. He had had a massive heart attack in his distant hometown when he was barely 60. My wife and I were shattered. It was not possible for us to attend his funeral but within a month we met the family. His son took us around all the places associated with him, and we even accompanied him when he took Pod’s ashes to their final resting place. My mind was at peace; I finally felt that I had done justice to the memory of my dearest friend.
We miss Pod very much; his sartorial elegance, his quiet companionship, and his boyish, guileless laughter. We miss him so much that we have a small shrine-like alcove in our room, above my computer table, containing his photographs. He is also the only person apart from immediate family members who is included in our daily prayers. He must surely be enjoying nirvana .
thommen1512@gmail.com
