Fixing the heart with joy

Col PS Choudhry (retd)

MY brother and I are alumni of Punjab University College, Hoshiarpur. Post-Partition, Panjab University, which was then located in Lahore, made a foothold at Government College Hoshiarpur and went from strength to strength. The rest, as they say, is history.

Post-retirement, I settled in Mohali, and my brother chose Delhi.

Last February, work took me to Delhi. My brother informed me that every six months an alumni get- together was held in Delhi and was due during the period I would be in the city. On my brother’s insistence, I agreed to attend it. The coordination for these meetings had been entrusted to a resourceful retired Lt-General, and the funding came from an MSc alumnus who was now an entrepreneur.

My brother, his wife and I went to the venue together. People by and large were punctual, a hallmark of the generation to which we belonged.

There were about 30 couples and eight to 10 singles — the age bracket 74 to 80, or thereabouts. The entire lot would have passed out between 1956 and 1960. A few had taken to business while the rest had retired from the armed forces and civil services, or as doctors and engineers. We had aged. For me, it was difficult to recognise most of those present there: some bent, all grey-haired, while a few remarkably well preserved. The ice was soon broken when we began to place each other through NCC camps attended together and sports activities that we had participated in. Soon the shy motley group found its bearings. There was much laughter, leg-pulling and the old days came alive. The clock rolled back 50 years and senior citizens transformed into a raucous bunch of youngsters. Bawdy jokes were freely exchanged. There was much merriment. A spirited lady needed no invitation, she spiritedly sang “Latthe di chaadar”, and soon every member joined in to make it a chorus. It happened to be Valentine’s Day, and one by one, the couples were asked to come up onto the stage. The lady would introduce herself while her husband would present her a rose. A tall, graceful lady thanked the organisers for providing her husband the opportunity to present her the first rose post-marriage; the gathering roared with laughter. The emcee asked those gentlemen who presented flowers to their wives every year to raise their hands. Only five hands went up. Sheepish, the others vowed not to be critical of the young generation but would emulate their example.

Soon, it was time for lunch. Jaswant, who had been a year senior to me, walked up to me and said: “Chou, I suffered a heart attack last year.” I had known about it, but I said: “Do not worry, buddy, God has always been kind. We will meet here again after six months and let our hearts rebuild with joy!”