OLD FRIENDSHIP NEVER DIES

 OLD FRIENDSHIP NEVER DIES

 

LT COL NOEL ELLIS

26/II/2024

 

When I woke up this morning and scrolled my social media, a new friend request caught my eye. It was from a person called “Vinny Khinda”. His face was so familiar. It must have been forty years or more since we met but I recognised him straight away.

His photo made me drift into nostalgia. It was in the City of Palaces, Kapurthala, Punjab, where we grew up together.

Vinny was my younger brother's age, about eight years junior to me. They were neighbours of a classmate of mine who stayed right across the school main gate. Through my classmate, I met Simmy who was our age and was Vinny’s elder brother. Friendship was a bond we cherished.

I had become a Captain in the Army and had just purchased my first 100cc motorcycle called TVS Suzuki. One day, I met Vinny on the ‘Thandi Sadak’, which the Mall Road was generally called. He challenged me to a race with his not so old ‘Bajaj Chetak’. I took the bait.

The Post Office Building was the start point and our school gate was the finish point. Those days, I would shift two gears down and then two gears up, rev up the engine full throttle, to start with a jerky wheelie and off we raced. Till about midway we were neck to neck but then you just couldn’t beat a Bajaj. A bottle of Verka milk at the Milk bar was the prize for the winner. Balle Vinny, chak te phatte.

Mr Hari Singh, his father, was a very reputed  doctor in the Civil Hospital. He rose to become the Civil Surgeon of the District. Auntie was such a very sweet, pious, and homely lady and would treat me well. The love and affection she would pour cannot be explained in words. Rajma she cooked was so God damn tasty. ‘Finger licking good’ is an understatement.

Simmy the elder one, used to listen to songs of Engelbert Humperdinck, Niel Diamond etc. I, being a fan of that kind of music, would borrow cassettes from him and record them to carry with me. That collection was part of my good old wooden Army black boxes, till we finally disposed of them.

Hari Singh Uncle was the politest and soft-spoken gentleman on this side of River Kanjli. They changed many houses. The memories of mine are the ones inside the Civil Hospital Complex and the second one of his appointment house called the Gole Kothi, opposite the SP Kapurthala’s house. It housed the civil surgeon till it was abandoned being unsafe. Old and restored pic of the Kothi is courtesy the internet.

There were many ways to reach their home in the hospital. One way was a shortcut from the Sainik School Boundary wall. The Greens gate, close to the dhobi ghat. That gate used to be closed invariably. We would carry our cycles on our shoulders and jump across the five feet wall. That is why I never had a problem carrying the ‘Academy Garland’ when the bi-cycle was around your neck, or jumping over walls in NDA.

From Greens, to Randhir college, to the road adjacent to the State Gurudwara, K Garg and Co, a chemist shop to Civil Hospital. This route was the shortest one.

Second route, a little longer, was from our School Main gate. Moment, we crossed it, we would get into another parallel gate which had a semi-circular road leading to the Circuit house, Gol Kothi, Randhir college, Baby Model School, opposite Randhir college Principals residence, who used to call himself Eda Saasa Puri. AS Puri. Then the same old road.

Sometimes, due to VIP visits that passage to the circuit house used to be barricaded, but we knew all the shortcuts. Once I remember, CM Punjab Giani Zail Singh was about to alight from his car in the porch of the circuit house. I had taken a detour and came from behind the circuit house. The challenge used to be to go through the porch which the watchman didn’t allow. But Noel the Badmash would always go.

That day, I almost kissed Giani Zail Singh Ji, when a whole lot of policemen charged at me, disbalancing me. I apologised and scampered away. Nas Ja, dubara na dissi aithe, run away and don’t be seen here again, said a burly Sikh, as he helped me straighten my cycle. Jaan de, niyana hai, let him go, he is a child, someone said, as I was wearing blue school uniform shorts. A narrow escape.

Later in life Giani Zail Singh presented me with a ‘book prize’ at the school annual day as the education minister. I was so terrified that if he recognised me, I could go to jail. I gathered courage to take his autograph while he sat in the audience. As usual, my pen didn’t work. Giani ji gave a solid ‘jhataka’ to the pen and ink flew out and smudged the paper. I am sure some ink must have smudged his black sherwani too. I wish I could trace out that autograph book.

The passage to the circuit house was through a dense jungle, lined up with bottlebrush, ficus, Cyprus, Ashoka, and massive Powder Puff trees. In the day it used to turn dark like in a rainforest. The fragrance of the flowers used to be very strong but the stink due to bird droppings during the rainy season was unbearable. 

At night, one odd street light would keep blinking. The local folklore of ‘chudails’ and ‘bhoots’ were very prominent those days. They were known to take kids away.

I would stop at the Gole Kothi, gather courage, and say a prayer. My aim was to join NDA. How could a bhoot deter me? I definitely wanted to see a bhoot/chudail but kidnapping someone else. Stories of Vikram and Vetaal added to the misery. Plus a film called Bhoot Bangla Starring the great Mehmood Saab was screened for us.

Those memories are still fresh. I would love to listen to an old album today. Vinny, I ride a ‘bullt’ now. This time I would lose on purpose, so that I don’t  lose my friends again. Vinny, are you listening? I wonder!!!!!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EP2WApwcTU 

@Vinny Khinda

@ Manish Fookshin

@Winnie Joseph

@Vishal Soni

@Kiranjit Singh

@Kapurthala heritage

@Saikapians

JAI HIND

© ® NOEL ELLIS

GOLE KOTHI BECAME A BHOOT BANGLA. PICS OF BEFORE AND AFTER RESTORATION