Childhood vacations in Kerala during school days were about two things for me. Nature, and Memories. By the time we landed, braving long, hot train journeys every other year, the rains would be in full swing, which meant that much of the vacation was spent reading books and listening to music on a cassette player, next to grandpa’s window which overlooked the courtyard. As with village homes in Kerala, the courtyard was a gravel patch bordered by trees, beyond which lay some land for cash crops meant for the family and for occasional trade with the neighbours.

Just outside that window was a large, leafy tree that framed the view of the vegetable patch, which I still remember. While I didn’t know much about the tree itself, it was always beautified the view and gave a cooling spray when it rained or lovely shade when it was warm and I sat outside (no fans, very little electricity). Then one summer, when I was about 13, I reached home and the tree was gone…brought down due to a sickness that weakened the trunk, as it was near the house. Strangely, that year I came back with a sense of loss I couldn’t explain and vacations were always a little different after that.

Inamdar was a dear friend, but not so much a close one. We did not share confidences or seek each other out and in fact met only a handful of times in the 40+ years after school. Even at school, my first memory of him was a bone-crusher handshake which had me hold my hand under the tap for a few minutes. I figured this one out and the next time we shook hands I jammed my thumb webbing against his, denying the full grip he need for his vice-like grip. His face lit up in that impish smile, as he said “chaalu!”. We knew him as that lovely genial person with a wireframe physique and it was almost a foregone conclusion that he’d head for the Forces, which he did, leaving early and shortening the acquaintance even further. Why is it then that his passing feels like a kick in the gut?

Because it was not just easy to remember Inamdar, it was difficult to forget him. Even a small chat in a chance meeting and you’d recall his personality and the lively warmth of his smile or something he said or did in his genial way for a long, long time. Like the time at an all-alumni dinner long after school which he attended and where I had taken my son along. As we chatted, Inamdar saw my son looking at him curiously so he bent down to eye-level, tickled him to make him laugh and then suddenly picked up the 9 year-old with one hand and held him aloft high above his head, much to the delight of the little chap! Speaking with my son on the phone last week, I asked him if he remembered Inamdar and he promptly responded with a “Yes of course”. When I told him, he said “Oh no, that’s so sad. He was a really nice guy”. There you are – 10 minutes that lasted 20 years!

For those of us in Delhi, meetings with Inamdar were few and far apart over the years, but each one was a celebration. There would be much merriment and memories with an eclectic group of faujis and us civvies, many tales of accidents and escapades over the clink of glasses filled with amber liquids. Never a spiteful note or a vicious word and always the same impishly garrulous smile, truly I would be surprised if he had a single enemy – on this side of the border. As the messages have poured in since last week the theme is the same, from sheltering a newbie at the academy to leading the slow march for a departed batchmate while gravely ill himself, truly a friend for all seasons and a buddy for a whole bunch of reasons. No better proof than his stoic fortitude as disease tested every sinew of his body and yet he kept his mind above it.   

Most of us have dear friends close by who are a part of our daily lives. They are the fruits of life we enjoy each day and seek out to spend time with. Then there are those who cannot be near, yet are special because of who they are and how they have impacted our own selves just by being in our world. They are the flowers whose fragrance frames memories of good times with every whiff. Like the tree in my courtyard back home that just framed my green patch and gave me a good feeling, but without which the field never again looked as lovely. 

As a 60 plus cohort, we are at a stage when most of us have survived the turbulence of life, crested the climb and are in many ways cruising above the clouds, either thanks to achievements or due to acceptance. At this stage when you lose a buddy of 45 years, he doesn’t just go away – he takes a piece of you with him. So it will be with Inamdar. 

Thanks for sharing your life with us, my friend. 

Fly well, gentle giant. Wish you a three-point landing on that runway in the sky.