Grateful to day-old IIMC friends

When I went to Delhi to join the Indian Institute of Mass Communication (IIMC) as a professor in November 2020, I was reminded of a summer afternoon in 1998. Walking up the slope leading to the portico, I could vividly remember some faces from two decades ago.

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I was seeking admission to the IIMC and after clearing the written test had come to Delhi to appear for the interview.

The hall was full of fidgety, nervous young people. I sat next to a man from Bihar. He told me that he lived in Mukherjee Nagar, where most young men from middle-class families with the dream of becoming a civil servant, land. We got friendly and walked out together after the interview got over. His friends were waiting outside.

I had a night train to return to Lucknow and felt clueless about where to spend the day. I had never been to Delhi before and didn’t know anyone in the city. To make things worse, I did not have a reserved berth.

When they learnt about my predicament, they offered to take me to their rented house in Mukherjee Nagar and suggested that I cancel the train reservation and travel general class. Knowing that passengers are packed like sardines in general coaches of UP and Bihar-bound trains, I said: ‘I won’t be able to even get into the general compartment.’

‘Leave that to us,’ they said. ‘We will make sure that you travel comfortably.’

I took the offer and got into a bus for Mukherjee Nagar along with them. Their house on the first floor was awfully hot on that humid June afternoon. I hadn’t eaten a morsel since morning. They cooked egg curry and rice without bothering to check if I ate eggs. Thankfully, I did.

Famished, I tucked into a huge plateful and then slept like a baby. They woke me up at 6 pm, served tea and seven of them said they were coming with me to the railway station. At the station, one stood in the queue for the cancellation of reservation, the other scurried towards the general ticket counter and the third went to get packed dinner; the others kept me company. Ticket done, the seven of them hauled me into the compartment. After telling me to climb to the upper seat, they created a ruckus and shouted cuss words. While handing me the packed dinner, one of them whispered into my ears: ‘No one will dare bother you now.’

They were right — no one bothered me during the journey and I travelled as if I had a reserved seat in the general compartment.

I could not thank them enough for their hospitality.

My return to the IIMC evoked memories of that afternoon. I don’t remember their names now, but I hope they read this piece to know that I haven’t been thankless.