Farewell Tito

It was the Summer of 1977. I was hauling up my bags, getting ready to start the most exciting phase of my student life, the ragging period at college. Kharagpur was a quaint town, best known as a railway colony. As I worked through my Hall of Residence, towards the very last block, where I was allotted a room, I met a smiling turbaned face. He giggled as he saw me struggle with my luggage. “Welcome Fresher” he smiled. “We are in the same boat” and we then broke into a laughter. “I am Tejinder Singh, call me Tito” and that was the beginning of a life- long friendship. He was from the local town, a rare occurrence, since most students came from all over India. There were relatively fewer folks from North India at that time at our campus and a turbaned Sikh was certainly a rarity.

For several years, we lived in the same wing. He had a happy go lucky, soft-spoken persona and had a unique style of his own. Not one to hold a grudge, he was quite piqued one day, when someone in jest, put up a sketch of two North Indians playing chess on the Notice Board. “Chugh, they really think we are thick”, he muttered. Over the years, I had the opportunity to meet with his parents. They were very hospitable and affectionate. We all came from middle class backgrounds and empathised with each other. Our parents had huge expectations and we, a life ahead.

Exam time was dreadful. They were the brief interlude between our fun times. We couldn’t ever wait for them to get over. Both the Mid Semester and End Semester were trying times and we wished never came. During one of the exams, Tito was visibly nervous. He normally never got perturbed easily. We told him that he should consider doing night outers so that he could complete the syllabus. We motivated him and egged him to try staying awake all night to study, of all things. We promised that we would ensure that he did not nod off to sleep. He was very excited with the very thought. He eagerly kept up all night, going for the occasional cuppa at a nearby tea stall, with some of us. He was thrilled to see the stars melt away and the sun rise. Next morning, one of our wing mates asked him what progress he had made with his studies. Tito just laughed, which was characteristic of him and said, “I was so excited that I was doing an all nighter and that I would get to see the sunrise that I could not focus on my books. Good Night,” he said and went off to sleep. Such was Tito, carefree and full of life.

One day, Tito came rushing to me. “ Chugh, your article has appeared in Alankar.” That was our college magazine. “ I am also going to write for the magazine.” A friend standing close by remarked that his article would never make it! Tito was furious. “If Chugh can write, so can I ,” and he stomped off. Many times thereafter he kept asking me, if what he wrote would make it to the magazine. I encouraged him. As the time for graduation arrived, Tito resolved that he would choose a career in writing and that journalism was his true calling. As we parted in the Summer of 82, his smiling face and determination of taking on journalism, stayed with him.

Years later, one day, I heard from him. He had indeed become a journalist. He wrote about human trafficking and many contemporary subjects. He worked hard at his stories. He had moved to Europe and then to the US, where he founded a publication and became a White House Correspondent. I met him a couple of times during his trips to India. He had made a name for himself and was well liked by the fraternity. He was undoubtedly, an absolute gentleman.

A few days ago, I heard of the shocking news that Tito was no more. I could not believe it. He would call me once in a while and the thought that I would never hear his voice again numbed me. I found it hard to fight back my tears. I wish he had called me before going. We had a few secrets. Maybe I could have lightened his mood. Maybe I could have helped him feel better. Maybe, just maybe. But that was not to be.

As I reflect back, I can see myself, walking down memory lane, almost 45 years ago, with my bags. Tito standing there, waiting, half waiving and smiling…..

Au Revoir my friend.