Way back in the late seventies and early eighties, three young boys were struggling in their respective colleges, not with academics, but with their family circumstances. One was Virendra Kumar Misra (VK), who was studying for his MBBS at KGMC. The second was his younger brother, Dhirendra Kumar Misra (DK), pursuing a BTech at Pantnagar University. The third was yours truly, doing an MSc at Bareilly College. The Misra brothers had lost their father during the first semester of their studies. They were my Chachi’s brothers; VK was one year senior to me, and DK was one year my junior. We were all close friends.
In 1981, we were in the final phase of our studies, and a new period of struggle was about to begin: finding a job. VK’s struggle was the least burdensome; he was about to become a doctor, and from one of the country’s premier colleges at that. My struggle was real; after all, who gives a job to an MSc? My results had already been declared, probably in October or November 1981, and I had joined the ranks of the country’s unemployed. DK’s prospects were placed somewhere between the two of us.
The lyrics “Mana apni jeb se fakir hain, phir bhi yaron dil ke hum ameer hain”, part of the famous song Kisi Ki Muskurahaton Pe Ho Nisar from Raj Kapoor’s movie Anari, aptly summed up our spirit in those times. Yet, the three of us shared many moments of joy as students. An exchange of a couple of letters (those were telephone-free days) and a plan to celebrate New Year was finalised. The finances for the party were provided by the brothers’ brothers-in-law, one of whom was my Chacha.
I had to travel to Pantnagar from Lucknow, but I had no money to fund the journey. Consequently, I approached Sneh Mausi, the elder sister of VK and DK and the younger sister of my Chachi. Mausi had joined the Railways a few months prior and had listed VK and DK as her dependents. She organised a PTO (Privilege Ticket Order) in the names of her brothers. Thus, one of VK’s friends and I boarded the Nainital Express on 30 December 1981, travelling as VK Misra and DK Misra for the bash! This is simply not possible now in the era of computerisation and biometrics.
The party had already started by the time we reached the hostel, as the train was several hours late. The booze was flowing freely, and we joined in immediately. Around nine in the evening, we headed to a dhaba on the university campus for dinner. By the time we returned to the room, we were so exhausted that we all fell flat. The New Year must have rung in while we were fast asleep.
VK Misra later joined the PMS but took premature retirement while posted at Bijnor to set up a nursing home with his wife, who was also a doctor. DK Misra joined the UP Jal Sansthan and was posted in the hill areas; when Uttarakhand was created, he opted for that state. He climbed the hierarchy and eventually became General Manager. Unfortunately, both died young: VK was around fifty, and DK had not yet retired. Sneh Mausi, too, is gone. I joined journalism simply to tell you this tale.