A Guardian Angel, He Accompanied Me Everywhere
Jatinder Vir Yakhmi
‘Pitaji’ never failed to accompany me, whenever I needed moral support as a teenager struggling to get admission in a college. My career trajectory would have been different had he been a graduate himself!
Mr. Om Prakash Yakhmi (1920–2004), was my father’s younger brother, and also the husband of my mother’s younger sister, hence our family ties were strong like a covalent bond is in Chemistry. He had six children, of which three were older than me and three younger, whereas I was the only child of my parents. Copying his children, mechanically, I called him Pitaji (‘father’ in Hindi), and addressed my own father as ‘Tayaji’ (Hindi for father’s elder brother), simply because those six did so. Our families lived about a km away in a small town, Khanna, in Punjab (India) during my childhood, but I and my parents often visited them, to meet all of them, as well as my Nani (mother’s mother) who lived with them. I used to look forward to these visits because of the love and affection I received as a ‘precious’ child, considering that none of my own four siblings had survived infant mortality.
Pitaji loved me ever since my memory takes me back into my childhood. I recall an incident in 1958, when I was in 7th standard. I and my parents were visiting this large happy family of relatives, when I boasted that I could write text in English, which was taught to us as a language only from 5th Standard, ours being a Hindi medium school. To test my English, Pitaji dictated a sentence, which I wrote on paper. Upon that he said that I must sign it also. I wrote ‘Gatinder Vir Yakhmi’, and he laughed because I should have written Jatinder and not Gatinder. Pitaji was then 38, and was a reasonably successful businessman, despite being just a matriculate, because he could not attend college in his days.
It was around this time that Tayaji (my father), who worked as an accountant, lost his job, and couldn’t find another one for the next two years. That brought us into financial deprivation. By the time I entered 9th standard, it became beyond my mother to run our household, including paying the house-rent, from the meagre amount of money she earned by doing odd jobs of sewing and stitching. To help us out, my Nani got a small house constructed for me and my parents, adjacent to the residence of the large family of Pitaji, and we shifted there.
The poverty and malnutrition took its toll on Tayaji, my father who contracted tuberculosis and died prematurely at the age of 43, in 1961. Pitaji took me to Pehowa town near Kurukshetra to perform some Hindu religious rites, as required after my father’s death. I was just 15 then.
A few weeks after this, the results of my 10th standard Board examinations were announced. I scored well, just short of a Merit List position. Alas! Tayaji didn’t live to see that.
I had a full year of school left yet — the 11th standard, before finishing the finals of Higher Secondary Board exams and becoming eligible for admissions to a college. Often, I and my mother would discuss that If I could somehow complete my B.Sc., it could get me the job of a lab demonstrator. And, if luck favored us a bit more and I could obtain an M.Sc. degree, then I could become a lecturer at a college. But we also knew that these were pipe dreams, well-nigh impossible to fulfil, with our constraints. Therefore, I attended typewriting classes for two months at the local Batta Coaching College, and could attain a typing speed of 40 words per minute, which made me eligible for the job of a typist, in case the college education remained beyond my reach.
Looking at my quick progress, there was often a discussion among my classmates that I would score high in my final year (11th standard) university exams. Hearing this, Pitaji got very excited in anticipation of the result, scheduled to be declared on April 27, 1962. He went to the local railway station at 2 am to grab a copy of the Tribune newspaper, bundles of which arrived daily at that time by a train from Ambala, where it was published those days. Lo and behold, the newspaper showed that I was placed high on the Merit List, with a brilliant score.
High marks opened a myriad of possibilities for me to secure admission in engineering colleges or in science degree colleges, my two dreams, in line with my non-medical subjects. Regular interactions with classmates during the following weeks indicated that they were going through a flurry of activities to secure admissions in Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi; Birla Institute of Technology and Science, Pilani; Delhi College of Engineering, Delhi; Thapar Institute of Engineering and Technology, Patiala, etc., and some of them did succeed. In my case, however, the euphoria of my success at school gave way soon to a state of helplessness, because I had no money even to purchase Prospectus and Application Forms from any of these colleges. My mother was struggling to make both ends meet by stitching clothes for neighbourhood women, or by caning (knitting) wooden chairs on contract for a furniture shop.
Pitaji, who always wanted to see me in college and make a career, was spending all his earnings on feeding his large family and on the education of his children, and I knew that it would be presumptuous on my part to expect that he could fund my college expenses for three or four years.
I was desperate to not allow myself to give up all hopes of admission in an engineering college without even trying for it, especially with my high merit rank. I told Pitaji that among the three engineering colleges in our state, the closest was Guru Nanak Dev Engineering College, Ludhiana located at about 45 km from our residence. Travelling daily between my town Khanna and Ludhiana by train with a monthly pass was a distinct low-expense possibility, provided the college allowed me to enroll as a day-scholar.
Pitaji took me next day to G.N.D. Engineering College. Luckily for us, the Principal was in his office. Pitaji explained the purpose of our visit to his attendant. He went in and returned in a minute and ushered us into the Principal’s chamber to let us talk to him directly. The Principal, an elderly Sikh with grey beard, was in his chair discussing something with three people seated before him. He looked up at us to check what we wanted. Pitaji said that I would explain. The Principal spoke affectionately to me in Punjabi, saying, “Bolo Kakka, kee problem hai”? (Yes, my child, what is the problem?). I showed him the newspaper cutting showing my rank on the Merit List. He guessed: “You want admission!”. I said ‘YES Sir, but I have a problem. Since my father died a year before, I wouldn’t be able to pay for the Hostel charges because my mother has no financial resources. If you could permit me to be admitted as a day-scholar, traveling daily from Khanna and back by train, I would be very grateful’. The Principal tilted his chair back, thought for a few seconds and told my uncle: “Tusi Kakke di admission karvaa dio, baaqi baad vich dekhiya jayega” (‘You get this boy admitted in our college, rest we shall see later’). Today, after having worked for a life-time in government jobs as a scientist and educationist, I can say that he didn’t give a clear-cut YES to my demand, due to the people sitting before him, but had tacitly accepted my request. Otherwise, he would not have asked me to take admission. But I was a novice and couldn’t figure it out. After leaving the Principal’s room, I told Pitaji that since my day-scholar request was not agreed to, I wouldn’t take admission, and we returned to Khanna, but not before trying my luck at the Government College, Ludhiana, where we got only evasive replies.
This is how I missed getting into a B.Tech Engineering course. I did apply for admission to B.Tech (Dairy Technology) at National Dairy Research Institute, Karnal, because all candidates selected were to receive stipends of Rs. 150 p.m. each for the duration of the course, enough to cover all expenses. But NDRI declared me ineligible since I was two months too young to fulfil the condition of having completed 16 years on Aug. 1.
Joining professional colleges had become a rage suddenly during 1958–1965 after the introduction of medical and non-medical streams in the Higher Secondary system, and the establishment of IITs. However, only a small number of students from my batch at school could secure admissions in professional streams, because they belonged to families who had access to the requisite information, as well as counselling. I think the elephant in the room in my case was a total lack of counselling on how to seek admission at a college, even a professional one, despite financial constraints. I couldn’t blame my family for that because none from it had attended a college for a degree till then.
In fact, for me it was a double whammy — not only was I not provided any guidance about how to go about seeking admission in a college, I was also not given any hint by my school Principal, despite his vast experience, that with my rank in the Merit List, there was every likelihood of I getting a State Government stipend, adequate to cover tuition fees and all hostel expenses during my Bachelor’s degree course.
A well-wisher pointed to a call published in a newspaper for admissions to a combined B.Sc.+B.Ed. three-year degree course, called B.Sc. in Education at College of Education, Kurukshetra University, Kurukshetra. It was of relevance to me because out of a total annual intake of 100 students, top 50 admitted were to be given a stipend of Rs. 50 p.m. for the full duration of the course. Considering it as a financial boon, I applied for it. Pitaji travelled with me to Kurukshetra University on the day of the formal interview in June 1962. I got admission in this college, and was glad to note that my name appeared on the top of the list of the students admitted, owing to my high marks in school final year. I was also relieved to find that my total expenses per month, including hostel charges, were only about Rs. 90. The shortfall of Rs. 40 came within the means of my mother and Pitaji to pay.
Fate was still testing me. While on a visit to my hometown during the September break of my college that year, I received a letter from the state government that I had been selected for a Merit-cum-Need Fellowship of Rs 75 p.m. for the full duration of my graduation course. Another letter from Punjab University stated that I had been selected for a merit scholarship of Rs. 22 p.m. for one year. Together, these financial aids were a windfall for me. But to avail of these two scholarships, it was imperative for me to leave the B.Sc. + B.Ed. combined course at the College of Education and shift to another college. Why? Because a substantial fraction of the 100 students who had joined this course with me were matriculates (i.e. they had passed only 10th standard). It implied that I had virtually joined 11th standard itself, after having scored well in 11th standard. To be eligible for getting the scholarships, I had to study in the next higher class!
Pitaji rushed with me to our university, one day before it opened for the next semester. Being a residential university, Pitaji could meet and plead my case with Dr. K.K. Nagpal, the Head of the Physics Department, as well as Prof. S.M. Mukherji, the Dean of the Faculty of Science of Kurukshetra University. We were told that only the Vice-Chancellor had the authority to allow me to get fresh admission in the class of B.Sc. (Hons.) in Physics at such a late stage, when the full first semester had already elapsed. In order not to miss this opportunity, Pitaji took me first to meet Prof. K.L. Malhotra, the Principal of the University College which ran this Honours course, to explain our predicament, and seek his support. A kind man, Prof. Malhotra could see that it was the last chance for me to save my scholarships. Hence, he wrote a note on my application, recommending my case strongly to the Vice-Chancellor, Mr. Suraj Bhan, who approved it as a special case. I could join the class of B.Sc. (Hons.) in Physics, the next day, when the college opened, and my college education was back on rails. I completed the B.Sc. (Hons.) course in 1965, scoring first division, based on which, Kurukshetra University gave me admission in M.Sc. Physics course.
During the intervening period, my mother had attended a one-year orientation course, after which she was appointed a Gram Sevika (rural social worker) by the state government in 1963. But her salary was so low that after her expenses she could spare at the most about Rs. 40 p.m. for my education, making it difficult for me to continue in the M.Sc. course. Considering this, I applied for selection to the one-year course at the Training School of Atomic Energy Establishment, Trombay (AEET), later re-named as Bhabha Atomic Research Centre (BARC), Mumbai.
I was less than two weeks into my M.Sc. classes when a letter arrived from the Training School of AEET in June 1965, that based on my application I had been shortlisted to appear for interview at Bombay. It stated that all expenses for the trip would be paid by AEET, including a 2nd class return rail ticket. Pitaji was overjoyed at this development, as if sure that I would get selected. He also showed off that I would be travelling not by a 3rd class ticket (which is currently called 2nd class) the value of which was Rs. 72 for the return journey, but by 2nd class (also called ‘Inter’, it was abolished later) a return ticket for which was Rs. 130! So, with great flair, he accompanied me to Ambala Cantt., from where I boarded the train to Mumbai.
As if to prove Pitaji’s hunch right, a letter came in mid-July announcing that I had been selected to join the one-year course at Training School of AEET, for which I was to report at Mumbai on August 14, 1965. AEET had written that I would get a monthly stipend of Rs. 300 during the one-year training course, and also hostel accommodation. I quit my M.Sc. classes and hostel room at Kurukshetra. On the appointed day, I boarded a train from Ludhiana for Bombay. Of course, Pitaji came along to see me off at Ludhiana station. He also gave me Rs. 450 to keep for any sudden expenses, knowing well that I may not be able to travel 1600 km from Mumbai back to Khanna, for a few months.
During the summer vacations at the Training course in May 1966, I visited Khanna. Eight months of stay at my hostel had given me an opportunity to save a good amount of money from my monthly stipend. So, I had bought gifts for all family members. For Pitaji, I had brought a pocket transistor, knowing well that he liked to listen to radio, frequently.
After finishing the training, I was placed in a regular job as a scientist at AEET in 1966. I served there until my retirement in 2010. I got married in 1972. My wife belongs to Patiala, a town not far from Khanna. A few months before my wedding, I, my mother and Pitaji travelled to Patiala, to finalize this matrimonial alliance.
For years together, whenever I visited Khanna from Mumbai, Pitaji would make it a point to travel to see me off at Ludhiana station, whether I was travelling alone, or with my family to Mumbai.
Pitaji was always worried about my well-being. In 1964, he was passing by my university town, Kurukshetra, and suddenly decided to check how I was doing. He got off at Kurukshetra and straight went to my hostel. But fellow students told him that I had gone to see a movie at the local Rudra Cinema. As Pitaji started to turn back, a classmate of mine, Kishin Chand, made him take lunch at the hostel mess, before he left. However, before leaving Kurukshetra, Pitaji arrived at Rudra, and waited till it was interval time and the theatre lights were switched on. I noticed him moving around in the theatre, obviously to look for me, and rushed to meet him. In the meantime, the theatre bell went off to resume the movie, Asli Naqli (‘True and Fake’). He said ‘Go ahead and see your movie, I just wanted to see you are OK’, and he went back to Khanna. For years to come, he would quip: ‘only Jatinder knows the difference between true and fake, well enough’.
Time went by. All his children were settled in their jobs, and got married. He had grandchildren, and even witnessed the weddings of some of them as a ‘grandpa’. He had also set up good and stable business outlets for the family. My mother died in 1997. Her younger sister, Pitaji’s wife, too died in 1998.
In 2002, with Pitaji in mind, I bought an electric fan with a heater during my trip to Germany, and gave him. He was so thrilled to use it in harsh winters. He travelled to Mumbai in 2002, when he was 82 to be present as a patriarch on the occasion of the wedding of my daughter.
Old age caught up with Pitaji, and in March 2004, he became critically sick. I was then on a visit to North Bengal University at Siliguri to deliver a course of lectures, but kept contact with people at Khanna on phone to check about the health of Pitaji. During this visit, a staff member of the university took me for a day’s sight-seeing trip to Darjeeling. I walked to the Mahakal Shiva temple on the hill-top above the ridge of Darjeeling town, and prayed for the well-being of Pitaji. Next day evening, before boarding my flight from Kolkata airport to return to Mumbai, I made a phone call to Dharam Pal, my cousin and Pitaji’s son, who informed me that Pitaji had expired some hours ago and asked me to stay calm, since I had started sobbing uncontrollably, even as other passengers watched. I travelled to Khanna a few days later to participate in a large condolence meeting organized to pay tributes to Pitaji. After speaking about what all he did for all of us I quoted: “Ik shakhs chale jaane se soona ye shahar lagta hai” (translated from Urdu, it means: ‘I find this town deserted, because that one person has left’). I was alluding to my Guardian Angel.
I published two books of my poetry, first named IZHAAR (an Expression) in 2004, and the second one named EHSAAS (a Feeling) in 2014, and dedicated both of them to the memory of Pitaji. My grandson was born in 2008, and we named him ‘Om’, after Pitaji.
The Covid-19 epidemic has pointed to the importance of career guidance at the school level itself. There is a need to start courses on formal guidance on future career options and the course of action to be taken by students, as early as 9th standard of school, so that a student, like me, and his guardian, like Pitaji, do not have to go around unprepared while seeking admission in colleges, and the young aspirants get equipped to plan for their employability in their chosen professions.
