The year was 2001. I was in my first year of Medical College at Assam Medical College, Dibrugarh. As it used to happen in those days, being a first year in college was, for want of a better word, quite an interesting experience. Away from home, caught in the maelstrom of difficult to remember anatomical structures and chemical names, always attired in formal wear, attending to seniors' tasks at the hostel- be it bringing cigarettes for them, a bit of head massage, or just entertaining them- it was quite a tough time.
On a normal day, probably in May, I was attending the dissection session in the dissection hall of the then dilapidated Anatomy department. It was a post lunch class, the heat was oppressive, and dissecting a body in such an environment was far from appealing. To be honest, those times were better spent in socializing- discussing about hostel life, forging new friendships (and enmities), as well as chasing beautiful girls. As I was thus whiling away my time, I was approached by Gobil Thapa- a classmate "Vinay! They want you at the Principal's office. You are to go there after class."
A summon from the Principal's office! For a first year kid, this was a big thing. But why? What may be the reason? "Do they want me to give evidence against some senior who may have indulged in ragging? , But, in that case, they would have called others too!" "Maybe it was a communication from my parents?" (Those were the days of fixed line telephones and snail mail.) The time passed real slow. In the meantime, I was approached by three more guys with the same message.
As soon as the class got over, I started for the Principal's office. On the way, I encountered a senior, who, unsurprisingly, had the same message. I finally reached the desk of Muleswar Da- the head clerk. He was quite a dark, heavy-set man, intimidating in appearance, at least to a first year student. "So, you are Vinay Upadhyay?", he asked me. On nodding yes, he pulled up a register and said, "Sign here." Upon signing the register, he took out a letter from his desk drawer and gave it to me.
The four lion emblem of India was embossed on the envelope cover. Below was written my address- Care of The Principal, Assam Medical College. On the bottom left corner of the envelope waere embossed the words- PRIME MINISTER. With shaking hands, I opened the envelope and read the contents. And smiled.
A brief flashback here. I know you are not interested in my school life exploits, but it so happened that when I was in the ninth standard, I had appeared in a scholarship examination conducted by the Government of Arunachal Pradesh. I qualified and was thus entitled to a scholarship of the princely sum of Rs 50/- per month for a period of two years. While I received a sum of Rs 300/-, the rest of the amount never reached me. It had been four years since and on a whim I wrote to the PMO donating the entire unreceived amount to the Prime Minister's Relief Fund for helping the earthquake victims in Gujarat.
Back to our story. So this was a reply to that letter thanking me for donating the amount and wishing me a bright future. The letter was signed by Atal Bihari Vajpayee- then PM of India. No doubt it was probably composed by an official in the PMO, and a fascimile signature was used, but it was nice to be appreciated by the PM of the country in a letter personally addressed to me.
I went to my hostel room with the letter in hand. On reaching my room, I told my senior roommate the whole story. He got so excited that he took the letter and went from room to room disseminating the information. I was called up many times and asked to recount the story over and over. No work for me that night. No making diagrams, no head massages, no telling jokes. Once some ignorant senior called me planning to send me to buy some cigarettes when his roommate asked him to leave me alone for the day as it was "my lucky day". I had to recount the tale again.
This continued till late in the night till probably all the four hostels in the block had heard the story. I went to bed a well fed, and satisfied man.
But alas, things don't last. They pass away. My short lived fame was good enough for a day or two. After that, the same old life.
Three days back, Vajpayee jee too passed away. What remain are the memories. Of seeing him on television, hearing his marvellous speeches, reading his poems. And a signature. On a piece of paper which has been laminated since, accompanied by an envelope with the emblem of India that says PRIME MINISTER.
