How Can I Ever Forget Those Days?
These are memories from nearly three decades ago. At that time, I was working at the headquarters of the Punjab Languages Department near Sheranwala Gate in Patiala as a temporary gardener-cum-water carrier on DC rates. Ajit Singh Kakkar was the Director of the department.
The Punjab Government had approved the recruitment of two permanent gardeners in the department. Kakkar Sahib sincerely wished that before his retirement, he could get me appointed as a permanent gardener and that, later on, I could be promoted as an attendant. His thought was that while serving in a government department, I would also continue serving literature.
One day, the department’s Additional Director, Rachhpal Singh Gill, was sitting with Kakkar Sahib. I was called in. I greeted both of them with a common “Sat Sri Akal” and stood before them.
Kakkar Sahib said to Gill Sahib, “Get an experience certificate made for him from some nursery so that he can attach it with his application at the time of the interview. That will make his recruitment easier and help the poor fellow.”
Gill Sahib replied, “I’ll get it done. We should also get his name registered with the employment exchange. Then whenever we ask for candidates, the employment office can send his name. Kaka, you go to my room. I’ll be there shortly.”
I went and stood outside his room. Within a few minutes, Gill Sahib arrived. He asked me to call Pardesi Ji.
Gurcharan Singh Pardesi was a Senior Assistant and, besides looking after the ‘Sahit Sadan’, was also in charge of the gardeners and lawns.
Pardesi Ji arrived. Gill Sahib said, “Pardesi Ji, take him to Santokh Singh of Modern Furniture at Fountain Chowk. Mention my name. He is a friend of mine and owns a flower nursery. We need to get an experience certificate made for this boy for his work as a gardener.”
After hearing Gill Sahib’s instructions, we set off on foot. Since the place was quite close, we reached there quickly.
A dignified-looking Sikh gentleman was sitting there.
Pardesi Ji told him, “Gill Sahib has sent us. This young man, Narinder Kumar, works as a temporary gardener in our office. He is also a writer under the name ‘Ghugianvi’ and remains engaged in reading and writing. The department wants to make his job permanent. If an experience certificate could be issued from your side, it would make things easier for him.”
Santokh Singh laughed. He pushed a thick letter pad lying nearby towards Pardesi Ji and said, “Here, write whatever needs to be written.”
Pardesi Ji sat down on a chair and began writing while I stood beside him watching. He wrote four or five lines in technical language.
Santokh Singh took out a stamp from the drawer, stamped the paper and signed it.
I was overjoyed. I felt as if the matter was settled now. I would get a permanent job, things at home would improve, and may such godlike officers live long. As we walked back, a prayer escaped from my lips.
Seeing me happy, Pardesi Ji was happy too.
The experience certificate was attached to my application.
A few days later, however, a letter arrived from Chandigarh saying that because of certain legal complications, the approved posts of gardeners were being withdrawn.
It became a case of the Punjabi saying:
“Nahati dhoti reh gayi te nakk te makkhi beh gayi.”
After all the preparation, nothing came of it.
Anyway!
Santokh Singh never left my memory.
Years passed.
There came a time when Dr Harkesh Singh Sidhu, who was fond of reading and writing and with whom I shared a warm relationship, was serving as Deputy Commissioner of Sangrur.
One day, while I was travelling with him and we were passing near Fountain Chowk in Patiala, he said to the driver, “Kaka, take us to meet Santokh Singh.”
When our car stopped outside his door, Santokh Singh got up, came forward and took us inside.
Sidhu Sahib was beginning to introduce me, but I could not restrain myself.
I said, “Sir, I am Narinder Kumar Ghugianvi, the person who came to you nearly twenty years ago to get an experience certificate as a gardener.”
He smiled, rose from his chair and embraced me.
“Wonderful! Yes, yes, now I remember. Amazing that you remembered it too!”
The words came naturally from my lips:
“Sir, can those days ever really be forgotten? Those days refuse to be forgotten.”
At the time of departure, Santokh Singh handed me a beautiful diary and a pen and said, “Here, take these. Don’t forget to write down the beautiful memories of those days.”
As I sat in the car, my eyes became moist.
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