Marx and Spencer

Bhombol and I have been friends since college. In many ways, he was also a philosopher and unlikely guide.

Marx and Spencer

Bhombol and I have been friends since college. In many ways, he was also a philosopher and unlikely guide.

Unlikely because Bhombol came across as someone who would never have the time to be of any help to anyone. So absorbed was he in left-wing politics. But he got me notes of lectures I bunked, arranged for proxies in class and finally had me enrolled in the union.

Those days, being part of the student's union came with an unwritten perk: those who quoted Marx scored more often than those who pumped iron. There were other side benefits like never having to bother about your
attendance again. I readily joined him.

For Bhombol, the union was a mission. He looked every bit the regulation commie academic; plain full-sleeved white shirt worn over colourless trousers, unkempt hair, days' old stubble and eyes that betrayed nights without a wink.

The first 'protest' he made me a part of was over the price of university forms. That year it had been upped from Rs7 to Rs14. The university said it needed money for a facelift, Bhombol argued it was grave injustice to poor mufossil students. "But Bhombol, it's just seven more bucks," I said. "Today, it's seven, tomorrow it will become 70. We should protest."u00a0u00a0

And we did. Classes were boycotted, dharnas organised and a rickety state bus burnt. The administration relented and the price came down. We won!

But for Bhombol, any celebration was a waste of time. There were more issues to be picked, more dharnas organised.

College got over. I left Bhombol, the union, and Kolkata for life in a different city. Soon I lost touch with him and those vainglorious days.

I bumped into him after a decade, yesterday. At Select City Walk of all places. I could hardly recognise my union leader friend. Bhombol looked every bit the pin-striped, cookie cutter corporate type he so despised. What on earth was he doing at a mall, the high temple of capitalist arrogance? And why was he dressed like this? Reverse snobbery or something?

"Relax, my friend. I have shifted to Delhi with a corp comm. job. I tried to get in touch, but I don't have your number." "A corp comm. job? But why Bhombol?" "Let's just say I got married," he smiled.

And what about the great muffosil cause? "I am from the muffosil too, you forget. But I have a family to feed. It's high time I woke up from my reverie," he said. So where now? "Let's pick a shirt for me. There's a board meet next week. Do you have time? Let's check out Marks and Spencer." We marched forward.