Roll Call

At four in the morning,
when snow first softened the dark
and I reached for my phone
to catch a white Christmas
I never grew up with,
a message arrived—
not white, not gentle,
but heavy.
A name from long ago.
A batchmate—
Royal Mech, they used to say.
Linked to me not by classrooms
but by my mother’s memory:
Son of the great Baby John Sir,
a Gulliver of Kollam,
a legend before I was born.
1977
Emergency lifted.
Freedom still ringing
through Karicode campus.
Seniors basking in democracy,
ragging as ritual,
And then—
a tall, lean, handsome hero
rolling in on four wheels.
Not socialism, we whispered.
But democracy, we learned.
No curfew now.
No fear—just chemistry in the blood.
I remember standing still
before a speeding car
inside that palatial campus,
Red Fort–like,
where any sane soul should crawl
at five miles an hour.
That was how friendships were forged—
in defiance,
in slogans,
in bunked classes,
in strikes and racket-making,
in shouting till voices broke.
We never spoke much.
Yet we grew together.
Walked out together in 1982,
thinking we were engineers,
thinking we were ready.
Years later—
a kindergarten gate.
My TVS 50,
TMK 8572.
Anoop, my son, balanced on
the bridge of the TVS, barely holding.
A white car glided past—luxury unchanged.
Out stepped a child.
Pleasantries exchanged.
And I thought:
Is this the Kamal Haasan look-alike?
Taller?
Yes.
It was him.
Shaji.
Always walking in a group—
like the hero in Aaram Thampuraan.
But now a responsible father,
with his little hero.
Then coincidence again—
Chennai to Cochin,
vandi class, economy.
The window was already taken.
A towering presence.
A familiar smile.
Sixty minutes dissolved into years.
Teenage innocence spilled out
like kindergarten laughter.
That’s when he said—
“I am close to Jesus Christ.
He is the best now.”
And I was happy.
Simply happy.

we were still the same—
souls from the same soil—Kollam and TKM.
TKM of the late seventies, early eighties—
one big family.
All of Kollam held us.
Our parents knew each other.
Our homes were open doors.
And at sixty-five,
we still feel it—
the empathy,
the fondness,
the care.
I know now—
the roll call began a while ago.
at least Twenty
has progressed already.
This is when we gather
not in classrooms
but in memory.
To celebrate
the closeness,
the innocence,
the fights,
the fun,
the sweet nothings
from 1977 to 1982.
I will cherish you always—
a Goliath in form,
a David in soul.
My batchmate.
My friend.
Shaji Baby John.
You will never be forgotten.

15th December 2025