This morning I read the news about demise of Iqbal Khandey. That news with tinge sadness also brought back nostalgia of the days, which would be very hard for anyone to fathom in this age. I must have become acquainted with Iqbal around 1974 through an extended clan of Ganais of Mattan. I remained focused on friendship part of the familiarity rather than to understand complex relatedness of Ganais. Iqbal at that time was studying in Amar Singh College while I was in the Government Degree College Anantnag. He would frequently visit our college mainly to meet our common friend Gulzar Ganai, who as I understood was also closely related to him. One occasion that has stuck in my memory for the reasons that perhaps underscore the essence of those times was that we, Iqbal, Gulzar and I, were standing outside the main gate of the college in 1974 and wanted to go to the town in a horse driven ‘tonga’ as none of us was ready to undertake that journey of about two kilometers on foot. But there was a cache: the ‘tonga’ ride would cost 25 p per person but we three persons combined did not have 75 p on us. That was nothing out of ordinary; not having any money was a rule not an exception in those halcyon days. Somehow I salvaged us from the predicament when I spotted an acquaintance who borrowed me a weathered one rupee note and we merrily took a ‘tonga’ ride to the town.
In 1975 we both graduated from our colleges and joined the university. Iqbal went to the English department and I after certain detours ended up in Chemistry. We never interacted in the university and Iqbal didn’t stay there for a very long and left his masters course to pursue IAS, which he cleared after 1975. I always had perceived him as an academic not a bureaucrat, but then academia in those days, that too in Kashmir, was a kind of last resort for failed careers. I did later meet Iqbal on a few occasions subsequently. On the eve of the 1983 elections Kashmir, I together with Gulzar went to see Iqbal in his office. He was, at that time, the Deputy Commissioner Anantnag. He was in some meeting and it was a while when came out and the first thing he uttered was that the official machinery has been directed to intercede on behalf of and in favor the National Conference in polls, which the latter went on win with a thumping majority. Last time I met Iqbal was in 1992. Owing to my sabbatical trip to Germany and dislocation, the university had held back my salary for almost a year. Iqbal was by then a secretary of some important government department. I went to see him at his official residence in Jammu and he then walked with me to the residence of Ajit Kumar who at that time was secretary education department. It was during that short walk I realized the folly of having approached Iqbal for a personal matter. Not that there was any change in his demeanor; he was as usual courteous and affable. It was my personal aversion to everything bureaucratic.
On a day in 1974, Iqbal together with a few Ganais came to my place and he picked up ‘Summer of 1942’ book from my shelf to borrow and to never return. That was the point when I resolved to never ever lend a book come what may. And thanks to Iqbal, I can boast of a personal library of over a thousand books made several times over in different places in different countries.
Iqbal was always fun with a nasal accent that belied steely resolve; he was deeply erudite with eclectic knowledge; despite everything, he was a romantic at heart.
