Navneet Oberoi

Navneet Oberoi: I only have a few washed memories of Navneet, OB as we used to call him during the IMT days in early 90s. OB was a cut Sardar and temperamentally diametrically opposite to that of his community; he spoke hesitantly and softly that he resembled more a cautious cat and Manmohan Singh.  

He was fair of complexion typical of a northie, over 5’8’ on his toes, a slim body, muscular shoulders, a long and elegant nose, trim eyebrows, and a shampooed hair parted upwards fluttered with every stride. The eyes seemed larger beneath gold-rimmed spectacles.  

In my very first week at Ghaziabad, I came down with a bad viral and shaking all over. It was OB – then a total stranger – who massaged feet vigorously rubbing the soft exterior with his bare hands. Even in my agony, I was totally floored by the act. He took me to the doctors and that started our friendship. His subtle sense of humour – almost self-deprecatory -put others at ease without effort.  

Navneet has a brain of a quizzer; and our quizzing team won all the prizes in the country. His modesty was very real; he never talked much about himself and certainly not with superlatives. After our insipid dinner at the IMT mess, we walked to a daily treat of “rasagulla” or “ Gulab Jamun” in the nearby Hawaii dukhan. Those walks were full of animated talk of books or his American passion or even rock music. When Rodney King was bashed up by the LA police and smacked 57 times on the body in a famous video, OB observed,” I would go through more if it can get me a US green card”. After quizzing, he was a highly regarded “Table Tennis” player. There was a TT table in the mess hall and a long queue to get in a knock. OB could smash with such force as to damage the plastic ball or engage in a rapid fire tit-tat-tit like an automaton.  

I really was a fish out of water during the IMT days and OB went out of his way to make me comfortable. He resided in Vasant Kunj and went home each week to at least for the laundry or get better food at home. We had a long break of 2 weeks and he stayed with me in the hostels just to give company. Again an overwhelming feeling like the feet massage!

I have been to his home half a dozen times and it is typical Punjabi family; his father a picture of hospitality and grace in a long, white beard and maroon turbans. His mother was forever busy in the kitchen but vociferous in her welcomes to a stranger, and his super cool married brother in Indian Oil. I enjoyed the freedom the Oberois enjoyed; both he and his brother would sit in the veranda and take in the sun while sipping beer cans. Both the sons had cars for themselves and it was a thriving middle-class family.  

With OB around you feel a benign peace that springs from trust. We would argue just about everything but without an ounce of malice and SDP is only another I have found in a similar league. I would often say: OB, if you were a woman I would have married you. He retorted,” If I were a woman, you would never have interacted”. After our passing out, we met on a couple of occasions but the magic of those years had clearly dissipated. He got married to an air-hostess and achieved his life-long ambition of migrating to the United States.  

The clock has turned more than 15 years and he is now in a new country, a wife, and couple of children. I did manage to locate his email id but it fizzled out after a couple of mails. OB is the lone Punjabi I doff my head; he was royal and generous in every way.

Verdict: Sattvic 

Lesson to be learnt: How to be hospitable to strangers, unassuming, and speak with restraint?