If you ask any MGIMS student from the 1970s or ’80s about their Dean, or even most of their professors, the memories may be hazy. Names of many classmates might have slipped away too.
But mention Babulal, and the recollections come rushing back.
In those days, Babulal’s canteen was their 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘢, their little world in the middle of Sevagram. He presided over the tea kettle and the sizzling aloo-bonda pan like a king. But without a crown, just an easy smile and a heart that seemed too big for one man.
To them, he was more than the man who fed their hunger. He was their Bhamashah. Quietly slipping a lifeline to any student in need. Tuition fees short? Train ticket home too expensive? A film calling their name but their pocket saying no? Babulal was there. No ledger. No questions. And when one tried to repay him, he would shrug and say, “𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.”
Today, Babulalji is 89. He still walks into my OPD once in a while, his step slower but his warmth unchanged. Each time, I nudge him back to those golden days. His memory sometimes wanders, but the moment we speak of Sevagram in the ’70s, his eyes brighten, and with that same familiar smile, he says,
“𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴.”