Mehar Singh has been my friend for 64 years. I still remember the very first day we met—it was in the common room of our hostel when rooms were being allotted, and we were supposed to pick our roommates. I noticed a handsome young man with a small patka on his head, fair-skinned, with a very light beard, standing there, looking somewhat astonished as he searched for a possible roommate or friend.
At the same time, I was in a similar situation—alone and looking for someone to share a room with. Our eyes met, and he walked up to me, asking if I had a roommate. I said no. He had noticed me in class earlier, as he was also pursuing electrical engineering. I was delighted when he suggested we be roommates, and we both agreed to submit our names together.
However, the very next day, I found myself in a dilemma. Another boy, Devanchand Sehgal, was from my city, Panipat. He had already connected with my parents and approached me, expecting that, as citymates, we would naturally share a room. In those days, there was an unspoken rule that people from the same hometown often roomed together. Meanwhile, I came to know that Mehar Singh had also found someone else. Both of us, feeling awkward about the situation, eventually changed our decisions. But rather than drifting apart, we became even closer friends.
From that moment on, we were inseparable. In class, we always sat together—front row, right-hand side. I believe Mehar Singh’s roll number was 98, and mine was 107 (though I need to confirm with him). Our friendship carried beyond college into our professional lives. Our first jobs were in Karnal at P&R Electrical, and since Mehar Singh had joined a month earlier, he had already settled in. He was much smarter, more handsome, and more hardworking than me, so I was relieved to have his guidance as I adjusted to the new role.
Soon, he applied for a job in Delhi, as it offered better pay. He was selected as an inspector in DESU, the Delhi Electric Supply Undertaking, and left his Punjab job. Inspired by his move, I also decided to shift from Punjab to Delhi and followed him there a few months later. Mehar Singh was in the enforcement department, inspecting industrial units, especially in areas like Paharganj and Multani Dhanda. We often visited him and went song his inspection, where small industrialists, eager to stay in his good books, would treat us to Coca-Cola, which cost 24–25 paisa back then—a significant treat for us young engineers. Sometimes, he even arranged for us to have lunch, and those moments strengthened our friendship.
Years passed, and when I was preparing to move to the U.S., Mehar Singh invited me and my wife to his home for dinner. His wife cooked a wonderful meal, and we had a heartfelt evening together. His daughter was married to a boy in Fresno, California, which meant our families now had a connection overseas as well. However, a misunderstanding arose between me and his son-in-law, which upset Mehar Singh. He later complained, saying, “Pritamohan, you didn’t behave well with my son-in-law.” I apologized, though I never felt the need to open up that chapter again.
Despite this, our bond remained intact. When my son Shivpreet was getting married, I met Mehar Singh again—either I invited him, or he happened to be there at the pre-wedding dinner at the Taj Hotel. The details are a bit blurry, but what remains clear is that we reconnected.
Later, Mehar Singh visited the U.S. in late minters, but we somehow missed meeting each other. A few years ago, I finally got back in touch with him through his relatives. When we spoke on the phone, he laughed and said, “Preetmohan, we had love at first sight!”—referring to our instant connection on that very first day in the hostel.
Looking back, it amazes me how our friendship has lasted for over six decades, through different cities, careers, continents, and even misunderstandings. But true friendship never fades—it just waits for the right moment to pick up where it left off.
