There were days when Feroz worked in complete silence and we didn’t exchange a word. On other days he’d do nothing but talk. His army dad had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps and was greatly upset when Feroz decided to pursue history for a career. He seemed closer to his mother and spoke of her fondly. While growing up, he’d miss her terribly each time he went back to boarding school. He spoke of lying in his dorm bed and craving her softness, her perfumed chiffon saris, her cool white arms.

Being a historian, Feroz loved Delhi. On weekend afternoons, he’d disappear with one of his many girlfriends into the bylanes of Old Delhi. He would return in the evening, just before dinner, and speak excitedly about his discoveries: an engraving he had never seen before or an architectural feature he’d failed to spot on an earlier visit.

Girls loved Feroz. They didn’t seem to mind when he touched their shoulders or put his arms around their waists. They pulled his leg, asked him for help when they didn’t understand passages in books, tended to him when he fell sick. As far as I could tell, he knew all of them, was extremely close to some, but wasn’t seeing anyone. Unlike him, I was very awkward and shy with women.

Once when he opened his cupboard, I was surprised to see pictures of Aishwarya Rai on the insides of the panels. She had recently won the Miss World pageant and was on the covers of various magazines. Feroz had carefully chosen close-ups of her face. He was a little embarrassed at having his little secret revealed but laughed it off saying, ‘Being a serious MA student I can’t possibly stick these pictures on my wall like some first-year public-school kid, can I?’

The day before Freshers’ Welcome, Chandy and I found ourselves wandering the hostel corridors, looking for old clothes. We needed them because the ritual involved seniors throwing rotten tomatoes and eggs at juniors. We were not allowed to bring our own arsenal but we could, if we wanted, pick up what was thrown at us and hurl it back. Chandy was looking forward to the tamasha. He had greatly enjoyed getting ragged and seemed a little sad that the tomfoolery was finally coming to an end.