Intro

My name is not Pinku, neither is anyone else in my family called that, we just lived in Pinku Farms. And its not a farm either its just called that. We had rented this tiny, two bedroom flat in sector 47 from Jaswant Singh. Jaswant uncle was a little bit off but great fun and a typical Sardar. I asked him about naming of the flat,

"Oh. Its my Son. Such a lovely boy. His mother loves to call him Pinku."
"..and Farms?"
"Oye we have our agriculture in Hoshiarpur. Your Rani Aunty really loves to live on a farm, so she calls it a farm"

This little nugget had formed an image in my mind of Pinku, which got shattered when I met him in college. This guy was a mountain. Of coal. I was a puny little fellow next to him. He had just come in to college while I was in my final year B.Com.

"Pinku?"
"Haanji Paaji. Myself Pinku"

This is a story of my life in Pinku Farms.

My Dad, like all true-blue Punjabi's, was in the armed forces. He was in the Indian Air Force. He was not a pilot-shilot or anything, he was part of the engineering crew which maintains aircrafts in Chandigarh's 3BRD (Base Repair Depot). My mother is just like the image of Nirupa Roy in films. She loves her children, I have two sisters, she loves her kitchen, her neighbours, her kitty, her Paharganj (that's where our Nana lives in Delhi).

And I was a student in GCB, Govt. College for Boys, Sector 11. It was earlier called GCM for Men but it was felt that 'boys will be boys' even if you call them Men. I travel to college in CTU, that's the bus service in Chandigarh, spend the day in the boys hostel and evenings, bird-watching opposite GCG, yes that's right the last G stands for Girls.