Guest Column: A cup of coffee and a whole host of memories at PU

Such was the popularity of the coffee house at the PU student centre that IT drew students from nearby colleges as well

Panjab University’s iconic student centre boasts of the same vintage charm that it radiated back when I first joined college decades ago. We remember it as a popular getaway, a hub for chit-chat tucked away into a serene corner next to the library, yet a short five-minute walk from most varsity departments. Such was the popularity that the spot drew students from nearby colleges as well.

The coffee house at Panjab University‘s Student Centre, which was closed down in 2019, was reopened for visitors again earlier this week. (HT File)

The Centre, established in 1975, has undergone quite a journey over the years. When I visited the university in 2011, while pursuing a course in homeland security, the once abuzz coffee house, which was the heart of the centre, was in shambles with poor fraternisation. In 2019, it was shut down amid dwindling footfall.

The erstwhile favourite, however, has come alive again thanks to the concerted efforts from the varsity authorities, the student council and of course the reviving entrepreneur, Colonel RK Bawa (retd), who runs other successful catering projects in the tricity as well.

With the gates being thrown open for visitors again earlier this week, I cannot help but reminisce about some pleasant and other not so pleasant memories.

Starting with the pleasant memories; it was 1979, the great cricketer Kapil Dev had returned home after a successful debut in Pakistan. With a fresh celebrity status, he came into the coffee house for a plate of vada sambhar with friends. I was a part of the group. We took our seats and placed the order. Soon, a group of girls walked in and occupied the table next to ours. One of them whispered: “Look, it’s Kapil Dev”. Her friend was confused: “Kapil who?” The coffee house, however, was drawing in those falling in the former category and a swarm soon crowded the table with their notebooks and pens, hoping for an autograph.

There was no way to record the euphoria as we lacked the camera-fitted gadgets, but the moment continues to play on repeat in our memories.

Moving on, after a gruelling ordeal with my parents, more so with my mother, I was the proud owner of a Yezdi motorcycle. This was after I cleared the SSB interview for joining the Indian Military Academy in 1979. Celebrations were in order. I met with some friends in Sector 28 and we drove our bikes to the student centre for coffee. Gopal, a friend with a jazzy parrot-coloured yezdi, requested to ride my new bike and I obliged. All of our friends but Gopal were soon at the coffee house. I bought my friends coffee to celebrate my new bike, only for a sullen Gopal walking up the ramp leading to the coffee house soon after. “Sorry Avnish, your yezdi has been stolen,” he said. As it turns out, he had parked the bike at the Sector 17 Bank Square for a quick stopover. He returned to find the bike missing. I was crestfallen, thinking not so much at the loss, but the wrath that I would face at home.

Gulping the now tasteless coffee, I arrived home and broke the news to my mother with bated breath. The response left me bamboozled “Thank God, my constant source of worry on the roads is gone!,” my mother said as she heaved a sigh of relief.