Pankaj Srivastava came to University of Allahabad at the same time I did. It was this shared sense of alienation and curiosity that turned us into friends—a friendship that continues to this day.

Two lost souls, wide-eyed and restless, thrown together by fate. It was that shared sense of being out of place, that hunger to figure out who we were, that wove our lives into a friendship so deep it’s carried us through all these years. I can still feel the warmth of it, like a fire that never dims.

Pankaj, my friend from Raebareli, was a force of nature. He wasn’t just one thing—he was everything. I’d watch him light up the stage with Dasta, our university’s legendary theater troupe, pouring his heart into every line. We’d stand shoulder to shoulder in student protests, voices hoarse from shouting for what we believed in. Late nights on Univesity Road, University Lawns in study circles, we’d argue and dream, and for a while, we even shared a cramped little roof—our sanctuary. Those days feel so close, like I could reach out and touch them, even now.

Seventeen years back, I stole half a day from him, and what a treasure it was. After recording we sat at Mandi House, cradling cups of tea like they were gold, talking until our words tripped over each other. We laughed, we reminisced, we tossed around praise and gentle jabs for the friends who couldn’t join us. Back then, blogs were our obsession, but not for Pankaj—he’d throw his head back, let out that big, booming laugh, and swear his charm was in not being a blogger. “Pay me,” he’d say, grinning, “and maybe I’ll read yours.” That was him—unapologetic, real, and so damn alive.

I wanted to tell you about his days as a journalist, the stories he chased and the truths he uncovered, but our chat took a turn, as it always did with him. Instead, three songs spilled out—melodies from his soul. You’ll hear them at the end of this Guftagoo, songs he used to sing with us, his voice ringing out bold and free in those wild, active days. Pankaj isn’t just a friend; he is a speaker who could move a crowd, a student leader we all looked up to, fearless and fierce.

There’s so much more to say, but I’ll let his voice tell the rest. Listen close—it’s all there, the man he is, the friend I’ll always hold dear.

Irfan | 03 March 2025