The first time and place I met Sunil Agarwal was on July 17, 1978, outside the State Bank of India Extension Counter, Carmen Block. Our respective fathers had made the requisite payments for our admission. I clearly remember Sunil wearing a black and white checked shirt, grey pants, and polished leather shoes.

We said our goodbyes to our fathers and walked down the drive to the Mansion of Gods, carrying all our worldly possessions. Along the way, we were joined by B. Venkatesh, who was in the same group as Sunil. During that walk, we exchanged a lot of information. I learned that he was from Saharanpur, Uttar Pradesh—a place I had never heard of until that moment. He had completed his schooling at the famous Doon School and his junior college at DAV College, Chandigarh. Sunil Datta, who had also studied at DAV College, joined us.

We all decided to share a room in the Slums and occupied Room 119-120 for the duration of our first year. Sunil told us that his friends from Doon School called him “Agroo.” He was also known as “Junky” due to his bloodshot eyes.

During ragging, he was given a helmet with a Nazi swastika painted on it and a toy rifle. If anyone said, “Steady, Agarwal,” he had to retort, “Bugger all! Bugger all!” Because of this, he also earned the nickname “Buggeroo.”

Agroo was generous and never let his left hand know what his right hand gave. My first experience of his generosity was on the first night of ragging. We had to sleep on the floor of the upper common room, and the mosquitoes were eating me alive. Seeing my discomfort, Agroo handed me a tube of Odomos.

In those days, owning a music system was rare. Srideo Jha had a transistor. When he returned from our September break, Agroo brought a cassette recorder along with multiple tapes recorded at home. The company that made the tapes was Tony, a knock off of Sony. This provided much-needed music for Room 119-120, though the recorder rarely stayed in our room. Instead, it made its way around the hostel. Anyone who asked for it got it—Sunil never thought twice before lending it out.

He also paid mess fees for someone who couldn’t afford it and continued to help his dhobi’s family to the very end.

Saharanpur was known for its mangoes, and Agroo’s father, who owned a cold storage facility, would send a box of mangoes during the season. He shared them with everyone. At that time, we were living on the first floor of D Block, which had a balcony overlooking the hostel warden’s garden. The mango seeds landed in his garden, but unfortunately, they never took root.

While I was doing my bond Peter Desmond landed up in Nagpur and we went to Delhi to meet Bisoo in AIIMS. Peter had asked Agroo to lend his brother’s car to use in Delhi which Agroo consented. We travelled to Saharanpur and drove back to Delhi like Kings in a Maruti 800 but we ran out of petrol just before AIIMS and had to be towed by an autorickshaw to the petrol station.

We went like kings in the Maruti to the Grand Hyatt, though we could barely afford it but it. We met Afghan refugees from USA there but that’s another story.

Because of his public school education, Agroo could play all sports. He told us that it was compulsory in his school. He enthusiastically participated in cricket, hockey, and football. He wasn’t necessarily skilled at them, but he knew the basics and often clowned around, providing much-needed comic relief.

When it came to studying, however, he could read with full concentration, no matter the distractions around him.

Checks were his favorite. When I once asked him why, he simply said, “They go with everything.”

Initially, he always wore well-polished leather shoes. However, over time, the Vellore culture of wearing slippers and flip-flops won him over for its comfort.

My next close interaction with Agroo was when I was doing my MS in Ludhiana, and he joined the faculty as a Professor. He was liked by everyone—a rarity in Ludhiana, where very few people got along. Though there was no official system of foster children, he was immensely popular among students and “adopted” many. One of them, Edwin, followed his footsteps to Vellore and later became a vascular surgeon.

By then, Agroo had become a Vellore native. The language and mannerisms of Vellore had become part of him. He spoke Hindi with a South Indian accent, frequently using words like “chumma.” I remember him taking clinics for students and using “chumma” generously. The students suppressed smiles because, in the North, “chumma” means “kiss.”
I remember his quotes “3 Ps of stopping bleeding are pack, pressure and pray!” I have followed it and re told it to my students.
The last time I met him was in 2019, in Nagpur, when I was being installed as the President of the Nagpur Association of Surgeons. He gave a talk that was highly appreciated. Afterward, Agroo, Bisoo, and I visited Pench National Park. Though we didn’t see any tigers, we had a wonderful time.

Who knew that would be our last?

Delivered on 9th February 2025 at our online class prayers.
I was corrected by Murli that the last time we met Agroo was November 2019 in Palghat Kerala.