Father

"Main aap sabko apne bachche ke samaan maanta hoon". Those were the words that for the first time drew me out of my slumber during another one of those boring journeys. The man who had just entered the compartment, with a few other fellows trailing behind him, was forty something; with a medium build, an average height, a mediocre belly, slightly greying hair, and a face that showed a blend of wrinkles of past experiences and dimples of future expectations...a typical middle aged man. And instinctively, I knew I was going to get a story for my blog today.
While the opening line might give you the impression of affection towards the two younger men to whom itwas addressed, the tone was a giveaway. An admonition was in full swing and my man had taken up the role of an authoritative father. "Main aap sabko apne bachche ke samaan maanta hoon...aap logon ki hamesha madad karta hoon, lekin agar aap log galti karenge to main saza bhi doonga", and so on and on, the conversation went. I should not call it a conversation though, for the other two men were simply standing head bent, listening most of the time, and uttering apologies whenever there was a short pause in the scolding, which was essentially the time this "father" took to draw in fresh air. Anyway their resigned faces made it evident that they had exhausted all attempts to explain their side of story, and would have nothing more to say even if given a chance. They were there just for that; to stand and listen.
The admonition might not have been pleasant to the receivers but I was all ears. I gathered that my man was a station superintendent and the other two were his subordinates who had done something gravely wrong in the opinion of the superintendent. The plot was thickening... the story was getting interesting now... But Alas! just as I was starting to get a hang of the issue involved, the train halted at a station and the two got down... A wonderful story, stymied midway...

Or probably not. For now, the father turned to the third young man who had accompanied him and who was sitting silently till now... It was his son.

"Son", he said, "Take good care of yourself". It so happened that his son was going to join some job near delhi and because he was going out of home for the first time, the disciplinarian father had to give him 'the right advises'. "You must get up by 6 in the morning, finish your daily ablutions in an hour..." and several other details on daily routine were added. The son nodded a compliant yes.
Then the father said, "You must take special care of your dietary habits. Don't go for a lot of junk foods. Do take fruits". and then an idea struck him. "Do one thing. Buy Half a dozen bananas every week, and take one daily in breakfast. and you must also take milk. And u can buy bread from the market which you can eat with milk in the morning....your breakfast must be nourishing"...and then as an afterthought, "And also buy a packet of namkeen bhujiya. you can have that for evening snacks". The son nodded a compliant yes.
The son had been well behaved till now. He probably thought that now was the time to ask for a little favour. "Papa, I might need a bike there". "All right", the father said, "take the one at home". "But papa I was thinking of buying a new...". "Rubbish! it is foolishness to spend so much of money on a new bike. Son, you know that our means are limited. It will unnecessarily strain our finances. The older bike will do as well. And anyway, don't spend too much time roaming around. put full efforts into studies. You have to build your career now". The son again nodded a compliant yes.
Meanwhile the disciplinary urges were gathering steam. "And do no get into bad company. By the way, who was this friend who came with you last week?" The son uttered a name, which the father did not hear but continued with his sentence. "I would not like you to move around with him. See how haughtily he behaved that day...not even said a namaste." The son protested, "No papa, he is not that sort of a guy. He probably did not wish you because you were talking to somebody else". "That's no excuse. Son we believe in our culture, and one should have atleast the manners to greet elders. I do not want you to keep friendship with him. Is that ok?". The son was evidently flustered, but nodded a submissive yes.
The air was heavy, and there was silence for some time. Father decided to change track now. "Right now, I have roughly thousand rupees saved. I can garner another from my GPF. Your tauji has also agreed to give some money..." and so on, he enumerated not less than 10 sources of finance, with no end use in sight. It was after atleast five minutes that the secret unravelled. "With this money I will get a room built on the back side of our house on roof.", and then, "This will be over by 2008 and in the year 2009 you we will marry you off, and then you sister the next year".And then as if to placate the son, "That room will be for you. We will have an attached bathroom too. That way you will have an independent unit, and it will also be connected to ground floor so you can come down anytime you want". This must have been a bombshell for the son... but he nodded a silent yes.

Pretty soon, however, the father's demeanour began to change. The train was approaching Faridabad now, where the son had to get down while the father had to continue his journey further. The son hastily packed his belongings, even as the father continued with his advises. "Son, do take good care of yourself. And keep calling regularly, you know your mother gets worried". His speech was getting more and more rushed, trying to compress all that he wanted to say in the short time available. His tone was changed too, instead of a stately poise it had started sounding more like a plea. "Son, be happy and don't worry about anything. If you don't like the job just come back, God has given us enough. Just concentrate on building your career, and do take good care of yourself". "Son, do call up tomorrow, Son, keep good care of your health, Son..." and his voice trailed off, as the duo went out of the coach, the son nodding his yeses which he did not mean, and father trying to catch up with him, more anxious, more talkative, more breathless with each passing minute...

...When the father came back, he was quite. His shoulders had drooped, his face was melancholy and resigned, and all signs of a "man in command" had evaporated. I looked up at him, and caught a glimpse of his eyes...moist. The authoritative father was nowhere to be seen. I was looking at the real father.

Dear Father, probably your son did not see this today. Probably he is rebellious and angry with you today. But some day, he too will see a real father and he would remember you...and he would know that you too must have been the same way today :)

The Taste of India

Ok friends, I have just come back from my home after diwali celebrations... and a few lines come to my mind that look very appropriate here:

"Adharo.n par ho koi bhi ras, jihva ko lagti haala;

Bhaajan ho koi haatho.n me.n, lagta thaama hai pyaala;

Har soorat saaki ki soorat, me.n parivartit ho jaati hai;

Aankho.n ke aage ho kutch bhi, aankho.n me.n hai madhushaala" :)

I am still dreaming about delicacies. The only thing that I can think of right now is food; mouth watering garma garam kachorian, sooran ki sabji, mithayian, agra ke pethe and so much more. And yes above all, my mom's speciality dahi bade which I would have certainly got patented had product patent been allowed on foodstuffs.

I have decided to make way for my taste buds this time. This is a catalogue of their experiences as they travelled all over India. Some of the experiences have been sweet and some have been sour, but each one of them has added a lot of spice to my life. I hope you too would get a taste of India in the process. And remember, my taste buds are pretty opinionated, so you are going to get a lot of advices too.

Let me start from the place which started it all, which pushed me into this wonderful activity of searching out speciality dishes on railway stations. Orai, a small station on Kanpur jhansi route is famous for its gulaab jaamuns. And they are really really good. At times I have even put alarm so that I can wake up, brush up and be ready in time. But beware friends, when you reach there, you would find atleast a dozen hawkers moving all over the platform selling gulaab jaamuns. Most of them are fake. Just walk past them right to the end of the platform and you will find the stall that really deserves the credit for good name. And once there, ensure that you get only fresh and hot gulaab jaamuns, because without that half the taste is lost. Just one more little thing...keep a keen eye on your train and pray to God its departure gets delayed. Two minutes are just not enough to wade through the crowd at the shop. Half of the times I have ended up running behind the train :)

Orai by the way is not the only small station that treats you to its own culinary ideosyncracy. Take for example Pratapnagar station, the one I had mentioned about, in "The encroachers". It has a tea stall, and you get a few things to eat too. The shop opens only in the morning and its customer base is not really the passengers, for there are very few passengers here, but rather those who come to work near that place. Me and one of my friends once happened to be near that place at breakfast time. pav bhaji was the only eatable item available and we ordered for two plates. The shopkeeper asked whether we would like it "jyada teekha" or "kam teekha". Though both of us are not averse to spicy stuff, still we asked for "kam teekha"...

What finally materialized before us in the name of bhaaji was a small quantity of peas floating in a huge mess of oil, with some sev added on top...probably that was his idea of garnishing. "Whatever it was", we thought "atleast it would give company to the pav". But the very first byte told us it was not to be. His kam teekha bhaaji was enough for both of us to start fuming from the eyes nose and ears. To finish off that one pav, the two of us together finished off more than a litre of water, and even then, after we were through, the bhaaji looked like it had not even been touched. That day onwards, both of us are trying to beguile somebody into tasting this person's pav bhaaji with jyada teekha :)

Contrary to small stations however, and very surprisingly, many of the big ones show a definite lack of innovation. All you get is a standard IRCTC canteen menu, and the same boring packaged stuff. New Delhi is a case in point. But worse are the places where you get nothing good to eat even outside the railway stations. Recently I descended upon bangalore for a short half day trip. I reached there in the afternoon and had two hours to myself before I got on with my work. So, I decided not to fill myself up with kurkure or tasteless thali at IRCTC, but rather try something outside. As I came out of the station, two roads emerged. And as is very logical and usual to do, I took the one more travelled by. I walked ahead, along the boundry of DRM office, under the Rail over bridge and across the wide, well tarred roads of Bangalore, so full of traffic that one has to wait 15 minutes to cross it. I walked and walked for 45 minutes and found nothing more than fruit stalls. A famished person, made to walk in a hot afternoon, you can very well imagine my position.

Anyway, finally I did manage to find a dhaba kind of thing. After all this ordeal I could easily have eaten three masala dosas, indeed I intended to do so. But I was clever enough not to make myself look like a chronically deprived and a depraved person. So I ordered only one dosa to begin with. ...Clever or not, I was certainly lucky. For the dosa was so stale, and the sambar so... yuck...that with all my hunger, I had to leave it unfinished. I came out, had a glass of musambi juice, one frooti, cursed my luck for choosing the wrong path and came back to guest house. In the evening, my work took me to the other road from the station.... It was worse.

Moral of the story; whenever you come to bangalore, fill yourself up with kurkure or the tasteless thali at IRCTC canteen :)

At some other places its just the opposite. You are in a fix not because of lack but rather a surfeit of choices. Or should I say counterfeit choices. At Ambala, when you come out of the station you find "Bhaiyya ji ka dhaaba". Not one but many of them. Ranging from "Naya Bhaiyya ji ka dhaaba" to " Bhaiyya ji ka naya dhaaba" and also " Wahi purana Bhaiyya ji ka dhaaba". There are atleast 10 of them there, right beside each other, and whenever they see a customer, they come out in full strength, all cooks and waiters included, seemingly to abduct you. If you try to ask them which is the real Bhaiyyaji ka dhaaba, most of them say that their's is the original one. A few ofcourse are more honest and say that the original one has been closed down, and they are the true descendants :).

We were there at ambala for a day, and tried at two different Bhaiyya ji ka dhaabas. Neither of them tasted anywhere near what is expected of a dhaaba that has established itself as a brand and has inspired so many copycats. a few more still remain, so I am hopeful that someday, I would be able to find out the original one...

Talking of branding, a recent addition on the face of Railway stations has been Comesum. Even under the seemingly uniform brand image and the equally striking dresses of employees at all the joints, you will find an amazing variety in the food that is served at Comesum. I am not talking here about the thali etc, which are just as standard as the IRCTC thali, but rather other small items that add the local touch. At Kolkata, for example, u get "mishti dohi" (sweet curd) that is unmatched in taste. At nagpur, you get pastries which are so very soft and just right in terms of taste and smoothness. At Secunderabad station, the joint serves sambhar vada. It is good no doubt, but what makes it interesting is the size of vadas... Humongous I must say. Two vadas would be enough for a well rounded meal.

There are so many such peculiar goodies strewn all over. India is really a feast. There is something new, something exhilerating at every corner. My taste buds are not finished yet. But thats too much of food stuff for a day. Anymore would certainly cause indigestion. So, for now, savour this much, and wait for The taste of India-II :)

The Encroachers

This one was probably the shortest of my journeys on railway; a round trip aggregating just a little over a kilometer. And this time, I didn't board a train either... I walked! From a small station named Pratapnagar to the nearest home signal on track, and back. Too short; too insignificant; but enough for a story :)


Pratapnagar is one of those non-descript railway stations that see only two or three trains a day. A quiet heaven where there are neither engines to reverberate the whole place with their groans nor crowds to give competition to these engines. Where the tracks can be spared for us to play with, for some time atleast, and station staff can be spared to explain to us the nitty gritties of operations. So, when it was time to take probationers for familiarization with signalling system on stations, Pratapnagar was an obvious choice...


To understand the signalling systems, obviously, we had to see the signals. So we started off along the track towards the home signal. In the beginning, railway land was pretty clean and reasonably well maintained on both sides of the track, and we thought that it was going to be a short and sweet trip. But just a few dozen paces and we were able to sniff the troubles ahead :)... The tell tale marks of Naipaul's India were omnipresent...and not just as a distant horror that could, at the most, cause anxiety and nausea. The danger was immediate, right there on the track!... had we not been extra careful, our shoes would have made us remember this trip much longer than anybody would like to. Horrible...It couldn't get any worse than this.

Or probably, it could... We only had to wait till we crossed the overbridge enroute. There onwards, the railway land did not exist at all! The only thing we could find was the railway track, the signals... and the slums.

The whole place was littered with polythene bags, some well set in large heaps and others flying around. To the smell of night soil, was now added, the aroma of rotten vegetables and of the ubiquitous slimes and moulds, that could survive on anything.
And then, the whole place was littered with children too, running amok all over the place. In stark contrast to the station which, like a polished English gentleman, adorned a graceful and ordered demeanour, here u found the cacophonous chaos so typical of an Indian. Filth, stagnant water, diseases, howls of children, grunts of grown ups...and amidst all this... people lived here. It seemed these people too, like slimes and moulds, could survive with just about anything.

So, these were the encroachers we have often been told about. "Despicable fellows, who have illegally gobbled up our land, and who, by their political clout in this great democracy of ours, continue to flout all rules unabashedly without any fear of punishment". And I remembered that as a representative of the Railways, it was our bounden duty to purge the place of all these evils; to throw off all the plastic sheets and the people who lived inside them...

...But, I could not help observing the slum more closely and reflecting about it. It occured to me, "The slum-dwellers are also humans". An obvious fact? Yes...it is a fact, but one that is conveniently forgotten while making policies in our office, a fact that everyone knows but none has really internalized. Only at times like this, when we make a rendezvous with the reality, do we realize the import of this fact. And for this short period our perspective changes...mine certainly did.

These were fellow humans, who were living in the most pitiable of conditions. Forget terraces, forget bedrooms, forget even toilets...they did not have even a proper roof. What was a ten by ten plastic sheet for me was a home for them, their only protection from the vagaries of sun and rain... and there too, some unfortunate ones had to grapple with holes in their roof, covering them with whatever they could arrange out of the big heap of waste plastic. Without fail, there were no walls, no partitions. The family lived outside, cooked outside, slept outside, the "home" being primarily meant for storing things. And then there were the mosquitoes to grapple with too. A few richer ones had been able to buy mosquito nets for themselves. But the poor ones ofcourse could not afford even that. In this generally inhospitable surrounding, the railway track, thankfully, provided the much needed open space for the locality, and it was put to maximum use. As a playground by the children, as a place to cook meals...and also as the place for daily ablutions.

And even with the inhuman life that these people are leading, we are not ready to let them be. We want to oust them. And we take the fact that they have not been removed to imply that these people use political influence for their illegitimate gains. Do you think such deprived men could ever have a political clout? Far from it. The political noises we hear are made by others who have the capacity to be vociferous on issues. These slum-dwellers, unfortunately, are doomed to a silent existence. They are not hard stones that can injure you if you try to hit them. They are mere sponges that simply acquiesce...that succumb to the slightest of pressures. Hundreds of times there have been anti-encroachment drives by railway staff. Do these people raise voices? No. They simply pack everything and move to a nearby footpath lest even the puny possessions of theirs may get destroyed in the whirlwind of official farman. And there they wait patiently, till the pressure is withdrawn when they can again, silently, slip back to their original dwelling.

These people have broken many laws, but that does not mean they do it without fear. Infact, they have a morbid fear of even the most humble of government employees and would never do anything that has even a remote chance of angering the railway staff. One person had piled in bamboo just by the side of the signal post to tie the washing line. It required extra cost, but the poor chap could not dare to tie the rope to the signal post for the fear that it may cause any sort of inconvinience to the signal inspector which would almost certainly have meant another anti-encroachment drive. You and me know that tying a rope to signal post is nothing when compared to an offence like capturing government land...but for them, it was a change from status quo... a possible cause for the obliteration for their meagre belongings...a huge risk to their survival.

Yes, they might be living in highly deplorable conditions. Yes, they might have broken a hundred laws. But then... do they have any choice either? Afterall, as long as they live, they do need a place to sit, to cook, to play, to sleep....to exist. Where will they go if they are ousted from here? Will they be provided any support by the society? Yes, they have encroached upon the government land but by trying to throw them off are we not encroaching upon their basic right to life...

But wait a minute; why was I thinking of all that? Why was I excessively worrying about them? I remembered again; It was the duty of railway employees to remove all such encroachments and we should not deviate from our duty. I asked one of the station staff who had accompanied us, whether any action was planned against these slums. He just said one thing..."are sir inko yahan se hata diya to ye kahan jayenge".

Hmmm... probably I would have got the same answer if I had asked other station staff or the station master. I looked at my colleagues, who were going to be officers very soon; irrespective of what they may do in their official capacity, it was obvious from their grim faces that at that particular moment, removing slums was the last thing on their mind. Perhaps the higher authorities too feel the same way whenever they come here. And leave all of them, if u like, for they are not directly inconvinienced by the slum... Think of the khalasi who has to regularly clean the night soil on track, who has to bear all the filth of this "illegitimate settlement". Even he has not filed a complaint till now. Why?

because... " yahan se hata diya to kahan jayenge "

It was not just me...everybody in railways thought the same way. In between our rigid rule based working, and our so called high handedness with the public at large, we have still not lost our touch with humanity.

For a moment...just for a short, fleeting moment, I felt proud of the fact, that railwaymen do not discharge their duties properly :)

The journey of a lifetime

Gets a bit obscure in the end...read at ur own risk :)

>>>

We often look toward big things...icons, spiritual leaders, public figures...to learn lessons of life. But sometimes even an insignificant, inanimate object can teach you a lot. Its poignant silence can convey much more than would ever be possible by speech. This is exactly what happened while I was on my way to Kapurthala recently.

I was a bit restless on this journey, engrossed in thoughts that were making me uneasy. It was a situation where the more I thought the more wretched I felt. And the more wretched I felt, the more compelled, I found myself, to think about it. I was really suffocated inside the compartment. A sinking, gloomy, desperate feeling surrounded me; and it was getting unbearable now, so I came out to the door and stood there, taking the rush of air on my face. The loud roar of gushing air did not allow me to think, and the fast jerks on the door, where I had to constantly tiptoe to keep my balance, shook me out, each time I was about to lapse back into memories. There, I stood ; absolutely thoughtless like a zombie, still... atleast relieved of my anguish.

But soon, even these disturbances were to fade into the background. By the side, there was another railway line; two rails running along...and my mind wavered again.

Two rails...so near, but yet so far. Running side by side, neither coming close, nor going away. Was that the only fate of these rails?

To get an answer, I looked back... and what do I see! far back the two rails appeared so close! Like two nice friends, playfully moving along in their lives...two good friends who are a part of each others lives...two great friends, looking forward to be together in their future lives.
Encouraged, I looked ahead...and again! near the horizon, the two rails seemed to be merging together! Two Partners together, hand in hand, enjoying their shared past...partners never to be parted in life. Wow! what a beautiful view...

But I knew...I knew that both these were mere illusions. I knew that neither were the rails closer in the past, nor are they going to come close in the future. God himself has tied them down on opposite ends. This seperation was going to remain...It was going to be the same fate...till eternity.

The gloomy feeling gripped me again. But... why then were the rails still moving on? Why did they still appear full of life, full of zeal? Was there something more to it than was visible to me? Probably yes... From my vantage position, I had come to see some illusions of the past, present and future, and they did not match with reality which made me feel dejected. But the rails couldn't see these. Infact... they did not really want to see them. They wanted to meet the future only when it became the present, and they wanted to accept the present, whatever it was, as a gift of God....
...I was looking at the future. They were looking forward to it :)

I could hear some murmers. Faint voices of one rail as it tried to say something to the other...

"Dear, indeed God has tied us down, but that also is a blessing in disguise. God has ensured that we do not get lost in this vast world. I dont know what future has in store for us. We may never meet, not even come close, but one thing I know, we are going to be side by side throughout; this divine link, the spiritual connection, shall be there forever. There is nothing to worry, nothing to be upset about; God has taken special care of us till now, and he will continue to do so...till eternity. Let us just keep moving ahead, basking in this sunshine that God has bestowed upon us."

...Yes! There was much more than just a fate that had to be accepted. There was a life to be lived. And the rails were showing me how to do it...

Look ahead! towards the horizon again. There is no illusion now. It is the purest truth; There is no destination to be reached, just a journey to be made. This is the journey of a lifetime, and the rails are going to run it...happily... side by side... till both of them, quitely, inconspicously, merge with the heavens above.

>>>

cogito ergo sum :)

Mr. Totaram

One thing that I have very clearly understood, having seen the functioning of government oraganizations for the past one and a half years or so, is that, it is not as bad as it is thought to be. Work does get done, complaints are taken seriously, and decisions are not totally adhoc, certainly not more than the adhocism prevailant in much of the private sector. And most importantly, the staff here is equally efficient, equally capable and, most of the times, equally willing to work.

But, it is certainly not ideal...nor can it ever be. Ofcourse the lures of power make some efficient men purposely act inefficiently. But more than that, the peculiarities of government functioning are such that sometimes even the most well meaning of individuals find themselves in a quandry. And one such man is Mr Totaram.

Mr Totaram (name not changed to protect the flavour of story :) I shall protect the identity of this person by being vague about his whereabouts) is a clerk in one of the zillions of offices of Indian Railways. He had humble beginnings, started off as a Group D employee, but with consistent efforts was able to get promoted to Group C, though it came pretty late... when he had only a few more years of service left. One expects men like him to sit back on their chair and do only the bare minimum of work, but Totaram was certainly not of that type. You would never hear him saying no to any work assigned to him. Nor would you find efforts lacking on his part. But the irony was that, he had never done clerical work before, and he found it extremely difficult to pick up the new skills required, at this late stage. And particularly if the job involved working on a computer...Totaram was certainly not the man for it.

This is where we, a group of four probationary officers, come into picture. We were supposed to undergo a short training in the department where Totaram worked. So, there we were, in the chamber of our reporting officer, to take further instructions and detailed schedule of training. Unfortunately, formalities are an integral part of government functioning, which means that if we have come for training, a detailed letter has to be issued to us, duly signed, and appropriately filed for future reference. And fortunately, for such situations standard letters are kept ready, wherein only some minor changes need to be made. In this case too, some other groups had already done the same training and the letter was there on computer. Just a few minutes of work really. But very unfortunately, our reporting officer's steno had gone on leave, and so Mr. Totaram was called up for the job.

Now onwards I will give you a chronological order of events.

(most of the conversation here is a rough english translation of what actually transpired)

0 minutes:

Madam (our reporting officer): "Totaram, there is a letter in computer for training of probationers, that was prepared last time by the name 'probationer'. Search for it, change the names of participants, put today's date and take 4 printouts"...and then as an afterthought, "show it to me before you take a printout".

Water was served, and madam started off by asking us for our introductions. That we doled out like a parrot (dont look out for pun here), because when you have been doing the same thing week after week for the past 3 months, even the gestures of hand and movements of head get standardised...

5 minutes:

Totaram: "Madam, I cant find any such file here."

Madam: "But it should be there...did you check the my documents folder"

Totaram: "madam I checked on the screen, there is no file by that name" :)

So, now totaram was instructed to open the my documents folder and search it there, and madam returned back to us, this time giving us an intro about herself...

10 minutes:

Madam: "Did you get it totaram"

Totaram: "yes madam"

Madam: (a bit flustered) "Then please open it and make the changes"

and she continued with her story, how she was recently transferred here, how she found things in total disarray in this office, and how she was fed up with her staff...

20 minutes:

Madam: "Totaram. is it over"

Totaram: "It will take a few more minutes madam. "

You should have seen how totaram worked on MS Word. Such a rythmic, almost musical, typing; letter by letter, that reminded me of "alas manthar gati" in Mahadevi Varma's gaura. And the feverish pace with which he scrolled up and down using the mouse, each time failing to stop at the right portion of the text. And yes, his dedication to principles...never copy, even if that meant typing in the same name four times :)

Anyway, sticking to our storyline; Madam called for coffee to be served and told us about her son who has settled abroad. She also told about her plan to go there herself after retirement, as "India mein ab kutch nahin rakha hai"...

30 minutes:

Madam: "Totaram..."

Totaram: "Yes madam, It is over. Shall I take a print"

Madam: (visible sigh of relief) "ok. just let me have a look before u take a printout".

She asked one of us to check if the letter is alright. It was found that instead of four names, eight names were present there, as the names of older participants had not been deleted. The designation was put incorrectly and the date had not been changed. Accordingly instructions were given to Totaram.

Now that it was apparent that the job was going to take some more time, madam decided to give us an introduction to the department also...

45 minutes:

Totaram: (proudly)"Madam, I have made the corrections"

Madam: "Good"

Again, a check. The number of names was correct, but unfortunately, two of the older names still existed on the list while two of ours were out. The date had been changed at the top of letter but the dates in training schedule were still the same. One of us, who had gone to check, thought of finishing off the job on his own... but in the end restrained himself, and again gave appropriate instructions to Totaram.

Meanwhile, the introduction to department continued, which now became even more elaborate. Soon, I started getting a feel that no further training would be required, if this continues for some more time...

1 hour:

Madam: "Totaram ji, how much more time are you going to take"

Totaram: "almost done Madam"

All possible introductions and the last few drops of coffee, both were finished by now, and it was amply clear that we had no good reason to stay in her office, except one... the letter...

1 hour 10 minutes

The draft ws ready, some slight corrections like spelling mistakes notwithstanding. These errors were promptly corrected by one of us, and totaram, asked to take printouts.

Madam: (relief writ large on her face) "Phew...you can see how difficult it is to get work done here. Anyway, you take this letter and meet Mr. ....." the instruction continued for a few minutes. But the printout did not come, so she stretched it a bit more. And still the letters did not come, so she made us look at a few case files, and when even that could not make the letters materialize, she made us sit in silence...there was nothing else humanely possible to do now.

1 hour 20 minutes

Madam: "Totaram, whats the matter with you? half an hour and you still couldn't take the printout."

Totaram: "Madam, I am trying, I am clicking on the print button, still it is not printing"

Madam: "Printer mein cartridge hai"

Totaram: "Madam, do din pehle hi change ki gayi hai"

Madam: "Phir Kyun nahin ho raha?"

Totaram: "Madam, kal bhi problem ho rahi thi. print nahin le paye the"

Madam: "(to us, totally crestfallen)Lo ab lagta hai ye printer bhi kharaab ho gaya. (turning to totaram) Then dont just sit here, go get a floppy or a pen drive, take the file to somebody else's office and for God's sake get the printouts"

1 hour 25 minutes

Totaram returned with a floppy in his hand. He took the floppy to computer and stood...perplexed. He did not know how to transfer file to a floppy. Still, he was committed to his work and wanted to call one of his colleagues who could do the job. But we could not afford to waste any more time like this. So, one of us lent a helping hand in transferring the file, and just as the process was about to complete, he noticed a wire dangling...

The printer's cord was unplugged!

1 hour 30 minutes:

The letter was put in file, to be preserved for posterity...and Totaram... stashed in our memory, never ever to be forgotten :)

Heading towards...

Notice: I would like to state that I have high regard for women and whatever has been written here is just a light hearted take, more on myself than on anybody else.
:)

Coming out of train travel to an issue that is pestering me a lot these days...

My head has always been an avid follower of women's fashion. Long back, there was the trend of long flowing frocks, made graceful by the innumerable pleats, or else given a casual look by subtle crumples. These beautiful frocks used to lag behind just a bit as the lady walked, waiting to be chugged forward, whence the border lifted, ever so slightly with the step of the lady, only to fall back with panache on the fall of her step...just like a newlywed bride who, a bit shy, on being tugged so gently, so lovingly by the groom, smilingly lets herself fall into his embrace.
...Anyway, lets stick to the point. I was telling you that my head has been an avid follower...infact it has always tried to imitate ladies fashion. So, long back, it too had long flowing tresses with a wonderful whorl (so my barber used to say), sometimes combed neatly with lots of oil and at other times let loose for a real casual look. The long dense hairs, I could feel them lifting up, ever so slightly at each step, only to fall back softly, giving a smug kind of feeling. Ah! those days!

But slowly, things began to change. The dresses started becoming shorter, thinner, skimpier. They started showing a little bit of skin here, a little bit of skin there...and my head followed, with eyes closed. Gone the great whorl, gone the thick tutelage that had the smoothness of resham and, at the same time, the softness of malmal. What remained was just a rag...a chaotic collection of tatters sewn up by a seamstress in foul mood.

Still... Atleast the rags used to cover up properly. Now, even that luxury is gone. The dress is getting increasingly semi-transparent, and at all the wrong places. The cuts in hairline are getting deeper by the day, and the hairfall, almost as frequent as wardrobe malfunctions...

Its all so embarrassing. And yet...I and my head know that times have changed, and we have no option but to adjust accordingly...We must and we indeed have, somehow, come to accept the present state of affairs.

But there is something that really, really worries me, something even more embarrassing, even more sinister, even more horryifying...it is the future :)

Taking for Granted

This time, enroute from Bombay to Delhi, I shared the compartment with an officer of Indian navy. He was about the same age as mine, and within an hour or so, we were happily chatting along, discussing all the irrelevant issues of this world. This man was going to his home town to attend to some family matters. He had recently married and his wife was presently in baroda, at her parents place. And because baroda fell on the route of this train, she had plans to come to the station to meet him. All that was well, but unfortunately the train got delayed a bit, which meant it would have reached baroda only by 11 in the night. So he thought of confirming his wife's plan.

And there arose the problem. For some inexplicable reason, he was not able to make or recieve calls on his mobile. He tried all permutations and combinations, tried calling the service centre, tried sending sms...everything... but none worked. I offered him my phone, but he said it was not that important.

...Important it was, and u could see that from his face. This erstwhile chatty fellow had fallen into silence, grazing into the curtain on the window and fidgeting with his handset, compulsively pressing buttons as if that would correct the situation. It was not more than a few minutes before he said, "aaaa...may I use ur phone. I think I better call her up". He dialled, but with no response...a second time, and again the same result. "This number is not known to her so she is not picking up", he said...and tried again. No luck, the phone returned to me, and he returned to silence. A few more minutes, and he asked, "aaaa... can I send an sms from your mobile". He tried, but was not accustomed to my handset, and what with all the tension in his mind, had a hell of a time typing the message. So, "aaaa... can you please type it for me" :)

Friends, I know its not appropriate to divulge the contents of an sms sent by a husband to his wife, but since this one was indeed in public domain from the very moment of its inception, and more importantly, because the contents are important for my story, I am going to commit this impropriety. The sms ran thus

"this is {name}. my phone not working. my coach {dont remember}, if u could make it. pls contact customer care from ur mobile for resuming service"

He looked at the draft, and then said, "please make it...for resuming my service. you can never be sure with women". :) hmmmmm...the obsession of armed forces with chauvinism :) .

Anyway, finally, the message was sent. And a little while later, his wife called up too. You can easily imagine the relief this person would have felt, having talked to her. He was back to his chatty self, back to worrying about other important things like the morale of the forces... everything was back to normal now

...or was it really? For some reason, he looked not pacified but rather more worked up now. I got this feeling that he wanted to say something. And like so many times before, it was just a few minutes before he said it...

" you are not married na, so you wouldn't know...before marriage this girl used to come to station even at 2'O clock in the night, that too alone, just to meet me. And now, just because the train is delayed by 2 hours, she says it will be too late, and she wud not be able to come. damn! they change totally after marriage".

Now casual sarcastic remarks, like the earlier one on the language of sms, are ok, even enjoyable at times, but having let this statement float in the air would have been injustice to that lady. I didn't know her, but I had to take her side now...and so I also chipped in, more light heartedly though, "Well probably what you say is true, but I am sure that you too would have changed in a similar fashion after marriage".

I had expected some kind of protest, or atleast a hard look from him, but he replied rather casually, "yeah, I also take her for granted now"

...That set me thinking. Is it really a bad thing? isn't it the beauty of this relationship?...you can take the other person for granted. You can have the faith that even if you make no special efforts, you show no extra congeniality, he/she would be there for you in time of need.

... You can rest assured that even if you do not come to the station this time, the next time again he would be just as much anxious, just as much fidgety, just as much in love with you :)

Pitti

It was supposed to be a short journey, from Allahabad to Lucknow...not more than 5 hours by any means. However, exceptional delays are not really exceptions but rather a rule for this particular train, and so after 5 hours of travel, we were still only halfway through the journey. Passengers were naturally restless, shifting postions on their seats, discussing the possible casues of unusually long detention, contemplating what the government could do, and if nothing made sense to them, doling out the panacea,"is desh ka kutch nahin ho sakta".

But the most restless of all was a small kid... and delay was last of his concerns. He was infact thoroughly enjoying his time on the train, a godsend opportunity for him to exhibit his talents to the fullest. First a big jump from his papa's seat to mom's lap, then an accurate dive onto the bag kept by the side and finally a beautiful splash of water from the bottle, again on his dearest mom. And once, was not enough. All this was repeated over and over again, with some minor alterations in the details of menace created, thanks to the ingenuity of this kid.

Not that the mother did not do anything. She was constantly trying to pacify him, with toffees at first, which were followed by unapproving stares and later, when it became a bit too much, with "genteel scoldings"... tools so commonly used by moms to rein in their children. But all this, to no avail. The kid was confident that in public, he had immunity from any severe punishment at the hands of his mother, and after the dust settles and they reach home...c'mon...mom cant be that bad :). The poor lady, one could easily see the exasperation growing on her face, as she grappled with all the mess created, and at the same time, tried to keep the kid from applying his unbounded energy in more creative ways. The situation looked hopeless. But at that moment, just when the mother was probably on the verge of giving up, a policeman entered the coach, full with a rotund belly and big unkempt moustaches.

"One last try", she must have thought.

"Tumne dekha tha na tv pe police uncle kaise pitti kar rahe the. agar ab tumne shaitani ki to main police uncle se bolke tumhari bhi waisi hi pitti karaoongi".

...As the policeman passed by me, I thought I saw a faint smile on his face. Probably it was because he understood the taunt hidden in that sentence. Or probably it was just that meaningless smile that we tend to carry, blissfully unaware of the plight of the world around us. Or he might even have felt proud of the fact that people had such a fear of the police. I cannot be sure about that...but one thing was there for everyone to see. That moment onwards, the child was absolutely quite...That kid, all of 4 years, knew that police uncle could do pitti, do it pretty badly, do it in full public view, and do it without any reason at all.

Now thats what I call image building. :)

50K on Indian Railway

Last year, for no good reason, I ended up travelling more than 25 thousand kilometers on railways. I guess that would have mighty pleased the Railway Gods, for pretty soon, I was blessed with a job in the same organization. And since then...Gods have made me clock over 50 thousand kilometers :)

Blessed? Yes...Certainly. This hopping all over the place has been an experience. And What an experience! So many people, so many places, so many issues, thoughts, feelings...life has revealed its true variety before me. I have memories, lots of them, and now, thanks to the organization again, I have this opportunity to share some of them with you. So join me on this journey through the memory of my journeys.