work of a mentor

Jeep No. 510 (Concluding Part)

2010-09-19T22:19:00.003+05:30

“No! I do not have the foggiest idea about the history of jeep ORO 510, except that it must have seen better days” was my surprised reply.

“You must be knowing that we had a very big site at Barsua where all the major work is nearly over and the site is now being closed down?” asked Mr. Ghosh

“Yes, I do!” I replied not hiding my impatience.

Then Mr. Ghosh with some prompting from his colleagues told me a story which was both intriguing and horrifying.

“Mr. R. K. Khanna used to be the site-in-charge at Barsua. He was a very capable person but was also very tough and some what abusive, which was quite common for the job he was doing. He maintained a strict discipline at site and the workers were quite afraid of him.

One day a rigger...a crane operator, Puran Singh..... a young sardarji... came drunk to site and had altercation with Mr. Khanna. Mr. Khanna wanted to sack him immediately but due to intervention of Harbans, who was the leader of riggers and was also related to Puran Singh, he was let off with an ultimate warning. However, about a month later Puran Singh was caught drunk at the site once again and Mr. Khanna sacked him summarily not paying any heed to Puran Singh’s pleadings or Harbans’ requests. Puran Singh threatened Mr. Khanna with dire consequence while being released. Harbans also had an altercation with Mr. Khanna on that day and was warned by Mr. Khanna.

Puran Singh left the site on the same day and nothing happened for about a month. Then one night Mrs. Khanna rang me up to inform that Mr. Khanna had not returned from the site! Immediately we arranged a search party but we could neither locate Mr. Khanna nor his driver and jeep in which they used to travel! An FIR was lodged with Barsua Police station. Next day the jeep was located at the bottom of a gorge. We thought this was an accident and along with police personnel searched the adjoining area for the missing bodies in vain. Finally the police dogs were brought in to help and the bodies of Mr. Khanna and that of his driver ...both in severely mutilated condition ....were found stuffed in a nearby rain water drain pipe.

Considering foul play, an arrest warrant was issued against Puran Singh, but he could not be located anywhere....even at his hometown in Punjab. Police were also certain that it could not have been possible for Puran Singh alone to overpower both Mr. Khanna and his driver who were physically quite strong. They suspected that he must have had accomplices. Harbans along with his entire rigger-gang was rounded up and grilled by the police, but were released later due to lack of evidence. Everybody, however, was convinced that Harbans must have been involved.

The jeep was recovered from the gorge and was sent to Kansbahal works for repair. The registration number of that jeep was ORO 510 ....the one you are using. Mr. Khanna’s driver was tribal and used to stay in a village opposite to the hill with twin peaks”.

I was shocked to hear this gruesome story but did not tell Mr. Ghosh and others that every night my jeep stopped near that village because of some unexplained reason. I did not want to fuel any superstition.

That day I could not enjoy my dinner, not due to any fault of Kalyan...our cook, but I was really very disturbed and was always thinking about Mr. Khanna and his driver and their untimely end.

Next day morning when I was again getting busy with my work, Lawrence came to me and asked “Sir, may I take the jeep for servicing?”

“Please go ahead and see that all the filters are also changed. It is too dusty out here” I replied.

That day we closed the site at about 8 PM and after dropping my colleagues when we started towards Kansbahal, it was already past 9 PM.

“Lawrence, did you hear any story about this jeep” I asked Lawrence, when we were alone.

“No, Sir, I do not know anything except that it has been transferred from another site” replied Lawrence.

I briefly narrated to Lawrence what I heard yesterday night. Lawrence was aghast and very perturbed!

When we were climbing the up-hill gradient near the ‘hill with twin peaks” it was about 9:30 PM and I was thinking about the brutal killing of Mr. Khanna’s tribal driver who used to live in the cluster of huts on the left hand side of the highway, exactly opposite to the spot where the jeep stopped automatically everyday for the last one month. I was expecting the jeep to stop at the same spot even that day. Probably Lawrence was also thinking the same.

BUT THE JEEP DID NOT STOP!

It did not stop at that spot that day and never afterwards! I have since wondered whether it was because some mechanical fault got rectified in the last servicing or was there something else to it ... some questions always remain unanswered ...

Jeep No. 510 (Part III)

2010-09-18T08:26:00.001+05:30

With all my love for wild animals, I never wanted to be so near an angry wolf! I was very angry with Lawrence for following my command so literally! I could not shift my gaze from the wolf but from the left corner of my eye I could see that Lawrence was also having all his teeth out in soundless mirth! As if he thought it was a big joke!

The wolf was letting out a much suppressed growl like dogs before they attack and every time it was letting out a growl a pungent odor of rotten flesh was filling my nostril and the wolf’s saliva was being sprayed on my shoe. We were both frozen in time....the wolf was holding its ground and fortunately my leg was paralyzed to avoid any movement which could have provoked the wolf to attack. Though my neck and vocal cord were also momentarily paralyzed, my super active brain was trying to assure me that there was no known incident of wolf attacking an adult human being! But I was not sure whether a wild wolf in this remote corner of Orissa would know about that statistic! Neither did I want to end up being a statistical aberration! Considering my diminutive figure, it might not even realize that I was a full-grown adult!

Fortunately nothing more interesting happened and the wolf slowly lowered its guard. I could see a perceptible change in its gaze. It then closed its fangs, lowered its head and turned away. Both the wolves then trotted away towards the mountain having lost their supper because of my unintentional intervention.

Dusk came very fast and all of a sudden it became quite dark. Even the cluster of huts was engulfed in darkness.

“Lawrence, why did you switch off the engine?” I demanded after getting back my composer after all the drama. “Don’t you know carnivorous do not attack a jeep if the engine is on?” I added further.

“Sir, I did not switch off the engine. It just stopped!” replied Lawrence meekly.

“OK, what are you waiting for? Just start the engine and get off from this place immediately. I do not want those wolves to come back in a pack” I added.

Lawrence immediately switched on the starter, but it failed to start the engine! Lawrence tried several times but though the starter was working, the engine was only coughing without starting. Though I did not know driving a jeep and was quite innocent about its engine, I have seen that people in such situations would always open the bonnet and peep inside. So I promptly ordered Lawrence to open the bonnet which he immediately did. After surveying a little about the possible presence of wolves, I jumped out from the other side to join Lawrence. Inside the bonnet it was darker than outside.

“Lawrence, please get me the torch, let me have a look inside” I said while looking inside the bonnet.

“Sir, there is no torch in this Jeep” said Lawrence hesitantly.

“What? You do not have any torch? What about a match box?” I asked tentatively, since the whole place was smelling of gasoline and a naked flame could be dangerous!

“I do not have any match box. I am a non-smoker” replied Lawrence

“Oh!” I had to downplay this particular fault of his since I was a non-smoker myself.

There not much of traffic on the road and whatever loaded trucks were passing were not in a mood to stop and help us out. I was just waiting for some passing car from our factory to get a lift and arrange a mechanic from our transport division. With the twilight drama just concluded, I was a little jittery. About fifteen minutes passed which seemed like ages and I requested Lawrence to try starting the engine once again. Lawrence followed my advice wordlessly and the jeep started with the first start itself as if nothing had happened! I immediately climbed onto my seat and prompted him to drive of immediately.

“Tomorrow, as soon as we reach the site, you should take this jeep for a through servicing. Probably the fuel line is choked or there could be an airlock some where” was my expert advice as soon as we started towards Kansbahal.

“But Sir, I have taken the delivery of this Jeep yesterday only after a through servicing!” remarked Lawrence.

“Any way, take it to the service station once again for a through check up. Also purchase a torch and all the necessary tools as required” I replied.

Next day, before I got busy with the work, I once more reminded Lawrence about servicing the jeep. I did not want to get stuck mid way once again.

All the site people were very friendly with me and whatever I was lacking in my experience I was trying to make up with my enthusiasm. I was particularly impressed with Harbans for his personality and the command he was having over his rigger gang. I, however, found that he was very independent in his thinking and had scanty respect for my advice. He would listen to me very attentively with a smiling face and would go out to do exactly what he wanted.

That day we closed the site at about 8 PM and after dropping my colleagues when I started towards Kansbahal it was already passed 9PM. I was very tired, having got up at 4 AM and was dozing, and so was Lawrence when we reached the up hill gradient near the “hill with twin peaks”. Though Lawrence did put the jeep in the first gear, from the sound I could understand that the engine was strained while climbing the grade, which I felt was quite normal. But after it had climbed the grade and was almost parallel to the cluster of huts on the left side, it coughed a few times and then suddenly stopped, nearly at the same place like yesterday!

“Lawrence, what happened?” was my startled remark.

“I do not know Sir. It just stopped all of a sudden” replied Lawrence and tried to restart the engine. But it failed to start even with repeated attempts. That day, of course, we were better prepared and Lawrence climbed down with his newly purchased torch and a tool kit. He opened the bonnet and checked thoroughly but could not locate any fault.

“Did you take it to garage to-day for servicing?” I demanded in a not very pleasant tone.

“Sir, I myself am a motor mechanic. In the garage to-day, I along with the garage mechanic checked each and every part of the engine. We even flushed the fuel tank and the connected line. There was nothing wrong with the engine” replied Lawrence, almost in tears.

There was nothing much we could do except waiting. After about fifteen minutes, some thing clicked in me and I advice Lawrence to start the engine once again. Surprisingly the engine started without any hassle!

For the next one month everything fell into a routine. At site all the dismantling work was over. Mechanical parts were already transported to our workshop at Kansbahal where they would be repaired, replaced or modified under my supervision in consultation with our client. Mr. Roy along with all other supervisors would coordinate repair and modification of the structural parts at site. When both these portion of work would be over, all the parts then will be assembled at site and then erected on the crane bays. Within a couple of days I was supposed to go back to Kansbahal and return once again to site only during last phase.

Even stopping of the jeep near the cluster of huts became part of the routine, even with Lawrence’s best efforts of finding the fault! It almost became like a tea-break except there was no tea stall nearby. I thought it could be due to overheating of the engine while climbing the slope. This theory, however, was discarded by Lawrence.

After lowering the girders and other heavy parts, Harbans left along with his gang of riggers. He was supposed to come back during the erection when we would need his help to lift the heavy equipment on to the crane bays. Though he violated safety standards at times, I liked him quite a lot and was vocal about it. One day, while taking tea with Mr. Ghosh, somehow Harbans’ name cropped in and I was all praises about him. Mr. Ghosh allowed me to finish and then added “Mr. Sengupta you are so young. It is nice that you are not a miser in praising people. But too much of praise is also not good unless you know the person thoroughly”. I could not fathom why he said that but discarded it as professional jealousy.

It was a Friday and the next day was my last day at site for the first phase, when Mr. Ghosh approached me. “Mr. Sengupta why don’t you have dinner with us to-night? Our cook, Kalyan will cook chicken curry and rice and also arrange some sweets from the Bengali shop near the station” said Mr. Ghosh. “ You can spend the night in the transit room” he added further. I heard about Kalyan’s cooking ability and did not want to miss the chance.

We closed the site little early that day and reached their Bungalow at about 7 PM. We took our showers and then sat on the garden chairs in the well maintained lawn when Kalyan served us hot tea and some home made snacks. It was a beautiful moonlight night and we were gossiping on any thing under the sun (or moon) when Mr. Ghosh asked me in a very sober voice “Mr. Sengupta, do you know the history behind your jeep no. ORO 510?” Immediately all his other friends stopped talking and there was a hushed silence as if he has said some thing very unpleasant and terrible. [To be continued]

Jeep No. 510 (Part II)

2010-09-15T02:44:00.000+05:30

Kansbahal was in the tribal heartland of Sundergarh district in Orissa and was about twenty five kilometers towards Bombay from the steel city called Rourkela.

Our factory was sandwiched between the Calcutta-Bombay main railway lines on one side and the Calcutta-Bombay National Highway (NH 6) on the other.

During the probation period (first six months after joining) I was sharing a quarter (apartment) with another engineer from Kerala at Workers’ colony, called South colony which was near the railway lines. Our quarter was on the last row beyond which there was only a flat land improvised as a foot ball field followed by the railway lines acting as the boundary between our colony and the vast mountainous forest land.

Most of the carnivores, except jackals and wolves left the area when the factory was being set up, due to the destruction of the habitat. However, snakes and scorpions were in plenty. The whole set up was very picturesque with distant blue mountains. But danger lurked after sunset. During the full moon period, the tribals in the nearby villages used to dance till late night and we could hear the faint melody of tribal folk songs accompanied by the haunting beats of madal (tribal drums). There were occasional reports of human sacrifice during the sowing season which, however, could never be confirmed.

I used to get up at 5 AM to be ready for the morning shift starting at 6 AM. But that day I had to set my alarm at 4 AM. At about 5 AM when I was ready and sipping my first cup of tea, I heard the distant sound of a Jeep and came out to see a Jeep approaching our apartment.

“Are you Mr. Sengupta?” asked the driver stopping the Jeep but without switching off the engine.

On my affirmation, the driver switched off the engine and came out to greet me.

“Selam sab (sir), I am Lawrence, Lawrence Minch, your driver” said the man with a broad smile.

I closed the door of my apartment, gave him a friendly nod and got into the front seat of the Jeep.

The Jeep had a fresh coat of paint... jaundice yellow colour (typical colour of our company’s vehicles) and also new upholstery and a new canvas covering but I was sure that it had seen better days.

Lawrence was a tribal with a medium disposition. With his square jaw line, a small chin and closely cropped curly hair with a ridge at the centre, his face was like an imperfect hexagon. His face was absolutely impassive with blood shot eyes which could be due to lack of sleep or after-effect of Hariya (country liquor made from fermented rice and Mohuwa fruits / flower) . He was wearing a factory issued khaki uniform with a railway surplus navy blue jacket.

We took the unpaved perimeter road, skirting our factory and came to North Colony on the other side of the factory and took the concrete lined “Mahatab road” cutting across North Colony. After about a kilometer drive on the excellently maintained Mahatab road we hit the Calcutta-Bombay National Highway (NH 6) and took right turn towards Rourkela (in the direction of Calcutta).

In those days NH 6 was only an apology for a national highway.... a two-lane narrow road, full of unevenness and potholes with unpaved shoulders becoming treacherous during monsoon! A few kilometers down the road was a small habitat called Kalunga known for its Catholic Church and a first aid centre. The surroundings were mostly barren with jagged rocks on both the sides of the highway -remnants of hillocks which were blasted while making the highway. At a distance, say about half a kilometer, ran Sankha River parallel to the highway on the left hand side. Low level hills or hillocks could be seen on both the side of the highway with the distant mountains on the right-hand side always covered with a misty bluish haze. A few kilometers away from Kalunga, on the left flank of the highway, at a distance, there was a hill with twin peaks acting as a beckon while returning to Kansbahal. All my friends with profound knowledge in human anatomy used to find feminine resemblance but I would rather prefer calling it as the “Hill with twin peaks” only. The highway more or less followed the undulation of the terrain and took a stiff gradient downward parallel to the hill with the twin peaks. Just before the gradient, on the right-hand side, about two furlongs away, there was a cluster of mud houses. These were bordered with low level hedges which merely demarcated the area but did not provide any protection against any trace passers. Occasionally we could see tribals tilling on very small patches of land with rickety bullocks and goat-kids jumping on cluster of rocks like “Kopjes” in Africa.

About eighteen kilometers away from Kansbahal, the Sankha river running parallel to the highway all along met river Koel as well as a hidden river Saraswati at a holy confluence called Vedavyas near a small settlement called Panposh to form river Brahmani and then ran perpendicular to the highway. At Panposh, the highway is bifurcated.... straight segment going towards the Rourkela railway station, old city as well as the steel township and the perpendicular segment going towards the Rourkela Steel Plant and the Barsua mines.

On reaching Panposh, we took straight road ahead since I was supposed to pick up some of my colleagues from Steel Township. Our sister-concern ECC, expert in erection and commissioning work, had just completed a major work at Barsua and deputed some of their supervisors and workers to our site for helping us. The leader of the group was one Mr. Ghosh. He along with three of his colleagues ...all Bengalis....was housed in a 3BHK bungalow in the steel township. One room in that bungalow was converted into a transit house for officials from Kansbahal or elsewhere in case of emergency.

After picking my colleagues we headed for our site office inside the Rourkela steel plant. By the time we reached the site office, Mr. Roy was already there, trying to organize the site office and take control of about hundred workers!

Amongst the various people I met that day I was quite impressed by one Mr. Harbans Singh, a sardarji who was the leader of a group called “Riggers” who were specialized in erection and transportation of heavy machineries. Harbans was very handsome and talkative and gave the impression of self confidence. Most of the time, however, he was with his group of fellow riggers...all sardarjis.. and was not mixing with others except very casual “Hi”. He was supposed to be with us only for two short spells... once during the beginning to lower the heavy girders and other heavy equipment from the high crane bays and then again during the end, to lift all those heavy girders and other equipment, repair and modification, back to the crane bays.

That day we did not do much work except setting up the office and having a short meeting with the steel plant authority regarding schedule of completion and the facilities we require from them to accomplish the job. My boss Mr. Avatar Singh also joined us during the discussion with our client.

“Biplab, you better advice Harbans about the procedure to be followed to lower those girders” was his first remarks as soon as we came out from the meeting.

“ My God, I did not even lift or lower anything weighing more than five kilos in my whole life, how could I advice Harbans who is supposed to be an expert riggers!” I thought but did not want to dishearten him by translating my thoughts into words! Mr. Singh had fantasy about IITans!

That day we were let off by about 4 PM. After dropping my colleagues at their bungalow I headed for Kansbahal. It was just twilight when we reached the steep up hill gradient near the “Hill with twin peaks” and I was thinking of taking a shower and go to my favorite Bengali club “Milani” for an evening “Adda” (gossip) when I was startled by the cacophony of drum beats, hammering of tin cans, shouting, and baying of goats! Looking left towards the cluster of mud houses I saw all the children from the cluster, womenfolk and their goats huddled together and creating the cacophony. On the right, just on the other side of the highway were two animals which looked like grown up Alsatian dogs from a distance.

“Lawrence, stop the car near those dogs! Let me see what the reason for this commotion is all about ?” I commanded my driver.

Literally following my command, Lawrence stopped the car after climbing the slope, nearly running over the dog nearest to the highway which instinctively jumped away a little to avoid a collision and bared its fangs. To my horror I then noticed that they were not dogs but mountain wolves and my right foot which was resting on the footboard just outside the jeep was less than a foot away from the bare fangs of the nearest wolf! [To be continued]

Shapmochan (Curse redeemed) as published in NGI, USA

2010-08-19T11:00:00.003+05:30

Though i have not written any blog for a long time, i have written an article "Shapmochan "(Curse redeemed) mainly due to insistence of my daughter's (Sudeshna, Rini) friend Somanjana. The article is published in NGI, USA in their August 2010 issue. It is in page 8. If you are interested, you may follow the link given below.

http://www.newglobalindian.com/MagazineFiles/NGI_Aug10_Final.pdf

Jeep No. 510

2009-07-07T05:45:00.008+05:30

I was unable to understand why the recurrent nightmare “terminal examination is about to start and I am not at all prepared” was unable to get the grip on me! There was a whining sound and the bed was shaking! Could it be an earthquake! I opened my eyes with a start to realize that I was dozing at the front seat of a speeding Jeep. It was quite dark outside. I checked the partially illuminated dial of my watch and found it was about 5:15 in the morning. I was disoriented for a moment and then realized “Oh! I must be heading for Raurkela Steel Plant for my new assignment!” I glanced on the left to find the driver was also dozing! A perfect prelude to a subsequent nightmare!

Fortunately for me, I never had to decide anything for myself. Not that I complained about it (though my girl friends had the misconception and consoled me for the same), but it was always taken care of by God or his various incarnations. When I joined Larsen & Toubro, Kansbahal Works (that time it was called Utkal Machinery Limited) in Orissa, about three months back, my boss Avtar Singh, a fellow IITian of 1957 batch, decided to make a designer out of me for no apparent animosity. “Biplab, we have decided to train you as a design engineer. However, to become a successful designer you must have a thorough knowledge about production, erection and commissioning” declared Mr. Singh within a couple of minutes of our first rendezvous. I heard him with a solemn face with the difficult calculations of all the relevant engineering subjects, which I could never master, flashing through my mind and mocking at me!

Immediately I was assigned to fabrication shop. Within three months when I was just about to get a hang of the system so as to swim without getting myself wet, one fine morning I was enjoying tea with my colleagues during a tea break, when I saw Chintamony, our office peon approaching me with his usual pensive face.
“Singh sab (sir) is calling you” said Chintamony with no enthusiasm in his voice.
“OK, I will meet him just before the lunch break” I replied while sipping my tea
“No. Singh sab told me to fetch you right now. It is urgent” replied Chintamony shaking his head vigorously in disapproval and started off towards the door.
I got up from the chair and started following Chintamony without any further word. I was worried least some of my latest escapades have been reported to Mr. Singh with sufficient mashala to make it juicy.
When I finally reached Mr. Singh’s table, I found him in his usual jovial mood and discussing with a really tall and hefty man sitting opposite to him.
“Oh! Here comes Biplab!” exclaimed Mr. Singh.
“Good Morning, Mr. Sing” I said with a smile
“Mr. Roy let me introduce Mr. Biplab Sengupta to you. Our new recruit from IIT, Kharagpur. A brilliant engineer who has already made his mark during the last three months!” said Mr. Singh while getting up and shaking hand with me.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sengupta. My name is K. K. Roy” said Mr. Roy while getting up and shaking hand with me.

“By the way, Mr. Roy, we have selected Biplab as your deputy. Working with you will definitely give him the rich experience in erection and commissioning” added Mr. Sing further while taking his seat.

I was puzzled and was trying to find out if there could be any trace of sarcasm in Mr. Sing’s voice. Unfortunately that was missing and that made me more nervous. I knew Mr. Singh likes me a lot and most of my friends call me his “Chela” (protégé), but going out of his way to praise me in front of a stranger, was something unusual. Why on earth should I also become a deputy to somebody whom I did not even know? And for what assignment? There must be something fishy, I told myself. I nervously and sat down by the side of Mr. Roy, still thinking about my boss’s unusual behavior in the morning.

“Biplab, you must know that we got a contract from Rourkela Steel Plant to revamp one of their special cranes. We have to dismantle it, extensively repair and modify all the structural and mechanical parts, some at site and some in the shop, reassemble and erect, all within a very tight schedule” said Mr. Singh in a single breath.

“Mr. Roy who is the best fabrication and erection expert I have ever seen in my life will be the in charge for the entire operation and you, as his deputy, will assist him from start to finish” added Mr. Singh further.

Mr. Roy gave me an amusing look and said nothing. Probably he was pondering how he could get stuck with a lanky deputy who is hardly twenty one years of age, not more than five feet five inches on socks, less than forty five kilos when fully clothed and having a shop experience of not more than three months! He couldn't have asked for anything better!

“When do we start?” I interjected meekly.

“Why? From tomorrow only” Said Mr. Singh with surprise in his voice, as if I have had said something very unusual.

“What about my pending work in the fabrication shop?” I said with an intention of gaining some time to start with my new assignment.

“I have already spoken to Mr. Colombowala. Considering the importance of this project, he has agreed to release you by today once you handover the charge to your shift foreman. You will get balance instruction from Mr. Roy” said Mr. Singh with finality while handing over to me a pile of drawings and documents.

Meanwhile the tea-boy came and we had our tea without further ado.

“Mr. Sengupta, let us go to the conference room to discuss about the project” said Mr. Roy with a jovial voice and got up. I followed him like a lamb with the pile of drawings and documents.

We had a long discussion when Mr. explained me about the job and what he expected from me. “Mr. Sengupta, a Jeep with a registration number “ORO 510” has been assigned to you. The name of the driver is “Lawrence” who will report to you at your quarter at 5.00 AM starting from tomorrow. On your way to site, please also pick up other supervisors from Rourkela. Don’t worry, we will solve all the problems together” said Mr. Roy with a reassuring smile while departing.

I found Mr. Roy to be quite reassuring and self confident. I have had already heard about Mr. Roy. Though he was not having any formal engineering degree, he was extremely efficient and was supposed to become superintendent of fabrication shop. However, when L&T took over the management of the company, just before I joined, they did not promote Mr. Roy and brought in one Mr. Colombowala as the shop superintendent. Mr. Roy refused to work under Mr. Colombowala and resigned. About the same time this new project came up and the company made a deal with Mr. Roy. He was persuaded to take charge of this project as his last assignment with a hefty bonus clause. I was assign to assist him with the high hope of learning as much as possible before he was released! That was my first brush with corporate politics!

I returned to my desk, handed over my pending work to our shift foreman who congratulated me for no apparent rhyme or reason and then started going through the documents once again. For some reason I was having a hollow feeling. Was it simply because of the impending lunch break or was it because of something utterly unknown, I could not figure out. (to be continued)

Silver lining for KGPians even in Hell!

2008-11-01T23:43:00.002+05:30

The 50th Anniversary for IIT, Kharagpur was celebrated in a grand scale. Invitations were sent all across the globe and the response was excellent. We all went in big groups and were really taken care of. There were lively seminars, cultural programs, visits to respective departments, visits to respective hostels, dinners and what not!

During one of those cultural programs, the master of the ceremony (unfortunately I am unable to recollect his name) even assured us that for KGPians even death could be interesting!

An IITian from Kharagpur died and as usual went to Hell (all IITians are destined to go to Hell only and they really do not brag about it!). On the very first day Yam Raj (Caretaker of Hell) did not want to start with his punishment schedule and instead sent him with a Yam Dut (Hell’s Angels) for orientation.

While going around the Hell he found one IITian from Mumbai being fried in hot oil. It was too much for him to digest and he shouted “Oh! Why he is being punished like this?”. “ Don’t ask me for any explanation. He is being punished for his Karma Phal (reward and punishment for all his deeds while alive)” replied the Yam Dut.

He went some distance and found one IITian from Delhi being flogged mercilessly. He could not bear the sight and again asked the Yam Dut “Oh! Why he is being punished like this?”. “ I have already told you that don’t ask me for any explanation. He is being punished for his Karma Phal” replied the Yam Dut.

It went on like that till he found an IITian from Kharagpur having a candle light dinner with Aiswarya Rai! This was too much for him! He could not understand the reason and shouted “This is too much! It cannot be! I cannot just accept this injustice”. “ I have already told you so many times before that don’t ask me for any explanation. Aiswarya Rai is just suffering for her Karma Phal” was the reply from the Yam Dut.

Since then I am just waiting for that great moment and even humming the tune “Maron re thun hun mama sham o shoman (Death, you are just like my beloved)” in the bathroom. I am only afraid that if this is leaked out to Aiswarya Rai, she might even invite me for a candle light dinner while still alive instead of keeping it pending!

Off time with Satyen!

2008-10-31T11:14:00.002+05:30

During our time it used to be very difficult to score high marks in language subjects particularly in English during our school leaving examination. I could not even become a five point some one in any one of them. However, Satyen was an exception. I do not recollect how much he scored, but it was highest in our batch, that’s for sure. He was very sober and used to sport a scholarly look (not like me who used to look more like a street urchin!) with his unkempt curly hair and thick rimmed glasses. He was involved in all sorts of literary activities in our institute (IIT, Kharagpur) which were beyond most of our capabilities. Even with so much of scholarly differences he accepted me as a good friend!

Normally during the off periods I used to go to canteen along with Gora, Debu or Swapan. Sometime, however, I used to visit our Library and go through some popular magazines like “Popular Mechanics” & “Popular Science” which used to be quite interesting.

Once I became little more adventurous and wanted to explore the Library and to find out what my other friends were doing. After saying hello and hi to some of my friends at various sections, I located Satyen in a cubical marked “English Literature” engrossed in reading a book with a huge pile of books in front of him on a table. On my enquiring Satyen informed me that he was reading short stories.

I cannot now recollect what bugged me then, but I innocently requested Satyen whether he could select a story book for me to pass the remaining half an hour or so. Satyen readily obliged and for the next half an hour gave me an extempore lecture on nuances of short stories, typical characteristics of various short story writers in English literature, what I should read if I were a novice (which I was!), what I should read if I could manage to graduate to a next higher level (which I never could achieve!) and so on and so forth!

Satyen went on selecting a suitable book for me (more or less with the same enthusiasm of selecting a “Suitable Girl” for me!) from the pile of books in front and discarding each one, saying that it was not the exact book he was searching for me!

By then my head was ringing and I could understand how innocent I was (and still am) about English literature! I would have drowned myself in self pity but for the GOD who saved me by announcing the end of the off period!

Unusual Courtesy

2008-10-09T22:56:00.009+05:30

My friend Palash is a prolific “friend maker”. But for the difference in time period, I am sure he could have easily given some tips to Dale Carnegie.

He is fortyish, medium built, slightly pot bellied with a well trimmed “Baby Walrus” mustache. By profession, he is a career agent with the Life Insurance Corporation of India and could easily boast of more than five thousand extremely satisfied customers who literally consider him as a friend, philosopher and a guide. Like we try to preserve so called useful articles in our house lest they come in handy some day, Palash nurtures friendships by helping others during their hours of need. His customers are not only satisfied with his professional service but more for the “additional” service he can provide through his numerous “contacts”. They would not do anything worthwhile, be it children’s education or extracting a tooth without consulting him. Palash is always obliging!

Though he can now boast of a long list of rich clients, he had not forgotten those Muslim tailors behind the New Market in Kolkata who were his initial clients and who helped him during his hours of need. Although he has now a staff of ten to help him, he personally visits the tailors in New Market once a month to collect premiums as well as to enquire about their well beings.

It was a late afternoon in November when Palash was waiting near a street corner behind the New Market, for one of such clients. The day was coming to an end and he was worried since his client had not yet shown up, when he noticed somebody was watching him across the street while puffing a bidi (unroasted tobacco wrapped in dried kendu leaf). The man was of dark complexion, with shoulder length curly hair, clean shaven except for a thin mustache. He was bare footed and was wearing a blue and green striped lungi and a red T-shirt.
After a few minutes the man crossed the street and came and stood by Palash.
“Are you from police?” the man whispered without any preamble while puffing the bidi.
“No! But why?” Palash was startled.
“I saw you standing here for quite sometime while watching all the corners” the man replied with some authority in his voice.
“I am a LIC agent and was waiting for one of my clients” Palash replied with a wry smile.
“Then this place is really not very safe for you. There is a chance that you might get mugged or pick-pocketed” the man replied in a matter of fact voice.
“Most of the Muslim tailors in this locality are my clients for a very long time. I always come at least once a month to meet them. Frankly speaking, I never had any problem so far” replied Palash nonchalantly.
Mention of his local Muslim clientele apparently softened the man somewhat and he was no longer aggressive.
“Are you also from this area only” Palash asked the man after a while.
“Yes”
“What do you do for a living?” asked Palash tentatively, just to keep up with the conversation.
“I pick pockets” replied the man hesitantly
“What?” Palash was shocked!
“These days I really do not pick pockets myself” replied the man as if to pacify Palash “I control a gang who operates from Lindsay Street till S. N. Banerjee Road” he elaborated further.
Palash was stunned and did not know what to say!
“I think I must leave” Palsh said thinking he had enough for the day.
“My name is Habib. Come to me if you need any help anytime” said the man. “Come, I will introduce you to Munna” added the man as an after thought and took him to a nearby kiosk where a young boy was making bidis.
“Selam Alaykum, Habib Bhai” said the boy with a broad smile while still continuing with his work.
“Aleykum Selam” said the man and then added, pointing to Palash “Munna, recognize this man. If he enquires about me, just inform me”
Munna looked at Palash with a smile and gave him a nod.
“Khuda Hafez, Habib Bhai” said Palsh before taking leave
“Khuda Hafez, Sab (Sir)”

While going home, Palash wanted to forget about the whole incident without knowing that destiny was going to be different!

Next day during the afternoon, Palash had a chance meeting with one of his very important client, Mr. Bose.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bose. How are you” said Palash with his infectious smile while extending his hand.
“Good afternoon, Palash” replied Mr. Bose while shaking his hand with a glum face.
“What happened? Why are you looking so sad, Mr. Bose” Palsh was worried.
“To-day was a bad day for me. While coming to office via Lindsay Street, I parked my car opposite to the New Market to purchase some medicine. While returning to the car after purchasing medicine my purse was pick pocketed” replied Mr. Bose with annoyance in his voice.
“Oh! Did you loose a lot of money?” enquired Palash with concern
“Not really much money as such. Say about two thousand. But I lost a talisman which always brought me good luck” replied Mr. Bose ruefully.
“Did you report it to the police?” asked Palash
“Oh, come on! They are not likely to break their neck locating my purse” replied Mr. Bose with frustration.
Palash thought for a moment and yesterday’s incident came to his mind.
“Mr. Bose, please come with me. Let me give it a try” said Palsh
“Don’t tell me that you have got connections with the underworld as well?” exclaimed Mr. Bose with surprise.
“Not really underworld in true sense. But I did make some contact only yesterday. Let me find out its effectiveness” replied Palash while hailing a passing taxi.

Palash along with Mr. Bose went to Munna’s kiosk and found Munna absorbed in his traditional work of making bidis.
Munna could recognize Palash and welcomed him with a broad smile “Selam Sab! Are you looking for Habib Bhai?”
“Selam Munna! Yes, I am looking for him. Could you please inform him?” replied Palash.
Habib came to Munna’s kiosk within a couple of minutes and greeted Palash “Selam Sab! Are you looking for me?”
“Selam Habib Bhai! I need your help” said Palsh with a smile and shook his hand. Then he introduced Mr. Bose to Habib and narrated the incident in brief.
Habib was listening to him very intensely and then asked Mr. Bose” Are you sure that you lost your purse at Lindsay street only?”
“Yes, I am very sure” said Mr. Bose emphatically
“Could you please tell me approximate time when it happened?” asked Habib
“Say about 10 AM!” replied Mr. Bose
Habib thought for a moment and then said “Come with me” and gestured them to follow.
Both Palash and Mr. Bose followed him hesitantly.
Habib crossed many lanes and by-lanes and stopped near a shanty which was locked from outside.
“Akram!” shouted Habib in general direction.
A lame man with a crutch came out from another shanty and said “Selam Habib Bhai” while casting a suspicious glance towards Palsh and Mr. Bose.
“Akram please open the door. Don’t bother about them. I know them” said Habib with authority.
Akram opened the door and stood aside.
Habib gestured both Palash and Mr. Bose to follow and entered the shanty.
Inside the shanty there were a number of bamboo baskets, all full of wallets, ladies hand bags, jewelry and other articles.
“Based on the area and the timing we always segregate the stolen items and keep them in the designated baskets for three days in case we have to return them due to connections at high places. After three days they are all disposed” said Habib in a matter of fact voice. He then located one basket and told Mr. Bose to search for his purse. Mr. Bose was really elated when he could locate his purse within a couple of minutes!
“Please check whether anything is missing” instructed Habib.
“Everything is intact” declared Mr. Bose after checking.
“You are lucky! Now you go home and don’t tell it to anybody” said Habib with a smile.
Palash was simply overwhelmed. He took Habib’s both the hands in his hands and said “Thank you very much Habib Bhai. I do not want to disrespect you in anyway but may I offer anything to you or to your colleagues?”
“Sab, I did it only as a good gesture. Take it as a courtesy from a friend!” said Habib, still holding his hands.

Nizams' Roll

2008-09-12T16:26:00.011+05:30

I am sure Calcuttans of any age will still remember with nostalgia our once famous “Mughlai Paratha”! There is no historical record whether Mughal Emperor Babur or his last known descendent Bahadur Sha had ever tasted this heavenly delight. Their souls must surely be repenting if they didn’t!

Special dough made of flour, water, yeast and oil is stretched thin like a big saucer; a raw egg is then splattered at the centre, a dash of cooked minced meat, some chopped raw onion, green chili and salt added, and then the ends folded to make it to an eight inch square shape which is then fried to a crispy brown color to give the final shape to a Mughlai Paratha! There are, however, too many ifs and buts and I am sure nobody will be trying my recipe.

There used to be a number of local joints but Anadi’s Cabin at Esplanade was renowned to be one of the best. Chowringhee Restaurant, another famous joint, was right next door but we had unquestioning faith in Anadi. Mughlai Paratha with Kasha Mangsho (Bhuna Ghost or Stir fried mutton are only translation but can not match the taste!) at Anadi’s Cabin used to be our cherished heavenly meal!

Unfortunately the process of making Mughlai parathas was rather elaborate, requiring special skills and it could not even be partly prepared in advance. Also it was not possible to eat it while walking. Culinary experts in Calcutta were searching for something which could be equally tasty but could be made in a jiffy and could be eaten while on the move.

The Roll, which could be a fusion cuisine, was thus born to give hot dogs, burgers, and wraps a run for their money.

Succulent pieces of mutton or chicken are marinated for hours in tandoori spices, salt, yogurt, grated green papaya, skewered in thin bamboo or metal skewers and then roasted over a charcoal fire. The wrap is from dough made of flour, water. yeast and plenty of oil. Once the dough gains a certain elasticity it is flattened into the shape of a pan cake and then shallow fried on a flat griddle to make the outer surface slightly crisp. The roasted meat is then lightly fried on the griddle and rolled into the wrap with chopped raw onion, green chili, lemon juice, tomato-chili sauce and rock salt. The whole thing is then wrapped with paper and sealed at one end so that it can be eaten without dirtying your hands. The taste is simply heavenly!

Besides famous joints like “Begam”, “Badsha”, “Bedwin” and “Bawarchi” there are lots of roadside mobile eateries, operating only during evening, which are specialized in different type of rolls like mutton roll, chicken roll, egg roll and their combinations, adding to the gastronomical delight to the Calcuttans.

Though experts may differ, I feel Nizams in Esplanade is one of the best joints for rolls in Calcutta and could also be the pioneer. In the sixties they used to call it “Kati Roll” since the skewers were made of thin bamboo sticks (Kati in Bengali).

I was very fond of Nizams’ rolls for their heavenly taste. In mid-seventies I used to come to Calcutta almost every month and frequented Nizams along with my friend Debu (D. M. Mitra from L&T). We would go for some English movie either in Metro or Light House carrying ”to go” packs from Nizams and open the packs as soon as the lights were dimmed to fill the enter surroundings with the special aroma of Nizams’ roll. The collective sigh of despair “Oh! Nizams’ rolls” from the rest of the deprived audience used to add to their awesome taste!

That day, we were a little late for a movie and decided to visit Nizams after the show was over. The place was quite crowded but we could locate some vacant chairs near a corner where one guy was already munching a roll with his eyes shut with satisfaction. We quickly ordered two mutton rolls and headed for the vacant chairs.
“Are these chairs vacant?” Debu asked the guy very politely
Most reluctantly he opened his eyes and gestured in the affirmative.
Service in Nizams was extremely fast and we got our rolls nearly as soon as we sat down.
We just managed our first bite when that guy opened his eyes once again and asked
“What type of rolls did you order?”
“Mutton rolls” Debu answered innocently
“Are you really sure? I don’t think they are serving you mutton at that price. It must be beef” the guy stated like a “Mr. Know-It-All” .
Not that we were much bothered about having beef, but we could suspect that he was up to something.
“What type of roll have you ordered?” Debu asked him still sounding innocent.
“I did not take any risk and have ordered Chicken roll” boasted the guy.
It became clear that he was trying to spoil our fun and we decided to retaliate. As usual Debu outsourced the dirty job to me.
“I do not think a reputed joint like Nizams will ever serve beef instead of mutton for fear of communal backlash. Though we don’t mind even if it is beef. It could also be buffalo meat” I said nonchalantly while taking a bite of my roll.
“Why buffalo meat?” the guy asked with surprise, pausing in mid-bite.
“If they serve buffalo meat there will not be any religious backlash. Moreover buffalos are healthier so the quality of meat is excellent.” I explained like an expert.
The guy seemed to be convinced with my argument but was visibly disappointed that his initial move to spoil our fun had failed.
“By the way are you sure you are having a Chicken roll” I asked him with a tone of deliberate suspicion.
“What else could it be?” the guy replied with a hint of suspicion and stopped half way from taking his bite.
“I read some report that population of Cheel (Perrier Kites) near the trash dumping yards are dwindling. People are poaching them and selling them to railway caterings and restaurants. I was told they taste exactly like chicken and nobody could find the difference” I replied casting a doubtful look at the roll he was holding.
The guy made a face as if he was abut to throw up, gave me a dirty look, dropped the partially eaten roll on his plate and ran for the wash basin. We did see him stopping briefly to settle his bill on his way out.
Debu and I were very hungry and went on to order a second round of “mutton rolls”.

The haunted house (Concluding Part)

2008-09-05T16:01:00.002+05:30

From the silhouette and the gait I guessed that it could be Bandhu.
“Who is there? Is it Bandhu?” I shouted with as much boldness as I could muster.
“Selam Sab (Sir)! I am Bandhu” the figure in the dark answered in a slurred voice.
“Bandhu?” I gave a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here at this hour?” I enquired

By that time Bandhu crossed the lawn and came up to the gate. He was holding a sickle in his right hand and a small object in his left. He was quite drunk and I could smell Mohuwa Tadi (country liquor). I was a little cautious considering he was drunk and armed. Tribals have a reputation for being temperamental and there have been several instances of unexplained violent actions with the slightest of provocation.

“There is an evil spirit in this house. I had consulted an exorcist in our village and planted a talisman given by him in the kitchen garden” he said. He was barely able to keep him standing. “Since you sacked me, I am taking away the talisman. Don’t blame me, if anything happens to you now” he added and walked away into the dark.

The conversation did not lift my spirit. As I stood there in complete darkness I realized suddenly that I was supposed to enter a house which till the other day no one dared to even look at during the night. “My God! I’ll have to cross about fifty meters to reach the main door, unlock the door and switch on the lights” I thought. Anyway I was able to do all that without fainting.

Once the lights were on, I got back my confidence, at least partially. It was a little warm. So I took a bath, changed and again set out for the club since there was hardly anything to do in the house. I had to go to the club anyway for my dinner.

Conversations at the club also did not go well. All my friends were quite anxious at the thought that I would be spending the night alone in the house but nobody ventured to give me company. All of a sudden I realized that most of my friends were authorities on the paranormal and had several memorable personal experiences with ghosts! By the time I left the club at about 11:00 PM after a few games of Table Tennis and a light dinner I was fully conversant with the modus operandi of ghosts of different kinds!

On reaching home, I dressed for the night and lay down on my bed with a story book in hand. I had the habit of reading at least for an hour before going to sleep. I was engrossed with the book may be for an hour when all of sudden I heard a sound “Dhoop…. Dhoop” as if somebody was walking on the roof with a measured gait! I was tense and had goose bumps all over my body! All of a sudden the sound stopped. After a few minutes again I heard the sound “Dhoop….. Dhoop…… Dhoop” followed by a sound “Garrrrr….Garrrrr” as if something was being rolled on the roof. I also heard some sound as if somebody was moving in the kitchen garden!

I did not know what to do till I remembered my mother’s advice that “if you hear an unusual sound, you must find out the source of the sound immediately. Otherwise it will only add to your anxiety”. I thought “If I do not find out the source of this unusual sound, I won’t be able to stay in this house”. I got up from my bed, took a two-cell torch and the house keys from the drawer and proceeded towards the main door. I searched for a suitable stick but could not find one. As an after thought I took the eight-inch blade hunting cum throwing knife which was hanging from a hook behind my bed room door. I was, however, not very sure whether a knife could give any protection against a sprit.

I recalled my mother’s advice and switched on all the lights in our bungalow. There were lights on all the four corners of the house. However, they were partially hidden by bougainvillea creepers, thereby creating a mosaic of light and shadow.

I came out from the main door, locked it and cautiously proceeded along the cemented foot path encircling the house to reach the kitchen garden. When I was going around the corner at the back, a dark object silently went past my head. I was startled and immediately looked up and directed the torch beam overhead but could not see anything. Suddenly from the middle of the kitchen garden which was quite dark, some dark shadows darted past the fencing. I stopped for a moment to compose myself and again proceeded cautiously to check all the trees and surroundings with my torch all the while holding my knife in ready position.

When I reached the guava tree which was at the middle of the kitchen garden, I found lots of partially eaten guavas on the ground with pug marks of dog like animals. I heard some sound overhead and directed the torch beam there to find lots of bats flying! I also got a feeling that somebody must be watching me from across the fence. You will always have this sixth sense if you have any experience of roaming in the forest. I directed the torch beam towards my right, across the fence and could locate the silhouette of a pack of jackals with their eyes gleaming under the torch beam. Though I was scared, I knew they were not going to attack me. I picked up a twig and threw at them and they ran away.

Now I could understand the mystery of the haunted house! The bats were feeding on guavas. Since the guava tree was covering a part of the roof, some guavas plucked by bats were falling on the roof making “Dhoop…. Dhoop” sound. Because of the slanted roof, some of them were even rolling down to the kitchen garden making the strange rolling sound “Garrrrr’. Jackals who are fond of guavas were feeding on the guavas being discarded by the bats. They were fighting among themselves and that was creating the strange sound of foot steps in the kitchen garden. I was sure that these bats were absolutely harmless fruit eating bats and that there were no vampires amongst them! And surely no werewolf among these harmless jackals!

I did not want to disturb either the bats or the jackals during their dinner and returned to my bed feeling satisfied that I had solved the mystery of the haunted house.

Santosh left for Tisco Growth Shop at Jamshedpur after a couple of months. I stayed in that house all alone for quite some time there after. I used to hear all those strange sounds from time to time but that never bothered me ever again.

The haunted house (Part II)

2008-09-03T14:06:00.004+05:30

Ajit wanted an early release and left us within two days. We were quite low after Ajit’s departure due to the loss of a good friend and a gossiping partner. Next Sunday at breakfast, while Santosh was having his favorite Alu Paratha (stuffed Indian fried bread), Yogurt and Pickle, I broached the subject.

“Other day Muralidas told me that the so called haunted house will be renovated and offered to the willing bachelors who are not superstitious. He asked me whether we are interested,” I said casually.

Santosh was relishing his Alu Paratha and did not say anything, though I knew he was all ears on the subject.

“I told him that it is OK with me. But I can not take a decision without consulting Santosh who could be superstitious” I added, expecting a violent reaction.

“Partner (his usual address) how could you say that? I am never superstitious!” Santosh was pained. “Tell Muralidas by tomorrow itself, before he talks to anybody else, that we are interested” Santosh was quite empathetic.

Primary goal thus achieved, I immediately switched the topic, lest Santosh’s animosity towards Muralidas got the better of it and he backed out.

Early next day I contacted Muralidas to give him our consent.

“Good Morning, Mr. Muralidas; Biplab here. Finally I could convince Santosh although it took a lot of persuasion. You must give me kudos for it!”

“Good Morning, Mr. Sengupta! I am really thankful to you” Muralidas was overjoyed

“The house, however, really looks haunted. Hope you will restore it before we move in?” I suggested.

“Oh! Mr. Sengupta! Please don’t worry. I will definitely bring it to its original shape and give it a fresh coat of paint. I will also restore the lawn and the kitchen garden” Muralidas replied with all sincerity.

That afternoon we found a platoon of estate workers working on the house. Within a week it was brought to such a magnificent state that I was wondering whether Mr. Muralidas really had a change of heart. Perhaps he really wasn’t as bad as we had always thought (which was rather difficult to believe) or maybe he was instigating the ghost to take retaliatory action on us immediately on our arrival!

The news that we were moving to the haunted house spread like wild fire and became the main topic of discussion in our club for the next few days. All our Bhabis were against our decision. Even our bosses were worried.

Anyway, we managed to maintain a brave facade although we had prayers on our lips when we finally moved into the haunted house within a couple of days along with “Bandhu” our man Friday.

Bandhu was a middle-aged tribal. With his salt and pepper cropped hair, half-grown beard, four jutting out crooked front teeth, a short dhoti above his knees and a flapping kurta on top, he used to give the impression of a moving “Scare Crow”. Work wise, however, we didn’t have much to complain about.

The bungalow was really magnificent! It was slightly below the road surface. A cemented pathway led to a huge Iron Gate on the left most corner. There was no street light on the arterial roads and the ornamental gate lights (maintained by the estate department) provided a mysterious halo only near the gates. A graveled drive way extended up to an open garage. Just by the side of the garage there was a small swimming pool. A cemented three feet wide footpath encircled the whole house. There were two big bed rooms with a very big drawing cum dining hall with separate servant’s quarters. The roof was slightly slanted towards the rear for the better drainage. The lawn in front was quite big. The kitchen garden at the rear was even bigger with an assortment of big fruit bearing trees like mango, jack fruit, jamoun and a very big guava tree with branches covering a part of the roof. The barbed wire fencing at the rear was also the boundary for our colony. Between the fencing and the highway there was a forest land about three hundred meters deep.

Nothing happened for the first couple of months except our mess bill went up quite substantially, which, we guessed, could not be attributed to supernatural involvement. We discussed the same with Bandhu who could not give any proper explanation except attributing it to general price rise.

After breakfast we used to walk down to our office which was about a kilometer away.

That day we both started for our office together but halfway down I realized that I left an important file at home.

“Santosh, I left an important file at home and must fetch it. You please go ahead. I will meet you in the office” I said and hurried back.

While entering the house I heard some noise inside! Bandhu opened the door with a surprised expression. Entering the main hall, I found at least eight to ten kids, eldest may be around fifteen along with a very fat lady were having a great feast. I did not say a word; just collected my file and left.

During a tea break, I informed Santosh about the episode.
“Partner, what Bandhu did is unpardonable. We are already paying Bandhu more than the standard rate. Even when we asked for his explanation for the higher mess bill, he did not tell us the truth. I know, you may be feeling bad, but we must sack Bandhu immediately” said Santosh after thinking for some time while smoking.

We had an unwritten understanding that one will always support the other on such issues and hence the decision was taken immediately. When we came home for our lunch, we released Bandhu after paying him a suitable compensation. Bandhu probably could understand his fault and did not argue.

Same day Santosh went for a tour to Calcutta in the evening.

While returning from office, I went to club for a game of billiard and returned to our bungalow around eight in the evening. The whole house was dark since there was nobody to switch on the lights. While I was opening the gate it made a creaking sound and then I saw a dark figure in white clothing coming from the rear side of the bungalow! I froze! [To be continued]

The haunted house

2008-08-28T20:10:00.012+05:30

We were having a tea break after a grueling session of daily gossip, fondly called “Absolute Thinking” after office hours. It was early 1969 and all five of us had joined a unit of Larsen & Toubro in Orissa, about six months earlier.

Though we had lots in common, all were from IIT, Kharagpur, mechanical engineers, bachelors, extremely argumentative and lazy, we were also quite different in many other ways.

Ajit Mandal was from ’63 batch and was the senior most. He had the single ambition of going to USA!

Amlan Sen was from ’66 batch and was the best of the lot with regards to all human qualities. He was a connoisseur of everything good in life be it literature, music or playing bridge.

Santosh Singh did his M. Tech from IIT in ’68. He was a very intelligent, clean shaven sarder who always used to come up with some “Blue Sky” ideas and used to feel sorry for the world in general and us in particular if we were not supporting his ideas!

Sumit Satsangi was from ‘68 batch and was a sportsman to the core. He used to sport a mustache to look like army personnel in deference to his boyhood dream which could not be fulfilled due to a mysterious attack of bronchitis during army selection!

I was from the ’68 batch as well and as far as I was concerned there was nothing to write home about me except that I was quite popular with the kids in our colony since I could flip them on my shoulder. And most of the ladies in the colony had the misconception about my ability to fix up anything except broken hearts (a few attempts met with disastrous consequences)! So I had free access to all the families in our colony for cookies.

It was during the early stage of industrialization in India and our company acquired a vast track of hilly forest land in a God forsaken place called Kansbahal in the tribal heartland of Sundergarh district in Orissa. Kansbahal was about twenty five kilometers towards Bombay from the steel city called Rourkela.

Our unit was sandwiched between the Calcutta-Bombay main railway lines on one side and the Calcutta-Bombay national highway on the other. Workers’ colony, called South colony was relatively big and was near the railway lines. The factory was situated just after the south colony. The officers’ colony was called North colony and was on the other side of the factory, near the highway and was having hardly fifty bungalows.

Most of the carnivores, except jackals and a few friendly neighborhoods wolves left the area when the factory was being set up, due to the destruction of the habitat. However, snakes and scorpions were not wiling to give up and were putting up a spirited fight! The whole set up was very picturesque but danger lurked after every sunset. Till late night during the full moon period, we used to hear the faint melody of tribal folk songs accompanied by the haunting beats of madal (tribal drums). There were occasional reports of human sacrifice during the sowing season which, however, could never be confirmed.

If we are now unsatisfied with our poor infrastructure, it was simply non-existent in Kansbahal during the later part of the sixties.

After spending six months in south colony during our probation, five of us had just moved into two adjacent bungalows in the north colony. As you entered the north colony from the national highway you would be quite impressed by a wide concrete road with perpendicular arterial roads on both the sides flanked by bungalows. On the furthest end of the first perpendicular road to the right was our club, the sole entertainment facility in our colony. Our bungalows were just behind the club.

That particular day we were a little sad since Ajit had submitted his resignation and we all went to the club to douse our sorrow. Ajit, Amlan and Santosh were only occasional drinkers and were soon in a different world after a few glasses of beer. Sumit and I were sitting on the two extreme ends of the bar table and were still in our senses being teetotalers and had just finished our eighth bottle of Coca-Cola!

Suddenly I was startled with a gruff voice from behind “Good Evening, Mr. Sengupta”. I slowly turned and was surprised to see the smiling face of Mr. Muralidas, our estate manager!
“Good Evening, Mr. Muralidas” I replied, still in a state of sock.

We were not in best of terms. Some how or other, Muralidas would always give us a raw deal whenever he could. We would also fight it out with the active support of our bosses. We were a constant source of headache for each other.

“May I just have a couple of minutes with you, Mr. Sengupta?” said Mr. Muralidas almost apologetically.
“Sure” I said while moving out to a nearby sofa, still wondering about his intention.
“It is sad that we are loosing Mr. Mandal” said Mr. Muralidas while seating on a sofa opposite mine.
I didn’t utter anything, knowing full well that condolence could not be his main agenda.
“Mr. Sengupta, I have a proposal” said Mr. Muralidas after a swig at his glass.
I was alarmed! “It couldn’t be Deepika! She is too young. Anyway Muralidas would never select me as his son-in-law, unless he believes in those funny scientific theory of opposite poles attracts and would like to postulate that for human relationships as well!” I almost thought aloud.
“As you know, we are having a serious shortage of bungalows. We had to accommodate you in bigger bungalows since bungalows for you, I mean for junior engineers, are not yet ready. We are now having a lot of requests for these bungalows for family accommodation” said Muralidas taking another swig from his glass.
I was tense but still did not utter a word. My less than average brain was doing overtime to read his thoughts.
“At the same time there is a large bungalow lying vacant for quite sometime. I wonder whether you and Santosh would be interested in moving in there” said Muralidas.
“Which one?” I asked tentatively.
“On the first row, second from the right as you enter the club road” said Muralidas in an even tone.
“You mean the haunted house?” I exclaimed!

The bungalow he mentioned was one of the best bungalows in our colony. Long before we joined, the then chief accountant Mr. Gurubox Sahani used to stay there along with his family. He retired from the service and the day he was supposed to leave for his home town, he died suddenly of a heart attack. It was the first death in our colony and he was cremated on the bank of Brahmani river nearby. Death was quite normal but the timing was very unusual. Company then converted that bungalow into an extension of the guesthouse. The first guest was one Mr. Antia from our head office at Bombay. Nothing happened till the evening. But the next day Mr. Antia was found in a state of shock and was shifted to guesthouse proper. It was rumored that Mr. Antia heard some unusual sound on the rooftop and was under the opinion that it was Mr. Gurubox Sahani’s spirit! Since then nobody stayed in that bungalow and slowly it got the dubious status of a haunted house. Anybody taking the club road after the sunset used to pass that stretch very quickly without looking at that bungalow.

“You are young engineers from IIT. I don’t think you believe in all that nonsense. Do you?” he asked sheepishly, working on my male ego.
“Why don’t you move in?” I challenged him.
“I would love to” he said with pseudo boldness “but you know your Bhabi (sister-in-law) is, unfortunately, very superstitious. More over Deepika is so young” he added, pricking my sentiment.

I could understand that Muralidas wanted to outsource the dirty work of throwing us out to a ghost. If we were killed it would be all the more better. At the same time I was quite tempted about that bungalow. I was sure that there was no chance of our staying in such bungalows in coming ten years. I had to only convince Santosh which I was sure I could.

“See, it is a very difficult decision. Let me talk to Santosh when he is in a good mood. Give me a few days time” I replied with an impassive face.

“Oh, sure. Take your time” said Muralidas. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to convince Santosh even if he tried turning cartwheels or belly dancing. [To be continued]

Effect of Musharraf's exit

2008-08-19T16:34:00.005+05:30

Though the normal Pakistanis are rejoicing on the street with the news of resignation of Musharraf, its effect could be far reaching for the entire world and even for Pakistan.

Whatever could be his method of assuming the power, which is quite common in Pakistan, in the initial period, by all available account, Musharraf did his best to uplift Pakistan in all fronts like Economy, Education, Law & Order and International Standing.

Things started getting sour for him after 9/11 when due to pressure from USA, he got actively involved in anti-terrorist activities. His action against Taliban and Al Qaeda in Afghanistan and also in Pakistan made him unpopular and also invited attempts on his life. It only shows that Pakistanis in general are in for the “Radical Islamization” and its militant factions like Taliban and Al Qaeda.

It should also be noted that army recruits are mostly drawn from the rural population who would always remain politically and religiously polarized in line with general population. So even with better discipline (we should not forget that all the established terrorist groups be it Taliban, Al Qaeda or LTTE are also highly disciplined) they will always remain sympathetic to their original ideas. So it is no wonder that ISI which is a part of army is reported to be penetrated by Taliban and AL Qaeda! Most probably general Kiyani, with his ISI background, did a wise thing in not supporting Musharraf, knowing the mood of the public in general and that of the army in particular.

Not that I am really gaga about the moral aptitude of most of our politicians and the functioning of democracy under coalition rule, but our system has at least survived for more than sixty years. Whereas in Pakistan, with its mostly feudal societies, it is yet to get the foot hold.

The present Pakistani government which is yet to form a proper coalition is headed by leaders with dubious characters ( Zardari was against to reinstate the supreme court judges due to pending cases against him) and at least one is without any experience in politics ( Zardari just came to lime light due to the assassination of Benazir).

They just took the advantage of the popular mood and gave assurance to various radical Islamic groups to win the election. Hence it is no wonder that there are reports that they have made deals with Taliban and Al Qaeda to reduce their activities in Pakistan and rather concentrate in Afghanistan and India.

The Embassy bombing in Kabul and misinformation about the economic blockade in Jammu to ferment agitation in Srinagar are the direct fallout, I suspect, of these inside deals. As per the army intelligence report the infiltration which became all time low before the establishment of civilian rule in Pakistan has gone up considerably ever since.

It looks like UPA government did not want to be charged with the human rights violation just before the crucial NSG meeting ( some of the NSG countries who have raised objection for the nuclear deal on the ground of nuclear proliferation are also extremely sensitive to human rights violation) and took a soft stand against the agitation in Srinagar.

So what we are having in Pakistan as a neighbor?

A country with very tight economic condition, a very weak fledgling democratic government without any charismatic leader who could take difficult and some time unpopular decisions, general population and the army penetrated by radical Islamic organizations like Taliban and Al Qaeda! If you do not call it a failed state, then what it is?

During the reign of Musharraf things were nearly the same!

But at least there was a man with whom the world could speak. At least there was a protection that the use of nuclear arsenal will be guided by MAD ( Mutual Assured Destruction) and not be used for blackmailing! Though it is reported that the Pakistani army have dismantled the nuclear arsenals in such a way that the terrorist group could not assemble them even if they get their access, is no guarantee. Chance of using dirty bomb by suicide groups remains. India has also realized that today in Pakistan there is no leader with whom to speak who could give any commitment or follow up with the commitment even if it is given!

I feel, USA should concentrate on Pakistan and may be to Saudi Arabia to check the spread of terrorism than concentrating on Iran.

Though India is the victim of terrorism, it is my firm belief that it is mostly due to external instigation. Indian Muslims are much less radical and they love India as much as any other religious groups. Their involvements are mostly aberration and could be due to social discrimination, localized economic conditions and misguidance.

Good Samaritan ? (Concluding Part)

2008-08-15T23:47:00.004+05:30

“Hello?” my mother answered the phone with a tired and anxious voice with all the drama happening in the morning.
“Thamma (Grandma), Rini here! How are you? What has happened? Your voice is sounding so tired? Baba was supposed to come to you today. Has he arrived?” said Rini, my daughter, from USA in one breath.

Rini and I are best friends. After I lost my wife in 1998, misunderstanding cropped up between us for sometime. It, however, got resolved with the passage of time and when we could appreciate each other’s grief. Now I am having the dual responsibility of being her father and mother and she is my darling daughter. We are friend, philosopher and guide to each other. We share all our secrets which might have bearing on each other, skipping the ones which are mostly irrelevant. Finding me behaving like an unguided missile, Rini even tried to arrange a match for me and finally gave up when she found me absolutely unmarriageable.

“Rini, I am OK. Just now I got a phone call from Bapi that he has landed in Kolkata and coming home. One Kashmiri girl is also coming with him” conveyed my mother.
“Whaaat? Baba never told me anything about any Kashmiri girl? When did this happen?” Rini was more bothered about receiving the information via her grandma than the information itself.
“I hope things are really not that serious. Bapi apparently met her to-day at Delhi airport. She was going to Bangladesh via Kolkata. Bapi is bringing her home since she is all alone and her flight to Bangladesh is later in the evening” assured my mother banking on her residual confidence in me.
“Knowing my father, it sounds plausible. Let me get the information directly from the horse’s mouth. Don’t worry Thamma, I will take care” assured Rini though not very confident herself.

My mobile started ringing and seeing Rini’s name I was elated.
“Hello! Rini sona (Bengali equivalent of darling) how are you? I am already in Kolkata and driving down” I said with all the sweetness in my voice.
“Is she there with you? Say it in Bengali.” Rini’s voice was cold as steel.
“Yes! Farzana also knows Bengali” I wanted to clarify.
Hearing her name Farzana also turned towards me.
“Oh! What a coincidence! If it is at all a coincidence in the first place” Rini was mimicking. “Anyway, just answer me in Yes or NO. Is she good looking?” added Rini with expectation in her voice.
“Yes!”
“Wonderful! I knew you will never make a wrong selection!” Rini was mocking. “Is she above fifty?” she added, trying to discard any further possibilities.
“No!”
“Above forty?”
“No!”
“Above thirty?”
“No!”
“Above twenty?”
“Yes! You are correct”.
“Thank GOD, you have not picked up a teenager!” replied Rini sardonically. “Anyway, I hope there is nothing between two of you, otherwise you would have told me before” said Rini with some confidence, being my daughter for a long time. “Give me a ring when you are free. Bye!” added Rini some what relieved after her grueling interrogation.
“My daughter” I said with a smile while still thinking about my recent conversation with Rini.
“You told me that your daughter is in USA?” asked Farzana suspiciously.
“The call was from USA only” I replied.
“How she could know about me?” Asked Farzana, still suspicious.
“Probably she rang up her grandma in the morning which she normally does at least thrice a week and her grandma might have conveyed the news” I could only guess.
“Oh!” remarked Farzana and again resorted to gazing out of the window.
Within another few minutes we reached my mother’s place. As soon as our car reached the portico, the guard came running adjusting his belt and the opened door on Farzana’s side. As Farzana stepped out the guard was regretting why he did not have a shave in the morning!

“Please bring the luggage” I told Harvans and took the lift with Farzana. My mother’s flat is on the fourth floor. When I rang the bell, it was answered by my mother’s maid Mina, a Bengal-Bihar joint venture, beaming from ear to ear with sparkling eyes as if she was seeing the seventh wonder of the world!

My mother as usual was seated on her sofa in her living room and was reading a news paper. She greeted Farzana with a smile and gestured her to sit near her. I was surprised to see that instead of normal “Adab” Farzana greeted my mother with folded hand and said “Namaste”! From my mother’s smiling face I was convinced that Farzana had already been taken into her fold and I have done the right thing in bringing her home. They started conversing in Bengali.

My sister, Ilu was, however, not so gullible and was still little suspicious. She started asking Farzana lot of questions as if to verify her credentials!

It was already 10 AM and I did not have much time left for my meeting. After having a cup of tea brought by Mina who was very eager to join the gossip, I got up and told my mother “Ma, I have a meeting at 11 AM. I must change immediately and head for the office. I will also not be coming for lunch. Farzana will take lunch with you and then take some rest. Harvans will drop her to airport at 6 PM”. By then Farzana was quite at home with the ladies.

I was ready within half an hour. Before I took leave, I just wanted to check Farzana’s schedule and ask “Farzana could you please check your flight time once again and confirm?”
“I am sure it is at 8:20 PM” muttered Farzana but started digging her hand bag for the air ticket, may be just to satisfy me. She handed over the ticket to me without seeing. I took a brief look at the ticket and exclaimed in surprise “Farzana, here it is written 2:20 PM and not 8:20PM!” Farzana literally snatched the ticket from me, had a look and almost came to tears just thinking that if I hadn’t checked she would have missed the flight!

Immediately we both started dialing different numbers in our mobiles……. Farzana to her mother in Kashmir to enquire about the mix-up …….. and me to our branch manager at Kolkata office to arrange for a separate car to take her to airport.

After a brief tempest in Urdu with her mother, Farzana said with tears on her eyes “Mother said she tried for this earlier flight but settled for the evening flight when travelled agent told her that the earlier flight is full. She did not know that the travelled agent did arrange for the earlier flight as originally requested”
“Don’t worry! Thank God that you didn’t miss your flight. A separate car will come for you by 11:30 AM and you must leave for the airport latest by 12 O’clock. An authorized porter will take your luggage up to the check in counter. The car rental company and the driver have been instructed accordingly” I assured Farzana.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Sengupta for all the trouble you have taken”.
“That’s alright. It is already 10:30 AM and I must leave now. I don’t think I will be able to meet you before your departure. Take care and Khuda-hafez!” I told Farzana.
“Khuda-hafez!” said Farzana startled, with a rare smile on her face.
I then took leave from my mother and left for office.

Through out the day I was extremely busy. But before I got bogged down I advised our office secretary to check about the car and to ensure no further mix-up.

When I returned home at 6 PM, I was told by mother that Farzana left at 11:30 AM after a quick meal. Mina was, however, bubbling with excitement to tell me in details. “Kaku (Uncle), your friend removed her churni (Mina didn’t have any idea about Hijab!) after you left. She had such a nice brown hair! Since we did not have much time, I just made egg curry for her and she relished it. Is she coming back once again?” Mina was excited.

“Mina, it is very nice that Farzana liked your cooking, but there is no chance that she might come back again” I replied without elaborating to Mina that I just happened to meet Farzana only today at the Delhi airport!

After the tiring day, I took a bath and was having a cup of tea when my mobile started ringing. I picked it up and found the call is from an unknown number.
“Hello?” I asked, little unsure.
“Am I speaking to Mr. Sengupta?” the unknown caller asked.
“Yes?”
“Good Evening! Mr. Sengupta, I am Rahim Khan from Kashmir; Farzana’s father. Do you remember me?”
“Of course Mr. Rahim Khan. I do remember you. Good Evening to you. How is Farzana? Has she reached Bangladesh safely?”
“Yes, she has reached safely. She just rang up from Dhaka. She specifically requested us to inform you immediately. She told us in details what all happened! She is all praise for your family and particularly your mother & you!”
“Oh, Mr. Khan! That’s all right. What I did, I feel you would have also done the same for my daughter under the similar circumstances”.
“That’s for sure, but good gestures are becoming very rare these days. Mr. Sengupta, if you happen to visit Kashmir, please be my guest. You have won a friend” Mr. Khan said quite emotionally.
“Thank you very much Mr. Khan. Now you are also having a friend in Kolkata! Do visit us if you come to Kolkata”
“Khuda-hafez, Mr. Sengupta”
“Khuda-hafez, Mr. Rahim Khan”

After the phone call I was just pondering over the whole incident from the morning. I was sure that most of you may not support my action, but probably like the proverbial squirrel helping mythological Rama to make the bridge across the ocean, I might have helped, in my small way, in building a bridge for a different purpose.

There was some music being played in our adjacent flat. Subconsciously I started humming the tune. Then I realized it was “Knowing me, knowing you….” I like ABBA.

Good Samaritan? (Part III)

2008-08-10T23:21:00.003+05:30

“OK” said Farzana with a half smile and with a tone conveying resignation to her fate and started pushing her trolley forward.
“Why don’t we switch; you take my strolley and let me push your trolley?” I said out of courtesy.
“No! It is OK” said Farzana with finality in her voice.
As soon we came out of the arrival lounge, my driver Harvans came running.
“Good Morning, Sir. May I help you?” said Harvans and tried to take the strolley from me.
Harvans is a burly sardar and was assigned to me by the rental car company for the last seven years. His nature was diametrically opposite to his physic. He was a thorough gentleman, extremely polite and courteous. He was my friend, philosopher and guide and used to take me under his fold whenever I came to Kolkata to visit my mother. He knew all my clients, my friends of all sexes, all my relatives and whoever I needed to meet or visit!
“Good Morning, Harvans! How are you? I replied and then added “Harvans, please take the trolley from Memsab (Lady)”.
Harvans was aghast! He had never seen me coming out of Kolkata airport with any lady not known to him. Not only Farzana was unknown but I could read that her beauty made Harvans completely nervous and confused!
“Good Morning, Memsab!” he said nervously and took the trolley from Farzana. Farzana did not object. When we came to car drop zone, Harvans told us to wait and brought the car from the parking area in a run. Once our luggage was properly loaded and we were comfortable inside the car I told Harvans” Harvans let’s go home first and then we will go to office probably after an hour”
“Shall we not go first to Hotel, Sir?” asked Harvans, looking at me through the rear view mirror with nervousness still written on his face.
“Which Hotel, Harvans?” I enquired.
“Sir, shall we not drop Memsab first?” asked Harvans politely.
“Memsab is going with us to our house” I replied.
Harvan’s shocked reaction was quite dramatic and he just managed to avoid the lamppost! “OK, Sir.” He said nervously. He was sure that something had gone wrong somewhere.

The house where my mother stays is by the side of Eastern Metropolitan by pass, a high way, on the south-eastern fringe of Kolkata. E.M by pass is connected to Kolkata airport via VIP road and a by pass high way skirting the Salt Lake City. The road connection was excellent but it used to take about an hour to reach my mother’s house from the airport. After driving a kilometer from the airport, Harvans took left turn to enter the by pass high way.

Since leaving the airport, Farzana had been looking through the window without uttering a word.
“Have you been to Kolkata before?” I asked just to start the conversation and make her feel at home.
“Only to Kolkata airport. I was always taking an earlier flight and never came out of the airport” replied Farzana without turning her head.
“Are you sure that you are not booked in that flight this time as well?” I wanted to be sure.
“My mother told me that she did try for the same flight, but could not get the reservation” replied Farzana.
“Then it is OK. By the way my name is Biplab Sengupta. You might have seen it in my business card”.
“O yes, I did. I am Farzana” Farzana said, turning her head and rewarding me with a very rare smile.
“Yes, I saw it on your boarding card”.
“Oh!”
“Are you visiting Bangladesh to meet any relatives?” I enquired.
“No, no. I am studying there. I am a third year medical student in Dhaka University”.
“But why in Bangladesh and not in India?” I enquired without hiding my surprise.
“It is much cheaper there. Moreover they have a medical college exclusively for girls with hostels inside the compound. It is very secure” explained Farzana. “Also it is much easier to get admission there” added Farzana.
“Since you are already in Dhaka for last three years, have you picked up any Bengali?” I enquired.
“I can understand it quite well. I can also speak, but only a little” replied Farzana.
“Are you carrying some instrument? Your luggage was very heavy.” I enquired.
“No, no. I am just carrying medical books. They are cheaper here. Also they are in short supply in our college library” replied Farzana with a shy smile.

I was quite impressed with her economic considerations. Must be business people, I thought! I suddenly remembered that it was already 9:15 AM and I had not yet called my mother!

My mother is always a little different from others of her generation. At the age of 85 and even with her frail health she was still spending at least five hours for Puja (holy rituals), but remained absolutely liberal and pragmatic in all her ideas. She always had equal respect for all religions and never bothered about the cast system. In our childhood we had everything except any supply of money. My mother, however, in joint venture with my father, who was great in his own right, gave me and my six sisters the opportunity to grow up with dignity in a most congenial and liberal atmosphere. It was heartening to see how she could control all of us without raising her voice and not resorting to any tantrums.

Unless I am sitting next to her, she would expect a phone call from me everyday latest by 7:30 AM. One hour grace when I used to be in Europe. For lesser mortals it would be better not to call her on her wireless number till 8:30 AM, otherwise you might hear “I am expecting Bapi’s (my pet name) call any moment. Please ring up later” like a recorded message.

“Ma, Bapi here, how are you?” I asked her through my mobile.
“You are late today in calling?” my mother asked for the explanation.
“Ma, I took 6:30 AM flight today from Delhi. In that wee hour you must have been in deep slumber and dreaming about me only. I did not want to disturb you in your dream!” I explained.
“You must have landed at least fifteen minutes back. Was the flight delayed? Is everything all right?” enquired my mother anxiously.
“Ma, everything is alright. I just wanted to give you some news. I met a Kashmiri girl in Delhi airport. She is taking the evening flight to Bangladesh. So instead of her waiting in the airport all alone, I am bringing her home so that she can spend some time with you. Her name is Farzana and she knows Bengali. Probably she could use Rini’s room. I will, however, be leaving for my office by 10:30 AM. Is it OK with you?” I replied with an asking note.
“Yes, it’s OK” replied my mother in a tone that sounded a little unsure.
“OK then. We will be reaching home within another half an hour” I replied and hung up.

I discovered later that since she was staying alone, my mother was a little unsure of receiving and entertaining a stranger all by herself and rang up one of my sister, “Ilu” who stayed nearby to join her immediately.
“Ilu, Bapi just now told me that he is coming home with a Kashmiri girl…..” started my mother.
“WHAAT? What do you mean? How long has this been going on? You never told us anything before?” rattled Ilu in a state of shock without letting my mother finish her sentence.
“I don’t thing it is that serious as yet. Bapi told me that he met her in Delhi airport” replied my mother.
“Are you sure it is not an alibi? Probably dada (elder brother) just wants you to see the girl. How old is she?” Ilu was very agitated.
“I really do not know her age. Anyway, if possible, please come immediately” replied my mother.
“Don’t worry. I will reach within fifteen minutes” replied Ilu and hung up.
My mother replaced the receiver slowly on the cradle with anxiety taking a grip on her, when the phone started ringing. [To be continued……]

Good Samaritan? (Part II)

2008-08-07T01:16:00.005+05:30

“Yes!” I replied looking at him but still proceeding towards the check-in counter.
“Is this your only baggage?” ask the man, looking at my strolley.
That was an outright intrusion! “Yes! But why?” I replied, somehow hiding my annoyance.
“If you could kindly spare me a minute? I have a problem.” answered the man anxiously.
By that time I had stopped by his side since I was a little eager to know about his problem. Whether I could be of any help, I thought, could be decided later.
“See, my daughter is going to Kolkata alone and she is having a little excess luggage (An understatement, I thought looking at her luggage!). Since you are not having any checked in luggage, probably she could check in with you, if you would allow. Could you please help?” Pleaded the man.
Though the request was reasonable, it was really not advisable due to security consideration. At first I was inclined to refuse. But considering that those two pieces of luggage were after all properly screened as “checked in luggage” and my inborn weakness for damsels in distress persuaded me to change my stand. My boyhood involvement with the Boys Scout movement and their practice of “a good turn a day” also played a trick. I could hear myself saying “Yes” and shrugged my shoulder. I took the airline ticket from the gentleman and instructed the porter from Jet Airways, who was already eager to take my strolley, to take the trolley from the young lady instead.
“Good morning, Sir” said the girl sitting at the Jet Premier counter with a general issue smile, while collecting the tickets.
“Good Morning, Janet” I replied with a smile, looking at her name tag.
“Could you please help my companion to get a window seat towards the front?” I added, knowing full well that Janet must have already seen my bio-data in the computer monitor and I need not say anything about my personal preference.
“Let me search” said Janet, briefly looking at me, smiling.
“I can manage a window seat, but a little further down the aisle, 19F will it be OK, Mr. Sengupta?” asked Janet expectantly.
“That’s OK. Please go-ahead” I replied, much relieved.
“May I book the luggage in your name only, Mr. Sengupta?” asked Janet looking at the weighing machine.
“OK” I replied after being hesitant for a moment.
“Here you are. Your boarding card 3C with two luggage tags. Boarding card 19F for Farzana. Happy Journey, Mr. Sengupta” said Janet smilingly while handing me over all the boarding cards, counterfoils for tickets and cabin baggage tags. Janet also instructed the porter to put “Priority Tags” to our checked in luggage.
“Thank you Janet for all the help” I replied with a smile while leaving the check-in counter.
I walked to the gentleman and his daughter who were standing a little away and handed over the boarding card, counterfoil of airline ticket, cabin baggage tags and my business card saying ”Luggage tags are in my name because of excess weight. Since we will be seating separately, we could meet only at Kolkata airport. Please tell your daughter to contact me at my cell number, in case of any difficulty”. I did not ask for her cell number, out of courtesy.
The gentleman looked at my business card briefly, extended his arm and said with a smiling face, with all the worries gone “ Thank you very much Mr. Sengupta. It was very kind of you. By the way, my name is Rahim Khan. We are from Kashmir”.

I shook his hand with a worried face with lots conflicting thoughts passing through my mind. Mere mention of Kashmir made me little uneasy.

There was a time when Kashmir was synonymous to anything beautiful. The natural beauty of Kashmir, with snow capped mountain peaks, valleys with Chinar trees, flowing springs, river Jhelum, floating house boats and Shikaras laden with roses and tulips on Dal lake, even excelled the much adored Switzerland! It was epitomized in a famous Bollyood motion picture “Kashmir – ki – kali” (Flower (girl) from Kashmir). Anybody having the experience can not forget “Wazwan” fest with fine gourmet cuisine like rogan-josh, rista-gushtava, kahwah (saffron tea), and shawls made of cashmere wool, silk carpets and wood carvings. Kashmir is immortalized in the Urdu couplets of Ghulam Ahmed Ashai “Agar firdous bar rul-e-zameen ast, hamin ast – o – hamin ast – o- hamin ast “(If there is a paradise in the world, it is here, it is here, it is here!).

Everything is still very much the same, except it is now overshadowed by the advent of a dreaded disease called “Terrorism”. I really do not know who was at fault but the end result was the death of thousands of innocent people. A couple of years back it was still localized but it had now engulfed the entire Indian sub-continent. The actions which were perfectly normal and humane only a couple of years back would now be viewed with suspicion. I also could not help but thinking “Was it a ploy? Was I too gullible and have put myself and my fellow passengers at risk?” I started doubting ….. Whether the security screening for the checked in luggage was proper? did I check the security tags properly?.... did the girl in the check in counter check the security tags properly?...... whether the security tags were genuine? Literally I was totally confused and did not know what to do.

The airport was very crowded and while I was in the state of confusion, I saw Farzana and her father melting away in the crowd. Then I realized that the luggage was booked in my name and they would not be unloaded even if Farzana did not board the plane! I felt like kicking myself and did not feel like going to business lounge for a cup of tea even though there was plenty of time till the boarding announcement.

As soon as the boarding was announced, I went for boarding but could not locate Farzana. Even in the aircraft though I was in the front section, I somehow missed her. Meanwhile the aircraft doors were closed and our fates were sealed!

While flying also I could not get away from the uneasiness. I was really not very much bothered about myself but about my fellow passengers who were all relaxing without knowing their fate. I was too reluctant to go down the aisle to locate Farzana since that may not solve the problem. Suicide bombings were quite rampant!

Breakfast was served but due to my uneasiness I could not enjoy my “last supper”. I was much relived when I heard the announcement from the flight deck that we were about to land at Kolkata.

Jet Airways really take care of their business class guests and their priority luggage. By the time I reached the arrival lounge with Jet Airways’ special bus, I could locate Farzana’s two pieces of luggage on the conveyor belt. It was a relief then to locate Farzana slowly coming towards me, pushing an empty trolley in front. I had difficulty loading those two pieces of luggage on the trolley since they were quite heavy. Anyway, my duty done I casually asked Farzana “Will there be anybody to receive you? Or shall I drop you somewhere?”
“No! I will be waiting in the airport only. I have to take a flight to Bangladesh” said Farzana with a half smile.
“What time is the flight to Bangladesh?” I enquired without sounding too inquisitive.
“At 8:20 PM” said Farzana, matter of fact.
“8:20 PM?” I was puzzled looking at my watch which was showing only 9 AM. “How could you wait in the airport for almost 11 hours that too with so much of luggage?” I asked in bewilderment knowing the scanty facilities available in Kolkata airport.
“I have to manage. I really do not have much of an alternative. My friends will join me at the airport only, just before the departure” said Farzana.
“May I drop you to any of your relatives or friends” I said out of courtesy.
“I do not have any relative in Kolkata. My friends also stay outside Kolkata and I really do not have their proper addresses” said Farzana looking little nervous.
“Look, I will be visiting my Mother who stays in Kolkata in a big flat with her maids. My daughter is in USA. You may use her room; freshen up; have some food and relax; then my car will drop you to airport at a suitable time. I am too reluctant to leave you at airport all by yourself. Please rely on me” I insisted. [To be continued……]

Good Samaritan ?

2008-08-02T14:27:00.013+05:30

I heard the sound while still in deep slumber. Slowly I realized the ringing tone of the telephone. Instinctively I turned on my right side in the bed and lifted the receiver from the cradle with my left arm.
“Hello?” I said, still half asleep.
“Good Morning, Mr. Sengupta. I am Nandita from reception. It is your wake-up call at 4 AM” said the lady’s voice from the other end.
“Good Morning, Nandita and thank you” I replied, already trying to remove the soft quilt with white satin cover covering me. At “ITC One” suite of Maurya Sheraton they really pamper you!
“Shall I give you a reminder call after five minutes, Mr. Sengupta?” asked Nandita, with expectation in her voice.
“No! No! Thank you Nandita, I am already fully awake” I replied
“Good day, Mr. Sengupta”
“Good day, Nandita”
I replaced the receiver and got up. The room was absolutely dark except for the foot light. I partially removed the heavy curtain from the window next to my bed, but the outside was still dark. Just then I heard the door bell. I switched on the bed side lamp to find my way and crossed the bed room and the living room to reach the suite door while tying the waist band of my dressing gown. I unlocked the door and opened it without peeping through the lookout glass (cardinal mistake!) to find our floor butler Sunil standing with a teapot on a tray. I opened the door fully and made way for him to enter.
“Good Morning, Mr. Sengupta” said Sunil with a broad smile and went past me with a wisp of soft aroma of a very good quality Darjeeling tea filling my nostril.
“Good Morning, Sunil”
“Shall I pour tea for you, Mr. Sengupta?” asked Sunil, lowering the tray on the centre table near the sofa.
“Not necessary. I will do it myself. Please tell reception to keep the bill ready. Tell them that I have not used the mini bar. Also the car should be at the porch by 4.30 AM” I said while tipping Sunil.
“Thank you, Mr. Sengupta, I will take care” said Sunil while closing the door softly.
I drank two cups of very light tea without sugar & milk very quickly and headed for the bathroom for brushing my teeth and a shave. There was no time for taking a bath or other morning chores.
Within another 20 minutes I was fully dressed up and settling the bill at the reception
“When do we see you next, Mr. Sengupta?” said Sagarika, the lobby manager, coming to greet me.
“May be tomorrow!” I said half jokingly while heading for the waiting car.
“Good Morning, Sir” greeted the doorman with a salute while opening the door of the black limousine.
“Good Morning” I said pleasantly while handing him my small luggage strolley with a tip and getting inside the car.
“Good Morning, Mr. Sengupta” greeted Akram at the driving seat, looking through the rear view mirror.
“Good Morning, Akram” I replied.
“Is the inside temperature OK, Mr. Sengupta?” asked Akram.
“Absolutely! Let us head for domestic airport, Jet Airways’ terminal”

I settled down and pondered what a life! I hate to get up in the morning, at least definitely not before 6 AM. But with my touring schedule of more than 20 days a month, all over the Globe that was simply not possible. For maximum utilization of time, there was no other way but to take at least ten early morning flights and equal number of late night flights per month. Different time zones of different continents compounded my problem further. I was nearing sixty and my secretary and all my friends thought that I was mad. They cautioned that I would meet my end any day. Doctors were very unhappy with me since I did not give them any business even under these extreme conditions!

It was early September, 2006 and I came to Delhi only a day before from my corporate headquarter at Ahmedabad. I would now be taking the 6.30 AM Jet Airways’ flight to Kolkata to attend a meeting at 11 AM. Flying to Kolkata, of course, gave me the added incentive of being with my Mother who stayed there with a full entourage of maid servants. One of my nieces and four of my sisters, who stayed nearby, would also normally be staying with her by turn. Earlier I use to live with her. But after I lost my wife to cancer in 1998, I had become a bit of a bohemian and was still unable to settle myself.

In the morning Delhi looked really regal with its clean and spacious roads. Invasion of traffic was yet to start and we reached domestic airport, Jet Airways’ terminal within about fifteen minutes. I tipped Akram and headed for the entrance with my laptop on my shoulder and dragging my strolley behind.

Airports are always the melting pots of the corporate world! Anytime of the day you have to keep a watch for any known faces least you miss any of your corporate friends or clients who are all loaded with tons of egos. An ex-boss of mine, who taught me the nitty-gritty of marketing, told me that once he found his boss hobnobbing with Deelip Kumar. But later when asked how he knew Deelip Kumar so well, he literally fell from the sky and exclaimed “Oh my God! Was he Deelip Kumar? I found his face very familiar and thought he must be some corporate honcho and might feel offended if I fail to recognize him!” This is a true story and this is the corporate world!

Even in the morning the Jet Airways’ terminal was like a fish market. I was keeping a very watchful eye while negotiating with my strolley. I almost reached Jet Airways’ premier counter without locating any known faces (unless everybody were hiding behind the piles of luggage!) when I saw the girl! She was in her early twenties and was standing near the extreme left counter with a luggage trolley laden with two pieces of oversize soft-baggage and a middle aged gentleman in a dark suit standing by her side. She was strikingly beautiful with very fair complexion and pale blue eyes. She was wearing a spring green Salwar-kamiz with a white scarf tied over her head like Hijab. She was, however, looking very distraught with all the worries of the world reflected on her face!

“To help all the damsels in distress in the world could not be my sole responsibility. At my age I could not be the knight in the shining armor” I told myself and was trying to shift my gaze when I heard “ Excuse me Sir, are you flying to Calcutta?” and saw that the middle aged gentleman who was standing beside the girl had just stepped in front and was addressing me! [To be continued….]

Three Dogs in Our Locality (Concluding Part)

2008-07-30T22:22:00.002+05:30

He saw the chef running towards him with a big serving spoon!
“It was really not necessary to serve. I could have directly taken from the container. But Mukherjees are known for their hospitality” He told himself.
“You son of a bitch!” shouted the chef.
Kalu did not take any offence due to the mere mention of a fact. “It could have been little more polite” He thought.

He could feel that something had gone amiss when the chef added “I have not yet started serving my guest and you are already here to spoil it?” He was about to take off towards the exit in all fours when the long serving spoon caught him on the solder. He let out a high pitch painful sound “Whaoooo” followed by the typical cry of mongrels “Kaun, kaun, kaun….” and ran for the exit with his tail between his hind legs.

Near the gate he pulled himself up and thought that it might not be nice to look humiliated in front of his siblings. He pulled up his socks, gave a thorough shake up like all mongrels do to de-dust themselves and came out of the Pandal in as much dignified way as he could, smarting under his recent painful experience!

“What happened? You came out really fast” Inquired his siblings in surprise.

“Gelam ar sathe sathe diye dilo (They served me as soon as I entered!)” Answered Kalu hiding his pain & humiliation and trying to look as cheerful and content as possible

His siblings were quite dejected to know that he was well served immediately on arrival and they were still hungry! “Somebody is really having all the lucks” They thought.

Still some time passed and nothing happened. The second one, who was smarter of the two thought “The brave ones are always rewarded”. He was, however, little scared to sneak into the Pandal. Finally the Hunger got the better of him.

“You better wait here. Let me sneak in to find out the reason for holdup” he told his third sibling and sneaked inside the Pandal. It did not take him long to reach his desired destination. This time the chef was prepared and noticed him immediately. “Oh! My GOD! I could not yet start feeding my guests and you have come back once again? Uttered the chef in surprise without knowing the difference. “Wait, I will give you a better treatment this time” Added the chef. Kalu’s second brother could understand that the welcome ceremony was not really proper. Before, however, he could take any evasive action, the chef scooped out some boiling water from a pot with his long ladle and threw at him!

Pain was excruciating! He let out a sound at a higher pitch “Whaoooo” followed by the typical cry of mongrels “Kaun, kaun, kaun….” and ran for the exit with his tail between his hind legs.
Near the gate he pulled himself up and thought that it might not be nice to look humiliated in front of his siblings. He gave a thorough shake up like all mongrels do to shake out water and came out of the Pandal in as much dignified way as he could, smarting under his recent painful experience!

“What happened? You also came out really fast” Inquired his third sibling in surprise.

“Gelam ar garam garam diye dilo (They served me real hot!)” Answered Kalu’s second brother hiding his pain & humiliation and trying to look as cheerful and content as possible.

Kalu’s third sibling was quite dejected by now to know that one of his brothers was served immediately on arrival and the other was served real hot and he was still hungry! “I am really unlucky. Luck favors only the braves” He thought.

After sometime when things did not improve, the third brother could wait no more. “Enough is enough” He said to himself and sneaked into the Pandal for an on the spot survey. He could reach the kitchen without any difficulty but was confronted by the chef immediately. The chef was completely foxed! “My God! What a shameless dog?” Uttered the chef without understanding his mistake. “This time I am not going to let you go till I have entertained all my guests” said the chef and tied him to a bamboo post. When the dinner was over, the chef untied kalu’s third brother and gave him a kick for additional propulsion. Kalu’s third brother’s prestige was hurt but he did not want to show it to his siblings. He came out of the Pandal in as much dignified way as he could, smarting under his humiliation.

“What happened? You are so late? Inquired his siblings anxiously.

“Chhartai chai na (Didn’t want to let me go!)” answered Kalu’s third brother hiding his humiliation and hunger and trying to look as cheerful and content as possible.

(Note for the animal lovers: This is not a true story. Just the fictionalization of a joke based on the double meanings (pun, best in Bengali) of the replies made by three dogs after their harrowing experiences. However, the plights of the mongrels in India, for that matter all over South East Asian Sub-continent, are no way better than what is depicted in this article.)

Three Dogs in Our Locality!

2008-07-27T02:30:00.004+05:30

Mongrels are everywhere in India. Every locality, be it a village or a city, can boast of a few, of different shapes and sizes. As puppies they really look cute & chubby. But when they grow up, they look either like underfed “Dingo” or malnourished “Fox Terrier” with shorter muzzle and longer tail!

They do not belong to anybody but the whole locality belongs to them. Though asleep most of the time, they are the first line of defence for a locality against intruders. Burglars are, however, spared. The burglars could always buy their flexible loyalties (like our politicians) with a few bread crumbs. With some more considerations they might even accompany the burglars to their destination!

It is still common in this part of the world to throw leftovers in open garbage cans. When hungry these mongrels will rampage through these garbage cans and “pick and choose” bones and other juicy morsels. Real peaceful coexistence!

Our locality also had its fair share of mongrels, the typical being a triplet! They were completely black and so identical that I doubted whether their mother could differentiate. We used to call them “Kalu”

For the last few days they were very happy. They got the news that Arun Mukherjee’s niece was getting married within a couple of days. Marriage in a Bengali family is always a grand affair. There will be too much of good food, mostly choicest non-vegetarian dishes; too much of wastage and too much of leftovers in the garbage bin for the mongrels to celebrate! You could really “pick and choose” and had your fill!

They were monitoring the events very closely. A big Pandal (Enclosure) with bamboo frames with tarpaulin on top had been erected in front of Mukherjee’s house. The inside of the Pandal was decorated with colored velvet and satin clothing, giving the aura of Maharaja’s! It was divided into three sections. The front section, as you enter, was reserved for seating and wedding ceremony. Section on the left was for Indian style dining and buffet. The rear section reserved for cooking was the most interesting section for “Kalu”. Dinner in the evening would always be the grand finale for Bengali wedding!

On the fateful day, they took the strategic position near the garbage bin and were waiting for the good event to start. But nothing was happening! They were extremely worried.

“I really do not know what is happening? Bengalis really do not have any sense of time!” Growled Kalu.
Some more time past and the curiosity got the better of him.
“You two stay put. Let me just sneak in to find out what is holding them up”. Addressed Kalu to his siblings.
In no time he reached the cooking area. Smell was also very helpful as a direction finder. Though he overheard that the bride groom and his party would be coming late, he did not feel that it justified keeping guest like him waiting. Anyway he was never for small talks!

The cooking area was deserted. In the centre there was a serving table where all the dishes in their respective serving bowl were kept ready, with a thin muslin cover to keep away flies. He could not fathom “What is the matter?”

Kalu was simply overwhelmed! Fish Fry! Mutton Briyani! Chicken Chap!… ... My GOD!....as if he had set the menu himself!
“I think I should skip Salad and Raita and concentrate on non-veg” he told himself, licking his lips with the thought of impending gastronomical pleasure! He was about to start with the first course when there was an interruption! [To be continued.]

Match Making (concluding part)

2008-07-19T02:11:00.003+05:30

Like commercial break in TV serial there was a tea break. Two young boys in early teens who later introduced themselves as Archana’s brothers, entered with two trays laden with tea and sweets. Archana and her mother did not take anything except tea that too with our insistence.

Tea break gave some respite to Sanjay and Swapan who could concentrate in something sweeter than classical music and even could manage to ask a few mundane questions to Archana.

I was, however, not that lucky. I was already monopolized by Archana’s mother and her two brothers with tacit involvement of Archana. Earlier I was slowly getting out of my nervousness considering that I really do not have any stake in the selection processes. However, Swapan’s clarification about my coming to Delhi just added to my woes. To my horror I could see that Archana’s mother was more or less asking for my CV! It was more like Apu in Apur Sangsar (Apu’s world) where he had happened to be present in a marriage function and got drawn into playing the leading role. Archana’s mother must be knowing the oft repeated proverb a bird in hand is better than two in bush and could guess that I may be fulfilling two of the three main criteria for the romantic heroes for Mills & Boon. Though my Napoleonic height of 164 cm with socks could not be called tall with any stretch of imagination, I am sufficiently dark (My boyhood name kalu will confirm) and may not be positively ugly (….in the eyes of the beholder)! An Engineering degree (Whichever way I might have got it) and impending departure to Germany adding icing on the cake.

I, however, asked myself “Am I not making the whole scenario more complicated and may possibly be cheating Arup?” This was definitely not the original script. All just started in a much lighter note when I just joined as a lesser member of the team for the preliminary selection of a girl for somebody I do not even know. Friendship could be alright and that was also my original idea but any further emotional attachment will not serve the main purpose. I could understand that Archana’s mother, like mothers in general was working only from her heart but might not be with proper reasoning. More involvement from my side would only jeopardize the present proposal.

The conversation went on for some time till Sanjay thought about calling it a day. He assured Bhavani that he was quite satisfied with to-day’s meeting and would inform Arup and his family accordingly. “Wish you a happy journey” whispered Archana before we parted. I could only say “Thank you” with a meek smile.

Inside the car both Sanjay and Swapan jumped on me to vent out their frustration. Like children they were complaining that though I was supposed to play the fiddle, I just snatched the centre stage without giving them a friendly chance. No amount of my argument that I just wanted to help the damsel in distresses since they were more interested in the male members (Gay movement was not so strong in those days, otherwise it could have given me a better edge in my argument) could not cut any ice. They could have strangled me but for my long friendship with Swapan!

On reaching home we found Swapan’s mother and sister were eagerly waiting to know about the outcome. “Auntie, Biplab spoilt the whole thing” was the first remark made by Sanjay. “Whaaat? That is impossible!” remarked Swapan’s mother with her confidence on me slightly shaken. “Tell us in details what actually happened?” demanded Swapan’s sister. Sanjay and Swapan, with some meek protest from me in between, then explained in all gory details what all had happened. Verdict was prompt! “Biplab has not done anything wrong” declared Swapan’s mother (Being an underdog, I always get preferential treatment from ladies!) “Rather he has saved the situation. You two are to be blamed for what all happened. From tomorrow, I suggest, you two take classes on classical music. From what I gather the girl is quite a suitable match” added Swapan’s mother further. A smile on Swapan’s sister’s face confirmed that the judgment was unanimous!

Sanjay and Swapan were not really happy with one sided judgment but decided to meet Bhavani once again to collect some further details. But this time, only after I was safely packed abroad.

Next day I left for Germany and immediately got bogged down with my studies and adjustment with German culture which is so very different from ours.

I remembered Archana all the time and wished her well but have no clue to what finally happened, since in those days communication was not as easy between two far of continents and it would have of course seemed a bit awkward asking about friend’s …friend’s …friend’s probable fiancé…

Even now sometime I ask myself “Did Archana expect anything from me? Did I deceive her in anyway?”

The question still haunts me like the cry of a red-wattled lapwing floating in the air and seeking answer night and day “Did-ye-do-it? Did-ye-do-it?”

.

An apolitical view on Nuclear Deal & India's Energy Security

2008-07-17T16:15:00.002+05:30

It is really commendable for Anil Kakodkar as chief of Atomic Energy Commission to accept reality and make a public statement “if we do not do it now, history will not forgive us”. He has, however, not elaborated constraints India is now facing except shortage in nuclear fuel supply. Statements from most of the political parties, both for and against, are full of rhetoric and pseudo idealism, not having any relevance to reality.

What is our energy requirement?
Since we do not have any clear concept of our energy requirement, a few decades back one chief minister in West Bengal diverted fund for a thermal power plant for the construction of an indoor stadium with a myopic statement “Are we going to eat power?” That decision not only plunged the whole state into severe power shortage but also prompted many industries to relocate elsewhere. We do not eat power but we can not eat without power!

The energy requirement for a country is having a direct co-relation with its GDP growth depending on its living standard and its position in the development scale. Normally it varies between 0.7 to 2.5 times the GDP, inversely proportional to living standard. For 1% GDP growth, the energy requirement will grow by about 0.7% for USA and 2.5% for the least developed country. For India with its present state of development the factor is approximately 2 out of which a factor of 1.5 could be assumed for power generation. If we consider an average GDP growth of 7% (more than that on a sustainable basis will be a foolish thinking with any form of coalition government; in democracy you have the advantage of digging your own grave), 1.2 as the factor for electricity and our present installed capacity of 1, 40,000 MW (without captive plants), our projected requirement for 2030 will be about 7, 44, 000 MW! That means from 2008 onwards we have to install approximately 27,500 MW per year till 2030 to sustain our modest growth. Power requirement by 2050 will about 18,50,000 MW, even considering lower average GDP growth of 6% and 5% for the successive two decades beyond 2030! Even with this staggering growth in power generation, if at all happens, we will still remain below world average in per capita power consumption and least in BRIC!

Oil peril:
When oil price jumped to US$ 1 per barrel in 1973 just after Yom Kippur war, people started cycling on Auto Bahn on Sundays to conserve oil. Lots of closed coal mines which were non-viable when oil was cheap were opened. From that level oil is now US$ 147 per barrel. For the last 30 years there was no new major addition to global oil reserves and the oil production has peaked now at 85 mbd. Considering projected oil requirement of 120 mbd in 2030, we are not going to get enough oil even at US$ 200 or more! No body also knows how long the world oil reserve is likely to last.

Since our indigenous oil and gas production could hardly meet 40% of our demand, as of to-day, we have to de-link oil from our energy requirement because of prohibitive cost much before it is exhausted. The transport sector which is the oil/gas guzzler needs to be
converted to electric and hybrid propulsion to save oil import bill. The Stone Age did not end because we ran out of stones but we found a better alternative.

Available options and constraints:
Till now bulk of our generating capacity is based on fossil fuel (thermal), mostly coal with a small percentage from water resources (hydro power) and a minuscule percentage from nuclear and others.

Coal:
Coal is our main stay for our thermal plants and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future. Main problem with coal is however pollution and carbon emission. China has gone in for coal fired plants in a big way disregard of environmental consideration. The question is whether we should follow China even with 40% ash in our indigenous coal? Besides manufacturing capacity constraint, described later, this would also require massive modernization of coal mines and transportation sector if we want to avoid logistic nightmare.

Extractions of coal-bed methane, sea-bed methane (nodules) as well as conversion of coal to synthetic oil are in various stages of development but none could become our major source for energy in the near future.

Hydro Power:
Total potential for hydro-electricity, which is very clean with a very low running cost, is about 1,25,000 MW with about 56,000 MW under exploitable category. It should be exploited to its full potential. However, besides the manufacturing constraint as described later, it is also plagued with high capital cost, long gestation period, large scale displacement of population, ecological disbalance due to inundation. More over most of the potential is located near the politically sensitive N.E. region including Arunachal Pradesh. Even after full exploitation, hydel power will not contribute more than 10% of our power requirement even in 2030.

Bio-fuels:
Ethanol as an alternative though technically viable, it is likely to cause severe food shortage. Production of 100 liters of ethanol requires 300 kg of grain which can feed about two Indians for a complete year. Bio-diesel from Jhatropha could be an alternative to fossil fuel till its cultivation is restricted to non-arable land and does not encroach on arable land due to pure economic consideration. All these are, however, only icing on the cake.

Renewable Energy:
On paper there are so many renewable energy sources like solar, wind power, wave etc. Though we have to try all of them simultaneously, none can meet our energy requirement to any significant percentage, besides having their own limitations. Solar panels required to produce 1000 MW will take up enter area of Manhattan Island! Similar capacity from wind power will require 3.5 times that much!

Nuclear Energy:
India has gone in for three stage nuclear power generation concepts eventually to exploit huge reserve of Thorium (U232). The stages could loosely be explained as follows:

1) 1st Stage : Uranium Fuelled Reactor (Power Reactor) :
Uranium core (0.7% U235) > Power + Plutonium (U239)
2) 2nd Stage : Plutonium Fuelled Reactor (Fast Breeder Reactor):
Plutonium (U239) core + U238 and Thorium (U232) blanket >
Power + Plutonium (U239) + Thorium (U233)
3) 3rd Stage : Thorium Fuelled Reactor (Breeder Reactor):
Thorium (U233) core + Thorium (U232) blanket > Power + Thorium (U233)

The 1st stage is operational with about 4,000 Mw installed capacity using Pressurized Heavy Water Reactors (PHWR) requiring natural / very low enriched Uranium (0.7% U235) . PHWR are mostly common in India and Canada. All other countries, using nuclear energy for power generation, are using Pressurized Light Water Reactors (PLWR) requiring low enriched Uranium (3.7% U235).

We have perfected design, production and commissioning of 500 MW PHWR. It has now been planned to produce 8 nos. 700 MW advance PHWR design for which is ready. For the second stage a 40 MWe Fast Breeder Test Reactor (FBTR) is working since 1985. A 500 MWe Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor (PFBR) is under construction since 2003 and is likely to be commissioned in 2010/2011, which, however, looks doubtful. Two more 500 MWe PFBR are being planned in 2010-2020. The third stage is still under R&D and will depend on the techno-economical successes of the second stage.

Though our nuclear scientists have done commendable work of strategic importance and their pioneering R&D work is recognized all over the world , their effort is plagued with various constraints like nuclear apartheid, insufficient funding, poor and insufficient manufacturing base, short supply of nuclear fuels etc. In the processes there is huge time overrun in almost all the projects. Unfortunately impression for projected completion schedules for commercial exploitation of FBR and eventual BR (for Thorium) are also not realistic. Though we are under the false impression that commercial exploitation of Thorium is around the corner, it may take more than 30 years! Japan, even with its excellent technological base, huge financial commitment (13 billion Yen in FY07), accesses to top end products from USA, is only hopeful of commercial exploitation of FBR technology not earlier than 2050 (2030 being most optimistic). Development of BR for Thorium and its commercial exploitation is likely to take a few more decades thereafter! Most of our older generation atomic experts are mentally in Nehruvian era and are quite confused between strategic consideration & commercial exploitation! Frankly speaking we are yet to achieve commercial exploitation of nuclear energy in India.

Extremely Poor Manufacturing Base as the Main Constraint:
BHEL with an installed annual capacity of producing equipment required for 7,500 MW is still, more or less, the only production facility we have both for thermal and hydel power plants. Who is going to produce equipment for balance 20,000 MW per year?

Before Dr. Manmohan Singh initiated the reform under Rao’s government the entire heavy engineering industry was languishing with excess capacity which changed drastically when the effect of the reforms started taking the effect. However, the growth in production was mainly due to better utilization of available capacity with hardly any addition in actual manufacturing capacity mostly due to lack of reform in financial sector and labour laws (constraint of coalition government).What ever manufacturing capacity we had in the heavy engineering sector, both in public and private, was gobbled up with the simultaneous expansion in all conceivable sectors like steel, power, material handling, defence, ship building and other forms of infrastructural requirement due to the economic boom that followed.

What are the viable options to bridge the energy gap?
There are only two sources which have enough potential to bridge the energy gap – Coal with its associated logistic, carbon emission and other pollution problem or Nuclear Energy which is clean with minimum carbon emission and scalable to a very high per unit generating capacity. Nuclear power is also very safe. More people are killed and wounded by accidents in coal mines and oil rigs every year than in accidents in nuclear power plants since its inception. Which ever option we take, best being a mixture of both, we have to depend on import in a massive scale along with parallel creation of world class manufacturing facility, to tide over the immediate energy gap. Manufacturing base thus created will help reduce the import in the long run.

“Nuclear Energy” option, however, is not possible unless we sign “Nuclear Deal”!

If we want progress, we really do not have any choice.

Japan, the only victim of atomic holocaust, is now embracing nuclear power in a big way to take care of oil shocks and environmental consideration (CO2 emission free power generation). It is already producing 30% of its power requirement through 55 atomic reactors and is contemplating producing 40% of its power requirement through nuclear energy by 2030. If in 1994 Japan could contemplate building a Strategic Uranium Reserve for 50 years to take care of its 55 existing reactors including planned future addition, we could also do the same. Incidentally, unlike fossil fuel, the cost of Uranium is only a small fraction (2 to 3%) of the cost of nuclear power.

80% of the power generation in France is through nuclear energy, portion of which is exported to EU for about 3 billion EUR annually. France have perfected 1600 Mw super critical power reactors (PLWR) having the lowest per unit power production cost.

We may have to go for cluster plant concept of three to six 1600 MW units in one location made through BOT or BO concept either under 100% FDI or JV.

As a renowned economist Dr. Manmohan Singh could realize that unless we can break the nuclear apartheid through nuclear deal to ensure energy security there is no future for India’s economic growth. Only our economic might where energy plays a dominant role could make us one of the poles in the tri-polar world in 21st century! We have already lost one valuable year in political brinkmanship and we should not wait any further to push the deal through.

Some comments through e-mail

2008-07-14T00:23:00.001+05:30

I was not sure how my trial blogging will be accepted by my near and dear ones. I did receive some encouraging comments on my blog, but most of the encouragements came through emails and phone calls. Though each comment is as good as any, i just wanted to reproduce some of them , after protecting their identity.

“Absolutely wonderful ! Waiting eagerly how u and Archana hit off together in the end ! These beautiful days of long-lost youth -- fond recollections tinged with romance and 'what might have been' feeling -- embellish our life -- and it's a gift. Happy writing “

“…I am very happy after reading your match making story & "Mentor" article. Besides Ma & Baba, you are my main mentor in my life and till date to me your word & idea are the best of my knowledge. I am eagerly waiting to get more exciting and information oriented articles from you.”

“Read both, manto & the blog.. Was just thinking about the
'sarangsho'
& my reply/ comments.. Came up with a fused reply.. Sort of..
the work of a mentor just became clear to me.. The work of a mentor is
to answer questions.. Sometimes directly, sometimes through other
means..
you understood my dilemma about writing.. My question about writing
about the ugly side of life without making the reader bitter.. & lo &
behold you give me manto.. Aar ki bolbo.. Except thankee.. :)
sometimes i want to go on asking questions.. There ARE so many! :)
sometimes we just need a little push in the right direction.. & that's
what a mentor is for.. So here's to life.. Cest la vie.”.

“THIS IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING IDEA !!!! your daughter is right.
By this I get a chance to know you even better, because during my days at Rexroth, I have always bug you with my FOOLISH questions ...but I am on the same page with you, as far as defining smartness...I am only smart enough to hide my dumbness...:-))..About defining knowledge I am still struggling a little...MIGHT be a great IDEA if you share something about it on your next BLOG..”.

“You have written very well indeed.
My attention was drawn to your second entry. What can I say about your mentor?
I had the good fortune to have met her - however briefly. She can be the remote mentor to all. Any one who brought up your entire family the way she did with the kind of values, ability, gentleness, kindness, forbearance and integrity would necessarily have to be blessed. Or else what can explain the excellent family you have.”

“Great writing! Worth publishing. Can I forward your mail to our common friends? “

“Though I have always respected many things in you , we tend to take our friends for granted . Hardly ever have I openly and visibly expressed my appreciation for your qualities . This time I realised that I owe it to myself to tell you that you have done a great job in your blogging and I consider myself privileged to be included in your mailing list .Keep blogging and keep me posted .Take care,”

“Simply brilliant..
I look forward to the future episodes of the match making story. Eta ki shotyi ghawtona naki? Swapan manaey ki amader Hazra babu? Taar pawre ki holo janar jonye nishwash bawndho kore boshe roilam..
Aar tor chhotobalay shona gawlpo duto o khub chamatkar, aagey amaro shona jodio, kintu tor lekhar bhongi ta durdaanto. “Astute traditions of goatism”... ha ha ! Chaliye ja..”

“Khoob valo hoyechhey. dutoi excellent lekha. Shesh prjonto biye-ta holo kina janar jonno udgreeb hoye roilam. Eta tui amader mashik potrika-r moto teney jetey parish besh kichhu din...........pathok-era hooked hawbey nischoi. Keep it up and populated. “

Match making (part II)

2008-07-13T00:17:00.002+05:30

On the fateful day, I once again put up valiant resistance but was overpowered by Swapan & Sanjay who literally dragged me along with them. While entering the house we followed the same formation (nobody wants to change the wining formation!). Sanjay rang the bell and it was answered by an even bigger giant with a broad smile from one ear to other. “I am Bhavani Banerjee. Do come in please” he said and ushered us in. He was joined by his brother Chandi who was also beaming from ear to ear. Before entering the living room we just briefly surveyed the same. On the left there was a window, by the side of which was a huge Bengali style divan. On the right there was a big sofa by the side of the wall. The living room being not too spacious, these two pieces of furniture had created a choking point like “Strait of Hormuz” near the entrance. If you had crossed that choking point, the rest of the room was sparsely but tastefully decorated. On the opposite side of the window there was a curtained door leading to the dwelling portion of the house. A few chairs were kept in between for additional seating.

Before we took our seat, Chandi introduced us to his elder brother. To keep the escape root clear Sanjay took the divan and Swapan sat on the sofa. Considering me as a nonentity both the brothers immediately decided to personally entertain the more important guests. So Bhavani sat with Sanjay and Chandi took care of Swapan.With no other option left, I crossed the “Strait of Hormuz” and occupied one of the chairs, avoiding the one conspicuously decorated with a cushion.

After pleasantries were exchanged, there was a silence, may be due to dried throats of my partners or lack of topics. Anyway, Swapan cleared his throat and mentioned, “End of this month, there will be a big function in our locality on Rabindrasangeet (Tagore’s songs). Are you too coming?” just to start the conversation.
“We are exponents of classical music and do not consider Rabindrasangeet as having any class.”, said Bhavani with finality.
The remark probably offended Sanjay who, I later understood, had some soft corner, like normal Bengalis, for Rabindrasangeet.
“I don’t think your remark is very fair” protested Sanjay mildly.
Swapan was suddenly buoyed by his team spirit and thought it was his solemn duty to help Sanjay.
“Rabindrasangeet, after all, are lyric based and some of them could easily be termed as semi-classical” commented Swapan, like an expert.
His intention, I guessed, was not to pick up a fight but might be just to prove that Rabindrasangeet are songs after all!
Conversation, however, did not stop there. Both the brothers took it as their solemn duty to convince both Sanjay and Swapan, whom they have already accepted as de-facto disciples, the greatness of classical music and its superiority over any other form of music. All four of them then got engaged in an animated discussion over music in general and classical music in particular!

I, who never had any brush with music, was wondering with their depth of knowledge on different type of music and Ragas (tunes) most of which were going over my head! I was particularly impressed by Swapan whom I knew to be innocent in music while in IIT just the other day!

When the argument had reached its crescendo, the curtain on the dwelling side was gently parted and floated in a girl in her late teens or early twenties along with a middle aged lady. Suddenly there was a hush in our conversation and we all stood up to greet them. The girl was wearing an aquamarine sari in typical Bengali style, a single strand pearl necklace and matching ear rings. She was of fair complexion, medium height with long raven black hair flowing half way down her back. She was not classically beautiful with very sharp features but very pretty. A face which would not be lost in the crowd. If you have seen it once, you will always have a desire to see it once again. Minimal make-up and a faint fragrance of jasmine added to her charm and innocent youthfulness.

We all sat after exchanging salutation in Indian style. The girl sat on the cushioned chair next to me, increasing my pulse rate to 150 (hope that is possible?). For some time no body uttered any word. Then all of a sudden Bhavani said “Yes, what I was telling?” Then all the warring factions once again went for their musical discussion completely ignoring the main purpose for the assembly. The middle aged lady, who was the girl’s mother, kept a smiling face but must have been cursing her husband under her breath. The girl found something very interesting on her thumb nails, which she must have seen so many times before. I did not know what to do and concentrated on the mosaic design on the floor which I was seeing for the first time.

This imbroglio continued for a couple of minutes, which was like ages under the situation, when I thought that it must be quite humiliating for any self respecting girl to be kept waiting like this with nobody paying her any attention. My throat was completely dry due to nervousness. She looked at me with startled expression full of anxiety when I drew her attention and said, “Look, the one who is wrestling with your father is Sanjay. He is a classmate of Arup who is looking for a partner. The one on the mat with your uncle is Swapan. He is Sanjay’s friend from Delhi. I am not sure whether he has ever met Arup. I am Swapan’s friend and just happened to be in Delhi. I really do not know anything about Arup. So my judgment is not likely to tilt the balance in anyway. Since, however, the main characters are so very busy, we may probably introduce ourselves as friends if you do not mind. By the way, my name is Biplab”.
The girl gave me an unsure smile, making my day. “Oh! That’s very fine. My name is Archana”.
I always found Bengalis outside Bengal are quite self assured and Archana was no exception. Probably my preamble also put her at ease. Though she started nervously, some prodding from her mother made her quite free in discussing almost anything under the sun including some personal details like, her studies, her hobbies etc.
When I asked her “Do you also sing classical? Don’t worry I am not going to ask you to sing one”
She rewarded me with a smile and said “Yes, of course” Then she gave a flitting glance to her father and added in a low voice “I also sing Rabindrasangeet when my father and uncle are not around”.
Sanjay was already feeling suffocated with unending discussion which he did not start and was now visibly frustrated seeing me having a good time with Archana. “Biplab is leaving to-morrow” he uttered, may be just to give the signal that I would not be the part of the team from the next meeting.
“Why? Though summer is not the best time to visit Delhi, but since you have come all the way, why don’t you stay for a few more days” asked Archana’s mother.
“That is not the case. Biplab is leaving to-morrow for Germany with a scholarship.” Corrected Swapan.
“WHAAAAAT?” said everybody in unison unable to check their surprise.
Though Archana did not utter any word, she just looked at me and gave a knowing smile, as if I have concealed something intentionally. [To be continued…]

Match making

2008-07-06T11:13:00.002+05:30

It was June of 1972 and extremely hot in Delhi. I had just managed to get a German scholarship for two years and landed in Delhi on 1st of June and put up with my class mate Swapan. Though I was supposed to fly on 6th, I came to Delhi a little early to complete the visa & other facilities. That was my first visit abroad and I did not have any experience with German efficiency. Surprisingly all the formalities were over within two hours on the first day itself and I did not know what to do for the rest five days!

Swapan was in midst of changing his job (he almost took it as a hobby!) and was naturally very busy and had no time for me except during late evening. Due to extreme hot climate, I was also not venturing out during the day time and passing my time gossiping with Swapan’s mother, father and younger sister.

Next day one of Swapan’s friends, Sanjay came for tea. He was looking little nervous and informed Swapan that he has to meet a Bengali family near by in connection with a match making proposal for one of his close friend, Arup. Since his friend stayed away from Delhi, Sanjay was entrusted with making the “First Information Report”. He was too scared to go alone and wanted immediate help from Swapan. As usual, Swapan was most benevolent and agreed to help

“Arranged marriage” is still a common practice in India and about 40 years back “love marriage” as an alternative, used to be quite uncommon, if not a taboo! Once some proposal has come either through match maker, relative or friend, it is customary for the girl’s parents to send the photograph and other details of the girl (an elaborate CV starting from family history to complexion) to boy’s parents for initial approval. If it is tentatively approved then boy’s parents along with some senior members of the family would go for seeing the girl. The processes are, however, quite long drawn and on occasion, could be quite humiliating for the girl and her family. Since I have six sisters of my own, I was quite familiar with the procedure and did not like it beyond a point.

Swapan & Sanjay decided to meet the girl’s parents and if possible the girl that day itself and wanted me to accompany (Swapan had a very old Morris car which requires occasional manual encouragement and two would always be better than one!). Though initially I declined, Swapan’s mother prevailed over me. Anyway I did not have anything else to do and she had the misconception of I being more mature of the three (lady’s instinct I suppose!)!

We all set out in Swapan’s car by the evening. I was very nervous since I had never had such an encounter. “Biplab, don’t be nervous. We have enough experience. You just sit back and relax. We will do all the talking” boasted Sanjay may be just to smoothen his nerves and mine too in the process.

Girl’s house was only a few blocks away. A small footpath leading from a wicket gate to the main entrance of a typical government quarters in Delhi. Sanjay was leading the charge with Swapan as second in-command. I opted as rear guard (only position available in a three men army) and kept the gate slightly ajar as an after thought to take care of any eventualities. Sanjay confidently rang the bell. Within a few minutes the door was opened by a huge hulk of a man who could be a contender for WWE championship. He looked at us very suspiciously and demanded with a matching gruff voice “Whom do you want?”

Seeing the giant and hearing his voice I already took a couple of steps backward with a pretext of admiring the non-existent flower garden and could also observe all the confidence vanishing from Sanjay’s face.
“We are looking for Mr. Bhavani Banerjee. Is he home?” stammered Sanjay.
“No. He is not at home. I am his younger brother Chandi Banerjee. Is there anything I can do?” boomed the door keeper without lowering his guard or allowing us to cross the threshold.
“There was a matrimonial proposal for his daughter and we came in that connection. We would like to meet the girl and her parents” whispered Sanjay.
Mere mention of matrimonial proposal for his niece changed the scenario completely. The giant became most docile.
“See, this is a very important event in girl’s life and we would require some time for preparation. Could you please come back on day after tomorrow when my elder brother Bhavani will also be back? Said the giant in a sweetened voice.
“By the way, how are you related to the prospective bride groom?” he further quipped, probably as an after thought
“I am his friend. We were class mates in college” answered Sanjay.
“And you?” question was directed to Swapan.
“I am Sanjay’s friend”
For a couple of moments giant was pondering whether it would be prudent to ask me about my credential but the curiosity got the better of him “and you?” he asked me in a some what puzzled tone.
“I am Swapan’s friend “I replied, half way down the path, keeping in mind unpredictable nature of giants for humor.
Anyway, there was no violent reaction and Chandi Banerjee closed the door with a puzzled smile on his face probably thinking whether he has taken a right decision in inviting us day after tomorrow evening to meet his niece and what his elder brother would think of him. We all hurriedly got into the car having settled the issue for the time being. Once inside the safe refuge of the car, Sanjay & Swapan both lighted cigarettes to tone up their nerves. I being a non-smoker subjected to passive smoking from the back seat. [to be continued…]

Work of a mentor

2008-06-23T22:40:00.001+05:30

I have been fortunate to have had excellent mentors during the formative years of my life, the earliest and the best being my mother. Although she hadn’t had much significant formal education (weight of the pink diamond is the education and the brilliance coming out of it is the culture!), she taught me extremely difficult concepts, like ethics, self respect, tolerance to cast and religion, how not to give up when the chips are down and the functions of the mentor. She taught me these through easily understandable short stories and rhymes. I would like to take the liberty of reproducing two such short stories which have not lost their significance even today.

An orphan tiger cub was adopted by a mother goat and was brought up in the most astute tradition of Goatism. The cub could outsmart any fellow goat in all its behaviour including baying! One day, while grazing near a forest, the goatherd was attacked by Sher Khan, the tiger. All the goats including the tiger cub started baying and running helter-skelter. Sher khan was astonished to observe a tiger cub behaving exactly like any other goat! Sher khan ran after the cub, grabbed it by the neck (without hurting it) and dragged it to a stream, with the cub baying for his life, and forced it to see its face in the stream. And behold! The tiger cub saw just another tiger cub looking at him.”You are a tiger just like me” shouted Sheer Khan “then why you are behaving like a goat?!” I could not find any counseling better than this story to enhance self confidence. Most of us have read “Ugly Duckling” by Hans Christian Anderson in our childhood days without probably understanding the metaphor that we are all ugly ducklings waiting to be transformed into lively swans!

One little girl, while going to her school, observed a man doing some thing on an irregular shaped stone with chisel & hammer. She noticed the man doing the same thing for a few days. One day the little girl saw the man is holding a beautiful stone figure in his hand. The little girl approached the man & asked “How did you know that there is such a nice doll inside that ugly stone?” This is the work of a mentor which sets him apart from so called managers. Of course, creation of masterpiece not only depends on the skill of the mentor but also depends on two main factors – time & the quality of the raw material. Taj was not built in a day & required crystalline Makrana marble for enhancing its beauty. Even the most ordinary bricks used for making houses need to be dried & then baked in a kiln, requiring considerable time and energy before they are ready for taking the load.

I hope the stories above, though quite simple, can be understood in their proper perspective & will play some role in our success story.