Railway GM, his Saloon and Jacuzzi (Feudalism Lives)

Indian Railways, immediately after independence, had only six Zones and about forty Divisions. Each General Manager and DRM had much more vast areas to look after and officers and staff to supervise than at present. Today there are seventeen Zones and sixty-eight Divisions; number of staff has come down from seventeen lakhs to thirteen lakhs. Communication has become easier with previously unknown mediums available, such as mobile phones, chats, facsimile, email, intercoms, video calls and video-meets. Yet the bosses of Railways, typically a GM or a DRM, still think that they must maintain the colonial aura of enigma and unapproachability. His “secretariat” adds to the mystery of Bada Sahib, who will meet someone only when he so desires and for that he would summon the latter as required. I have faced some of this first hand and when it fell upon me, I have also tried to break free of this self-imposed grandeur. But this is the story of the time when I was the minion.

I, once, got posted as the head of a large railway workshop in a major Zone of Indian Railways. This was a Senior Administrative Grade position in the rank of a Joint Secretary to the Central Government. A few days into my job I thought I should see the General Manager of the Zone, whose office was in the same city, just a few kilometres from my office. This is how it went, when I called the Secretary to the General Manager.

I asked, “Will the GM be free sometime today or tomorrow for me to pay a visit to him?” The Secretary asked me why I wanted to meet the GM. I was rather surprised at this question. So, I told him that it was only expected and proper of me to introduce me to the GM since I was a senior officer, head of the largest workshop of the Zone, and also a newcomer.

The secretary, rather tersely, told me that I could meet the GM only when the GM so desired, not any other way. And, that if I wanted to meet the GM, I should ask my PHOD to take me along and introduce me to the Mighty Lord. So, I replied that I was happy the way I was and that he could keep the GM all to himself. There I was, a JS level officer in an important position, who couldn’t even pay a courtesy visit to the head of the Railway Zone, to a person, who would be writing my annual appraisal without having ever seen my face.

But, as every dog has his day, my day came rather quick. The GM’s saloon was sent to my workshop for some fit up. I went for an inspection of the vehicle and was shocked to find the luxury that was built-in there. Now, saloons were not uncommon for senior officers but what struck me in the Bada Sahib’s saloon was a full-fledged Jacuzzi-like water shower and 360 degree spray arrangement in the bathroom, something a certain Chief Minister would have loved to install in his Sheesh Mahal. I asked my people how such high-pressure jets worked in a railway carriage. I was shown a high-power water pump installed in the false ceiling of the bathroom that pushed water into a hot-water geyser, which then fed the luxurious water sprays.

Now, bathroom geysers are designed for a certain “head” or water pressure. I asked my officers if they had checked whether the geyser was fit to sustain such high pressures as it was subjected to. They were not sure and had never bothered to verify that factor. My time of redemption had come. I told them to immediately disconnect the pump and let the water from the rooftop tank of the carriage flow directly into the taps and spray-jets. The powerful, luxuriant, rich, and bubbly bath of the GM was turned into a feeble stream with water trickling like from a municipal tap.

During his next cross-country travel in the saloon, the GM Sahib stepped into the bathroom expecting the same old relaxing, foaming, and calming experience only to be left totally flabbergasted. He came back to the head quarters and summoned my PHOD and chided him squarely, “There is no pressure in my saloon’s bathroom. I had to get hot water in a bucket from the kitchen and take bath with a plastic mug. What the hell! Who is responsible for all this?”

Well, I was responsible. But the Mighty Lord was prevented by his own vanity to even reprimand me. I was too lowly a person for him to set his sights on much less speak to. My boss, the PHOD, poor gentleman, had to bear all the anger of the colonial sahib. So, now the PHOD summoned me, something that was permitted under protocol, “What have you done to the GM’s saloon?” I explained to him the technical reasons why the water pump was disconnected. My boss ordered me to reconnect the pump immediately. I made him wiser of the possible consequences, “Sir, the geyser can explode under such pressure with the GM in the bathroom and the GM may even die. Do you really want me to reconnect the pump?” The PHOD got truly scared and said, “Do nothing for now until we find a safe solution.”

The GM Sahib spent the entire winter using hot water in a bucket from kitchen and a mug for his ablutions on wheels. Every time he would come back from his journey to the cold Delhi, he would summon my boss and shout at him. I was, as you have understood by now, insulated from the ire from the top by the labyrinth of bureaucracy and had a ringside view and satisfying chuckle every time.

Finally, the boss came to know of the whole story of my trying to meet the GM and getting spurned and my mischief in disconnecting the water pump. He, being a mechanical engineer, also figured out that a very simple solution existed from day one – connect the high-pressure pump after the geyser. That way the geyser would not be subjected to high pressure, a myth that I had built, as the pump would pull water through the geyser, not push into it. So, he bypassed me and told one of my junior subordinate officers to reconnect the pump.

I came to know of it and strongly protested, upon which my boss smiled and said, “You have had your revenge the whole winter. Forgive the GM now.” So, the two of us had a hearty laugh over tea and I pardoned the GM.

The same GM did call me to his hallowed office later. But that is a story for another day.

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