साहब की घंटी और पश्चात्ताप (अर्थात्, अब मैं कालूराम)

आपने सरकारी साहबों के तामझाम के क़िस्से तो सुने ही होंगे। उनके टेबल पर लगी घंटी का साहब की शान में बड़ा योगदान होता है। बड़े साहब अपने सिंहासन पर विराजते ही सबसे पहले घंटी टुनटनाते हैं। तुरंत लाल कलगी लगाए  और पीतल के बकलस-वाले कमरबंद में साफ़ क़मीज़ खोंसता हुआ अर्दली हाजिर होता है। 

साहब दबंग आवाज़ में, जो बंगले पर अमूमन दबी ही रहती है, एक साथ कई आदेश दे डालते हैं, “आज का डाक पैड कहाँ है, पंखा तेज़ करो, एसी ठंढा करो, ये ग्लास में पानी कल का है क्या, बड़े बाबू आ गये हों तो बोलो मैंने याद किया है, ग्यारह बजे मीटिंग है चाय बिस्कुट का इंतज़ाम ठीक रखना,” वगैरह-वगैरह। अभी चपरासी अपनी धुरी पर घूमकर बाहर निकलने ही वाला होता है कि साहब फिर घंटी का बटन दबा डालते हैं, हालाँकि चपरासी वहीं खड़ा था। पर वह भी कोई साहब है जो बोलने की ज़हमत उठाए? बेचारा चपरासी पूरा वृत्तीय घूर्णन कर ज़ोर से बोलता है, “हुज़ूर?” साहब बोलते हैं, “अरे कालूराम, अभी तुम यहीं हो? पीए साहब को बोलो कल वाले पत्र का ड्राफ्ट लेकर फौरन आएँ।” कालूराम साहब के मुखारविंद से अपना नाम सुनकर प्रसन्न हो जाता है और क्षणभर को ठिठकता है। “क्या हुआ, खड़े क्यों हो? जल्दी जाओ,” साहब गरजते हैं। कालूराम अपने चपरासित्व को पुन: पहचानकर झटपट भाग लेता है।

 

मैंने भी कमोबेश साहबियत के मजे लिये हैं। घंटी टुनटुनाकर मानों जिन्न को प्रकट करने का आनंद भी उठाया है। पर जैसा कि हमारे शास्त्त्रों में लिखा है, हर प्राणी को अपने कर्मों का फल इसी जीवन में, और बिना नागा, इसी धरती पर भोगना पड़ता है। सो मित्रों, मेरे प्रायश्चित और दंडप्राप्ति के दिन रिटायरमेंट के साथ ही आ गये। सोचा था कि सरकारी बंगले से निजी मकान में आने पर स्थायित्व मिलेगा, चैन की बंसी बजाऊँगा। क्या पता था कि प्रारब्ध मेरे द्वारा कालूराम को बुलानेवाली एक-एक घंटी का हिसाब लेगा।

 

सुबह उठते ही, इसके पहले कि हाथ-पैर सीधे कर लूँ, अख़बार वाला घंटी बजा देता है। कभी-कभी तो उसकी घंटी से ही नींद खुल जाती है। कितनी बार उसे समझाया, मिन्नतें कीं, कि भाई तू अख़बार डाल कर चला जा, हम उठाकर पढ़ लेंगे, घंटी क्यों बजाता है? वह बोलता है कि सर मैं तो आपके फ़ायदे के लिये ही घंटी बजाता हूँ, देर होने से कहीं कोई कुत्ता न उठा ले जाये। पर मुझे यकीन है कि हो न हो ये अख़बारवाला पिछले जन्म में कालूराम का पिता रहा होगा, जो अपने चपरासी पुत्र पर मेरे द्वारा किये गये अत्याचारों का बदला लेने के लिये ही पैदा हुआ है। साहब की कुर्सी पर बैठकर तो मुझे कभी ऐसा नहीं लगा कि मैं कालूराम पर कोई अत्याचार कर रहा हूँ। पर अब महसूस होने लगा है कि घंटी की दूसरी ओर होना घोर नर्क ही है।

 

फिर पत्नी द्वारा नियुक्त तीन महरियाँ, यानी कि मेड, एक-एक कर घंटी बजाती हैं - एक झाड़ू-पोंछे वाली, एक बर्तनवाली, और एक खाना बनानेवाली। तंग आकर मैंने सोचा कि इन सारे घरेलू कामों का ज़िम्मा मैं ही ले लूँ, कम-से-कम दौड़-दौड़ कर दरवाज़ा खोलने से तो मुक्ति मिलेगी। पर धर्मपत्नी ने मना कर दिया, मेरे प्रति किसी प्रेम या आदर से नहीं, बल्कि यह सोचकर कि मुहल्ले में बदनामी होगी। फिर मैंने पत्नी से कहा कि मैडम, आपकी सेवादार हैं ये सारी मेड, आप ही दरवाज़ा खोला करो। मैडम बिल्कुल भड़क गईं। बोलीं दिनभर पलंग तोड़ते हो, ना दफ़्तर जाना, ना कोई कसरत करना, अब दरवाज़ा खोलना भी तुम्हें नागवार गुज़रता है? मैंने मन-ही-मन कालूराम से क्षमा माँगी और कर्त्तव्यरत हो गया। फिर, अमेजन वाले की घंटी, ब्लिंकिट वाले की, बिग-बास्केट वाले की, दूधवाले की, कार धोनेवाले की, धोबी की दो बार, बख़्शीश माँगने वालों की, सोसाइटी का नोटिस लेकर आने वाले की। कभी-कभी तो मन करता है कि सरकार को लिखूँ कि मुझे वापस काम पर बुला ले, बिना तनख़्वाह के भी मंज़ूर है; इस मुई घंटी से तो निजात मिलेगा।

 

एकबार तो हद हो गई। दोपहर को घंटी बजी। एक नौजवान खड़ा था, “अंकल, आपके पड़ोसी नहीं हैं क्या?” मैंने कहा, “उनकी घंटी बजाओ, मेरी क्यों बजाई?” नौजवान बोला, “बजाई थी, पर दरवाज़ा नहीं खुला।” मैंने कहा कि मोबाईल पर कोशिश करो। युवक बोला, “कर चुका हूँ, अंकल, पर कोई जवाब नहीं मिल रहा।”

 

अबतक मैं खीझ चुका था। मैंने कहा, “कहीं सिधार तो नहीं गये? चलो पुलिस को बुलाते हैं। वही दरवाज़ा तोड़े तो कुछ पता चलेगा।” नवयुवक भड़क गया। बोला, “कैसी बात करते हैं, अंकल। ये मेरे ताऊ जी का फ़्लैट है। वे लोग कुंभ मेला जाने वाले थे। शायद वहीं गये हों।” अबतक मैं बुरी तरह झुँझला गया था और बोला, “बरखुरदार, जब तुम्हारे पास सभी सवालों के जवाब हैं, तो मेरी घंटी बजाकर मुझे क्यों तंग कर रहे हो?”

 

युवक बोला, “सो तो है, अंकल। पर क्या ताऊ जी ने आपको बताया कि वे कुंभ से कब लौटेंगे?” मैंने ग़ुस्सा पीकर, गंभीर होते हुए कहा, “बेटा, कैसे बताऊँ? कई बार तो लोग कुंभ से लौट ही नहीं पाते - या तो मोक्ष प्राप्त कर वहीं से वैकुंठधाम का रुख़ करते हैं या साठ के दशक के फ़िल्मों की तरह गुम हो जाते हैं, फिर बरसों बाद कहीं स्मग्लिंग करते या रिक्शा चलाते हुए पाए जाते हैं। तुम्हारे ताऊ जी हैं, तुम्हीं सम्हालो, बस मेरी घंटी ना बजाना।” युवक पैर पटकता हुआ चला गया।

 

महीनों घंटी-सेवा में गुज़ारने के बाद मैंने नियति से समझौता कर लिया है। ज़िंदगी अब ऐसे ही कटेगी - घंटी की आवाज़ सुनो और दौड़कर दरवाजा खोलो, ठीक वैसे ही जैसे कालूराम करता था। यदि आप सरकारी साहब हैं तो झटपट अपने टेबल से घंटी का बटन हटवा दीजिये क्योंकि कर्म किसी को नहीं छोड़ता। यदि मेरी तरह घंटी बजाने का पाप करते हुए रिटायर हो चुके हैं, तो चलिये कल सुबह से लंबी मॉर्निंग वॉक पर निकलते हैं। श्रीमती जी घंटी देख लेंगी, फिर आपको।

                                                 —-ooo—-

Higher Education and the Boy with Two Identical Shirts

 

In my hostel in IITKGP, called the Hall of Residence, a batchmate, let’s call him Chiranjeev Kumar, once came back from vacation with two identical shirts. Turquoise blue, with some animal and bird prints, his shirts became a matter of amusement for us. Some of us teased him on getting two exactly identical shirts. Whoever does that, Man? But, Chiranjeev, a diminutive, shy boy from Bihar would simply smile away at our occasional ribbings. We never got the answer why one would buy two identical shirts.

 

During the next vacation I told my mother about this weird character, Chiranjeev Kumar, who had two identical shirts and asked her why he would do that.  My mother was a wise and learned lady, and a mother, above all. She heard me and turned somber. With a tinge of sadness she told me, “You don’t understand how poor your friend’s family could be.” Then she explained to me that he probably had another brother. They may have gone  to attend a wedding in some relative’s place and the two brothers were gifted shirt-pieces in the event. My friend was the older one and was living in a hostel. So the parents decided to get both the shirts stitched for him. And, she told me, “Don’t ever tease him again.” I didn’t.

 

In our days the tuition fee in the IIT was a mere twelve rupees and fifty paise per mensum. We didn’t pay for the two months of vacations. So, the annual fees was one hundred twenty five rupees. Hostel fees was another hundred rupees per annum. For just over two hundred rupees per annum we got the best possible education in the world. So did Chiranjeev Kumar.

 

Today the annual tution fees in an IIT is over two lakh rupees that, along with random charges, adds up to ten lakh rupees over the four-year programme. And this doesn’t include personal expenses like meal plan, travels, books and stationery etc. These could easily add up to another five lakh rupees. This is a result of relentless and unstoppable demand that higher education should pay for itself. After all don’t the students go on to make their crores after they graduate? Then there is a connected argument that the government should rather spend on primary schools as if the latter flows from the former. Well, here we are, taken high-class higher education out of the dreams of the poor and not provided enough even for the primary education. 

 

That Chiranjeev Kumars of the country could dream of an IIT education in our times in spite of being from very poor families was a great victory for a free and egalitarian India. That all other institutions of higher learning followed suit - IIMs, NITs, NIDs, Law Institutes - and, in the span of half a generation, turned into elitist doorways to good education. It is claimed that concessions, scholarships and aids are available to the needy but what if the poorest of the poor is deprived of his or her dreams to begin with. The poor father would be stopped in his tracks envisaging a potential expense of twenty thousand rupees a month on just one child. So, his brilliant ward will have to be content with a subsidised primary, or high-school, education. Then he will be advised to consider vocational training to become a plumber or an electrician. After all doesn’t a growing economy need them in hordes?

 

Well, it is these brilliant students, educated at two hundred rupees a month, in the finest Institutions, who have brought fame and laurels to the country more than any road-show and cultural exchange on foreign soils. Remember Y2K? Indian techies were suddenly noticed across the world. They had descended from a country not widely known for IT skills until then and saved the networked world - the back-office systems of banks, airlines, tourism, corporates, and everything else under the sun. The world sat up and paid attention. There were many Chiranjeev Kumars, who made that possible.

 

A thousand dreams die simply because bright children from poor families look at the expenses and baulk at even attempting an admission to once egalitarian, now elite portals, of educational excellence. Chiranjeev Kumar, a student of BTech Mining, took another attempt at JEE, and got into BTech Mechanical - same IIT, same Hall, and the same hostel-room. He didn’t lose a year either because that was the year transition from 5-year to 4-year programme had taken place. Chiranjeev Kumar went to the USA for an MS, switched tracks, and turned into an Orthopaedic Surgeon! I found him on Facebook and asked him if he was the same Chiranjeev Kumar and how did he ever become an Orthopaedic Surgeon. He told me that he always wanted to be a surgeon and went to IIT because his father wanted him to go there. What was left unsaid was that an IIT education was so affordable, probably even more than a regular college, which may have led the family to take that path.

 

Let’s not forget what affordable higher education has given this country. It has also given us a place on the high tables in the world. The catchment population for subsidised education is much larger and statistically speaking these Institutions will get the brightest of the bright. Will we ever go back to those days, or we will condescend to the poor by offering him doles and grants and overcome our collective guilts? 

                                                        —-ooo—-

Staring at One's Wife, Infosys and L&T Permitting

 

It is a year since Mr. Narayan Murthy of Infosys advised the young men and women of India to put in seventy hours per week so that India could become a great nation. Now the L&T Chief, Mr. Subrahmanyan has gone one up and has demanded 90-hour weeks  from Indians. This must be music to all Industrialists, Business Houses, and the IT Industry. It surely sounds like a genuine call for nation building. When prisoners, with sentences of hard labour, put in just a few hours of labour and spend most of their bondage in cells, barracks, or outdoor games, it sure must be a commitment of the highest order that would make workers in factories, call centres, IT industry, offices, and secretariats to voluntarily put in twelve or fifteen hours a day - six days a week, or fourteen or eighteen hours a day – five days a week.

A ninety-hour week would mean fifteen hours Monday to Saturday. i.e. 8 In the morning to 11 in the night at work, two hours of commute and a full 7 hours to recuperate, look after the family, go shopping, take the child to the doctor. Meanwhile the husband and wife can stare at each other for five minutes everyday for they will be sleeping all Sunday.

So, Natarajan and Lalitha, wake up at five in the morning. They hurriedly heat-up the stale food that the Bangla Desi maid had cooked three days ago and stuffed in the refrigerator. While the microwave whirrs, they wet themselves in their respective bathrooms and rush for dressing up. The Gym and Yoga hour has been sacrificed at the altar of nation-building. Gulping the leftovers and some multivitamins they rush down the lift. O, they wonder, has the lift slowed down? It takes ages to descend. Seven AM is the deadline they must meet to leave home for the hour-long commute, in different directions, in the Gurgaon traffic.

Indeed, China does prescribe a 9-9-6 work schedule in some parts of the country and in some industries, which means working from morning nine to evening nine – six days a week, or seventy-two hours a week. Can anyone tell me when the Captains of our Industry last visited Chinese labour camps wherefrom they picked up this idea? Surely, they may have also learnt that China is facing a demographic collapse in the next decade or two. Young men and women are not marrying, and married ones are not producing any children. I would find it rather unacceptable to bring up a child on home-delivered food provided a couple can afford even that. Dumplings, burgers, French fries, sushi and rice noodles – Ah! Won’t the toddler love it?

Back to Natarajan and Lalitha. The two-year-old was left sleeping. He had colic pain and vomiting in the night. They didn’t have the time to phone a doctor, let alone visit one what with a six-day, twelve-hour-a-day week. In any case, which doctor would receive a call at six in the morning? So, the poor child is left to the mercy of the Bangla Desi maid, or the mother-in-law, who may occasionally visit them from Pudukkottai. It is during such visits of the mother-in-law that Natarajan and Lalitha sometimes go watch a movie and hold hands. And, they are certainly not going for a second child, national demography be damned.

The day is over at eight in the evening, a full twelve hours after they had punched in. Now, they must rush back home – Natarajan had to pick up some medicines for his blood pressure, which he would like to believe is a temporary affliction. Lalitha had to pick up some disposable diapers, among other things, but the shop was closed by the time she reached. She tried to call Natarajan to pick up a pack from the medicine shop, but Natarajan couldn’t take the call on his motorcycle. Maybe tomorrow, or else good old Amazon will come to the rescue.

Natarajan’s company did a poll to find out if the employees would prefer a fourteen-hour-a-day week so that they could have a two-day weekend. That would mean a shift of morning eight to ten in the night and returning home at eleven. They are still debating.

The days of the Industrial Revolution, I am told, had such back-breaking working hours. Thousand died of exhaustion, accidents, tuberculosis, sheer exhaustion and burnouts every year across Europe. I have also learnt that post-war Europe and Japan had had workers putting in such long hours to rebuild their nations. But that was for a limited time. Natarajan and Lalitha are not citizen of a country at war; they are being urged and morally compelled to face such a work schedule with no end in sight. That millions upon millions of compatriots are doing the same is no solace to the grieving heart of Lalitha, who can look after her child only on Sundays – bathe her, groom her, cook for her, which is every mother’s dream and delight. But no, Mr. Murthy is no mother and his children have grown up. He has also done his share of nation building. It is up to Natarajan and Lalitha now.

Well, Natarajan and Lalitha are software engineers, or techno-coolies, writing lines upon lines of codes. Let’s look at factory workers now. The Indian Factory Laws and the International Labour Organisation limit factory working hours to forty eight per week and a maximum of eight hours a day. There can’t be an unbroken spell of more than five hours. A minimum of a thirty-minute break is mandated after five hours. Any extra hour must be paid at double the wage rates. But no, M/S Narayan Murthy and Subrahmanyan would have none of it. They wants to maximise the output of his swanky, air-conditioned, software development centre, with high-end servers, gigabit backbone, and Project Offices and Work Sites and multinational clientele by making their employees sit longer. No, they won’t pay them extra. Employees are but a cog in the wheel. They must volunteer to serve them extra hours for free since isn’t he building the nation, while they draw 51 crore salaries (a 43% hike in less than a year) and buy 50 crore flats.

There is something called productivity, Dear Industrialists! And, there are ways to make your people more productive in the same eight-hour, five-day week. Automation, Smart Working, Fail-proofing make for more output and a Happy workforce. But, to commission a study to achieve this, and to bring in more equipment and provide useful training would cost money and resources. Why spend, when a call to nation-building does it for free?

                                                     ---ooo---

 

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.

                                               ---ooo---

Oxygen for the Ailing

 

It was the May of 2021. The second wave of COVID was raging across the country and thousands were dying every day. Even more than the first wave of the merciless disease the second wave had shaken the humanity and death stared us in our faces. Many of us had to live through the trauma of losing a loved one. Deaths were either due to an advanced irreversible stage of the disease, or something as mundane as non-availability of oxygen.

 

I was the Chief Administrative Officer of the Rail Wheel Plant, Bela, Saran, Bihar. The plant was setup in the period 2012-14 at the behest of Lalu Ji, when he was the Railway Minister, to pamper his constituency. The much ignored wheel plant has now been put on a strong footing and is a significant supplier of wheels to the Indian Rail Industry. The turnaround of the Plant is a different story for another time. It is a cast wheel plant, where steel is melted and moulded into shape.

 

Now, all iron and steel plants that melt steel use oxygen as an essential input in the process. Oxygen is used mainly for oxidising excess carbon in the melt, which then escapes as Carbon Dioxide. Copious quantity of oxygen is required and therefore all steel melting establishments store liquid oxygen in large cryogenic tanks. Liquid Oxygen is vaporised and fed at some pressure into the bath of molten metal.

 

During the COVID crisis oxygen was coming from Assam and going to Delhi, bypassing Bihar. Such was the constant rant of Shri Kejriwal that not even one tanker was spared for Bihar or UP enroute. Oxygen was transported in cryogenic road tankers, which were loaded on flat wagons for long distance transportation. The only other nearby source was the Tata Steel plant in Jamshedpur and their Oxygen suppliers. When the demand of oxygen reached a peak, even we didn’t get liquid Oxygen for production. Industrial and Medical oxygen are somewhat different. Industrial oxygen is extremely pure, nearly 99%; Medical Oxygen has some moisture and other atmospheric gases mixed with it. Whereas the medical oxygen can’t be used in industries, the reverse is possible.

 

When the crisis of medical oxygen looked ominous, I told my officers to stop production and preserve whatever was left with us. We had four 20-tonne liquid tanks of which we ensured at least two were always full. One tonne of liquid Oxygen converts into 500 oxygen cylinders of the size you commonly see. My officers protested that production targets would be hit. I told them that the only target at that time was to save human lives. Then I offered 39 tonnes of liquid Oxygen that we had to the District Magistrate of Saran, a young officer. He was touched by the gesture but didn’t know how to collect oxygen and asked me if I could get it bottled in cylinders. I told him that bottling required high pressure pumps that would have to be imported from Germany or China, an impossible task at that time. It also required a license. Besides there were commercial bottlers all around. What was not available was oxygen.

 

Liquid Oxygen was delivered to us by producers in road tankers. I told the DM to send me road tankers in which I would do a reverse filling, which he could then take to bottlers in Patna, Muzaffarpur etc. and get cylinders filled. He asked me where he could get a tanker. I advised him to use his unlimited powers under the Indian Epidemics Act and grab whatever empty tanker was seen on the road. Nothing happened for eight days and people were suffering and dying in the meanwhile. On the ninth day I got a call from a Director in the PMO, “Sir, We have come to know that you have some oxygen in you plant. Can you spare some?” I told her that I had already offered all that I had to the local Collector but he was unable to collect it.

 

Things move rapidly after that. We received the first empty tanker sent by the District Administration on the same day. The DM asked about the payment. It told him to write a letter promising that all debits would be accepted so that I could place it in the files. Several tanker were reverse filled and sent for bottling. Hospitals would send truckloads of empty cylinders for refilling. I simultaneously offered two 20-tonne tanks to the District to procure oxygen from wherever they could and store it in our tanks. It became a smooth operation after that. Our Oxygen served almost the entire North Bihar and saved thousands of lives.

 

Wheel production suffered a setback for a month, which we later made up. We never raised a bill and none was paid. All for a good cause.

                                —-ooo—-

A Train to Sangam - The Murphy’s Law on Rails

 

   A WDM4, preserved in the National Rail Museum

It was the May of 1991. Rajiv Gandhi had been assassinated in Sriperambudur during a public rally. The country was in grief and turmoil over the death of a vastly popular leader. It was so in-your-face impact of the LTTE terror that it was numbing. The other kind of terror, that we see today, had not yet raised its head. 

But this is the story of a Railway Engine (Locomotive) and the Murphy’s Law. Rajiv Gandhi’s ashes were to be carried in a special train across North India before they were immersed in the Sangam at Allahabad. I was posted as the Divisional Mechanical Engineer (Diesel) in a Locomotive Shed at Mughalsarai. This shed was home to about sixty WDM4 locomotives, one of the finest in the world, when they were built by the ElectroMotive Division (EMD) of the GM/USA. In their heydays they had the honour of hauling the only Rajdhani Express of the time - the New Delhi – Howrah Rajdhani Express. Seventy-two of them were imported when India still had to begin indigenous manufacture of Diesel Locos in a new factory at Varanasi. The WDM4s heralded the transition from Steam Traction to Diesel.

The locomotives were aging and weren’t very reliable by the time I was put in charge of them. When called upon to provide a WDM4 for the special train, I was worried that the locomotive might fail enroute and cause massive embarrassment to the Railways. The train, in its journey, was to stop at many stations, where thousands of mourners would be waiting for the last glimpse of of their popular leader, his ashes. Sonia Gandhi and her two children were traveling in the train along with the urn carrying the ashes of Rajiv Gandhi. It couldn’t get any more special than that. Any failure of the locomotive could delay the train by several hours until a relieving loco was found. The milling crowds could have created a mayhem at all the stations and the administration would have found a scapegoat in me and roasted me alive.

So, I offered my Operating colleague in Lucknow an extra locomotive that would lead or trail the special train a station ahead or behind. The spare locomotive could be quickly brought in to continue the journey in case the train’s original locomotive failed. He was reluctant and told me that he was not responsible if the locomotive failed and that I would be answerable anyway. I told him that it was not a matter of who was accountable but to ensure that the Urn-Special train journeyed though the land unimpeded. I asked him if he was sure he could quickly provide a substitute locomotive in case the main locomotive failed. If he couldn’t do it in a matter of minutes it was he, whose neck would be on the block. He understood the delicate nature of the operations.

An extra locomotive was sent along. And surely, as Mr. Murphy had laid down, the train engine failed enroute. My Operating colleague lost no time in bringing in the spare and seamlessly, without loss of time, attached it to the train. The train journey continued as though nothing had happened.

Nobody knew this story, until today!

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1991/05/29/train-bears-gandhis-ashes-to-holy-site/62a886b2-63dd-495c-aafd-6ef165b3989b/

Delhiites Are So Busy Cursing the Smog They Have Forgotten the Joys of Winter.

Delhiites must think that they are God’s gift to Indians. They enjoy the best civic amenities in the country. Delhi has the best roads, pavements, parks, malls and schools. A Delhiwallah enjoys the  benefit of the best universities and colleges, and the best hospitals, both government and private. Delhiites have uninterrupted power, clean water, roads that are swept every night and drains that flow like smooth single malts in their collective oesophagus. An average citizen of Delhi thinks he has arrived in life what with rubbing shoulders with the mighty and the powerful.

 

Yet, the annual gripe and grouch on pollution by Delhiwallahs visits the whole nation with unfailing regularity. Come November and the city is agog with plaintiffs crying white death, “Oh, the air is filthy, smokey and we can’t breathe. Damn the farmers of Punjab, Haryana and UP.” Juxtaposed pictures of Delhi in June and November are flashed across newspapers and in social media to prove how the nation has failed its capital. Oh, how thankless and how uncouth the unwashed Indians elsewhere are! It is for them that the privileged elite can’t even have an easy breath while strolling in the lush green Lodhi Garden and Nehru Park and the Europe-like vistas of Chanakyapuri and Connaught Place. That the rest of India pays for the carpet grass and blossoms of these parks and yet can’t ever imagine a fraction of that in its towns and mofassils is not even a wispy thought in their minds.

 

Show me a photo of Delhi in June and November of 1950s and I will show you the same contrast. Visibility impairment by fog is not a proof of pollution. Well, there is some smoke that creates a smog. The smog continues much after all the paraali is burnt and disposed of and the now lacklustre Diwali is long gone. The pollution is as bad, or worse in December and January. Surely There is no smoke coming from Punjab and Haryana then. It is from Delhiites’ own cars, buses and two-wheelers.

 

Yet, firecrackers are banned in Diwali. They are banned not only in Delhi, but in entire India just because someone in Delhi approaches the law and lawmakers and the Green Tribunals that Diwali is oh-so-polluting, and merriment of children in Patna, Bhopal, Lucknow and Mumbai; in Jaunpur, Hubli, Nanded and Midnapore is clamped down. This is an annual ritual and the whole country of one hundred and forty crores is deprived of festival fun of a few hours in a year so that smoke of firecrackers doesn’t blow in the winds from Indore, Nagpur, Coimbatore, Kochi and Jaisalmer straight to Delhi. I have never heard of someone from a smaller city or a village ever seeking a ban on Diwali festivities.

 

The whole nation must collectively lament that Delhi has polluted air in the winters. We owe it to them. The entire media chokes and coughs like there is no other event they have to cover. Elections take a backseat, so do Mizoram, Kashmir and Naxal terror. Isn’t smog over Delhi the biggest apocalypse that has descended on the humanity?

 

So, friends and countrymen! Let’s celebrate the biggest festival of India - the Smoggy Winter of Delhi.

                                                         —ooo—

गीता का कर्मयोग - कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते … के आगे

श्रीमद्भग्वद्गीता के कुछ सर्वाधिक उद्धृत श्लोक हैं:

कर्र्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते माफलेषु कदाचन ….. जिसका आशय है कि कर्म में ही तुम्हारा अधिकार है, फल में नहीं …..

और

यदा-यदा हि धर्मस्य ग्लानिर्भवति भारत …. जिसमें भगवान कहते हैं कि वे धर्म की रक्षा लिये अवतार लेते हैं ….

पर मेरी दृष्टि में गीता का सर्वश्रेष्ठ श्लोक है:

न मे पार्थास्ति कर्त्तव्यं त्रिषु लोकेषु किंचन।

नानवाप्तमवाप्तव्यं वर्त एव च कर्मणि ।।३-२२।।

भावार्थ: हे पृथापुत्र! तीनों लोकों में मेरे लिए कोई भी कर्म नियत नहीं है, न मुझे किसी वस्तु का अभाव है और न आवश्यकता ही है | तो भी मैं नियत्कर्म करने में तत्पर रहता हूँ |

(There is no duty for me to do in all the three worlds, O Parth, nor do I have anything to gain or attain. Yet, I am engaged in prescribed duties.)

गीता के तृतीय अध्याय का यह बाईसवॉं श्लोक समर्थ एवम् सार्थक जीवन की वास्तविक कुंजी है। इस श्लोक में भगवान कहते हैं कि ना ही मुझे कुछ करने की बाध्यता है, ना ही ऐसा कुछ प्राप्त करना है जो मुझे ना मिला हो, परन्तु मुझे कर्त्तव्य करते रहना है। कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते….वाले श्लोक में यह तो निर्दिष्ट है कि फल मिले या न मिले, मुझे उसकी आशा नहीं करनी है और कर्म करते जाना है। पर कहीं न कहीं फल मिलने की सम्भावना है भले ही उसपर अधिकार ना हो।

न मे पार्थास्ति कर्त्तव्यं… वाले श्लोक में एक और भी ऊँचे स्तर की निस्पृहता और निष्कामता परिलक्षित होती है। व्यक्ति का कोई कर्त्तव्य निर्धारित या शेष नहीं है, ना ही फल मिलना है या किसी फल की कामना बची है, परंतु इस स्थिति में भी कर्म करना है। लालसा से ऐसी मुक्ति, चाहत से परे कर्म करने की ऐसी कर्त्तव्यशीलता क्या सामान्य मानव के समझ में समा सकती है? 

क्या ऐसी निस्पृहता संभव है? क्या संसार से इतना ऊपर भी उठा जा सकता है कि व्यक्ति अपना कर्त्तव्य तब भी करें जब यह तय है कि उसे कुछ नहीं मिलना और ना ही कुछ चाहिये, ना पारिश्रमिक, ना राज-पाट और ना ही कोई आसक्ति या यश? तुलसीदास जी की पंक्तियाँ हैं - हानि-लाभ, जीवन-मरण, यश-अपयश विधि हाथ … अर्थात् यह जीवन और इस जीवन के सारे लाग-लपेट ईश्वर के हाथों में है। पर तुलसीदास जी संभवत: सामान्य जनों को ही संबोधित कर रहे थे - ये पुरस्कार या दण्ड उपलब्ध हैं अवश्य, चाहे विधाता के ही द्वारा उनका वितरण किया जाये और आपको यथोचित मिलेंगे। पर सर्वथा आकांक्षाविहीन, परंतु कर्त्तव्यरत मनुष्य क्या हो सकता है? श्रीकृष्ण ने तो अपनी निस्पृहता का कारण भी इसके बाद के दो श्लोकों में बताया है:

यदि ह्यहं न वर्तेयं जातु कर्मण्यतन्द्रितः |
मम वर्त्मानुवर्तन्ते मनुष्याः पार्थ सर्वशः || ३-२३ ||

भावार्थ: क्योंकि यदि मैं नियत कर्मों को सावधानीपूर्वक न करूँ तो हे पार्थ! यह निश्चित है कि सारे मनुष्य मेरे पथ का ही अनुगमन करेंगे, अर्थात् कर्महीनता को प्राप्त होंगे। 

उत्सीदेयुरिमे लोका न कुर्यां कर्म चेदहम् |
सङ्करस्य च कर्ता स्यामुपहन्यामिमाः प्रजाः ||३- २४ ||

भावार्थ: यदि मैं नियतकर्म न करूँ तो ये सारे लोग भ्रष्ट हो जाएँ।  तब मैं वर्णसंकर (अवांछित जन समुदाय) को उत्पन्न करने का कारण हो जाऊँगा और इस तरह सम्पूर्ण प्राणियों के विनाश का कारण बनूँगा। 

सामान्यजन प्राय: अपने अग्रजों, माता-पिता, गुरुओं, अग्रगामियों, प्रतिष्ठितजनों, लीडरों, और मैनेजरों को देखकर ही प्रेरित होते हैं। हर व्यक्ति न तो शास्त्रों का अध्ययन कर सकता है ना ही उनकी समुचित व्याख्या कर सकता है। वह तो जीवन में सम्मुख उदाहरणों से ही दिशा प्राप्त करता है। यदि उसके बड़े और वरिष्ठजन सत्कर्म करते दीखते हैं तो वह भी वैसा ही करेगा। यदि वह देखता है कि जो अनुकरणीय पुरुष हैं वही या तो आलस्यग्रस्त हैं, निष्क्रिय हैं, अवांछनीय कर्मों वा दुर्गुणों में रत हैं, तो वह और उसके जैसे समस्त आमजन वैसे व्यवहार का ही अनुसरण करेंगे। फिर समाज का पतन तय है।

                                            —-ooo—-

The Scenic Railway of Sri Lanka

One of the most beautiful railway lines in the world is the one on the West coast of Sri Lanka. The line skims the sea coast and is sandwiched between a busy road and the rolling waves of the blue sea waters.  It is not a celebrated railway (Broad Guage) in the touristy sense as the Swiss Railways (Standard Guage) or even our own Nilgiri Mountain Railway (Metre Guage), Kalka-Shimla (Narrow Guage 2 feet six inches),  or Darjeeling Hill Railway (Narrow Guage - two feet). It is however a major commuting mode for the Sri Lankans. Trains run crowded. Fares are low and affordable. The service is fast enough for the distances they cover.

I had gone there in 2018 on an official visit to understand their expectations from ICF for Diesel Multiple Unit trains we were exporting. I therefore got the privilege to footplate from Colombo to Galle and had a clear view of the sea.

We subsequently supplied six trains to them. They were liked by them so much that ICF got a repeat order for three more trains. The drivers of Sri Lankan Railways became resistant to driving Chinese trains and wanted their duties assigned only on Indian trains.

Sri Lanka is a beautiful country - very clean and scenic. Sri Lankans are proud of their country and value their culture and heritage. Indians need to learn from them. 

Enjoy the two-minute video clip here. Click on the link

  

https://youtu.be/DeWhDT2SXSs?si=ns_tDKZmTI0nP7sG

A video of the Diesel Multiple Unit Trains supplied by India to Sri Lanka can be seen here. Click on the link

 

https://youtu.be/9iPRgP9h2M8?si=6GrzY9i0EwUQRuLk