Literary Vibes - Edition CXLV (27-Sep-2024) - SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
Title : A Tiny Beach House (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
An acclaimed Painter, a published poet, a self-styled green woman passionately planting fruit trees, a published translator, and a former Professor, Lathaprem Sakhya, was born to Tamil parents settled in Kerala. Widely anthologized, she is a regular contributor of poems, short stories and paintings to several e-magazines and print books. Recently published anthologies in which her stories have come out are Ether Ore, Cocoon Stories, and He She It: The Grammar of Marriage. She is a member of the executive board of Aksharasthree the Literary Woman and editor of the e - magazines - Aksharasthree and Science Shore. She is also a vibrant participant in 5 Poetry groups. Aksharasthree - The Literary Woman, Literary Vibes, India Poetry Circle and New Voices and Poetry Chain. Her poetry books are Memory Rain, 2008, Nature At My Doorstep, 2011 and Vernal Strokes, 2015. She has done two translations of novels from Malayalam to English, Kunjathol 2022, (A translation of Shanthini Tom's Kunjathol) and Rabboni 2023 ( a Translation of Rosy Thampy's Malayalam novel Rabboni) and currently she is busy with two more projects.
Table of Contents :: Short Story
KUTTA-DUTTA RIGMAROLE
09) Sujata Dash
IN DEFENSE
10) Shri Satish Pashine
Shital looked outside through the window and yawned. Across the glass panes, powdery fog of Shimla hills was rubbing its cold muzzle and the sun looked like a bleeding wound in the sky. The wound was rather crusting. In her foggy mind her wound was also healing into a red patch as in the proxy sky. Her bleeding had stopped. She suddenly became acutely aware of her past wounds and the recent healing process.
She recalled her teasing nicknames whispered by her colleagues behind her and by her IIM classmates before that. She was called ‘cold’, ‘dry’, ‘sour-pus’, ‘party-pooper’, and other worse epithets.
Her real name Shital meaning ‘soothingly cool’ giving peace and repose was forgotten. But she couldn’t help that. Her circumstances had made her serious, wooden, distant and grumpy to most things positive in life. Her colleagues thought she weaponised her silence, grunts, grumpiness to get walkover wins in issue-based things but it was not true. It was overlooked that in fact, she was brilliant at her studies and work and that gave her the winning edge.
She did not blame anybody for her situation, but herself. When one had a subject to blame or someone appearing like a fly in the soup as a spoiler then it was easy to attend to eliminating the cause and help the wound heal. In Shital’s case the wound remained raw and bleeding waiting for a healing touch, a soothing balm that didn’t come by.
Loving Saras passionately in reciprocation to his adoring behaviour and dreaming to be his wife had misfired on Shital’s face. The same year, she had finished her graduation in IIT, Delhi, and joined her placement-job in a reputed IT company at a junior managerial level in a campus selection, her bubble of dreams burst making her reel.
Shital knew Saras had dreams of becoming an IAS with lofty ideas of serving his people and eradicating corruption from the system. It was a devastating revelation the day Shital understood Saras loved her like his little sister who had died young. Shital’s uncanny resemblance to his late sister had aroused Saras’ big brotherly feelings. That day of revelation, he had shown her a photograph of his late sister to Shital that took Shital’s breath away. The resemblance was almost to a fault.
She suddenly understood why Saras had hugged her publicly and so unabashedly from the first day she had joined the IIT where he had been her senior by a year. She now understood why Saras had been so protective and possessive about her and she was saved from any ragging by seniors on joining the IIT. Why he never praised her beauty, but rather would repeat his version, “What’s in beauty? All that matters is the goodness of the persona living inside a body.” Now, she understood why Saras had pampered her but never kissed her except on her forehead and why he never had dated her in private or whispered sweet nothings to her.
Her world cracked, broke to pieces and fell apart from its axis. All this happened when Saras handed her over his wedding invitation card and his parents’ special invite with a request to go to their house and attend to all the rituals in his marriage as expected of a younger sister. On his parents’ behalf, Saras presented her a valuable set of ornaments as a befitting ceremonial gift for a sister, symbolising her status during her older brother’s marriage.
That evening, after the revelation by Saras in the presence of Shital’s parents, though her insides were crumbling, she grinned and congratulated him. Saras’ elaborate invite to Shital’s parents gladdened them as it should be.
But Shital’s mother smelt a rat in Shital’s grin that looked so artificial, and she felt her daughter’s turmoil for whatever reason. Earlier, from Shital’s unabashed gushing about her brilliant senior college-mate, Saras, her mother had all along tried to gauge her real feelings, but in vain. All along her feelings towards Saras had appeared to be of a girl in love, though Saras treated her like a sister. The whole scenario had baffled Shital’s mother.
Shital felt guilty, insulted, and dirty to think about Saras, or look into his eyes. How and as what would she speak to him, like a lover or a sister? What would her eyes reflect when her eyes met his? She felt insulted but insulted by whom, by her destiny or her level of worldly understanding? She felt dirty and unclean for her inner feelings as a lover that refused to leave. If she pushed them out of her conscious mind, they harassed her in dreams. She felt dirty for dreaming all sorts of passionate and sensual love games with a man who considered her as his little sister.
However, she attended his marriage and acted as an exemplary sister in all ceremonial rituals of the marriage to onlookers’ and relatives’ praise, “None would doubt that late Hansaa has not returned from death.” But those flattering remarks cut into her guts like rusted knives. She could not smile and also could not frown and had no control over her facial expressions. But she applied an iron will to seal her feelings inside a stoppered bottle like a genie, screaming for freedom.
Her wound bled through years. She left the job and joined IIM, Ahmedabad, to add a management degree as an extra feather to her cap. The bleeding wound remained raw when she joined back her parental IT company after IIM, as a general manager and rose to the level of a vice-president over the years.
A transformation towards negativity had come over Shital’s looks and personality gradually after her return from Saras’ house doing her sisterly duties in his marriage. Perhaps, the genie in the bottle was evil and it was out. She turned into a stern girl with a few words, never smiling, never joking, and she stopped bothering about her looks. The so-called beauty-queen of IIT Delhi slowly turned into a gaunt, grumpy, dumb doll. Her inner persona was getting desiccated day by day.
But her career and academic performances looked up. In software as well as in management, she was considered a genius in her company. She quickly settled herself in her reputed company and her achievements continued there for years and years. Almost a decade passed in that state of bright-intellect-but-poor-social-image.
She recalled with dismay, the epithets whispered for her nature in her absence ‘cold goddess of software’, ‘ice-maiden of management’ etc. Her mother, who lived with her after her father’s death, was worried for her scruffy looks, and rude demeanour to friends and neighbours. She was criticised for her perennial ‘Hangdog expression’.
But like every night waking up into the day, a time came when the faded flowers in her heart started rejuvenating and she literally felt a warm spring breeze blowing. Her winter was on the wane. Because someone called her ‘Shital Malhar’ meaning a raga that is cool, reposing and singing like a cool monsoon stream. Those two words did the magic to her, thawing her inner ice cap and that ‘special someone’ who mouthed the two lovely words, melody to her ears, became very special to her.
It was January, Shimla was cold, but in her warm honeymoon suit of the five-star hotel, she was honeymooning with that ‘special someone’, who had called her Shital Malhar and had explained its meaning to her as ‘the Raga that soothes, brings repose and peace’. No, she was not married to him, nor was she in a live-in relationship. Yet they trusted each other to embark on an undefined honeymoon. Others thought they were on earned leave for personal works.
She looked behind at the four poster and saw the slight depression that was her signature space where she slept by the man still in deep sleep. The whole night they had talked or played lovable games pampering their bodies and spirits. The bed sweetly stank like a pigsty by the small hours. For the first time she understood why passionate lovers were compared to pigs in heat wallowing in their own filth. Her man, the special someone, also admitted to have felt similar sentiments.
How were they related? They had first met in the office, at times by the coffee machine, or water-cooler, or in corridors at other times, a new face in the office but looking familiar. She knew from experience some faces were like that. She felt denuded of her put-on severity under his burning furtive gaze. That sort of behaviour was unknown to her in her work place. Her colleagues felt either intimidated or disgusted in her presence and deliberately avoided her eyes. So, a man looking at her with engaging eyes was a new and surprising experience.
She could not recall his familiar face from her past. She shared the information with her mother, who only said, “Your beauty under your stark showcasing must be visible to this man’s X-ray eyes.” But she warned, “He may be a good man, but may also be bad. You would not lose anything to maintain caution.”
She met the man properly after two days in a formal reception given to him by her company’s president in which all team heads, general managers, and vice-presidents were invited. It was a high-tea occasion at the closing hours of the office. The fellow was Abhay Sarkar who had joined the company at Shital’s senior level as a vice-president.
After the introduction Abhay chit-chatted with all, but especially with Shital for the majority of time with a glass of wine in hand and trying to befriend her by winning her confidence. What Shital gathered from his talk he was his classmate during the years at the IIT. He sat on a bench behind her in the class, a few benches apart, and adored her beauty. He liked her vivacious and warm nature. So, Shital’s familiar-face-conundrum got demystified.
She started talking with him, because a piece of her jolly past was recalled by someone who remembered her as pretty and vivacious. She started smiling while talking to Abhay. She looked pretty when her gloomy features lighted up with happiness, a magical transformation. All onlookers at the high-tea, her colleagues including even the president, were surprised. Shital overheard the whispers going around, “The hangdog cold ass is finally melting, and all smiles. The eighth wonder!”
She was surprised to hear herself saying, “The moment I cast my eyes on you, Abhay, and saw you stealing glances at me, I knew I had seen or met you somewhere. Who were you, was a riddle. And I never understood, instead of getting offended for being stared at, why was I taking so much interest in you by looking back to check if you didn’t stop staring; because I loved to be stared at by you. Our eyes met and locked for nano-seconds quite a few times before I was sure you were taking interest in me. People around here feel intimidated by me, as if I was a cannibal. My nick-name was cold-ass. So, I found you quite different, a lovable peeping tom.”
Abhay Sarkar was honest and direct to his hilt. He simply invited her over to an upmarket salad buffet the next evening and said, “Yes madam, I knew you and you might be recalling my face from our college days. Today you got impressed by me. But my feelings for you had been strong from the days we joined IIT, the same year. You can call it love at first sight. Without your knowledge I had named you ‘Shital Malhar’.”
“I was just another face in the crowd for you, but you were the popular face, the ‘Beauty Queen’ of our IIT, pretty, vivacious, jolly and fun-loving. You were very close to one Saras sir, a year senior to us. I could see Saras adoring you like a little sister, but you worshipping him as your god, as girls coyly adore their lovers. I never understood your complex relationship with Saras.”
“I am in love with you Shital, as my Shital Malhar, for the last fourteen years, but only from a distance. I was shy. By the way, may I address you as Shital Malhar, at least once? See, I am not shy anymore.” Shital smiled, “Yes Abhay, you may.” That emboldened Abhay, “My dear Shital Malhar, I had no courage to give you a rose or even a smile on Friendship Days to express my appreciation. But I was helplessly in love.”
Continued Abhay, “I kept track of you after we left IIT after our graduation. I heard, Saras getting married and succeeding in civil services examination to join the IAS of Assam cadre. Around the time you joined your management course at IIM Ahmedabad after a short stint at this IT company.”
After hesitating, Abhay added, “But within a year, I noticed you fading away from the vivacious person into a thorny and corny cactus-persona. You looked like suffering from a severe fall-season like a tree shedding leaves and standing bereft of its greenery. Before my eyes you were entering into an icy drab winter. I waited for the spring to arrive, ushering in the pink new leaves, cheerful flowers, and twittering birds, but the winter grew harsher by the day and took a toll on your looks, your behaviour. From a woman of physical charms and vivacity, you turned into dead wood.”
He stopped but Shital urged him to go on. He said, “But your cham nesting in my inner mind and core of my heart, haunted me and I followed you without your knowledge, felt happy at your achievements, you being considered as a genius of software and excelling at management. I could feel your pain hidden under your veneer of success. Your gaunt face and friendless attitude were telltale.”
He swallowed as if swallowing an unpalatable morsel unsuccessfully and lowered his voice, “I will share a secret with you, that I should not. But I feel if I don’t, that may be dishonest on my part. I decided to join your company just to be by your side. I met your mother, introduced myself, and took her advice before that. She had also a doubt like me, the cause of your debacle could be your misplaced emotions for Saras.” Abhay appeared to marshal courage, “Would you share your secret pain with me, if you don’t mind, my Malhar?”
Shital smiled instead of getting upset and said, “I am amazed to know that one pursuer and stalker of mine, you Abhay, has behaved like a jerk, an uncouth spy, but in a way, a very sweet uncouth jerk and a spy, digging into my past one by one, turn by turn, like a dog digging the humus crust for its hidden bones, even a trusted mother joining hands with this spy. But Abhay, I feel warm to know that so many people still love me, my mother and you, of course, worry for me.”
Shital had admitted to Abhay, “Yes, it was Saras at the centre, but it was my doing. I fell in love with him. But his feelings for me remained as that of an older brother all along. That revelation made me feel dirty and guilty for my thoughts, made me hate myself, and devastated me. But now, I want to live in the present. Give me time, and I may respond to your love for me.”
Things moved fast forward from there. She asked her mother to pack lunch for two individuals that the old lady, like an omniscient goddess, did without even raising an eyebrow. She knew the second lunch box was for Abhay. Shital’s colleagues noticed the cold and hard glacier melting and flowing at every lunch session she had with the newcomer. They overheard the newcomer addressing her Malhar instead of Shital.
Shital returned from her reveries at the window to the bed and took her lovable someone, the special one in her arms. Abhay melted into her and her body felt like the hungry earth drinking from an unseasonal shower. They lay in their buff until the telephone announced if they got to go down to the buffet breakfast, it was time to wind up.
During the previous five days in the cozy hotel room, the fig leaf of privacy between them had fallen off and they had merged their territories, calling it, “Our space, our dignity, our privacy….” Last five days, they hadn’t gone out much. They had remained attuned, keyed in, doing things in tandem, making their hours oceanic, rocking and rolling, as if making up for the wasted period of more than a decade.
At the breakfast, Shital while tucking into an omelette, mused aloud, “Why and really why, did you not come to me fourteen years ago and give me that rose? You are not shy at all. Rather, shameless. Very sweetly shameless. Evocative and creative in expressing your art of love. What did you do with that rose, Abhay?”
Abhay nudged Shital, “Look.” She followed his eyes and saw Saras entering the breakfast lounge, looking different, rotund in features, wearing a goatee and a pretty woman, apparently much younger to him, on his arm. Abhay, with a nod from Shital, went to Saras, “Sir, aren’t you Saras Gupta, IAS, if I am not mistaken? And am I meeting Mrs Saras, this pretty lady?” Saras stopped, smiled, “Right. I am Saras Gupta. This is my wife, Chitra ji, also from my IAS cadre. But, my friend, I can’t place you though you look familiar. We are staying here and are going to stay for a five-day tourist package.”
“I am Abhay Sarkar. I was in your IIT, a year junior to you. Always like that, sir. I look familiar but nobody can place me. See, people like me make the crowd.”
“Abhay, you are funny. With a robust sense of humour.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Abhay, “But see, who is there.” Saras and his partner followed Abhay’s pointer, and the lady with Saras looked surprised as if seeing an epiphany, but Saras lit up like a million-watt bulb. “O! It’s my little sister Shital. She has been almost lost.”
He ran and took Shital in his arms. Shital recoiled out of surprise, but the familiar touch brought the past rushing. She was openly crying, as did Saras. Shital suddenly realised she did not feel unclean to hug Saras. The guilt had passed. She felt like a little sister in the arms of a big brother. Her wound had healed. Chitra simply said, ‘Hi Shital, I am Mrs Saras, call me Chitra.’ She also took Shital in her arms.
Abhay stood away watching an old relationship taking its right course. After breakfast, they moved together to the double-bedded room of Saras. Over cups of tea, the lady with Saras, his wife, IAS Chitra, recounted the missing narrative in the life of Saras. They would know that it had not been much different from that of Shital, no less dreary or cold.
Chitra narrated, “Saras married, you know Shital, with pomp. Looking at your photographs in his marriage album and hearing about your great qualities and beauty from my husband almost every other day, I know you better by now than you may be knowing yourself.” All laughed.
She went on, “But his marriage was on rocks in no time as the new bride could not stand the repeated comparison of her ways with those of his little sister Shital. The bride recalled glimpses of a very lovely girl of her age hobnobbing around them during the marriage rituals, who was called Shital. When Shital’s name was taken into their bedroom’s intimate hours, it was too much after Saras ji’s bland remarks, ‘Parul, I would like you to wear your hair shorter and flowing like Shital’s’. It was perhaps the first nail in the coffin of their marriage. Other nails were driven into it in the name of Shital by Saras carelessly. Parul got tired of Shital, and went away to her parents.”
Chitra continued, “But my Saras ji would not learn. His continuous praise of Shital and showing Parul in poor light in comparison, even on telephone, doomed the marriage. The gap in their feelings widened. The rich man’s daughter did not return. She filed for divorce and Saras accepted it.”
She continued, “My Saras ji turned stony, feelingless, rude and terribly unfriendly. But he was considered as one of the best among his Assam cadre IAS officers for his hardwork and honesty. He was popular for his welfare work. I joined under him as an IAS trainee, around eleven years junior, and found the grumpy man lovable like I had loved my grumpy tom cat. He reminded me of the hero in the movie ‘Chini Kum’ meaning ‘less sweet’. I fell in love and found out the god lurking inside the uncarved stone block. I carved it for myself.”
Abhay asked, “Didn’t he compare you with comely Shital?” Chitra said, “Yes, he did and still does unconsciously. But I never mind. It is about his sister whom he idolises. So, I pick up healthy crumbs, ignoring the immaterial ones. Today I meet the real one, Shital Madam, and I am eager to know her and befriend her.”
Abhay informed them they had also come to Shimla to get to know each other, but now they know they would return as soul mates.
“My little sister is like that. Irresistible.”, said Saras with a proud, doting smile.
(END)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
Appu still remembered how sad he was last Onam when he couldn’t swing. But this year was different. His father had set up a big swing in the yard for Appu’s brother and sister.
Last year, Appu was too little and too scared. His mother, sitting on the swing, had put him on her lap, but even then, Appu cried. He was so frightened. How embarassing that had been. He worried that if his elder sister told her friends, they would all laugh at him.
But this year, things were going to be different. Appu had grown up. He promised himself that this Onam, he would be brave.
When the swing was finally ready, all the children from the neighborhood rushed over to try it. Appu wanted to go first, but his sisters tried to stop him. Didn’t they know he was bigger now? After all, one year is twelve months.
After waiting for the others to finish, Appu slowly walked over to the swing. He didn’t want anyone to see him fall if something went wrong. The swing hung from the highest branch of the jackfruit tree, and it looked so shiny and smooth, like a mirror.
His sisters helped him sit on the swing, though they kept whispering and giggling to each other.
"Don’t push the swing, just put me on it!" Appu said nervously.
The sisters smiled knowingly and went for their own games and dance in the courtyard.
Appu’s feet couldn’t touch the ground, so he wasn’t sure how to start swinging by himself. His brothers and sisters had vanished.
Suddenly, the swing started moving, but not too fast.
“Who’s pushing me?” Appu wondered. He felt a breeze tickle his ears and realized it was the wind itself, gently rocking him back and forth.
The swing moved smoothly with the wind’s help, and Appu smiled. He felt like a little bird flying through the sky for the first time.
As the swing started rocking, Appu could hear the traditional dance song from the courtyard.
"Is there something wrong?
Aren’t the flowers enough?
Dance O! Dance
Dance to my beats, your beats
Our beats"
Listening to the song and the tap-tap of the feet in the courtyard Appu’s heart started to give.
The wind had gone up to swing on the higher branches.
Sreekumar K, known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
I was tired but not sleepy, my nerves still charged with the excitement of the evening. It was around midnight. We had lavishly celebrated the soft-landing of Chandrayan-3 on the south pole region of the moon, one of India’s most admirable and glorious achievement in space science. We had waited, through the countdown, crossing our fingers, our hearts in our mouths, till the Chandrayan touched the ground of the moon, and then as if all the pandemonium broke loose. I and my friends who had gathered at our home embracing one another and laughing and cheering, father jumping off the chair he had sat on crying out ‘yes, they have done it!’ my younger brother Anish and his friends clapping loud and hard and squealing, and even my mother, though her face not wearing the obvious expressions of joy, looking mildly excited. To say it precisely the success of the mission had flung all of us into a state of euphoria.
Later, after dinner, I came upstairs to my room where my younger brother was watching a film on Netflix, the Bluetooth earphones plugged into his ears. I wandered over to my bed and lay down. I was feeling too awake and animated even to lie down on the bed. Sleep, I guessed, would be as unwelcome there tonight as the headmaster in the playful gregariousness of a teacherless classroom. After a few minutes of vain attempts to close my eyes and sleep, I got off the bed and came out to the balcony that led out to an open terrace.
The night was slightly warm but a breeze that felt moist and soothing, wafted from the east. It was the seventh night of the bright phase of the lunar cycle, and a half-moon, circled in its pale, ghostly outline, sailed sluggishly amidst the patches of monsoon clouds. I pulled out a rocking chair from the balcony to the terrace and lounged in it, gazing up at the moon that now seemed to be hanging low above the treetops beyond the terrace. The night was almost noiseless, except for the honks of the automobiles racing now and then along the nearly deserted roads at intervals and the low, desultory hoots of the nocturnal birds.
My thoughts drifted back to the miraculous achievement of the Indian scientists. I wondered what the Chandrayan would discover in the moon. I have often looked at moon as something that inspires the poet’s imagination. The shimmering moon, as seen by poets over the years, is coated in a patina of mystery. It is an enigma, a symbol of esoteric beauty. It stirs the emotion and makes the lovers and poets lapse into a world of romantic fantasy. The moon is seen as an embodiment of ethereal joy, of secret, untold passions, of timeless ecstasy that haunts the poet’s world of fancy. Though I had been a student of commerce, I have an ingrained strain of romanticism in my character, and the moon had often inveigled me into the mystifying lands of romance and poetry.
As I reclined in the rocking chair in that wispy night of late August and gazed intently at the half-moon, leaning down from a halo of velvety translucence the lines from a poem of Wordsworth floated into my mind, the famous lines of one of Lucy poems where he lamented the parting from his love, a poem that embedded the poet’s deep sense of loss.
Strange fits of passion have I known
And I will dare to tell
But in the lover’s ear alone
What once to me befell.
++++
Upon the moon I fixed my eyes,
All over the wild lea;
With quickening space my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.
The profound sorrow of losing one’s love lurking in the lines moved me tonight too as it often did. If the moon inspires love and rapture, it also casts a shadow of gloom over the brooding souls. That was why perhaps Shelley saw it as a dying lady, lean and pale who totters forth wrapped in its gauzy veil….. a white shapeless mass!’
And it stirred Dickinson to imagine…‘Her lips of amber never part… but what must be the smile upon her friend she could bestow, were such her silver will!’
Did the moon of his night loom pale and cheerless in its smoky ring?
The lines from Dickinson intruded upon my thoughts as I looked again at the moon, trying to see if it glowed with a smile or its light had a gloomy shade.
May be, I guessed, it actually looked a bit pale, and melancholic that night!
I was puzzled why I felt that the moon was not smiling and why my thoughts were tinged with a subdued pathos on a night when our mission of connecting to the moon was finally accomplished.
The Chandrayan 3 would explore the lunar terrain, and would work to unravel the many secrets that lie dormant under its smoky glamour. I asked myself, though somewhat reluctantly, if man could actually fathom the depth of the moon’s mystery.
**
It looked like a tiny, luminous speck of silver, almost like a floating star, drifting about the orb of the moon. Then it began to make a descent, leaving a trail of silvery smoke behind as it progressed in its downward journey. I sat forward in my rocking chair and stared at the shining object that came swooping down smoothly cutting its way across the grey mass of monsoon clouds.
As I looked in astonishment, the object grew bigger and assumed the shape of a human being… A woman’s figure. But it was different. As the figure moved lower, I saw it had wings on its back, a pair of beautifully shaped wings that looked like a pair of elongated nets spun with silver threads that sparkled brilliantly against the night sky. It came swishing down to the terrace, glided to where I lay in the rocking chair and stopped. Ripples of an exotic and enchanting smell wafted in the air around as she stood there looking down at me, a half-smile on her stunningly lovely face, her flouncy, snow-white gown scintillating in the pale light. She touched my forehead. Her hand felt ice cool. A strange lassitude swept over me as I stared at the fairy, yes, a fairy it was, mesmerized. I tried to ask her who she was and where had she come from, and why? But the words would not come out. My mouth felt cold and stiff. She stared deeply into my eyes and I felt suddenly relaxed, and light.
‘Why do you look so baffled? I have come carrying a message from our queen for you and to invite you to our land.’ Her voice had a singsong quality about it and I wished she would not stop speaking.
‘Your Queen? What queen?’ I asked, letting the words out of my mouth with an effort.
‘The Queen of the Moon. The moon is ruled by our queen. We do not have men in our land. I have no idea if you know it or not, but we the dwellers of moon are always above the sorrows and joys which you earthlings take so seriously. We live a peaceful life, unperturbed by the problems of material pursuit which you people let constantly disturb your peace.’
‘You say this queen of yours invites me to your land. Why does she do that?’
‘I do not know the exact reason. But all of us fairies guess that she is marvelled at something new and strange that has happened in the moon tonight. She believes the earthlings are responsible. She wants to know more about it, may be.’
‘But, why me? I asked again, yet not fully recovered from the shock of seeing a character from another world.
‘The reason is known to her only. Our queen has her own reservations. She often keeps her thoughts to herself unless an emergency comes up when she is compelled to disclose them.’
I was slowly gathering back my composure. The initial shock was now replaced by an irrepressible curiosity.
‘You say you will take me to your land, the moon? How am I supposed to travel there? Where is your flying-chariot? Didn’t your queen send one to fly me over to the moon?’ I said in light jest.
The moon-fairy smiled, showing a row of small, sparkling teeth.
‘You do not have to worry about that. I will take you with me. We will together fly to the moon. What do I have these wings for?’ She laughed again. A soft, silvery laughter.
‘You will fly me to the moon?’ I gaped at her, open mouthed. ‘On these thready and flimsy wings?’
‘Of course, I will.’
My eyes opened wide. She saw the shock in them and her lips curled in a delicate smile. ‘We do not need a Chandrayan to make a trip to the moon.’ She said, imitating my playful remark.
‘A trip to moon on gossamer wings!’ I thought of a song I had heard long time back. I flinched from the idea.
‘What if I refuse to go?’
‘I have come to get you to the moon and I will do that whether you say yes or no.’ She said sweetly, but with a finality to her tone.
She took my hand in hers and pulled me gently out of the chair. There was something in her eyes that held me hypnotized. I felt as if I have lost all my strength to resist. I stood up obediently and she wound a long snow-white arm around my waist. I was overwhelmed by the enticing fairy-smell she exuded and gazed at her dumbly. Slowly and gently, she flapped her long, silver-net like wings and we were both lifted off the terrace floor. Surprisingly enough. I felt no fear. Instead, waves of excitement surged inside me.
We began to climb up into the air slowly. The moon-fairy smiled at me. ‘It is a beautiful place, this earth of yours,’ she said admiringly. The wind now blew with a greater speed, swishing across the moist mountain peaks that stood entranced in the seductive embrace of the sleek night. I turned my eyes down and saw the gigantic skyscrapers getting constantly diminished into toy houses and then drifting out of sight. The lights of the city hovered far below and looked like tiny, blinking stars. As if I hung in an emptiness somewhere between the sky and its mirror image. We fleeted across the cloud layers. It was an intoxicating feeling, sailing and swishing through the billowing folds of the clouds that glimmered in the pale moonlight. I could feel them sweeping past me, their cool, vapoury touch against my face, sending a creepy shiver through my bones. I wished the mesmeric night would never end, never get disturbed by any unexpected interruption.
We were climbing steadily in a cool emptiness. I let my eyes rove around. The cloud patches now were left far below us. The gentle motion of the ascent, the feel of the moon-fairy’s delicate arm around my waist and the enchanting smell emitting from her snow-white, ethereal body cast a soporific effect on me. I closed my eyes and let the soft warmth of the night seep into me.
**
‘We are almost there.’ I heard her voice and opened my eyes, gingerly, hesitantly. I did not know what exactly I was expecting but certainly not what I saw. A vast panorama that glimmered in pink and white and blue lay sprawled under us. I looked down at the spread colourful luminescence that seemed to be rising up to greet us as the fairy began to make a descent.
I felt entirely weightless as I slid down to an arena gleaming in a pink-white translucence that was surrounded on all sides by what looked like massive columns of silvery smoke where tiny star like objects blinked merrily. ‘Is this the place where the queen of moon sojourns,’ I asked myself and waited because I knew it intuitively that more surprises awaited me.
‘Where are we?’ I asked the moon-fairy as we alighted on a spot that looked like a large patch of sands glimmering white. ‘It is the palace of our queen.’ I gazed around. The place, or the palace as she called it, had no roof. An enormous awning of purple lit up brilliantly by some kind of silvery strobing fluttered above the columns of smoke like foamy waves of a sea spread out endlessly. The place was teeming with countless fairies like the one who had brought me there, quaint, delicate creatures in spotless white and with flimsy, lacy wings who flurried around busily.
A couple of fairies came hustling through the crowd to welcome me, carrying big bouquets of what looked like white flowers with a smelt of jasmines, but more strong and more enticing. Another duo followed them with glasses and an ornate jug of burnished gold studded with priceless gemstones. My gaze travelled around the alien place looking for the moon-fairy who had accompanied me there. But she seemed to have melted into the mass of the white fairies. Another fairy who was her look- alike took my hand and walked me along a brightly lit up path lined on both sides by tall shapes like trees made of something like glass I guessed, dazzling in an exuberant green in that immense profusion of light. I was made to climb a flight of stairs that led to a huge hall like structure. But it had no roof. In the middle of the hall was a big platform where a row of ornate, gem-studded chairs were set in a half-circle against floating walls tapestried with cryptic designs and fairy lights. In the middle of the half-circle was a throne like seat, that was lavishly brocaded with pearls of all sizes, and coruscating gem-stones. There were fairies who sat on the thickly carpeted floor, veenas in their laps. They were gently strumming the chords, and singing sweetly to its tune. I could not understand what they were singing but it sounded divinely melodious.
**
‘Hail the Queen,’ the group of fairies who had accompanied me to the hall called out in a chorus. The fairies holding the veenas stood up, and another group began strewing the pearly white flowers around. All eyes were turned up, riveted on the chariot like object that was slowly descending. An exotic, enchanting fragrance pervaded the air as it stopped in the middle of the hall. Little later a pair of small, white feet, tucked in silvery white shoes stepped out. ‘Hail the Queen,’ they cried again. And the Queen of the moon, in a flouncy and sparklingly embroidered silvery gown, her face partly hidden under a tulle trim veil, alighted from it. I stared at her as she smiled and greeted the fairies waving a snow-white hand that was encircled in a bracelet of white, glinting stones, a stunningly beautiful figure straight out of some poet’s fancy. She took off her veil and gestured at the fairies asking them to sit down, as she lowered herself to the throne.
She was ethereally beautiful, I thought and smiled to myself. Of course, she had to be, she was an ethereal creature after all! But her face wore a matured look, as if she had seen life from close quarters and experienced its falls and rises.
‘Music,’ she said snapping her fingers and the fairies began to perform. The hall resounded with the soft, melodious music, transporting me to a state of trance.
I sat still, on my seat, looking unblinkingly at the queen, overwhelmed by the grandeur of her presence. She lifted up a hand, gesturing to stop and the fairies stopped singing.
‘Welcome to our land of silver glow, young man,’ she smiled at me. I stood up and bowed my greetings.
‘Please be seated,’ she said. ‘I apologise for bringing you here in this manner and without any notice, but there is a very valid reason for that.’ She paused briefly.
I waited, without saying anything.
‘Tonight is very special, both for you, the dwellers of earth, and the denizens of the moon. You have succeeded in your endeavour to bridge the chasm that kept our lands separated and cut off from each other. I know that such attempts were made earlier too, but this time it has worked out more effectively. We have always wanted to communicate with you earthlings, to know more about the beautiful land you live in, to connect to you…. yes, that is the key word… connect…
Our fairies have made several efforts to explore and study your earth, but somehow they got intimidated by the place, the loud noises produced by the numerous motor-run vehicles that crowd the black asphalt roads, they got scared by the huge multitude of humans thronging around everywhere, buzzing cacophonously, the big factories with their chimneys emitting black smoke, the hard, hurting lights derived from artificial sources and all the pollutions resulting from the unnatural living conditions you have adopted yourself to. We have heard that centuries before, the earth was a blissful and serene place to live in but the humans who inhabit the place now have messed up its pristine charm and have resorted to all sorts of evil practices and crimes. They have meddled with and assaulted the nature. The consequence is a drastic change in the climate and increase in natural hazards which pose a menace to your species. But there are many there that pursue the path of honesty and righteousness. There are men of great wisdom and intelligence who despite all odds had worked on this noble project of bringing your land to make contact with us and we sincerely hope this will lead to an exchange of the thoughts and ideas that will bring in better changes for you. You know the earth and moon have always shared a relationship of love but now the abstractness of that relationship has been concretized to a reality.’ The queen paused here and looked thoughtfully at me.
‘You happen to be a very sensible young man who, we think will be instrumental in strengthening the connection,’ She said , a look of admiration in her eyes. ‘Tonight the earth and the moon are joined together in a cosmic bond of love. We want this relationship founded on love should be cemented by the conjoining of the inhabitants of both the terrains through a sacred institution of wedding. After much deliberation we have chosen you to carry forward this mission. We have chosen you as the most suitable match for our princess. We want you to marry her and settle here. You are at liberty to visit the earth any number of times you want. A moon-fairy like the one who has brought you here can fly you back any time you want to visit your homeland. We have, of course no right to compel you for this, but we want you to meet the princess and then decide for yourself. If you are still unwilling for the marriage, we will send you back, without any hard feelings.’
She looked up and snapped her fingers once again flashing the diamond rings on them. The fairies resumed the playing of their veenas. All eyes turned upwards as a bejewelled palanquin like structure came slowly sweeping down. A couple of fairies ran to it to support the princess climb off the chariot. She was frail and slightly built, not tall as the queen, and was clad in a flowy gown that was embellished with floral designs embroidered in it with gold and silver threads. The fairies walked her gently to an ornate seat and the queen touched the princess’s head fondly as she settled beside her. A pearl-white veil of lace applique draped over her head hid the upper portion of her face. I could only see her lips, and a dimpled chin. Her slightly long, delicate throat was adorned with a diamond neckless that dazzled in the bright light. Like the queen the princess too wore gem-studded bracelets around her hands. I hoped she was as beautiful as her mother. My heart was filled with a strange elation. ‘Marry the princess of the moon! And to live a royal life in this magical land of silver -glow!!’ I considered myself to be the luckiest person ever born on earth. I was desperate to get a glimpse of her full face but that seemed not possible. But I could see a little of the full red lips and as I looked, they parted in a small, seductive smile as if she could read my mind.
‘If you wish so the princess would take you for a stroll around so that you get acquainted with our land and at the same time get to know the princess better. Would you like to take a look at the land of silver-glow?’ The queen of moon looked at me questioningly.
Without replying I moved towards the princess and held out my hand. There was a broad smile of understanding on the queen’s face. ‘Go, dear. Show him around,’ she said to the princess who had by now got to her feet. After a brief hesitation she put her hand in mine. I could not see her eyes or her face but I guessed she had smiled. We both stepped down and glided along the aisle lined with columns of cut-glass designs that reflected an array of gleaming colours. Fairies stood lined up on both sides of it singing melodiously. Soon we were out in the open, away from the queen’s glittering royal court and its aura of grandiosity. I felt a cool breeze rustling across quasi darkness of the terrain, gently caressing my face. The brilliant lights of the queen’s open palace retreated into the distance as we glided on, our feet not touching the ground, levitating through a mesmeric, azure luminosity. I looked about me. There were sands as far as my gaze could travel. I looked around. Miles and miles of sand that gleamed like powdered silver sprawled around and ahead of us, interrupted at places with small hillocks and ditches. I could see there were deep craters large enough to create an illusion of a large dried-up well. They looked dark and frightening as we swept past them. My hold on the princess’s hand tightened. She laughed sweetly. ‘You have nothing to worry. We will not fall into them,’ she said sensing my fear. A huge, rocky plateau coiled by loops of blue smoke loomed ahead of us. She twined a slim hand around me and guided me into that smoke-wrapped, dreamy expanse. We seemed to be swimming in a river of shimmering vacuum till we arrived at a place where a polished slab of glass stuck out from the sandy floor brightly. She lowered herself to it and pulling at my hand gently made me sit down beside her. it was there for the first time I got an opportunity to get a close look at her. ‘It is so romantic here, and you are so beautiful! I wish the moment of ecstasy would never end, never get punctuated by paltry, trivial thoughts!’ I whispered like an adolescent sloshed in love.
‘Will you marry me?’ she whispered back.
‘Yes, oh, yes!’ I leaned forward to take her in my arms, but she shifted away. ‘Why do you move away from me?’ I asked, feeling slightly dismayed. ‘But you haven’t seen me yet.’ ‘What is there to see? I returned. ‘You are the princess of the moon. What more can I wish for in my life?’ I looked at her and she seemed to be smiling ruefully at me from under the lace applique veil. ‘Won’t you like to take a good look at my face? I do not want you to regret your decision later.’ She said and took off the veil. I stared at her face. There was a long, patch of faded brown on her face running down from her right eyebrow and tapering into a narrow ribbon to her chin on the left. Minus that unusual scar that marred its beauty the face held an enigmatic charm. I was shocked at this revelation, but I had begun to like her genuinely, impressed by her pristine beauty and more than that by her honesty. She did not want me to commit myself to any bonding without being sure of where I stood, for not wanting me to be proselytized to her community.
‘I will accept you as you are, whichever way you look. I admit that I had expected you to be exceedingly beautiful because you are the princess of the moon. We have loved the moon since we were kids in spite of its scar. Moon has always been a symbol of magical beauty for me, and for many. Now that the earth had made an effective contact with moon, I too want to know you more intimately.’ I said earnestly.
She heaved out a deep sigh.
‘You are a gem of a human being. I am so fortunate to have you in my life!
She said sighed again. We sat there in that hypnotic solitude holding each other’s hand tightly, wrapped in our warm breaths that had now mingled together, frozen in time.
I feel her had getting stiff in my grip. ‘What is it?’ I asked, surprised.
‘I would like you to go back to your home,’ she said suddenly. ‘This is no place for you to settle permanently nor am I the right one for you.’
The words were like a stab at my heart. ‘Why do you say that? You had agreed to marry me a short while ago. I am beginning to like you and your place immensely.’
‘That is because you are impressed by its surface glamour. Our land hides deep, terrifying secrets in its bowel.’ She freed her hand from my hold.
‘You say this to desist me from my decision. May be, you consider me as someone below your rank and position.’ I returned, my tone contrite.
She sat quietly, a faraway look in her big eyes.
I waited, not knowing what to say, hoping she would think more seriously before making a decision.
‘Would you like to see the Chandrayan 3?’ she asked breaking the silence. I was immediately alert and the spell lifted off me.
‘Can I see it? I asked eagerly.
‘It was on the other side of those hills,’ she said pointing at the far end of the smoky plateau. I let my gaze follow her finger. My eyes could discern a row of hills, their rocky, bald tops reflecting a subdued white-blue glow, looking like an enormous, sparkling string of exotic gemstones of unusually large size.
‘Beyond those hills?’ I looked dubiously at her.
She nodded and stood up. I was excited at the prospect of seeing the Chandrayan 3, the rocket that was a marvel of space science. The denial of the princess to marry me had faded out of my mind in that moment of elation. My heart was surging with pride that I lived in that country that made this miracle possible.
‘Are you sure it is there?’ I asked again, not trusting my luck.
‘Of course. Do I look like a liar? ’Her eyes twinkled in mock anger.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ I said apologetically. ‘It was just that it was something difficult to believe, that I could actually see the real thing in my own eyes!’
She did not say anything to that and moved ahead of me, I followed her, in a floating motion, my feet a little above the ground. But I was now accustomed to it and it did not pose any problem. We reached the foot of the hills in a while. She stopped by a hill that looked larger than others and had a black circular spot in the middle. I squinted at it. It was actually the mouth of a cave. In that lurid light it looked ominous to me. But I did not say that to her. ‘What next?’ I asked instead. ‘We enter the cave, and journey down the tunnel. The tunnel opens to the glade where your Chandrayan had landed.’
I was in two minds. Should I or should not I venture into that black mouth of the cave, into the tunnel snaking darkly into god knew where. ‘Do not fear. I will be moving ahead of you. just follow me. it will not take much time to reach at the opening.’ She said encouragingly, sensing my hesitation, and stepped into the cave, illumining the darkness considerably. I waited for a brief moment, then stepped gingerly into the eerie, wavering pattern of light made by the luminous form of the princess. She drifted ahead of me and that boosted my confidence to a certain degree. Astonishingly enough, there in that dark tunnel, my feet touched the ground. Excited at the discovery, I dragged one step forward and then another. Yes! I was able to walk on the rocky floor of the tunnel. I looked ahead. The princess had stopped. She was waiting for me, still drifting in the air, the flouncy border of her gown fluttering beneath her floating feet. ‘I can walk …’ I exclaimed cheerfully. ‘Yes. Because of the gravitational force here.’ She replied. Her voice was cool and dispassionate. ‘Why do you float then? You too can walk on the tunnel floor.’ I said puzzled that she was still hovering in the air. ‘No I can’t’. I am different from you,’ she said shortly and flitted on.
The ceiling of the tunnel got lower and the walls damper as I scrambled on behind the princess.
‘I do not like it here,’ I said, feeling intimidated by the mysterious darkness the cave was shrouded in. The light that emitted from the princess relieved the choking, maddening darkness a little. The princess stopped from time to time and waited for me as I blundered into the narrowing passage like a man under a spell. The walls of the cave that were smooth at the opening area were now rough and craggy. Rocks, jutting out from the walls like shrapnel tore at me as I hurtled in, making me wince in pain. I trudged on, losing all sense of time and place, encapsulated in the tiny halo of light trailing behind the princess. ‘Oh!’ I cried out as my shoulder hit a slippery rock that had stuck out from the dark, damp wall.
She stopped and turned to look at me. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked. I wanted to say that I did not want to continue this precarious journey any longer, but the urge to see the space rocket Chandrayan 3 prodded me on. ‘It is nothing ..just a rock,’ I tried to sound normal though deep within I was truly shaken. She moved closer towards me. ‘Are you sure you are not going to regret your decision?’ she asked looking deep into my eyes.
‘What decision? To see the space rocket?’ I was not sure what exactly she wanted to know.
‘No, the decision to marry me.’
It was my turn to look perplexed. ‘Why should I regret it? It is no less than a miracle for an earth-dweller to get the princess of moon as his wife.’ I said sincerely.
‘I do not believe that. I know you have agreed to marry me because you pity me inwardly for the scar on my face, or may be, you are too fascinated by the glamour and resplendence of our land to listen to the truth or to think logically. Too carried away by the surface glitter to suspect the presence of the impenetrable darkness underneath it, just like this cave, in the bowel of the moon.’
I gaped at her foolishly, my mind refusing to register what she was saying, fear taking hold of me. There was an odd glimmer in her eyes, and her lips twisted in a strange, lopsided smile.
‘I do not need your sympathy. Find out your space rocket for yourself and return to your land.’ She lashed the words at me as I stood helplessly in the darkness desperately wanting to reach the opening beyond the tunnel, losing all interest in the Chandrayan, missing my beautiful earth.
‘Find your way out of the tunnel on your own,’ she said bitterly. She turned and floated away, the folds of her gown billowing behind her.
‘Wait! Do not go. Please let me out of here!’ I screamed at the top of my voice. I was alone now, trapped in the dark womb of a timeless tunnel.
In that vast, vacuous silence my voice sounded deep and hollow. The tunnel was closing in on me, threatening and maleficent. I scampered on, groping for a support, lost in that bottomless emptiness. Suddenly I saw a faint, orange light ahead of me and blundered towards it hurting and scratching myself against the sharp protuberances on the walls. The light grew larger as I moved towards it, and I could feel the warmth now. I quickened my pace and hurtled on, gasping for breath, but hope surging in me. Something from behind touched my shoulder and gave it a shake. I closed my eyes tightly and screamed wildly for help, but no sound came out of me. The light was now close to my face and felt hot.
‘Have you been sleeping all night out here in this rocking chair, brother?’ A voice asked. I opened my eyes gingerly. My younger brother Anish stood there shaking my shoulder, looking puzzled.
It was a fine morning. The sky was clean and the sun had already come up some distance in the east. I lay sprawled out in the rocking chair in the open terrace, squinting at the sunlight.
‘What is the matter with you?’ He asked again. ‘Why did you sleep here all night?’
‘I had gone on a trip to the moon on gossamer wings,’ I was about to say, but held the words back. I flashed a smile at him, instead.
‘Nothing is the matter. I was just resting and had drifted into a deep sleep.’ I said and got to my feet.
Dr.Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English, is an acclaimed translator of Odisha. She has translated a number of Odia texts, both classic and contemporary into English. Among the early writings she had rendered in English, worth mentioning are FakirMohan Senapati's novel Prayaschitta (The Penance) and his long poem Utkala Bhramanam, which is believed to be a.poetic journey through Odisha's cultural space(A Tour through Odisha). As a translator Dr.Das is inclined to explore the different possibilities the act of translating involves, while rendering texts of Odia in to English.Besides being a translator Dr.Das is also a poet and a story teller and has five anthologies of English poems to her credit. Her recently published title Night of the Snake (a collection of English stories) where she has shifted her focus from the broader spectrum of social realities to the inner conscious of the protagonist, has been well received by the readers. Her poems display her effort to transport the individual suffering to a heightened plane of the universal.
Dr. Snehaprava Das has received the Prabashi Bhasha Sahitya Sammana award The Intellect (New Delhi), The Jivanananda Das Translation award (The Antonym, Kolkata), and The FakirMohan Sahitya parishad award(Odisha) for her translation.
“OH, you sweet birds on trees, my dear peacocks, pheasants and crows, too. How I wish to be near you!” the tribal youth who had materialised by my side murmured plaintively. Then, shaking his head, he added, “But this damned road is between us and I am not able to cross.”
I was waiting for a bus at this remote village in the hills for a ride back to town. I had just completed my first job as a roads contractor on a stretch of this same winding thoroughfare and so engrossed was I with my calculations of cost and profit that I’d failed to notice the tribal boy’s presence till I heard his lament.
“Why have I to cross the road? Why? Why?” His troubled face was contorted, like the twists and turns of the road.
I was puzzled. Why was he troubled by an ordinary road that had no traffic that could possibly cause him any harm? I tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped nervously and threw me a startled look, like a frightened deer. He could have run across the run then and there, if only to get away from me. Only he couldn’t bring himself to do so. It seemed an invisible force or barrier held him back.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I told him. Do I look like an asura (devil) to you?” I knew tribals were terribly afraid of asuras which they believed were everywhere.
He relaxed somewhat and looked at me intently. The natives of the hills, especially tribals, have little faith in people from the plains. Apart from the question of these simple folk being cheated in broad daylight by traders from below, or the rampant deforestation and loss to their livelihood caused by unscrupulous contractors, their distrust is deep-rooted because of the basic difference between the two approaches to life and property. For a civilised person, the acquisition of property is a way of life, while the tribal believes that craving for property puts an end to life. And can the twain meet!
“Go ahead if you want to cross the road,” I tried to persuade him. “See, it’s a free road. No bus or truck is going to run you down.” Still he hesitated so I held out my hand. “Here, I’ll help you across if you’re so afraid.”
Tentatively he took hold of my index finger and almost dragged himself behind me. I was like a boat ferrying someone across a bridgeless river. The irony was that a tribal boy who in all likelihood was adept at fording fierce hill streams found himself out of depth when it came to an innocuous looking road.
He heaved a huge sigh of relief when we reached the other side and let go of my finger. Then he removed a feather from the headband he was wearing and, ever so diffidently with a spreading grin, offered it to me as a token of gratitude. I was amused because my simple act of “valour” had produced a “feather in my cap”. Sadly, I had no cap to which I could attach it so I put the feather in my pocket.
The boy lingered, looking up at the tall trees where the birds fluttered and sang and flew around. He even tried to croon like them and seemed in no great hurry to move.
“So, don’t you have somewhere to go?” I asked, thinking of his urgency to cross the road in the first place.
“Yes,” he replied, “but there is plenty of time till sunset.”
“Then why all that drama about crossing the road?”
He stiffened at the mention of the road. “I no like road. It is evil.”
I was taken aback. “But why? A road only helps you to go places. You can go by bus in less time and you don’t get tired.”
“No, we need no road, no bus,” the boy declared. “We no need go far. All we want is here in forest. Before road come, me and my brother roam freely, eye the birds in trees, run anywhere we like, not caring where we go. Then the road come and divide our playground. Our land cut in two, like a goat! Bus, truck disturb our free run. How we can look up at birds when me must look out for vehicles? My brother so happy that day to find new bird. He running and forget the road… Ah! My poor brother!” Tears welled in his eyes.
I was too shocked to say anything.
“The road is our curse!” he hissed. “Take it away, use it in town where you need more. Leave us barefoot on our forest paths.”
I could only shuffle my feet, looking up and down the road. There was an awkward silence till he calmed down. “No, too late!” he added with a shake of his head. “Water flowing down a river not go up again.” With a sense of dejection that is so familiar to the downtrodden, he walked slowly into the trees.
As I watched his receding back, a voice tried telling me, “It’s only a bad carpenter that blames his tools. So why blame the road. It’s really his brother’s fault for not looking when he was running across.” But I realised it wasn’t that simple. Like Rudyard Kipling’s East and West, we had, within our East itself, the twain of North and South that repelled each other in invisible, incompatible ways, in spite of the roads being laid every day to bring them closer together.
I felt for the feather in my pocket. Would my tribal acquaintance have snatched it back if he had come to know of my role in building the “cursed” road? I wondered.
Ishwar Pati - After completing his M.A. in Economics from Ravenshaw College, Cuttack, standing First Class First with record marks, he moved into a career in the State Bank of India in 1971. For more than 37 years he served the Bank at various places, including at London, before retiring as Dy General Manager in 2008. Although his first story appeared in Imprint in 1976, his literary contribution has mainly been to newspapers like The Times of India, The Statesman and The New Indian Express as ‘middles’ since 2001. He says he gets a glow of satisfaction when his articles make the readers smile or move them to tears.
Turning off the main street, a path on both sides lined with multi-coloured marigolds leads to a small hill. It ends at Dhanvantari Public School. A building like a letter-L in the English alphabet, where all the natural beauty of Uttarakhand converges. From the schoolyard, a distant snow-capped mountain appears between the mountains, sometimes disappearing into the clouds. The locals claim it's Uttar Kashi. I only saw it after a week. Before that, it hid from me, shrouded in mist.
I remember my first time arriving there. It felt like I had stepped into heaven. Every blade of grass seemed to bloom. Mountains stretched endlessly, dotted with houses like Matchboxes pasted on each slope. The road along the mountain's edge overlooked a deep gorge—one slip by the driver, and we'd all be gone.
I thought such beauty would be enough to soothe the sorrow of someone who could no longer hold their own life together. A place perfect for my solitude. But I was not alone. My two children, in 8th and 11th grade, were with me. My husband had been here a month already, working as a sports teacher. I wanted only to be a chemistry teacher, free from responsibility, at least for a while.
Here, I had the peace I craved.
As a residential school, the owner, Yudhveer Tomar, ensured we were well cared for, providing good accommodation and food for the staff. Though Tomarji didn't own the school outright, he treated us as friends or family, saying we should consider the school our own. A tall, slim man of forty-nine, with white colour with a childish smile, he had a way of making everyone liked him. His wife, Kiran, managed the school's affairs. A happy family, with two daughters—five-year-old Rithima Tomar and one-year-old Garima Tomar . People here call Uttarakhand Devabhoomi, the Land of the Gods. I thought that might be true. Soon, I realized there were not only beautiful flowers and delicious fruits but also warm, friendly people.
The only problem is the overwhelming superstitions. I've learned that in some Shiva temples, they mix ganja into the offerings. As a science teacher, I feel it's my responsibility to combat these superstitions, so I make many attempts to do so.
Perhaps because I demonstrate fake saint to the children—hiding metallic sodium inside a coconut, pouring water on it, and setting it alight—they say, "Hamari science ma'am ko magic jaan ta ha." (Our science madam knows magic.)
The children see the class teacher as their personal guardian. As the class teacher for the 8th grade, whenever any teacher is absent, the students always come to me first. And so it was, a class got unexpectedly into my hand.
How long had it been? What was this weight that pulled me into such sleep, like a drug? I couldn’t shake the heaviness. There’s a little girl in first grade, Anamika Parmar, beautiful like a doll, but the teachers have spoiled her. While I was drawing the structure of the atom for my 8th graders, she wandered off toward Phoolbulaiya, a shadowy, overgrown building behind the school. Fear gripped me that she’d get bitten by a snake, so I chased after her, not even thinking to set down the chalk. The class leader, Shikha Dimri, followed me close behind."Ma'am, uske andar mat jao, uske andar jaane wala lok wapas nahi aya hai!" (Ma'am, don't go inside, no one who enters ever comes back!) Shikha’s voice trembled with fear.
I remember laughing at her and stepping inside, thinking it was nothing. But suddenly, it was like the lights went out—the darkness swallowed everything. I turned back toward the door, but instead of the way out, I walked into another room. I had no idea where to go, and my throat tightened with fear. Where had the little girl gone? I fumbled in the dark for a while, my hand brushing against a closed door. Pushing it open with both hands, I heard crying from inside. My voice caught in my throat, too afraid to call out.
I remembered what my mother used to say, chant "Namashivaya “, when you're scared." I whispered it repeatedly, and slowly the terror loosened its grip. No matter how old you are, in fear, the first thought is always of your mother.
Finally, I mustered the courage to shout, “Kon hai app?” (Who’s there?) Only groaning answered me, like someone in pain. I wanted to flee, but the building was a maze of rooms, all silent except for that one sound. My feet dragged me into a room, dim but calm. I sat on what felt like a worn-out sofa. I hadn’t realized how tired I was—my eyes closed against my will.
I woke up to the sunlight, pouring into the room. The weight of sleep lifted like an iron gate swinging open. I was on the same old sofa in the first room I entered, still clutching the chalk in my hand. The last thing I remembered was drawing an ‘atom’ on the board. Had I fallen asleep while teaching? How long had I been out? Was the class over? What would I say to the students, to the principal? Would Kiran Ma'am find out? Silence blanketed the building. The students were staying adjacent to the dining room on the third floor,. On one side, the student dorms, on the other, the unmarried teachers’ quarters. For the married teachers, most of whom were couples, houses were set up outside the school. But everyone dined together in the school hall.
My mind spun with these mundane thoughts, pulling me back to reality, as if the school itself was a different world. I dragged myself to the stairs, thinking of tea, but then I saw Kiran Ma'am talking to someone in the front yard, her voice floating up faintly. Alas, they will know I left the class. Maybe I can apologize—though how do you apologize for something like this? And where had those missing people gone? “X’cuse me, Kiran Ma’am,” I called out, stepping toward the figure gracefully. She turned around, but it wasn’t Kiran Tomar. This woman was older, though there was something about her that felt oddly familiar.
“Sorry, me socha ki aap Kiran Ma'am ha." (Sorry, I thought you were Kiran Ma'am.) “Tu kaise jante hai unko? Wo meri maa he.”
(How do you know her? She’s my mother.) I blinked. "What? Aap?" “Hum hai Rithima Tomar.”
(Yes, I’m Rithima Tomar.)
My mind reeled. Was this a joke? This couldn’t be the same five-year-old girl who held my
hand this morning, could it?
"Aap ka umar kya he ji?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. (How old are you?)
“Paisat. Kya chahiye tumhe?”
(Sixty-five. What do you want?)
Sixty-five? What’s happening? My mind, usually sharp as a blade—trained to unravel the
mysteries of organic chemistry—was now tangled in confusion. Darkness had settled in
around me, thick and heavy.
Where would I go? I had no home, no place to sleep. Nothing. No one.
As fear ebbed like a receding tide, memories washed up on the shores of my mind.
Everything felt distant, faded. All I had left was the piece of chalk in my hand, the one I’d
picked up so many years ago.
How had the school, once vibrant and alive, become an old age home? Where was I sixty
years ago? Where were my husband and children now? Was this how death felt? An
endless wandering in confusion?
"Kya chahiye tumhe?" The woman asked again, her voice pressing against the fog in my
mind. (What do you want?)
Tomar Ji’s daughter wasn’t abandoned after all. But I had lost everything on this strange
journey. I was just another stranger begging for help, for a place.
"Subai ek ladaki mujhse gussa hokay kam chod ke chali gayi. Agar tum chaho toh uski jagah
le sakti ho."
(One of the girls quit in anger this morning. You can take her place if you want.)
“Kaha se ho tum?” (Where are you from?)
"Kerala se." (From Kerala.)
"Hey, bahut badia." (That’s great.)
She nodded in that peculiar way, her hands folded, a gesture that reminded me of Tomar Ji.
Like him, she seemed to have a fondness for Keralites. And then she walked away,
disappearing into the distance.
I stood there, motionless, gazing at the snow-capped mountains glowing in the fading evening light, like Kanchanagopurams. I wondered if there were any ties left to a life I barely remembered, in this land of the Aghoris—those who had forsaken all attachments.
Surya is a global citizen with a heart rooted in Kerala, India, where she was born and raised. Her journey took her to northern India, where she shared her passion for learning as a teacher with her students. Today, she finds herself in Italy, embracing new experiences and cultures. With a blend of Indian traditions and international perspectives, she is a teacher, traveller, and tale-spinner, always looking for new inspirations
A young doctor looked outside his train compartment through the foggy glass window. The signpost of the station was nowhere near. In early December winter of 1943 A.D., there were not much movement on the platform so early in the morning, except the odd passengers alighting from the train. The Ticket Collector (TC) of the First class coach was an English man who had fully covered himself with a dark long coat, gloves, long boots and a vintage Baker Boy felt cap. The tea hawker did not dare to come near the compartment as he wanted to escape the wrath of the TC, who stood near the door and was reading the names of passengers who were to get down. He read out loudly “Dr. Ratnakar Mahapatra, your destination has arrived. Please get down with your luggage before I allow passengers to get in.”
Halting time for the train at Cuttack station was half an hour. Yet Dr Mahapatra quickly came down with his bedroll, suitcase and a trunk. It was biting cold with hostile bone chilling morning Mahanadi breeze blowing across the city. Both greeted each other and the TC directed the coach attendant to arrange for a porter for the doctor. Starting the conversation the TC mentioned “in this inclement weather you would require additional protection over a short coat and woollen cap otherwise you will catch pneumonia.” He enquired about the final destination of the doctor. Dr. Mahapatra mentioned he was going to report at Falsepoint Lighthouse Hospital.
“Oh, the comfortable part of your journey ends here and the arduous part begins. You have to choose between a long boat journey for over five hours on canal or bus drive on kucchha canal bund road for four hours up to Kujang and then catch the weekly-once lighthouse exclusive boat to Hukitola” said the TC. The Young doctor mentioned he will prefer to go by road. The porter carried the belongings to a cycle rickshaw after both wished good bye to each other. From Cuttack bus stand Dr Mahapatra took a bus ride to Rahama, as suggested by Dr Panigrahi in his letter, whom he was going to replace. On reaching Rahama he took a boat ride to Kujang, a few kms away.
Dr Panigrahi mentioned about the exclusive light house boat, for which seven porters were on roll by the government. The small boat equipped with oars and sails, used to ferry every Sunday to nearby Kujang weekly market(held on Tuesdays) to fetch weekly day to day needs of the inhabitants of the island and would return on Wednessday or Thursday morning every week from Kujang. So if someone missed the boat he had to wait for a week at Kujanga to reach the light house.
Such a secluded place with very poor transport network, all alone far from the near and dear ones, Mr. Mahapatra got emotional at the thought as to how he will pass his solitary confinement. Dr Panigrahi in his letter gave a vivid description of Hukitola island which was actually a headland or landmass entering into the bay of Bengal, formed by silt deposit hardly 8km in length and around 1 to 2 km in width. The light House was built to ward off the approaching ships in the night from this landmass. Every day the connecting strip of land used to get submerged during high tide turning Hukitola into an island and remained marshy during low tide. The marshy lands had only mangrove forest (Hental and Bani shrubs). A few wild boars and black bucks were the only animals in this island.
On arrival at Kujanga Dr Mahapatra came to know that the exclusive Lighthouse boat (the only means of transport to the Light house then) had left and was some distance ahead. He sent a messenger on cycle with a message for the boat to return to Kujang. The boat obliged and took him to the Light house next morning. The 120km long canal from Chhatarabazar in Cuttack upto Chaumuhani, a place two km from Kujang was the place where the boats enter Mahanadi river for further journey through a lock gate up to the Light house. Chaumuhani then was a big trading point, where fish captured by fisherman from sea were cleaned and dried with salt before ferrying them by boats via the long canal to Cuttack for sale.
Mahanadi, after Chaumuhani was very deep and was three km in width. The river swelled further during the high tide and used to house many crocodiles (called Dhinkia) and this journey of approximately 35 kms in a small non-motorized boat was a menacing one. However, during that time this was the only option available for the young doctor to reach his place of posting.
Before proceeding to report Dr Mahapatra made some research himself to find out about the Falsepoint light house in Hukitola, which was a secluded headland on Odisha coast, which housed the oldest surviving Light house in Eastern India, known as Falsepoint Light house. This 186 year old light house is 95 kms away from Bhubaneswar, the state capital and 13 kms away from Paradip port and falls in Batighar Gram panchayat of Kendrapada district. Built by the British East India Company during 1836-37, the light house became functional from 1838 and has weathered countless storms and cyclones. (John Beams, who was Collector of Cuttack (1875-1877A. D.) described this in his autobiography “Memoirs of a Bengal Civilian” as a historic landmark and a golden symbol of the maritime history of the country.)
On arrival at the island, the new doctor was welcomed by the Anglo-Indian Lightkeeper Mr. William and Dr. Panigrahi.
Dr Mahapatra found a 39 metre high Light house with a glass house at the top, that housed a pump and kerosene lamp light visible to a distance of 50-60 km to guide the ships in the night ( later on converted to electric light in 1990s). There were circular steps to the top of the light house. A wall like screen used to move around the light at regular intervals to make the light focus off and on. Around the light house there were small houses for the porters connected to each other in a semi circle around one side of the light house, whose doors were towards the outside. On the other side was a big iron gate on the entrance to the light house. To the West of the light house stood a two storied building for the light keeper and to the east there was another two storied building, the ground storey serving as the hospital and the upper storey was the living quarter for the resident doctor.
Approximately one and half km to the East there was a place called Kajalpatia with 34 thousand coconut trees ( It is believed that years back a ship containing coconuts sank and the garden came up). The Kajalpatia coconut garden was auctioned by Kujang Zamindar every year. A wide road connected the hospital to Kajalpatia coconut garden. On this road at twenty feet distance from the hospital was a Christian cemetery, surrounded by a three feet high compound wall which served as the graveyard for burial of Christians and housed several graves for those who drowned in the sea during their voyage.
Dr Mahapatra found it strange to know that previous doctor never dared to stay in the quarter, meant for him and stayed in the guest house of the Light House. Dr Panigrahi informed him that he never dared to move to his quarter which was a haunted house, frequented by ghosts in the night. The young doctor laughed away at this information, but decided to spend that night in the guest house and find out the truth. He visited his quarter in the day light after lunch and didn’t find anything wrong there. Rather he was satisfied with the spacious and neatly maintained furnished quarter for the doctor.
He undertook a further inspection of his quarter in the afternoon around 5 PM and almost made up his mind to shift in next day. Suddenly, he looked outside through the window of his first floor quarter and found Mr. William, the Light keeper sitting near a grave and blabbering something in his native Tulu language, which was hard to decipher. The young doctor raised his hands to draw his attention and on enquiry Mr William informed he was praying. It continued for some time before he left and in the bright light of the Light House darkness faded away. The young doctor dared to move around for a while and moved towards the road from the hospital towards the coconut garden. After taking a stroll for twenty or so steps he looked towards the hospital and his quarter and could not believe his eyes. He found a completely naked, toothless white old man standing on one slightly dark corner of the hospital compound and making face at him. Although it was a chilling experience, the young doctor did not show any sign of fear and moved ahead towards the crowded portion of the light house. He himself was looking back and still was finding it difficult to believe. He did not raise an alarm as it would have been embarrassing for someone, who moments back was denying the existence of any such thing as ghost.
As that was the time of World War II there was fear of Japanese attack who had already occupied Brahmadesh (present Myanmar) and threat of attack on India was imminent and real, nobody was allowed inside the compound of the light house except those who were constantly keeping a watch on the sea with binoculars. Their job was to inform about any movement in the sea to the light keeper who used to pass the message through telegraphic code to Kolkata. There was a dedicated telephonic connection from Marshaghai Post Office to the light house for this purpose. There was a bell hanging for the watchman on light house tower to inform the Light Keeper.
That night while Dr Mahapatra and Dr Panigrahi were taking dinner at the house of the Light Keeper the bell rang. Mr Wiliam stood up and called everyone to the balcony of his first floor house to see the ghost menace. In the bright light of lighthouse on the road towards Kajalpatia garden the young doctor could see seven to eight snow-white complexion children with kerosene torches in their hands who were jumping forward and moving towards the cemetery and vanishing in thin air. Everyone then returned to the dining table where Mrs William served dinner to the guests and her children.
Once again the bell rang vigorously giving indication of ghost menace. Everyone came out to the balcony to see a European white skinned couple, in their evening gowns moving from the cemetery towards the Kajalpatia road. After walking around the compound wall of the cemetery for a while they returned, sat down in the cemetery, close to each other. They then stood up below a mango tree, lowered its branches and walked up the tree and remained atop the tree for some time. Again they walked down the branch with ease stood below the tree, whispering to each other and vanished. All this continued like a drama with cemetery as the stage in bright light of light house. Again three fair complexioned uniformed soldiers appeared from nowhere and moved around for awhile. They talked to each other imitating gaits of soldiers. After a while they lost height and became dwarfs before vanishing. Again they returned to the cemetery with their heights equalling/touching palm tree and suddenly again height turning to their normal height before they vanished.
In the mean time there was huge commotion being heard from Doctor’s quarter with sounds of pulling and pushing of heavy furniture and doors and windows slammed, making raucous sounds. It seemed as if a big party was going on with a big crowd of ghosts inside. By that time the dinner was over. A European gentleman with coat, tie and hat jumped out through the first floor window and started to stoke his cigar. It emitted smoke though there was no fire. He started kicking the door and went back to the cemetery and vanished. Dr. Mahapatra requested Mr. William to focus his torch inside the doctor’s quarter, but he resisted saying that it will annoy the ghosts further. Mr William volunteered to go to the quarter and drive away the ghosts. Dr Mahapatra wanted to know if he had the power to drive away, whether the ghosts have come as per his invitation. Mr William mentioned he knows some chants to drive the ghosts away, otherwise they will disturb the attendants working in the night. The young doctor volunteered to accompany him, which was opposed by Mr William, saying that it will disturb the ghosts; yet he could accompany at the cost of danger to his life. Dr. Mahapatra did not push the issue further. But he found around thirty men jumping out through the window of his quarter and vanished into the graveyards, as Mr William started chanting something in his native language. The entire drama continued for more than an hour and the young doctor freezed, but tried to reason out.
Thereafter Dr. Mahapatra never proposed to move to his quarter and continued in Lighthouse guest house for his entire stay of little less than two months, before proceeding on leave, followed by medical leave and transfer to another place.
As per his account when the soul leaves physical body, it remains in the air choosing solitary places before entering a new body for quite some time, because of his attachment with the physical body. But they are harmless to others. During their movement only when human beings encounters them and get frightened, this harms them. But when someone through superior tantric power forcefully tries to invite these spirits and control and use them they get disturbed. He felt may be Mr William knew some way to invoke and agitate these souls. Everyone in the light house was under the control of the Light Keeper. May be he in this way used to frighten the doctors who were not under his direct control. Dr Mahapatra mentioned in his diary that he had never come across such commotion again during his entire stay, although occasionally one or two such ghosts were encountered by him. May be by his chanting in the afternoon Mr William disturbed and agitated these souls and invited them. This premise was further strengthened when he met Dr Panigrahi subsequently, who narrated an event where once he found the telephone operator in almost dying state, when he was found entangled in thousand knots in his room, while applying the Indrajal chant which he learnt from Mr William and tried to test it by applying on self.
(For someone who strongly believes ghosts in reality do not exist and are a figment of human imagination, what prompted to write this piece was when I stumbled on an eighty year old personal diary of my maternal Grand Father Dr Ratnakar Mahapatra. As a qualified physician of pre-independence era, a complete teetotaller, he always displayed a rational modern outlook on his broad shoulders and a tall frame and he would be the last person expected to vividly mention about his personal experience with ghosts if it’s only a fig of imagination.)
(The End)
Ashok Kumar Mishra’s stories are rooted in the soil and have sublime human touch. He has authored several books and written several articles on micro credit movement. Four tele films were made on his book titled “A Small Step forward”.
Did his MA and M Phil in Political studies from JNU and served as deputy general manager in NABARD.
He made pioneering contribution in building up Self Help Group movement in Odisha.
Served as Director of a bank for over six Years.
Many of his short stories in Odia vernacular and in English have been published in reputed magazines. (9491213015)
I recently watched the Bengali movie, Paras Pathar (The Philosopher’s Stone), by the grand master of Indian cinema, Satyajit Ray. The plot of this 1958 film beautifully blends fantasy with the comic, to deliver a social satire on wealth that remains relevant today.
The central character in the film, Paresh Dutta, is a humble clerk in Calcutta, living a life of struggle and dreaming of a better life. He can’t believe his luck when he discovers one day that an ordinary-looking stone, he accidentally picks up on the street, has the magical power of transforming base metals into gold. He is ecstatic with joy, at the prospect of instant and unimaginable riches. But he is also overcome with awe, at the same time, making him swoon. Even after his recovery, his initial instinct is to get rid of the stone and he considers throwing it away into the river. However, after consulting with his wife, he decides to secure a modest amount of money, before discarding it.
He acquires a comfortable house, and some jewellery for his wife, and makes arrangements for her pilgrimage. He also gives money away to various charities and gains a name for himself. However, still hankering after greater social recognition, he gets himself invited to a cocktail party. As a nouveau riche, he is obviously a misfit in that milieu of the gentry with old money. He feels slighted by the apparent lack of appreciation from the party guests. In a state of drunkenness, a frustrated Dutta sets about to show his magical power and in the process gives away the secret to his wealth. Lo and behold, the value of gold plummets, causing the Calcutta stock market to crash.
More worryingly, he finds himself arrested by the police, on suspicion of smuggling in gold, as he can’t offer a credible explanation for the source of newly acquired wealth. In the meantime, he gives the stone away to his secretary who swallows it, in a state of panic, when police raid his house. As the stone mysteriously dissolves in his secretary’s gut, all the newly created gold reverts to its original metal. The story ends on a happy note when the police fail to establish any case against him, as the evidence literally vanishes in front of their eyes.
The closing scene shows Paresh Dutta and his wife, heaving a sigh of relief and enjoying the cool breeze by the river. Perhaps, there is a grain of truth in the saying, ‘Some of the best things in life come free’.
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We all know what happiness is. At least we think, we do. But it is hard to define happiness, partly because, it is an umbrella term covering many related ideas: pleasure, joy, bliss, contentment, satisfaction and well-being. Happiness is contingent on context, reflecting our breadth of perspective and vantage point.
Joy and bliss are almost ephemeral experiences while contentment and well-being describe sustained states of mind. Enjoyment of processes producing instant pleasure, excitement and thrill, differs sharply from a deeper sense of fulfilment from exercising our higher faculties to appreciate the wonders of nature and the beauty of life to the fullest.
Another paradigm for understanding happiness is to view it as a product of activities that fulfil our needs. The needs can be basic, such as food, shelter and creature comforts, or more complex psychological needs, namely social recognition, appreciation and self-actualisation. At a basic level, instant happiness can result from the relief of tension or removal of pain, which is different from a sublime sense of self-realisation by engaging our highest faculty of reason and wisdom in pursuit of creativity and discovery.
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Where does wealth fit in this model of happiness? The plot of the movie, Paras Pathar, illustrates the link between money and happiness in two parts. The first part shows how modest wealth did dramatically raise happiness levels while the second part shows how further wealth complicated the picture to the detriment of happiness.
Dutta in the film represents the common man, whose strivings are geared to secure the basic amenities of life, some comforts, and a few trappings of achievement for social recognition. As long as his material goals were kept in check, his happiness increased manyfold. This central theme of the movie makes this fantastical story a perfect parable for our contemporary society. Even in the closing scene of Dutta enjoying the cool breeze by the river, the superficiality of the adage ‘Many of the best things in life come free’ is debunked by the reality: all such free things can be enjoyed only upon attaining a level of material affluence.
The relevance of money in meeting our basic survival needs is beyond question. Money can also increase opportunities for engaging in activities to satisfy our psychological needs. Thus money’s potential power for adding to our happiness is undeniable.
But, what about the feeling of being rich; can that by itself be enough to keep us happy? We all know how a new material acquisition can bring on a spurt of euphoria, which soon fizzles out. Such heady feelings do not lead to lasting happiness. Being social animals, our need for recognition comes to the fore when our social standing becomes our dominant concern. No wonder, Dutta was initially ecstatic with the wealth from the gold he amassed. But he was soon disenchanted by his own wealth; he craved recognition in the society.
The crashing of the stock market as Dutta’s secret leaks out is another stark message of the film: The value of things in life is dictated by their rarity. As long as gold remains scarce, its value remains high but as it becomes plentiful, its value drops. So is the case with money. While affluence increases opportunities for achieving happiness by satisfying our preeminent needs, it has the potential to create new needs. But, optimal utilisation of the additional wealth, however, requires our active participation, physical or mental, depending on our taste and temperament. As money rather than being an end in itself provides the means to happiness, money’s power to increase happiness is limited by our capacity for engagement in meaningful activities. As a result, the positive effect of money on happiness does not continue beyond a certain level of affluence.
In other words, the happiness goalpost keeps shifting, partially negating the positive impact of wealth on happiness. Thus, money’s power to increase our happiness diminishes progressively as affluence mounts. The turning point for his happiness graph comes when Dutta is bitten by the social bug and craves recognition for his wealth. In his desperate desire to be respected for his wealth, he inadvertently gives away his secret of material success.
Perhaps, our personal experience can be our best guide on the link between happiness and wealth. If we reflect on our own lives or that of our friends or family, it is easy to see that the happiest times do not necessarily coincide with our financial peaks. In fact, our happiest memories are more closely tied to the quality of our social life, i.e., connectedness with friends and family. The inevitable conclusion: Increasing wealth beyond a point does not automatically add to our happiness. By the same token, when lack of money causes privation of basic needs, money has the highest impact on happiness.
In short, money can go a long way in the path of finding happiness. But wealth often comes with a warning: Handle it with care! Implicit in this cautionary injunction is the corrosive potential of too much money. The negative impact of wealth on happiness is invariably of one’s own doing, illustrated so vividly in this movie, where Dutta ignores the warning, to his peril.
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If defining happiness is a challenge, measuring it is doubly difficult as happiness is a deeply private experience. Notwithstanding the difficulty, countries have been ranked in order of the happiness level of their people, operationalised by a Happiness Index. This is driven by the concept of Gross National Happiness (GNH), analogous to Gross Domestic Product (GDP), which measures material wealth. However, these two lists, ordered by GNH and DDP are far from identical. While richer countries figured prominently towards the top of the Happiness League table, and most countries towards the bottom of this table were poor, the correlation of countries’ material wealth with their level of happiness is not straightforward.
This brings us to a paradox of modern societies: Despite our phenomenal progress in technology and science, which has brought unprecedented material growth to the world, human unhappiness, measured by levels of anxiety, depression stress and substance abuse shows no sign of waning. There is, however, a striking dichotomy: As developing countries grow materially, the happiness of their people rises, but this does not hold true for the developed nations.
This is rather intriguing as we know that the capacity of wealth to generate happiness goes beyond meeting basic needs of food, shelter and creature comforts. At the apex of our hierarchy of needs figure self-actualisation needs, including the expression of our creativity. It is obvious that financial security is a prerequisite for engaging in creative activities and pursuing our hobbies. This pyramidal model of the hierarchy of human needs assumes that a solid base is essential for supporting the structure higher up.
Wealth frees us up to do voluntary work or indulge in charity and philanthropy. History is replete with examples of wealthy families, kings, and emperors, who were great patrons of arts and culture. They were instrumental in creating some of the greatest works of painting, sculpture, architecture and music, which have enriched our lives, filling our pot of happiness to the brim. Arguably, without their financial backing, our cultural and artistic heritage would have been vastly impoverished.
So, wealth, sometimes unfairly dubbed as “filthy lucre” paves the way for monumental achievements in diverse fields, ranging from arts to sports. It can also lift underprivileged sections of society out of poverty, guaranteeing them their basic needs, thus enhancing the happiness of society. But in all such instances, happiness flows not from passive accumulation of wealth but requires active engagement, be it chasing individual excellence or promoting a social cause.
So far in this discussion, we have overlooked health, an obvious factor in the happiness equation. Broadly speaking, maintaining good health, both physical and mental is a prerequisite for happiness. As a degree of material affluence is necessary for good health, rising affluence should lead to better health care and a more secure foundation for happiness. Isn’t it curious that developed countries have been spending increasing sums of money on the healthcare of their people, but this has not translated into more contentment or happiness?
Increased spending on healthcare doesn't always result in better health. For instance, compared to other developed countries, the United States spends a lot more on health, and Americans use a lot more medical care than Europeans. However, by standard measures, the overall health of the United States is not better than that of European countries. This is partly because as healthcare spending increases, our desires are sometimes mistaken for necessities, and the rapid growth of these needs tends to counteract the positive effects of wealth on health.
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If material wealth has this enormous potential for increasing our happiness, what goes wrong in developed nations, where despite the phenomenal growth of affluence the social parameters of unhappiness are still on the rise? While material wealth is a relevant factor for happiness a closer look at the order of rich countries with high happiness index shows it to be discrepant with the variation in their material wealth. This suggests that material wealth alone can’t explain the wide variation in happiness in our society.
Several international comparisons and observations point to a missing link in our sense of well-being to explain this twist. It is the degree of inequality of material wealth in the society or the country. Countries with higher levels of inequality are shown to have higher levels of anxiety, and social problems such as substance abuse and crime. It is not difficult to see how gross inequality can breed distrust among its members. International comparisons have shown that societies that are less unequal enjoy a greater degree of trust.
As countries become more unequal it imposes a hierarchical framework on the society. It sets one group against the others and divides communities into us and them. This exacerbates levels of status anxiety for all including the richest section. Thus high level of inequality is detrimental not only to the disadvantaged; even the privileged can’t escape its adverse effects.
Beyond its obvious moral, its movie’s happy ending illustrates a facet of happiness, which at first seems counterintuitive. While Dutta contemplates throwing the stone away, he changes his mind and sets himself rather modest material goals. More importantly, he shares his wealth with others in need through charity. The tendency to share ones material affluence with the lesser offs is traditionally viewed as a social virtue, which curbs the rising inequality in the society. Is this another hidden message of this film: Reducing the level of material inequity in society obviously benefits the poor but it is good even for the better off?
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Is it worth our efforts to measure an elusive entity like happiness? Conceptually, happiness has some similarities with quality. We can all spot quality when we see it in the same way we can recognise happiness as we feel it. But attempts to define quality remain a formidable challenge. Likewise, capturing happiness, without assigning any context, by some arbitrary unit of measurement is likely to yield a distorted picture.
That said, the measurement of happiness is still a worthwhile exercise, so long as this limitation is not forgotten. For example, it can be useful to measure changes in the level of contentment or peace among populations for comparison across time intervals. Such measurements can aid in exploring cause-and-effect relationships of interventions to improve levels of well-being in society.
In the film, had Dutta curbed his greed for recognition, position or power he would have probably lived happily ever after! Unfortunately, wealth comes with this creeping danger of pushing the happiness goalpost further away, so that no level of wealth ever feels enough. At some point, money begins to have the opposite effect on happiness: instead of adding to the happiness pot, it eats into one's peace of mind. Like many things in life, moderation in matters of money is the key to happiness.
Moderation, however, is a dirty word in the prevailing climate of capitalism, where growth and productivity measured by the GDP is universally recognised as a sign of progress for countries. Although capitalism undoubtedly has made the world richer, it has also produced deeply divided social environments, both in developing and developed countries. It has increasingly favoured accumulation of wealth in a minority at the top of the economic hierarchy thus increasing the inequality in societies. The advocates of capitalism would like us to believe that wealth creation is the main challenge. Once we master that wealth will trickle down the hierarchy to the lower sections thus benefitting the entire society. But the trickle in reality is so feeble that the net result is a widening gap between the rich and poor. With the rise in inequality, the poor get relatively poorer despite their absolute material gains.
If material inequality is divisive and inimical to happiness, what would be an incentive for people to strive for excellence? Yes, inequality is built in nature. We are not equal in our attributes or abilities. Our achievements are correspondingly variable. If we expect to be rewarded fairly by the levels of our achievements an unequal distribution of material wealth is the inescapable conclusion.
So, does manipulation of material inequality in society amount to going against nature? Would this withdrawal of monetary incentive stunt our growth? We know the power of financial incentives which fuels industry and innovation. Money’s power to prod us on path to excellence diminish progressively in a society which values prestige and social standing more than our financial worth. In any case, all such external motivators are dwarfed by our innate drive to excel. Mankind’s pinnacles of achievement are a result of a burning desire to fulfil our potential. It is this drive for self-actualisation which produces greatness.
Unbridled capitalism has given us a richer but divided world. Through the rise in the inequality it has ushered, it has made humanity including the rich less content and more anxious and restless. What remains common to the rich and poor alike is the rise in levels of anxiety, stress and unhappiness.
Advocates of capitalism portray moderation as a lack of ambition or drive, or worse, a sign of failure. In a social climate where excesses are flaunted and extravagance is revered, it is hard to cultivate restraint as a virtue. In the era of consumerism, where success is measured by our monetary worth it is hard to cultivate restraint as a virtue. Unless this consumerism mindset is curbed, greed for limitless wealth would corrode community spirit and weaken the social fabric. Measures to redress this inequality can foster a climate of trust and promote social stability leading to contentment for the rich and the poor alike. In a world, where capitalism reigns supreme, this seems like a farfetched dream. But it does not diminish the relevance of bridging this widening wealth divide in our pursuit of happiness. Neither does it make this goal any less urgent or worthwhile.
Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya from Hertfordshire, England, is a Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London.
Jay Jagdev
Sri Kutta! Does it sound weird?
Yes, that’s how he would have been officially addressed because the spelling of his surname in the official record tells just that - had Sri Srikanti Kutta (Dutta) of Bankura not protested.
Dutta was determined and was made of sterner stuff.
After repeatedly failing to move the authorities to make a valid change of the name on his ration card, he chose to stage a protest in the most non-violent and creative way. He took his appeal to the head of the organization for the fourth time and instead of requesting the authorities with folded hands wearing a hangdog look, he yelped and whined like a snarling dog much to the chagrin of the BDO in the full public view. The video became viral on social media.
The visibly upset BDO took up this urgent matter personally. Not reported in the press; the matter must have been sorted out in hours. Our experience says that things get done once you make it too hot for them to sit over it any longer.
This ‘non-important’ matter involving a ‘non-descript’ man became ‘urgent’ not because the officer was appalled on discovering the rot of inefficiency in his office but because he saw the rage and determination of Sri Dutta to take on the system and embarrass all of them publicly. As the adage goes ‘The creaking wheel got the oil’. Just assess the harassment, wastage of time, loss of reputation, and human efforts involving so many people for such a small thing.
Why did such a small issue reach this stage? Was it necessary?
Quirky stories like that of Dutta’s keep appearing in the newspapers regularly. News like - Man wins a 25-year-long litigation to recover the two rupees he was charged extra by the TTC. A man letting loose a sack full of snakes in the office of the revenue officer who was not heeding his request.
This news of Mr. Kutta (Dutta by now) might have given us a few mirthful moments on the morning of December 19th, but a much bigger and painful truth hiding behind this incident should not be brushed aside. Why a sense of duty and responsibility are not the tracks on which the administrative juggernaut moves automatically? Things move either out of someone’s goodness, or interest or under pressure. Why?
What are the organizational safeguards against it?
That incident is a commentary on how our official machinery works without a built-in responsive redressal system and how a common man is pushed to resort to active or passive violence out of sheer frustration of not being heard or served.
Some react like Mr. Dutta, some exert pressure to make things move, and the wise ones devise ways to manage (sic) the obstacles and get their thing done. But no one talks about what to do to institutionalize responsibility and accountability for performance and prevent the officers in charge to go scot-free of their delinquencies.
We are socially conditioned not to see the elephant in the room. But how long?
To explain what I mean let us discuss this Kutta to Dutta resolution episode. Did anyone (The BDO in this case) ask his office the following questions to permanently solve the problem in the system?
- Why was his name entered erroneously?
Was the person recording the names not familiar with the Bengali surnames?
- Why were his first three appeals not responded to?
Who was responsible and what was the valid explanation for not effecting the correction?
- What do the rules say about such wilful negligence?
Does it go to his performance assessment? At what stage does the feedback from the public form a part of his assessment?
If the BDO could resolve the issue in hours what disciplinary action was taken on the people who were plain deaf to the first three requests? What did their departmental inquiry unravel?
We all have some experience of dealing with such stone-deaf people for whom your reason, duty, and responsibility are not strong enough to make him lift his pen to a piece of paper to put his signature below a half-page note. He can sit on mountains of unattended files for months and no one has the power to ask him about them. It doesn’t matter how convincing or valid is your request, or how acute your situation is; your fate is determined by the whims and fancies of the person you are dealing with.
They feel empowered by their power to harass the common man. Harassments like this can turn one murderous if one is passing through personal difficulties.
We all know that there exists a world where the words like duty, responsibility, and accountability are nowhere mentioned in one’s job description. KRA and KPI and efficiencies are a strange composition of alphabets.
Not long ago to qualify as a capable householder in a city, you had to have contacts in the Civil Supply Department to get some extra kerosene or sugar beyond your quota, DoT JE to get your telephone line timely repaired, an electricity linesman for ensuring early response to a fuse-off the call, LPG distributor for that out of turn gas connection or a refill, cinema hall manager for blocking tickets of a hit movie. Many hobnobbed with the MPs for an LPG connection, telephone line, and a seat in a Central School.
Things have changed for the better and one can lead a respectable life without having to develop a friendship with such people for ensuring their legitimate rights for basic service delivery. Now only the PhDs in most of the state universities are dependent on such personal contact with your supervisor and his relationship with the clerks, big and small in the department. You earn a degree not on your merit as your right but are rewarded for your good relationship with the powers in the system as gratis. Hope it changes soon.
This type of harassment is not limited to state-owned organizations, most of the big organizations are blind to their vendor management practices or after-sales service performance. Try calling a toll-free number of a big bank to block your lost credit card or an IVR system of a big white goods company you are to get certain parts not available at the local dealership dispatched to understand what I mean.
If something has worked so far, you are lucky, if there is a hitch, you are plain unlucky.
Just buying a flight ticket in a deal, having a hotel booking in hand, or buying health insurance online won’t give you the expected service assurance, one as to be prepared for their denials citing various clauses and terms and conditions written in fine print somewhere in their documents and have a plan B for those situations.
We know how difficult it is to deal with virtual offices for your insurance claim settlement or get your refund for a canceled flight or hotel booking. I am now in the midst of such a refusal-settlement issue with OYO Rooms where my prepaid room booking was flatly dishonored by their property partner in Delhi. You must have the grit of Mr. Dutta to write reams of emails to get them to work.
But then such determination is not commonly found. And the organizations and their officials know that.
In these cases, the owners of the organizations and their representing officials know too well that they can continue to be in business as usual by creating a public perception through advertisements and serving those rare hot dissatisfied voices only to silence them. Changing the system for better service and higher accountability is not needed for business continuity.
Oh, now I am reminded of a chronic problem with my BSNL cell phone connection which I can’t neglect anymore. When my phone is out of the network coverage area, the callers are getting diverted to the number of a certain lady in Basta, Balasore who is treating my callers with the choicest of expletives to vent her frustration. Who likes being inundated with calls trying to speak to someone with an unfamiliar name?
To deal with the problem first, I have to draft a long application detailing my problem, then personally go to the right officer sitting in some numbered rooms on the right floor of the right office building, and if I am lucky find him in his seat and in a mood to speak to me, if he believes my story and receives my application then go to him again and again over the next one month to follow up and get it resolved by finally discovering some contact who is at a higher position than this officer through six degrees of separation. This process will take me no less than a month. Am I prepared for the ordeal?
I am not so helpless now as I have a choice.
The choice is either I voluntarily go through the ordeal or apply for number portability through an online portal.
Jay Jagdev is an entrepreneur, academic and author. He is a popular blogger and an essayist. His foray into poetry is new. His essays are regularly published in Odishabytes and his poems on life and relationships have been featured in KabitaLive.
He is known for his work on sustainable development and policy implementation. As the President of the Udaygiri Foundation, he works to preserve and develop native language, literature, and heritage by improving its usage and consumption. More can be known about him on www.jpjagdev.com
IN DEFENSE
Sujata Dash
A nebulous mass of fog kept swarming, shrouding another sunny morning. The sun grew paler adding to my whimpers and sighs . Resting on my comfy couch in the sunless void, I hunch low over the teapoy to place my half finished cup of black coffee as numbness sweeps over.
A cup of black coffee is my lifeline. It charges me up for the daily grind. I gulp down the full cup greedily like a famine stricken baby. Somehow, today the hanker is not there. The result is a half finished cup of brew. It is cold, but I will slurp it off in one go before I drag my lazy feet to the washroom. Wastage is a big "No" "No" for me.
Somehow, I am in two minds as to how to begin the day!
Ruefully, with an extra dose of remorse? Or, wait for the sun to emerge victorious from the fuzz and blur , pinch my skin hard for a perfect get, set and go!
This dilemma occurs at least two days a week and I am caught between 'To be' or 'Not to be'.
It took some time...but I could consolidate and took baby steps to get out from self imposed confinement and face challenges of the day.
Challenges are many in life. For everyone life is the same I guess- as happiness is like a fleeting meeting in the sprawling arena of sorrow.
Do I sound pessimistic?
Perhaps a bit.
That is because I am in pain due to prodding and insinuations , those swirl over to cause havoc on my nerves. My heart lurches to my throat in disgust when I hear people discuss my status. Jobless mass!
I am still a spinster having crossed a somewhat marriageable age. Till now I have not found a suitable person to spend my entire life with. But I have never felt lonely, despite my lack of company. I keep myself busy after office hours by pursuing hobbies, be it reading, writing poems and blogs or trying new recipes. My officemates say- I am good at fusion dishes.
I have a well paid job to support myself, fund the necessities of family when urgency is pressed. I am liberal in my spendings, a bit indulgent too. I do make my own decisions as regards career options. On the work front I am hardworking, delivering results. I am in the good books of seniors and my juniors adore me.
The only lacunae I have perhaps is my singlehood.
Again the epithet -' singlehood' is not mine. It is coined suitably by the judgmental society where I live.
To them- I have been selfish. Having lived so many years on the earth primarily focusing on my own interests. I am a lesser mortal from their perspective.
At times passing remarks, cavalier attitude do bother, if not always.
I have not been bold enough to retaliate, to make faces, use harsh words, phrases, sentences to silence all those poking noses. I have been ignoring such bon mots and gibes for long.
I better be bold
Act bold
A sparkle of electrifying amazement strikes my being.
“Enough is enough…No more”-I vouchsafe as I pack my lunch box and ready myself for work.
I lock the door, and check it twice as per habit. My means of commutation is a two wheeler of yore. I have kept aside some funds to get me a brand new EV- a two wheeler again during the coming festive season.The one I am having now has ferried me for a long time. I should bid a goodbye to it now.
"Omg! Looks like my carriage is still in siesta" - I mutter to vent out annoyance.
During Summer, it is warm and cheerful, during monsoon it acts gruff and threatening. Today , unfortunately it is not sunny.
I wish me luck and try to placate the beast.
Two kicks, three, four….
The harsh blows soften its obduracy a bit.
The sixth kick makes it roar.
A small giggle makes me turn sideways.
Oh my gosh! It's them again!
Mrs verma and Mrs Subramaniam have begun their daily dose of gossip after sending off their hubbies to office. A few others must be in readiness to join in for the lethal concoction of all kinds of unsolicited news. No wonder, Mrs Shukla is heading slowly towards them with the speed of a duck. Oh! How can she walk fast! She had knee replacement surgery a fortnight back. How can she not participate in such a sublime discourse!
However,I could picture the topics clearly from their gestures.
"What a futile way to spend time!" - I whisper to myself.
“So ready for the show, Miss Anita? You better get yourself a new bike. This old one is giving a lot of trouble it seems. But, you don't have to bother even if you are late from the office, since no one is at home. Look at homemakers like us, we toil the whole day and slog upto midnight to keep everyone happy. Cannot do things as per our wish.”
Mrs Verma sniped.
She is their team leader and devises the menu for stories to be cooked up in everyday platter.
Breathing gently and taking it easy I retorted “ Yes, Mrs verma, I am lucky that way. After a long fulfilling day, I get a goodnight’s sleep by God’s grace. I am happy the way my life has been and I feel for those who long to have even a wink of sleep as their minds are full of vilification, evil thoughts and criticism. They stay awake even if yanked by the goddess of sleep. Oh! What a pity! ”
I erupt in a triumphant cry and speed off without noticing her and the coterie’s reaction.
She must have shivered and squirmed at such outrageous utterances. She too must have felt the hard blow of squawky words that struck in the face like a shovel.
Thank God! I could pull myself together to clear off my way.
I know I have been discourteous, but it does not cause compunction.
Hope they dilute their course of action after my sudden outburst.
I head off to the battlefield of work in my everyday life with a healed soul, having faced the scourge with grit and valor.
Sujata Dash is a poet from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. She is a retired banker.She has four published poetry anthologies(More than Mere-a bunch of poems, Riot of hues and Eternal Rhythm and Humming Serenades -all by Authorspress, New Delhi) to her credit.She is a singer,avid lover of nature. She regularly contributes to anthologies worldwide.
HONESTY IS THE WORST POLICY-OR IS IT THE BEST??
Shri Satish Pashine
Satya is an ordinary man who has tried hard to stand by values such as truthfulness and honesty imbibed in him by his late father and this, he thinks has been his major undoing in for material success in life. Satya think sticking to these values coupled with his brand of straight talk has added to his miseries. Ordinary people perhaps cannot make it in this material world with these extraordinary virtues. One needs to be an extraordinary person may be a Gandhi, Tilak or Nehru with infinite endurance and perseverance which qualities he admits he does not possess. They were extraordinary people.
Satya’s life’s journey has been roller-coaster and still continues to be so albeit less. He has faced many challenge which could have been avoided if only he had kept people around him in good humour by not coming in the way of whatever they were up to. They weren’t bad people by world standards only he has been incongruent- a square peg in the round hole. His idealistic father perhaps did not prepare him for this world, and Satya never achieved his materialistic potential because the world around him considered him a threat to their designs.
I have known Satya like my alter ego all along and have been a witness to his journey in life. In the following paras I am attempting to describe some of his experiences and leave it the readers to draw their own conclusions whether honesty is the best policy or otherwise.
Na Khaunga, Na Khane Dunga:
When Satya was 15 his father died an untimely death, and all his carefree romanticism of an adolescent died a premature death.Rebelious idealism infused into him by his father however remained intact. Satya grew-up overnight. Next 5-6 years were quite tough with every passing day a blessing that that the goal of graduating was now one day closer. During this period, Satya devoured biographies of great people which now included Lenin and Marx also. Satya decided that he will never indulge in corruption and never speak a lie- “Na Khaunga our Na Khane dunga” (PM Modi said it much later actually).
As per his father’s death wish Satya joined an engineering course in the Regional Engineering College in major Maharashtra city in a very prestigious college. He had wanted to be a teacher and study social sciences but that was not to be. To start with Satya had Electrical Engineering as his engineering discipline which he later changed to Metallurgy as upon his incessant enquiry a professor told him that metallurgists have very slim or no chance of getting any speed money. His elder brother had actually wanted him to opt for Civil Engineering. “ You will make a lot of money,” he had said. He would later declare him as “ mad and incorrigible- a gone case as he put it” when Satya refused to accept the job of Inspector of Factories upon graduation on the ground that it would make him corrupt. His illiterate mother had advised his brother, “ let him do what he wants.”
Professor’s revenge:
His five years at the college were inconsequential except for one time when his honesty was challenged, and Satya was punished wrongly which adversely affected his academic grades. During final year at the college one day a certain professor called him to his cabin. He said that he knew that Satya had taken away an expensive book from his room which costed equivalent to his one month’s salary. It was he told him a library book and he will have to pay if it wasn’t found. Satya had not removed that book from his room. But professor insisted because some student had taken his name. Professor kept insisting and finally threatened him consequences. Satya walked out angrily unable to convince him. That year that professor awarded him just about passing marks in his paper, sessional and practical examination. Total marks in his paper were 150 which was a substantial part of 1200 aggregate marks for the whole year. As a result, Satya lost his second rank by some 30-35 marks. Satya was very good in his subject and would have scored 85-90% instead of 50% he had given him.
Diabolical Mishras:
At 21 fresh from engineering school, Satya had a lot of anger for the unfair and corrupt world around him. Jobs were very scarce, so Satya did a year’s post-graduate diploma in the same college as it paid a stipend and also allowed him to stay in the city from where job hunting was easier.
After the PG Diploma he was briefly employed by a small grey iron foundry in the city which was owned by one Marwari (business class man from Rajasthan) and managed by an arts graduate Mishra jee who was owner’s dedicated “watch-dog.” Mishra’s B. Com brother was the accountant. Brother duo had inborn contempt for engineers who tried to use their minds and more so for the honest type who stood for their rights and fair treatment. This was essentially supposed to be a on the job training for six month sponsored by the government of India. At the end of this internship the organisation could offer a job to suitable candidates.
Mishra would make Satya work 12 to 16 hours at a salary of Rs 400 half of which came from the Government under the scheme for unemployed engineers. Satya used to be very tired working two shifts. Mishras lived in the factory 24x7 as their families were in UP. This foundry made manhole rings and covers and also took job orders for customised big pieces like motor housings. Covers sat on the ring at the man-hole openings in the city sewer system. The quality of castings weren’t good often and at times big holes remained in the structure. Such castings should have been scrapped. But Mishras would bribe the inspector and get these passed by filling resin cement into the holes and applying a coat of paints. He asked Satya to participate in this act which he refused. Satya advised him to focus on quality and build a brand. Mishra didn’t understand this strategic thinking and considered him unemployable.
Mishra vs Mishras:
After about 1.5 months in that job with Mishras, Satya found another job in the steel city of Jamshedpur aka Tata Nagar. Mishra hadn’t paid him his salary Against his wishes Satya’s friend one Rajan Mishra telephoned works manager Mishra impersonating as the deputy director of factories and instructed him to release the pay or face inspection. Satya was paid his dues within 24 hours.
State of Scientific research:
Satya started working on development of bearing alloys for railways under one scientist who was working under a deputy director. A class iv employee Mishra helped them in the laboratory for setting up the equipment and keeping a watch on the tests being carried out. One Sunday Satya put up a sample for a testing and told Mishra to keep a watch and record when it broke. Saying this he then went out for breakfast, found some friends there and was delayed.
On coming back this Mishra was nowhere to be seen. The sample had broken. The ink in the pen had leaked out and Satya had no record of the event. Mishra was in another lab talking to his kins from UP. He confronted him later and asked for an explanation. Mishra said smilingly with mischief in his eyes that such events keep happening and that he will make him a graph manually which will look like the real one and will record breakage approximately. Satya was very upset and complained to both the scientist and his boss the deputy director. They advised him to ignore Mishra as he was unionised and could create trouble. That day Satya decided to leave research.
Den of mismanagement:
Having decided to leave research luckily, he found a job as GET in DSP ( in erstwhile HSL now SAIL). Satya was 23 and it was his first proper job. At that time DSP (Durgapur Steel Plant), Alloy Steel Plant (ASP) and other two integrated steel plants at Rourkela and Bhilai were headed by General Managers who reported to a chairman HSL (Hindustan Steel Limited) who in turn reported to an IAS secretary of steel & mines in Delhi. The steel plants were controlled by a board in which the three GMs and the Director of NML (National Metallurgical Laboratory at Jamshedpur aka Tata Nagar) were full time directors. DSP was doing badly financially due to continuing labour unrest and faulty governing structure. Satya wondered how an IAS could just head any discipline presiding over experts and to top it all keep the minister in charge in good humour who would have his own agenda. In Satya’s opinion IAS is test of memory mostly. Most people with IQ greater than 120, good memory and capable of hard long hours of study can qualify.
Ungrateful training mate:
At the end of the training which lasted 12 months there was an evaluation. In a batch of about 100 graduate engineers of four engineering disciplines Satya stood second. Now the competition was to get a desired posting. For metallurgical discipline there were two vacancies in Mills Division. One was bagged by one boy from IIT Kanpur who stood first. Satya could have got the remaining position based on merit. At that time another boy also from IIT Kanpur who was also an MTech and who had stood third was destined to get Blast Furnace department which was considered a living hell. He was short and looked weak. He also used to smoke a lot. He came to Satya’s room after the results and started to cry asking him not to opt for the Mills so he could get that posting. He said he had heart ailments and would surely die soon if he were to work in the Blast Furnace department. Filled with idealism and compassion Satya agreed much against the advice of training managers.
After a few days returning from second shift at about 10-30 PM while passing by the mess to his room Satya heard him bragging to some friends. He was saying, “Satya is an idiot.” I gave him a sob story and he sacrificed his merit. That night Satya couldn’t sleep.
Much later perhaps after 8 years that boy opted for R&D at Ranchi and died there of a massive heart attack at about 32-33 years of age. Satya met his wife in Ranchi who had been given a compassionate posting in the R&D library as an issue and receipt clerk as she wasn’t much educated. He actually had an ailing heart. Satya is glad he helped him live 8 years more.
Helpless manager:
After training Satya was posted in the OHP (Ore Handling Plant) section of the Blast Furnaces. The departmental manager Sam assigned him supervision of contractor trucks engaged for clearing mucks which deposited below the conveyor belts and was being thrown down. Satya took his job seriously and sat near the loading points in clear view of the loading operations. After a truck was full, Satya would check it for contracted loading and would insert a rod from above in a grid as per the SOP to check whether they were taking away any scrap metal stealthily. The first day was hard on him personally as he had no help available.
Next day the supervisor came to his desk at the office. He said sir you keep sitting here. No need to go to the site. I will bring the papers to you for signing. In-between you can take a round to see that loading is going on well. Satya refused.
Second day again it was like the first day. Satya had been given no help. His arms were aching. That evening the contractor’s senior man came to meet him at the hostel. He offered to pay his subscription to the Club (which Satya couldn’t afford at his salary). Additionally, he offered to pay for the plastic counters at the club which could be exchanged for goods and services and even for money. The total money was equal or more than his salary. Satya politely refused and requested him to get his assignment changed.
Next day Satya narrated the incident to his manager Sam, but he said he was helpless. Satya was taken off the truck supervision work and was assigned as shift in charge and was asked to rotate in shifts. His earlier supervision job was in G shift. G shift jobs were at premium. Everybody called him a fool and impractical.
Rogue labour unions:
Life in shifts was very tough. There was lot of dust pollution. No safety equipment’s against dust were in use. Safety committees were a farce. Satya worked here for about 5 years and developed pulmonary issues which the doctor said required getting away from dust. Finally, after several requests Satya was transferred to the furnaces proper. It didn’t improve his life much. Life here had more heat and danger of exposure to poisonous gases albeit with less dust. Workers in DSP were highly unionised. They never cooperated with officers. HOD (designated Superintendent) was unable to handle various unions (there were 4 or 5 of them). He expected officers to do workers’ jobs which made life very-very tough and physically tiring.
After seven years of this, he found a job in a Naxalite area in Maharashtra in a joint sector company as the Superintendent-Planning & Control assigned as the “Technical Assistant” to the General Manager. GMs those days were top position in the plant.
Workplace Mafia:
Let us call this company MC. Satya was supposed to assist the GM here who had a Navy background. His first assignment was to give recommendation on the need for hiring material handling equipment for the raw material yard. The company had its own fleet and drivers which as per the requisitioning department was inadequate. Works Manager had recommended the hiring of equipment Satya put a couple of trainee engineers for a time & motion study to find the efficacy of the existing fleet. The study found 33% utilization of the existing equipment. In the meanwhile, the potential contractor contacted him to influence him with a cut in the booty. The cut would have been substantial. Satya refused and told the GM about the offer. GM probably spoke to the Works Manager who called Satya and gave him a long lecture about risk to him and his family for exposing the contractors to the GM. At the end MC did not hire any equipment. The result was that the Works Manager and in charge of RM Yard became his sworn enemies.
EPC firm - Project Team Nexus:
The plant had started production trials after commissioning. After some time, the pillar over which molten metal runner was supported collapsed during hot metal tapping causing a major mess and damage to the property. Satya was asked to investigate and report. The plant was still under construction and warranty of the Engineering firm. Works Manager was also the project head. The day Satya was assigned the responsibility the Engineering firm’s Resident Manager invited him to a party where there were people from civil engineering department of the plant along with works manager. Satya was briefed that since it was under warranty the contractor would redo it. Next day Satya examined the project report and drawings and found that the pillar was required to be a RCC structure with a certain depth of foundation. Instead, the foundation was found just half of design they said due to a rock below difficult to break and the structure was brick masonry instead of RCC so it couldn’t take the load. Satya recommended penalising the contractor firm for all damages including loss of production. This increased the gap between him and the works manager further.
Ignorant Chief Chemist:
The Chief Chemist had asked for replacement of a laboratory equipment vital for quick analysis which was lying unused as reportedly it did not give consistent results. Satya started operating the equipment as per instructions given in the manual and found that it functioned well. The problem was regarding repeated oversight of a certain instruction in the operation manual. The chief Chemist hadn’t even cared to call service representative of the company for trouble shooting. He was reprimanded by the GM as he had asked to be allowed to fly to the supplier firm for solving the issue. Air tickets were very expensive then. Now Chief Chemist also became his sworn enemy.
Customer trust was being violated:
The products of the plant were being dispatched on “to pay” basis meaning that the customer paid the transportation cost. Satya found out that some officers were getting cut from the transport companies for overcharging the customers. Upon Satya’s briefing in a meeting with the GM and WM, he was asked to arrange transport for a couple of days to prove his point. He could not arrange for transportation because the concerned plant people ganged up with the transporters. The product piled up. Satya requested the GM to directly talk to the transporters in a joint meeting. GM was a tired man who didn’t want to go out of his comfort zone and was also not getting any support from the President of the company and his men. They said this is unnecessary trouble-why bother when we aren’t paying.
Truth doesn’t win:
Instead of getting ahead in career due to his truthfulness, honesty and sincerity Satya soon became a persona non grata. He became unwelcome and unacceptable. People stopped talking if he was around. Works manager who was hand in glove with the HO bosses openly challenged him. He asked him to get a new job soon or that he would make his life unbearable. The Navy retired GM’s term expired at MC and a new GM joined. He complained against the Works Manager to the HO. Nothing was done to him as the investigating officer was his friend and enjoyed a part in the booty.
The finances of the company were in a mess, and Satya was worried about his own financial viability as by this time he had two children to fend. He started looking for a job and this time he found one in Delhi in a Board of the Ministry of Steel & Mines as an Advisor. Let us call it Mineral Board (MB).
A Board with No teeth:
MB was in an advisory role. It had no executive authority. It was rumoured that it was a dumping ground for unwanted senior IAS officers. The organisation had no teeth. He was the youngest person to have joined here at a scale of pay which was the same as that of a superintending engineer’s or a university professor’s. At the age of 31 it was quite an achievement for an engineering graduate those days. His honesty was probably a blessing in disguise as because the of honesty generated whirlpool, he got thrown up to this position in which anybody would have been jealous of him.
Disgruntled PS:
In Delhi Satya had a STD enabled land phone at the office as well as at his residence. It was quite prestigious those days to own a telephone. He also had a PS - a sardar – let us call him “L” He used to sit in the hall outside his cabin with other secretaries. Unknown to him he would switch on the red light over his door and any visitor seeking to see him had to come through him. He would tell them that sir is busy showing them the red light. After some cajoling he would ring Satya’s bell and tell him that so and so has come and even advised whether Satya should see them or not. Satya would get upset with his suggestions.
In the office if they got late in the evening beyond 6 PM they could claim taxi fare which was Rs 16/- to his home. If Satya was late, then his secretary was also late. Satya used to take him in the same taxi and drop him home. This was always against his wishes. Satya later learned that he wanted to take a bus and claim for taxi.
Manipulative Scientist:
Before his joining MB one scientist from a research firm (of a prominent cyber city now) had been awarded a study about utilization of low-grade mineral ores especially in ferro-manganese production. This study actually was not required. They used IBM main frame machines using COBOL). The scientist had obviously either hoodwinked IAS chairman or he was hand-in-glove.
After Satya joined, the firm submitted the reports with their final bill for approval. Satya looked at the report and saw through the scam. The calculations could be done on desktop machines then available using LOTUS-123 which was a Spreadsheet programme of IBM PC those days now discontinued replaced by Excel. They had used a mainframe computer to solve simple linear programming optimisation problem and charged MB a very high fee. Satya wrote a detail note and justification as to why the board should not approve the bill.
Head scientist of the firm came to see him. He was ex-advisor SAIL(Steel Authority of India Limited). He did not talk about the bill instead he praised Satya for his sharp mind (?) and informed him that he was recommending his inclusion in a study group to Europe for studying emerging iron & steel making technologies of relevance to India. After this meeting first ever passport for him was made very quickly expedited by the Home Ministry. Satya was even told to take money advance for warm clothing for Europe. Satya did not draw this money as he was unsure about his inclusion because of his stand on the bill.
He did not change comments in the file. After 2-3 days a meeting was called in his IAS chairman’s office. The head of research firm informed the meeting that the expert group would now proceed to America from UK to make the scope wider. He said that the minister had agreed to join and that there may be ambassadorial level talks and therefore suggested replacing Satya with the chairman who was at the verge of retirement. The chairman later approved the bill under powers vested into him.
IAS Babu who did not need advisors:
Joint secretary of the department of mines called a meeting to discuss about granting permission to a public sector mining company to export material which had become surplus due to planning commission projections gone haywire. Earlier a government appointed committee had declared this material as strategic and banned its export. Satya went with two other advisors to the meeting which was supposed to start at 3:30 PM in joint secretary’s office. They reached 15 minutes before time. The secretary came at about 5 PM with a manager level official from the applicant company in trail. They all went inside. The secretary announced even without sitting that it had been decided to allow the company to export the material as they had invested a lot of money in raising it and there was insufficient internal demand. Any questions he asked giving us all a swapping glance the accompanying official was all smiles. Satya stood up and said, “sir when it was pre-decided then why did you call this meeting.” Everybody looked at him as if Satya was an idiot. The secretary was like how dare you question my wisdom. All he replied was-“it’s the protocol” and dismissed them.
Copycat scientist:
MB sometimes used to get proposals submitted to DST (Department of Science & Technology) for funding recommendation . One such proposal which came to Satya was for funding Rs 6000000/- (huge sum in early eighties) for the pilot plant study of making DRI (Direct Reduced Iron- fancy name for sponge iron a starting material for steel making in electric furnaces). The director of the laboratory with concerned scientist came to see Satya hoping to influence him with his stature. The same man had earlier threatened him in 1974 that he would not let him join DSP. But Satya did not let it affect his thinking. The visitor did not recognise him, and Satya did not remind him either. All he asked them politely was to tell him truthfully whether it was their original idea or a copy of some existing work as lots of research coming to MB used to be copycat. They swore that it was their original idea.
Those days there weren’t any search engines. Internet as we know now was unimaginable. Satya had library cards of different reputed libraries of the capital and membership of INSDOC. He conducted an investigation using facilities at INSDOC (Indian National Scientific Documentation Centre). The results indicated that this proposal was a copy of a certain process. Satya did not recommend the funding approval as this process had failed commercially.
A Sambalpuri Saree from Utkalika:
Satya was a member of SAIL-CSIR Coordination Committee and attended its meetings regularly. The committee facilitated dialogue between public sector steel industry and governmental research institutes for optimal utilization of resources. In one of the meetings the representative of RSP(Rourkela Steel Plant) asked for funding to do R&D on recovery of values from iron ore beneficiation overflow rejects. It was decided that Satya would visit RSP to understand the issue and give his report. He visited the plant in Odisha. He was put into their guest house. PRO of the plant was in attendance. He was given cars in A and B shifts which were completely at his disposal and were not needed except to please him. Satya felt very awkward and uncomfortable. He felt that all that fuss was unnecessary and he told as much to GM (Mines) who was coordinating his plant study.
After the work was over, He requested the officer to advise him about some government run handloom emporium where he could buy a small gift for his wife. The officer came to the guest house in the evening with his wife who he said would help select the item. They went to Utkalika. Several silk sarees were shown to him which were expensive. Satya told the hosts that he could not spend more than Rs 50/-. The officer said that he would pay for him, and he could send him the money later. Satya hesitatingly told him that he couldn’t afford that kind of money. Then the officer whispered into his ears that he had certain discretionary powers, and Satya need not worry. But Satya refused his kind offer much to the displeasure of the officer and his lady and finally purchased a cotton saree for some 27 rupees which his wife has treasured till date.
Bad times never left him alone:
After Indira Gandhi’s assassination her son Rajiv Gandhi became the 6th prime minister of India in 1984. He was inexperienced but full of ideas and wanted to reduce government expenses. Sam Pitroda had been invited in the same year by his mother to start C- DOT an autonomous telecom R&D organization. He started being Rajiv’s right-hand man. At his behest a committee of secretaries was appointed to give recommendations to reduce expenses in various ministries.
In the ministry of steel & mines they recommended closure of JPC (Joint Plant Committee) and MB where Satya worked. The report came out in 1986. It was decided that the staff would be adjusted in other Government organizations. This is what happens if an inexperienced man becomes the prime minister.
For Satya there were two offers 1- from SAIL to go back to the Blast Furnaces as a Deputy Manager Satya didn't accept it because it was a much lower position. 2- Satya was offered as GM (Tech) on deputation to OMC (Orissa Mining Corporation). He travelled to meet the MD of OMC- an IAS officer- a sikh gentleman. The MD didn't want Satya as he did not have such a post available. It was created new by the ministry to absorb a surplus person. Satya didn't want to be at a place where he wasn't wanted from the day one. He gave up that opportunity which many have since told him was unnecessary idealism. At 35/36 becoming GM in OMC would have been a rare achievement.
Back to the hell hole again:
After declining both the offers Satya had no choice. The department of personnel sent him back to MC where he came from to MB originally. In MB in the intervening years works manager(WM) had been re-designated as GM and GM position had been re-designated as Executive Director(ED). Satya had dual reporting to the GM and the ED which made his life even more complicated.
Next 10 months were a pure torture. Satya was put on probation as a manager on special duty and wasn't confirmed in six months. He was also not given probation extension letter in the absence of which the probation was deemed completed. The Manager Personnel was playing in the hands of GM. Previously after Satya had left there had been a pay revision with retrospective effect and arrears was due to him. MC did not pay, and he was asked to go to courts if he so pleased.
Even under these adverse conditions God gave him the strength to start an Indian Institute of Metals (IIM) chapter at the plant and organise a national seminar to inaugurate it which was a huge success. He also prepared board meeting papers for the ED and accompanied him remaining available if required during the deliberations.
At the home front he and his wife planted roses in the murram packed courtyard of his one BHK simplex with great labour to bring some cheer into family’s life while a huge bunch of people at the factory were trying to ruin their happiness. Satya’s honesty gave him the strength yet on occasions he would wonder whether even the god had gone against him! Once he broke down and cried piteously when a family friend joined the GM against him.
To maintain sanity of mind Satya applied for a part time teacher in the newly opened engineering college. GM tried to halt the permission to teach saying it amounted to moon-lighting. ED sanctioned the permission as he loved academics. Accounts asked him to disclose his income for IT. He taught Metallurgy to Mechanical Engineering students. From teaching assignment, he gave money to his wife to buy some new clothes for attending a marriage in their extended family. She still has a saree purchased out of that money which is inexpensive yet very dear to her.
Welcome to Odisha:
Satya found a new job and shifted to small hamlet in Odisha in late eighties to work in an eminent Odia’s factory as the deputy head of Production. This man let us call him Krishna was a highly educated first-generation entrepreneur. On the Rathayatra day Satya shifted his family to this place. They lived in the guest house for about a month as the truck bringing our household effects hadn’t arrived having met an accident.
Sudharja was the head at the site. He was a good man but remained indecisive most of the time and was guided on day-to-day basis from the HO by one Haran. The owner family was highly indebted to this man for his shrewdness and loyalty which had served them well in furthering their business interests. It was clear that if you wished to continue working here you would better keep Haran in good humour which Satya failed to do.
Satya’s boss was one was foul mouthed person who had bad teeth, chewed paan all the while and talked nonstop and thoughtlessly. You couldn’t sit opposite to him because his paan stained saliva would splatter on you while he talked excitedly. Let us call him Windbag. Sudharja depended on him for running the furnaces. The department also had a clerk Swami and a peon Chinta who also made tea for them all.
Windbags did not trust computers:
One evening about 15 days of his joining here at about 6 PM Windbag told him to go home as they would then sit for Raw Materials planning. Satya chose to remain there and observe what they did. They brain-stormed for about 2-3 hrs, did calculations using calculator several times, Swami typed and retyped and finally they arrived at the figures for raw materials and power requirement estimates. A simple spreadsheet would have reduced the efforts.
Next day Satya proposed the idea that staff should get trained in the use of computer. Windbag opposed the idea on the ground that he couldn’t spare anybody for training. Satya spoke to the individuals and convinced them that they should get trained in the evenings and on off days. Gradually these people got trained in the use of spreadsheets and now anyone of them could do the materials planning in a jiffy. Sudharja and HO bosses noted this. But Windbag never learned to use the computers. He decided to get rid of Satya and spoke to Haran as he saw him as a threat to his supremacy.
Owner hurting his own company:
Krishna the owner visited the plant may be a month or two after his joining. He asked Satya to meet him in the guesthouse alone . Windbag was there when he instructed thus. Windbag with sadistic pleasure opined that Satya must have done something wrong to deserve this meeting. Satya went after the lunch, and they met. Krishna gave him some foreign technical papers to study. He said that energy consumption was high in the plant and yield of metal values was low compared internationally. He wanted Satya to study and see what could be done.
Later Satya did a systems study of production processes and introduced some improvements based on his previous experiences. He introduced process of beneficiation of off-grades which were sold as scrap and didn’t figure in energy and value calculation. Casting technology was also modified. These improvements increased metal yield by 3-5% and subsequently reduced specific power consumption by as much. Satya also proposed to sell the off grade now designated second grade having much better metal values at market price which would bring more money.
Haran flew down to the plant and instructed Satya to restore status quo. Satya refused and said that he was doing this as per the wishes of the owner . Haran reasoned that the company was required to give money to politicians for elections and also generate income for the owners outside of the balance sheet. Therefore, they must sell the material at old rates as scrap to the nominated person who passed on the margin to the owners in cash. But Satya was adamant wanting orders from the owner only. Finally, Satya was allowed to reuse 50% his way. This new arrangement increased the metal yield to 2% and power reduced by as much. This move resulted in some profit in that year’s balance sheet. Krishna’s young son Jayesh noted this. But Haran was unhappy. All the Haran’s men were also unhappy.
Turbulent waters:
After spending about 30 months in this plant Satya was promoted as the Operations Head and transferred to another plant of the company which had just started production in bigger reactors. Sudharja was also transferred as the COO, and he was taking Satya along. His promotion letter said that Satya was to head operations which to him meant that maintenance and stores function would also report to him. But this plant was highly politicized due to Haran’s brother Baran working here as the proxy head. He refused to report to Satya as before this change he was the overall in charge and saw this as erosion of his power. Sudharja was complacent and considered working on instructions from Haran and on advice of Baran as the safe haven for himself. Haran instructed him to tell Satya to get accepted first to these individuals.
Baran’s inactivity causes major breakdown:
Before Satya came on the new site trial production had started. One day during his plant walks with Baran and Sudharja Satya noticed that hot slag cakes were being dumped near the main transformer which was the lifeline. It was radiating lot of heat around. Satya asked Baran to change the dumping site as the transformer might burndown. He said nothing would happen. Sudharja also listened to him, and the site was not changed.
After a few days the transformer burnt down stopping the production for many days. Nothing happened to Baran and Sudharja. Satya is sure that they might have put the blame on him as Satya had joined there and was responsible for production.
The big bang:
Baran was in charge of processing reactor charge into agglomerates though it was a production function. The physical quality of these aggregates was poor and these disintegrated inside the furnaces due to mechanical abrasion and heat. Through his brother Baran forced Satya to put a lot of these into the furnaces against his objections. Due to fine material reactor started getting choked resulting in severe production issues which were now being projected as Satya’s inefficiency. Satya asked Baran to improve quality and all he said was it was ok. Jayesh appointed one ex MD of a government owned unit of similar type but with much smaller furnaces as the advisor. Jayesh used to call him uncle. Uncle didn’t know anything about operations as he had handled administration for a long time. Satya was also given one weird person as his assistant who at one time had worked in the unit under this advisor. He would do as directed by this advisor who would give all instructions verbally despite Satya’s request to write these in the log-sheet for future reference and analysis.
As a result of maloperation and poor feed quality the reactor started getting choked with several electrode breakages. One Friday afternoon the situation became very bad. The furnace stopped tapping. Weird assistant kept on pushing the electrode down advised by Uncle. Satya wanted oxygen lancing to continue through the taphole to connect inside with the molten metal pool. He needed supply of more lancing pipes and oxygen and asked MMD head Sushant for emergency supplies. He refused saying that it will be done only when it reaches critical level. He was at that time sitting with Sudharja . Satya pleaded with Sudharja, but all he said was they should listen to Sushant.
Workers were keeping their cycles near the hot furnace shell and despite Satya’s warnings about possible accident in the event of shell rupture Sudharja had never instructed the personnel manager to get this done. Workers were unionised and personnel manager was scared of action by their union.
Next day reactor shell ruptured, and a lot of molten metal and slag came out which burnt down many cycles causing a union issue. A one-man commission of inquiry under Haran was appointed. He pronounced Satya guilty as expected and recommended his termination.
From the next day restoration operation at the furnace was started. Satya was present there from morning. At 9 PM he went home as his wife had undergone a surgery and Satya needed to fix some dinner for his kids as they had no help. At about 9-30 PM he was called on the intercom to tell him that Jayesh was at the shopfloor and that Satya was immediately required. Satya went back and faced an angry Jayesh who wanted to know why he wasn’t there. Satya started explaining to him but in a huff, he said that he wasn’t interested in his shit as he put it. The conversation ended in less than 5 minutes. Within next 24 hours Satya was transferred to the HO in the projects department.
Projects Department with no work:
The firm had no money for any new projects. There was a GM, and a manager was assisting him with the only project that was on. They also dabbled in fisheries which was failing miserably as this manager had no technical knowhow. Later this man became a high-ranking officer in Jayesh’s another venture.
The main project then was about taking the railway line into the plant for coal wagon movement. It was being done by an EPC firm. The only job these people had was to prepare weekly progress report and fax it to the boss wherever he was.
There was virtually no work for Satya as there was no money. Then one day Jayesh made him in charge of Quality Assurance and entrusted him with getting four units under the company certified to Quality Management Standards.
The way forward:
At that time there were about 100 companies in India certified to ISO 9000 International Quality Management Standards. These were big and reputed companies. Satya decided to give it all he had. He sent himself on training. It was in a five-star beach resort in Goa with UK faculty. They kept them busy 12 hrs a day for five days. During the nights they had to study and work on the cases till wee hours. Satya did not see the sea despite the resort having its own beach. There was an examination at the end which only 25% trainees could pass. Satya was successful.
After coming back, he sent many officers for this training. Some passed but most failed. Post his training Satya started training company employees in groups and covered most of the 440 officers. Satya also started system studies of all functions in the company and identified the gaps vis a vis the requirement of the standards and started designing new systems and procedures to fill up the gaps. Implementation of new systems was started to be verified at regular audits in which trained officers also joined. The activity generated huge interest in the organisation, and Satya developed deep understanding of all the functions. On the flip side several senior officers were upset with the expediency that Satya was forcing in. The firm’s three units got certified with laurels and Satya received standing ovations with cash prize which antagonised some people and they waited for his low moment to pounce on him.
After the certification of 3 units, he started preparing the mining division for certification. He still had a lot of spare time being a workaholic. He wanted more work and on his request was made in charge of HRM besides TQM he was handling. His sphere of influence was increasing but Jayesh still thought that these activities did not call for a promotion. Satya did not agree with him. They had several disagreements like about Jayesh’s thinking on TQM and HRM. He expected HR head to be just a glorified clerk as all policies would emanate from his office. He was actually the HR head, but Satya refused to be a clerk even if a glorified one.
Quixotic Jayesh:
One day Satya was told to sack a senior manager before the end of that day. Satya asked why? He was told Jayesh doesn’t want to see him in the company as he has failed to keep up with changing times and technology. Satya examined the officer’s performance reports over preceding five years. He had in fact been promoted two years back because of good appraisals. The man had been hired some 25 years back as a systems manager in the days of punched cards and knew his job well then. But times changed and technology changed. He was never sent to any upgradation training and in appraisals he had never been warned that he was under observation for not keeping up with the technology. Actually, in the previous promotion he was reassigned to stores and was doing well as per his supervisory officer. Satya briefed the ED who had conveyed to him Jayesh’s order and refused to sack the person. Finally, the man was transferred to another company of the group and remained there for many years.
Charan’s Advise:
Jayesh got married and inducted his new wife into the company. Satya as the HR head didn’t have her induction records like resume etc which was required as per the SOP in place approved by Jayesh himself. She was sent to him. Satya asked her as to what her background was like, and she answered him politely. After a day or two of this incident Haran called Satya to his office and told him to read Chanakya on how to deal with the ladies of the court which Satya didn’t understand.
The way Out:
After this incident Satya was once in a company location for a routine employee feedback session with marketing staff. Jayesh had a so-called open-door policy wherein any employee could directly meet him. Being young Jayesh identified himself with the younger lot particularly the good-looking ones. Some young officers used this opportunity to complain about HR. Jayesh would often act impulsively on these complaints which at times created issues. At that time in that location some young marketing officer had apparently met him and had complained that his career has been ignored by HR. Jaysh was there at that location and he called Satya. He asked him as to what that person’s designation was. Satya said that the company gives fancy designations to marketing people which he did not remember but his level in the company was that of an officer which was like at the bottom of the officer hierarchy and that he has been working for about two years or so. Jayesh was immediately angry and insisted on knowing his exact designation. Those were different days- no mobile phones and no e-mails. It was morning time and his assistant at the HO wouldn’t have been in the office yet. Satya told him that he will call his office over phone during the day and tell. There were 440 officers, and it wasn’t possible to remember all names with designations. He advised Satya to leave HR function.
Krishna’s daughter:
Jayesh made his sister Premia who had been married but was apparently not happy in her nuptial as the GM-HR. This was her first job anywhere after her PG. Satya was still a DGM in charge of the function after 21 years. After a few days Jayesh came to his office and wanted to know how she was doing. Satya said why do you ask me she is supposed to be my boss. Ask her about my performance. Jayesh insisted saying that she was academically brilliant a gold medallist. Since he insisted, Satya told him that she was fit to start as an assistant manager in the company and that he should have made her a partner or director in the company rather than giving her a function specific responsibility. Jayesh obviously wanted to hear good words which he did not from plain speak Satya.
Final Exit:
Jayesh became CII (Confederation of Indian Industry) State chapter head, and he nominated Satya as the chairman of its quality subcommittee. CII later offered Satya the position of local director which he refused because it paid the same salary as he was getting. A Navratna company with HO in the city was struggling with QMS certification as the IIT, IIM consultant nominated by CII’s TQM division wasn’t able to do anything despite his academic degrees. The organisation was huge and needed to be awakened and moved on the QMS path which required leadership and a mammoth effort. Jayesh suggested Satya’s name and Satya was called for a demo to their plant where he conducted a two-day training for their executives and ancillary unit owners which was a huge success. Satya got this job for the company at rates 35% higher than what they were paying to CII. This company later offered him a job as the DGM Quality which Satya didn’t accept as now Satya wanted to help several companies not restricting himself into a cocoon.
Back in the company Jayesh agreed to pay him a part of the fee to be received thus. This created Satya thinks a lot of jealousy in the organization. He also started conducting public courses. In the next 20 months He earned commissions equivalent to his regular salary and became highest taxpayer in the company. The dissatisfaction in senior executive “mafia” heightened. Satya was blissfully unaware of this in his innocence. He thought that as long as he continued to be useful to the company nothing bad would come his way. But he was wrong. The world doesn’t move like this. His status as the highest tax payer did not go well with certain people close to the family as despite the accolades Satya had to leave the organisation after more than 7 years of hard and honest work. It was insisted shortly after another upgradation as the GM that either Satya take a transfer to Kolkata or feel free to quit. However, in this parting the company offered very kind terms perhaps his honesty and hard work was working in his favour or the company might have been apprehensive that Satya could go to the law as his appraisal reports in the previous seven years were excellent. They kept him on the rolls for six months paying his full salary and allowances without having to attend the office. They also offered their pan India guest houses free and even agreed to pay for his travels if Satya needed to travel to get another job. Satya bets this beats explanation unless you take it as the Lord’s dictate.
Much later Dr APJ Abdul Kalam (or was it N Narayan Murthy?) said somewhere, “ love your job but NEVER fall in love with your company. True, you might love your job, but your job doesn’t love you. Satya had not only fallen in love with his job and his company but also with the state. It therefore hurt him a lot initially.
His losing the job as it unfolded later was Lord’s greater design for his family’s betterment and actually proved a blessing in disguise. Professionally, Satya was received with open arms which Satya believes was not only on account of his expertise, hard work and good luck but also because Satya came across some very kind hearted and open minded talent loving people including some CEOs and bureaucrats which appeared as if God sent.
Conclusion:
One can argue endlessly whether truth prevails or whether honesty works and different people may have different experiences. Satya’s experience has been that the path of truthfulness and honesty is rough and full of potholes. Your family suffers more than you. People want you to speak the truth and be honest but only when it furthers their cause however dishonest they may be. The definitions of trust and dependability are highly individualistic. Satya have often heard a lot of people saying if you are working for somebody for God’s sake work for him. That means be on his side in whatever he does -right or wrong, good or bad and so on.
Even as a consultant for the last 28 years or so Satya has experienced this and lost many an assignments as he refused to manipulate things. Once a customer told him that nobody wants a learned lawyer or the professors in the law college would be making a lot of money. They want lawyers who can win cases and that entails how the person can bend the judiciary in client’s favour he continued. Even in the certification audits with renowned international certification bodies Satya has experienced compromises because they need business of certification to continue. Much later in his consultancy career as if like Vir Savarkar getting enlightenment in cellular jail Satya decided that he can improve the system only if he is a part of it. First requirement is access and then acceptance. Savarkar decided that he and others were wasting their time in the British jail and weren’t useful to the country’s freedom struggle and so he sent three petitions pleading and cajoling the British to release them. Getting enlightened like this Satya decided that he can control himself but cannot control other people’s behaviour by opposing it. He needed to work with them and perhaps in time they will modify their ways albeit slightly which would be a step in his long journey ahead. During this time Satya coined a new term. “ Reasonable Honesty”. This found lot of acceptance with his clients. Reasonable Honesty is based on give and take. They improve a bit and you relent a bit and meet somewhere in the middle. Satya also coined a term SST (Soiled shirt theory). Imagine a mechanic who has never washed his shirt. It gets soiled and greased and becomes very dirty over time. If you try to clean it at one go you lose the shirt because it cannot stand the rigors of hard wash. But if you clean it daily it has a good chance of looking better and the mechanic may adopt the practice with the next shirt he gets.
Satya’s life’s experience has been that in the SumTotal despite his head strong self-avowed honesty God has kept his family floating financially because he followed His Path. On most nights he can sleep well. Someone has said that a good night’s sleep is worth a million dollars and if that were to be true then he is already a multi-millionaire.
The community at the society Satya lives with all its small rumblings and power seeking in-service or retired high officials is a congenial place provided you let them do their thing and don’t come in their way. People do not intrude into your life and they are generally helpful. Senior’s society is doing a wonderful job though despite his literary competence they wouldn’t put him on the editorial board because he will be serious about editor’s job which is to read the contents and correct spelling, punctuation, and grammatical errors. He may even rewrite text to make it easier for readers to understand. He may also verify facts cited in material for publication.He might even use plagiarism checker. They think easy- they think that seniors will be happy to see under their names whatever and from wherever they source-no ethics or competence to come in between them and their small pleasures. This also makes sense-doesn’t it?
The promoter of this property too is perhaps one of the most benevolent builders anywhere in the country if you do not challenge his ways. Allegedly he has flouted many rules and broken promises. He is a good man and Satya can vouch for this. He actually offered him his own flat rent free in 1995 when Satya was out of the job and he thought that Satya might need premises to work from. He hardly knew him then. He also signed as guarantor for three of Satya’s housing loans. Yet to the official of our registered society he is a villain and they have many cases against him.
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
Sumanth was on his way to watch a wrestling match. Though he was a scholar and dancer, he was interested in watching wrestling matches. He was rushing to the court of wrestling by bike. He was very anxious to visit and so he went faster. There were crowds for visiting the match. Still people were still gathering to watch the most famous wrestling match.
The wrestling match was about to start. The umpire whistled as a mark of its beginning. It was the wrestling match of women. He was happy for gents had permission to watch the match of wrestling. The match was more interesting for men than for women gathered there.
Ganga and Manga were the wrestlers who entered the court. Sumanth watched the two wrestlers keenly. Manga was cute and beautiful though she was somewhat strong and stout. He watched her with all interest. Whenever Manga was successful, he clapped heartily. Whenever she fell, he fell into a well of disappointment. He wished her to be the winner of the match at any cost.
Manga was a wrestler par excellence and so he liked her in the heart of his heart. When she won the match, his happiness knew no bounds. He approached her, smiling heartily.
"Hearty congratulations. Manga."
"Thank you," said Manga, raising her head while her smile was blooming.
"I enjoyed the match…, " said Sumanth, the scholar.
"Thank you, " said Manga.
"You're the best wrestler to my knowledge...I'm your biggest fan," said Sumanth.
"I'm also your biggest fan," said Manga.
"Wow! You're my biggest fan...," said Sumanth.
"Yes, I know that you are a famous dancer," said Manga.
"You've known me as a dancer," said Sumanth.
"Yes...," said Manga.
"What a providential meeting!" said both Sumanth and Manga in one voice. It went without saying that they were fans of each other to fall in love.
Days passed. They spoke to each other. They went on tours together. They fell in love and met in their marriage.
Sumanth was a tall handsome scholar and dancer. He was a lover of fine arts. He was a scholar by vocation and a dancer by avocation. All liked him for his great intelligence and abundant patience as well.
Manga was a woman of well-built personality. She was a famous wrestler. She had a flaw of her nature. She was a short-tempered and dominant woman.
Sumanth and Manga were fans of each other. They fell in love liking each other. Later they became a couple in their marriage. The guests in the marriage blessed the couple for their happy married life.
The guests passed remarks in their own ways about the newly married couple:
"Sumanth is a man of slim personality. Manga is a woman of stout stature. It is a good match, lovely pair. They're made for each other," said one.
"Sumanth is soft-natured... He has a lot of patience. Manga is short-tempered. No problem will be there in their married life. There’ll be adjustments," said the second.
"They’re born for each other and so they’re made for each other…," said the third.
Like that comments of guests were going on in the funniest way. They enjoyed listening to their comments.
... ... ... ... ...
Sumanth and Manga were on their honeymoon trip to the spots of their choice. They enjoyed the prime of their robust youth. The days they spent on their honeymoon were memorable for them. They talked of their sweet experiences during their honeymooning.
"I needn’t ask you to tell me about our honeymoon experiences," said Sumanth.
"Yes," said Manga, responding with a glow in her face.
"You and I were life partners," said Sumanth.
"Yes," said Manga
"Only to recall and to rejoice," said Sumanth.
"Ever memorable as it was fully enjoyable," said Manga.
"We both were honeymooners. We awaited joyous life after marriage,” said Sumanth.
"Yes...I lived my life...You lived your life. Now we're to lead our own life together. Two lives joined like two rivers for their communion to flow into one," said Manga happily.
"Yes, it's a happy union like the communion of two rivers as you have rightly said," said Sumanth looking at his wife with all smiles.
When Manga smiled, she appeared like a full-bloomed rose. Sumanth took her into his arms and hugged her heartily. They forgot themselves for a little while.
"The days we spent are memorable. Apart from our joys, the motionless spots of destinations also shared our joys. They cherish our joys," said Sumanth casting amorous glances at Manga.
"True, the spots shared our honeymoon joys...," said Manga.
"The spots we've toured are very beautiful to share our delightful life," said Sumanth.
. "Yes...," said Manga.
"We are forgetting to have lunch today at a star hotel... Let's go for lunch," said Sumanth.
They went to the Star Hotel and had lunch. They had meals at different hotels for some days. When they did not relish the meals in the Star hotel, they went to different hotels, as the meals were tasteless and insipid. They made up their mind to prepare meals on their own at home.
First, they went to a bookstall and bought a famous book on cooking, entitled "How to Cook Best as Per Taste." When they opened the book, they found the first item, "Buy a Gas Stove". There was an ad to buy a gas stove with a cylinder that came to the market with the latest technology. There was an offer to give a lighter free of cost. They got the best type as a gift given free. Then they found a list of different items like rice, some kinds of vegetables with green leaves and so on for cooking. They bought all the things. They came back home in a jubilant mood.
They entered the kitchen to prepare meals. They called the gas stove dealer on the phone. He came and installed the cylinder, connecting it to the gas stove. He kept the lighter handy for cooking and went away.
Sumanth and Maga started to prepare meals. They kept everything ready for cooking rice and curry.
Sumanth sat in a chair and started to read aloud the instructions of how to prepare rice and curry. Manga was following the instructions he read aloud.
For rice preparation, take two glasses of rice in a bowl and make sure that it's free from sand. Clean the rice with water. Add four glasses of water to it. Put it on the stove, covering it with a lid duly.
For curry preparation, first, cut vegetables of any type and onions into pieces and keep them ready. Put the curry bowl on the second stove. Pour two spoons of oil into it. Add onion pieces and other ingredients to the oil in the bowl. After a few minutes, drop the pieces of vegetables into the bowl. Mix the mixture of all those in the bowl with the help of a spoon, adding all the essential things, and put a lid on it.
After ten minutes, put the dishes onto the dining table. They were at the dining table. They occupied the chairs like the king and the queen as they felt pride in preparing meals on their own.
"We're great...We're successful in cooking meals," said Manga.
"When we've studied a lot, cooking is easy for us," said Sumanth.
"Yes, cooking is an easy work." said Manga.
"Is it wrestling? Cooking is after all the work of a child for you," said Sumanth.
"True" said Manga, and Sumanth removed the lids on the dishes.
Both were ready with the plates for them to dine. They looked at the items: rice and curry in the bowls, finding no change in them after the cooking process. In the rice dish, there was only wet rice as it was neither cooked nor boiled. In the curry dish, they found the vegetable pieces and onion pieces raw and oily at their glance.
They felt surprised. They thought of the reasons, using their brains. They tried to realize their mistake and realized it suddenly.
"We've kept the lighter ready and handy but we didn't light the stove," said they in one voice.
"You're good at wrestling but you're not good at cooking," said Sumanth.
"You're good at studies but you're a novice in cooking," said Manga.
Manga lighted the stove and put the dishes on the stove. As per the time, they brought the dishes onto the dining table. This time they did not feel pride as they realized that cooking is also an art. They found the curry insipid, as they did not add salt to the curry. They added table salt to it as an afterthought and had what had prepared.
Manga prepared meals everyday, following the book on cooking. Every time, there was something less or some burnt. One day they were dining, they fell in a conversation,
"You've forgotten to add salt to curry," said Sumanth.
"Yes," said Manga.
"Women definitely learn cooking," said Sumanth.
"Is it wrong when men learn cooking?" said Manga.
"Are men to learn...?" said Sumanth.
"Yes...," said Manga emphatically.
Sumanth looked at Manga for her smiles, but he found frown in her face for the first time. He kept quiet, saying,
"Yes, there is nothing wrong if I see frown in your face," said Sumanth.
"I would like you to accept whatever I say. I will tell you all the right things. You’ve got to say "Yes". I know you say it…,’ said Manga.
“Yes” said Sumanth.
“You've said it... Good," said Manga.
"When I love you, I've to obey your views," said Sumanth.
... ... ... ...
In the passage of time, Sumanth learnt life-realities. He was a scholar but he did not try to learn them. He learnt that man's life is full of adjustments.
The couple spent two years attending to their duties. They felt like having a short vacation and spending their time in a beautiful location. They selected a destination.
Sumanth and Manga applied leave for that. The following day, they were getting ready for the trip. They were searching for the things and clothes they were to take with them and moving in the room in a hurried manner.
Sumanth was going in a very fast manner in the way Manga was coming in the opposite direction in a very fast manner. Unexpectedly they collided with each other. Immediately he fell, as she was a strong wrestler of gigantic stature and permanent winner in all wrestling matches. Before she extended her arm to lift him, he stood up immediately as a question of prestige. It all appeared easy for her to lift him with her single hand. He also understood it, looking at her physical stature. He moved hither and thither as usual in getting the bag and baggage ready.
They were on their holiday destination and enjoying their trip. They talked about their honeymoon. They derived pleasure from recalling the trip.
This time, they had experiences as couple of two-year married life. They were frank in expressing their views. This time he felt like asking her,
"A wrestler is stronger than a scholar," said Sumanth expecting an answer from his wife, Manga.
"A scholar is wiser than a wrestler," replied Manga.
Sumanth remembered falling when Manga unexpectedly hit him coming from the opposite direction. She understood that she was many times stronger than he. He had always felt superior as he was her husband, and she was to accept his dominance as per customs.
Sumanth wanted to express this view, but he did not express it. He kept mum. He changed the topic, saying, "Life is boring because of the routine and mundane life."
"Yes, we should visit beautiful places for pleasure," said Manga.
"We should fill our lives with joy," said Sumanth.
"Outings make us forget stress and strain," said Manga.
"Outings rejuvenate us to attend our duties with new vigor and enthusiasm." said Sumanth.
They came back from their tour happily. They resumed their duties happily. One day they talked of their future plans.
"Let's buy a car and send our children by car," said Manga.
"What car do you prefer to buy? said Sumanth.
"It's your choice...," said Manga.
"Yes... my choice," said Sumanth.
“Yes, your choice,” said Manga.
"In which school...?" said Sumanth curiously,
"It's Global Concept School," said Manga.
"No, it's Spectrum School, I prefer," said Sumanth.
"No... follow my advice," said Manga
"No... you have got to follow my advice..." said Sumanth.
"What! Is it you said so...?" said Manga.
Sumanth remembered his falling down when knocked by his wife Manga. He repeatedly recalled the event when he looked at her gigantic personality and her eyes reddened by her anger and impatience.
"Can't the manager of the family take a decision...? Can't he be equal to his wife though she's a wrestler?" said Sumanth.
Manga stood up impatiently and looked at Sumanth angrily.
"Okay, your decision is final," said Sumanth immediately with all smiles.
When understanding on the part of the couple for the harmony of a family is lost, the stronger will have dominance over the other who is the weaker only to say, "Yes Boss".
Stories for Sep 2024 Issue
Unbelievable News
It was Friday morning for a boy to come to see a match in the girl's house. The boy came along with his parents. The girl's father had informed him when to enter his house and when to see his daughter. That would be the auspicious time for the boy and the girl to see each other.
The boy with his parents was at the threshold. The girl's father was waiting to receive the boy. When they appeared at the threshold, the girl's father looked at his watch and said with a glittering smile on his lips,
"Please wait for just 40 seconds at the threshold before you enter my house."
"My watch shows the time you suggested", said the boy's father.
"It is 30 seconds ahead by your watch. My watch is famous for showing the correct time by seconds. Okay you can enter the house now. Welcome...," said the girl’s father.
The boy's parents were in his house to see the girl with a post-graduate degree. She was very good looking, tall and slim. She wanted a boy who was a bit taller. The boy appeared in the same height to the people as perceived from distance. In fact, she is taller than the boy by one and a half inches.
The boy, Rakesh was waiting for the auspicious time. The stage was set for the girl to appear before him. The time scheduled for seeing each other approached. The girl, Megha appeared in the room, holding a tray with the cups of coffee. Then she occupied the seat reserved for her. Rakesh saw Megha and Megha saw Rakesh at the auspicious time. Then they asked her some questions to know about her,
"What's your name, my dear girl?" said the boy's father.
"Megha," said Megha.
"What did you study?' said the boy’s father.
"Post-graduation," said Megha.
"Do you know cooking?" said the boy's mother.
"I know how to prepare regular food items," said Megha.
"Do you want to do a job?" the boy asked.
"As per your interest...," said Megha.
"Then it's okay...," said the boy and his parents, nodding their heads.
The boy felt like asking questions but kept quiet as he felt that asking many questions was not good. He found her very beautiful. He was ready to give his opinion through his father.
"I like the girl's way of offering coffee, and coming to us is very impressive," said the boy's father.
"Thank you...We've all good customs and traditions," said the girl's father.
"Customs and traditions are okay. The people who want to see the girl should know whether the girl walks or not. They should know whether she is able to walk well or not." said the boy's father.
"We're very open...There is nothing to hide...," said the girl's father.
"We’ve seen your daughter walking…her gait. In general, it happens in many others’ cases. They’re not keen on that. It shouldn't happen," said the boy's father.
"Wherever we see a girl, she comes out from a room and sits in a chair arranged near its door. She sits for some time. In that short time, there goes the most important conversation. Then someone asks her name. There may be a few more questions. The boy or his parents feel like asking her something. Against their wish, within a span of time, her parents ask, or someone hints her to go inside. This is the process we find everywhere," said the boy's mother.
"My wife wanted to speak to the girl, referring to her whims and fancies but the girl went inside before she asked her," said the boy's father.
"It's not the interview to go elaborately," said the girl's father.
"It's an interview to settle a marriage for the job as a life-partner. It is essential for all to have a clear idea about the girl or the boy", said the boy's father.
"True...The people who come to see a girl ask too many questions...senseless questions like 'Do you have boyfriends?' on one side. Do you have girlfriends on the other...When the girl has no boyfriends, how does she feel? I don't like such questions as marriage is a holy one," said the girl's father with a deep expression of his feelings.
"Nowadays it's happening to welcome criticism," said the boy's father humbly.
"I don't allow my daughter to go out... Most of the time, sunrays can't venture to fall on her. She rarely goes out for studies," said the girl’s father.
"That's good..., " said the boy’s father.
"I take a lot of care in the case of my dear daughter. She was born under a lucky star. She will get her partner according to her will and wishes and as per the star. I don't put my daughter's photo in any marriage bureau. I don't give her horoscope to anyone unless we are satisfied with the boy's one. I don't give my daughter’s information to anyone," said the girl’s father.
The parents were anxious to know their son's opinion and so they looked at him. In response to their enquiry, the boy Rakesh looked at his parents and expressed his joys of liking the girl by his nod and smile.
.
"My boy likes the girl," said the boy's father.
“Then proceed with his marriage with the girl,” said all others present there.
Some days passed in their cordial talk on the phone between the two new relations. Time on its wings passed to witness the Engagement functions: the offering of ‘dowry’ along with a gold ring to the boy and offering of ‘flowers and fruits along with ornaments’ to the girl. In other words, it was the engagement to go on.The date for the marriage was fixed on an auspicious day nearing soon.
... ... ... ...
The invitation cards were in nice print for the distribution among friends and relatives, near and dear. The cards were very scintillating with the Lord of their choice. The cards were in the hands of all the invitees. The best-in-city function hall was ready with full decoration for the celebration of the marriage. All the arrangements were ready. The marriage was to fall on the following day. Days had passed and only hours were there to witness the marriage for the pleasure of the two families.
The boy's party was ready to be present in the function hall. They were about to come to the venue. Suddenly, someone informed them to come late, as marriage arrangements were not ready. The function hall was getting ready for the marriage as the previous marriage party had made it untidy.
The boy's father called the girl's father several times on the phone to know the situation. He received the last call,
"Hello, what happened to you?" said the boy's father.
"We're getting ready...There may be delay...against our expectations." said the girl's father.
"We thought that all the arrangements were ready with you...You were faster than we in arrangements," says the boy's father.
"Yes...Yes...Some wedding items we're to get soon...," said the girl’s father.
"You're very particular about the marriage to be performed on time, at the auspicious time. I hope you don't compromise in this regard...," said the boy's father.
"True...True...," said the girl's father.
"Call us soon...We're ready to come...," said the boy's father.
No call came from the girl’s father, informing readiness to perform the marriage... No response was there as a reply... Something happened against their expectations.
The boy's marriage party heard that the girl, Megha was missing. The girl's parents were in search of her. Many parties were launching their search for the girl. There was complete silence in the house of the boy Rakesh. The girl's parents launched a what-is-not-possible search.
. The boy's parents fell into the well of discouragement and disappointment. They were not able to bear the unexpected situation. The guests of the boy fell into deep thoughts. Some commented on the situation at a low voice,
"Nowadays there are such incidents here and there. It's not a dare step on the part of the girl. It's a cowardly act to keep quiet at the time of settlement of her marriage with the boy. How shameful was the act, daring and dashing act on her part for elopement!"
"She's not an uneducated girl to keep quiet."
"She would have opposed this match with all courage."
"There was no force on her to marry this boy."
"The parents of the girl are cheats...They don't know about their daughter."
"Foolish parents think of high about their daughters."
"They should teach their daughter all realities."
"The girl might have eloped with a boy of her choice..."
"The parents should know their respective daughters' wishes secretly, giving a due regard to them. They should pay their due attention to their wishes."
"She's now ready for her marriage not with the groom settled but with her lover."
"Everybody has a chance to comment on the girl."
"Be in the boy's position and think of what to do."
"What's there to do?"
"In such circumstances, we should have a girl to be wedded to the boy Rakesh here as a consolation...Instead of that, you are commenting on the situation."
"Whatever wrong takes place is a bitter lesson for the right people. Wrongdoers never feel for their wrongs. What happened was unbelievable in the family of customs and traditions."
Some guests thought of what to do. There were marriageable girls among the relatives present there. Suddenly one of the guests thought of a girl whose father was financially poor. She studied to be a graduate with charming manners. Her father postponed her marriage to next year due to his financial crisis. He was their close associate. The best-wishers of Rakesh took the initiative to speak to his father separately.
"Rakesh is a boy of higher education and good manners. I would like to put forth before you my sincere suggestion-cum-proposal," said one guest, Kodanda Ram to the parent of the marriageable daughter.
"What's that suggestion-cum-proposal?"
"We all like Rakesh. All like to welcome him to their houses as their most affectionate guest. In the changed circumstances, we should search for a way to solve the situation in an amicable way. Since we like Siri in the heart of our heart, I put this proposal before you to consider,” said Kodanda Ram.
“Is Siri ready to marry Rakesh?" said Rakesh’s father
"Siri is ready according to my hopes and she is the most suitable match for Rakesh,' said Kodanda Ram.
"I welcome it...," said Rakesh’s father,
"It's our friend's daughter, Siri,' said Kodanda Ram.
They all with the guests also met Rakesh and convinced him. He thought of Siri for a while and agreed to the proposal put before him.
“Since you are my well-wishers, I wholeheartedly welcome your proposal,” said Rakesh’s father.
Next Kodanda Ram consulted Siri’s father and put the proposal before him, saying, “If you're ready for the marriage of your daughter, Siri, Rakesh is ready to marry her," said Kodanda Ram convincingly.
The guests in the gathered group strongly supported Kodanda Ram's proposal. Siri's father was convinced, as he had had the idea of asking Rakesh's father regarding his daughter's marriage to his son earlier. Immediately he met his wife there and discussed the matter. She also felt convinced.
The guests approached Rakesh's father who was in a disturbed mood. Kodanda Ram made an intimate conversation with him,
"This isn't the time to think of the incident that occurred. We know that virtues have limits, but vices don’t. What was to happen happened? We can celebrate the marriage of Rakesh and Siri now," said Kodanda Ram.
The marriage of Rakesh and Siri was celebrated in a befitting manner in a small function hall of the city.
… … … …
Megha was waiting for her lover to come to the city-famous function hall in her place. Her lover came late with all smiles, saying,
"I may come late but my coming is certain...I come to the right place at the right time for the right action. I'm none but the lover of Megha,” said her lover like a cinema hero.
"Welcome...Hearty welcome to you...," said Megha smiling heartily.
Some relatives and friends of Rakesh present there felt stunned at the untoward happening. They felt sorry in their own ways:
"Who is this fellow to marry Megha in stead of Rakesh?" said they to others.
"Did we come to the wrong function hall by mistake?" they asked themselves.
They slowly and calmly quit the function hall, thinking, "We are uninvited guests here to attend the lovers' marriage."
… … … …
In the passage of time, the people talked of Megha who met her lover in her love marriage. They subsequently talked of Rakesh who happened to marry Siri, a girl of a poor family in the changed circumstances. They heard that Megha's marriage to her lover, the boy of her choice, proved to be a failure for he did not believe in the sanctity of marriages.
The marriage of Rakesh to Siri proved to be a success as they were happily leading their married life. It had a starting trouble created due to the elopement of Megha with her lover, the most unexpected incident against the wishes of the boy Rakesh and his parents.
Demonetization
'Grand Maa, you're not aware of demonetization. You're very old... You don't know about monetization,' said Vaibhav, a young student to an old woman called Shabari.
'What’s demonetization...?' said Shabari in her seventies.
'The Government banned high currency notes: one-thousand and five-hundred notes...You can exchange your high currency notes with new two thousand notes and others...,' said Vaibhav.
'O young boy, you think that I've money with me...I'm an old woman with no money... no currency notes... If those notes are with me, I frankly tell you, my dear child... No other boy is so affectionate as you are, my dear,' said Shabari with a smile in her face.
'You asked me to buy sugar and gave me a thousand rupee note, taking from an earthen goblet...,' said Vaibhav.
'You remember me giving you a thousand rupee note..., don't you?' said Shabari.
'Yes, there were many notes in the pot when you gave me a one thousand rupee note for the buying of sugar.
'You're clever...You remember the number of notes with me...,' said Shabari.
'Yes, I saw many notes when you kept them in the pot as all the old women keep their money in pots...I saw you picking up the note from the pot,' said Vibhav.
'You're playing mischief by telling a lie, aren’t you,' said Shabari.
'Grand maa, I needn't tell you a lie... I'm telling you about the banning of high currency notes, keeping your welfare in my view...,' said Vaibhav.
'I know that you're a good boy...You helped me buy sugar many times, how can I forget you...? You know that I've the habit of taking tea as many times a day as possible... Many times, I have tea more than others...I'm fond of having tea. That's my specialty,' said Shabari with a smile on her lips.
'You offered me tea many times...I know your habit...the habit of having tea...If an award is given to the people with the habit of drinking tea... You're given the first prize, the best tea-drinker award...Your name will have a room in the Guinness book...,' said Vaibbha.
'I'm innocent...I can't understand what you say...awards...Guinness Book...all that... I live my own life...,' said Shabari.
'You're diverting my attention to something else. I've come here to enlighten you regarding demonetization...You heard news on TV. Still, you do not believe in the news... I'm your near and dear... I'm telling you about demonetization, keeping your welfare in my view,' said Vaibhav, focusing on demonetization.
'See the pot... It's empty... This is the pot you saw many times when I gave you money to buy sugar for me... It's empty... See...it's empty,' said Shabari, upturning the pot several times.
'It was a different pot with traditional marks on it,' said Vaibhav.
'I've got only one pot...,' said Shabari.
'No, it's not that pot...,' said Vaibhav.
'This is that pot only...You, young boy might have forgotten, ' said Shabari.
'I'm a student... I'm supposed to remember all the principles of algebra and trigonometry... I've to remember many subjects...I should have charming memory...I'm lucky to have it,' said Vaibhav.
'The students today have over cleverness, excess talents and unsurpassed memories,' said Shabari.
'No, this is not the pot. There is another pot... You've many notes in it...,' said Vaibhav confidently.
'You're very talkative...You speak in the air...,' said Shabari.
'You can do whatever you want. As a well-wisher, I'm telling you...' said Vaibhav and skipped away.
... ... ... ...
There was time given for the exchange of the banned high currency notes as per Vaibhav's words. Shabari did not believe in a child-girl or the boy nor did she believe in aged people. The time given for the exchange of the high currency notes was over. She thought that others would guess that she was a rich woman and so she did not tell anyone. She had another thought that there was a scope for theft. She was silent for a long time.
There was a great deal of sugar for the preparation of tea for Shabari. Gradually that sugar was over. She was not able to spend even an hour without having tea. As she did not have any alternative, she called Vaibhav one day.
Vaibhav however came to Shabari as he had respect for old women as a boy of helping nature.
'Dear Vaibhav, I've found a thousand rupee note when I cleaned the house on the eve of the festival...There is no sugar in the house... I haven't had tea for two hours... I can't bear with you any more... Please get me sugar by taking a thousand rupee note...,' said Shabari.
'You found it when you cleaned your house. Good... but it's a false note... Nobody will take it...especially the shopkeepers,' said Vaibhav humbly.
'You're fibbing and making me a fool of it,' said Shabari.
'No, you're mistaken...Now five hundred notes and thousand notes are counterfeited... They're false... They're wate papers... the notes for the children to play...You can't buy any… not even salt with these notes... I told you several times earlier very convincingly...You didn't obey my suggestion, ' said Vaibhav.
Vaibhav went on convincing Shabari with a lot of patience. She was not ready to accept... She was not ready to agree with him. She went on questioning him. She shot many questions at him.
'When a hundred notes and the lower currency notes even the coins have value, why can't thousand and five hundred notes have value...? Small notes are small and big notes are big... Don't you accept this fact or not...? Young people don't know many things except what to study... Do you agree with me or not...?' said Shabari confidently.
'The high currency notes are worse than one rupee or half rupee coins,' said Vaibhav angrily.
'You're clever...You're capable...You can do wonders...,' said Shabari.
'Many people have filled gunny bags with thousand currency notes are letting the bags flow to the Bay of Bengal or the Arabian sea to open new banks at their bottoms. If I take this note, the police will arrest me...I'll be behind bars,' said Vaibhav.
While Vabhav was telling all the rules to enlighten her, taking much time, another old woman came with a pot full of one-thousand-rupee notes to Shabari crying,
'A great loss...irreparable loss...my thousand rupees are waste,' said the other old woman to Shabari and let all the high currency notes fall on to the mat placed there.
Shabari saw the other old woman weeping and realized the changed situation. She felt sorry for not understanding Vaibhav.
Shabari also brought the pot with all thousand-rupee notes and let them fall on to the other mat. Both the old women went on crying and crying. Vaibhav smiled all the while for their unfortunate fate and pathetic situation.
'If I try to help you, I'll be in jail counting the bars around me all the time..,' said Vaibhav and skipped away.
All the people gathered there and saw the old women crying for their foolishness. All the visitors raised their eyebrows instead of consoling them. They said to themselves,
'The old women are very rich... Money is with the old women in the earthen goblets, the soil pots in their houses. The great people have money in Swiss banks. These are the great secrets that all should know about... Let's see who let the cat out of the bag...'
All the others were nodding their heads in acceptance. They left one after the other leaving the women while they were crying, sitting near their false notes. Nobody knew how many people were hiding their money in pots and other containers.
Dr. Rajamouly Katta, M.A., M. Phil., Ph. D., Professor of English by profession and poet, short story writer, novelist, writer, critic and translator by predilection, has to his credit 64 books of all genres and 344 poems, short stories, articles and translations published in journals and anthologies of high repute. He has so far written 3456 poems collected in 18 anthologies, 200 short stories in 9 anthologies, nine novels 18 skits. Creative Craft of Dr. Rajamouly Katta: Sensibilities and Realities is a collection of articles on his works. As a poet, he has won THIRD Place FIVE times in Poetry Contest in India conducted by Metverse Muse rajamoulykatta@gmail.com
N.Meera Raghavendra Rao
Aunty, when is our pot luck party - asked my niece who had come down from London to join college here.
I didn't know for sure myself because the date had to be fixed after consulting the dozen families from our inner circle. As the "organising secretary," a portfolio I had been holding ever since the concept of pot luck get-togethers was universally approved by our circle, I had to start with the first round of contacting each of the contributors.
I promised Prithika that the date would be finalised in a day or two and that she would be the first to know about it.
After several rounds of phone calls the date for the party was fixed for a Saturday. Next was deciding the menu, which was the job of the "menu expert" among us.
She reeled out at least a dozen items for the pot luck - beginning with starters, followed by an appetizer, a mix of the south, north and Chinese as well to appease the youngsters' taste.
Next came the allocation - who should bring what item which was decided by the "allocation expert" among us and who would in turn confirm it to me as per our protocol which we rigidly followed.
I eagerly waited for her phone call but as it didn't come even after two days, I decided to give the protocol the go-by and called her.
She said she was still not in a position to confirm either about the contributors or their contributions as she had not yet got over the discussion/arguments stage with them leave alone arriving at a consensus.
What is the problem? I asked as her voice betrayed her helplessness.
Oh, the usual arguments regarding the number of courses and the dessert. They want a change from the usual menu , some of them think the menu expert is running out of ideas, she lamented.
But I thought the menu included Chinese which is an add-on to the stock menu at our pot luck parties, I said,
That is not the problem, they don't seem to like the idea of being thrust with the items they should prepare. They feel they must have a say in deciding the menu since they are the opcontributors of the dishes.
Now I am in a fix, tell me, how can we bypass the menu expert, lamented the allocation expert.
Oh is that the problem, then perhaps the best thing would be to leave them to bring what they want, I suggested after much deliberation.
I could literally hear her sigh with relief.
Thanks for coming to my rescue, let me begin rightaway by calling them all up all over again, said the allocation expert.
The day of the party arrived and slowly our contributors started trickling in along with casseroles of various shapes and sizes and they laid them on the dining table.
We had a couple of rounds of party games as was our practice to work up an appetite for the pot luck dinner.
One by one the lids of the casseroles were lifted and the aroma permeated all over the room. Everyone eagerly had a peep at the contents and sighed.
You guessed it right - the menu comprised a dozen dishes all right, including salt brought by one of them - there were a minimum of twos and threes of - fried rice, mixed vegetable and curd rice, just two courses and the third was a dessert, a freshly made mysore pak from the shop well known for its mouth watering and melting-in-the-mouth sweet!
An emergency meeting followed the "dinner" and promptly our portfolios were shuffled -
That left me without a portfolio and I was glad at the decision, more so was my husband - because he was paying the exorbitant telephone bills.
Aunty, is this what you call a pot luck party? Our parties back home in London have a larger spread, quipped my niece!
(Earlier Published in a magazine.)
N. Meera Raghavendra Rao , M.A.in English literature is a freelance journalist, author of 10 books(fiction, nonfiction) a blogger and photographer .Her 11th. is a collection of 50 verses titled PINGING PANGS published in August 2020. She travelled widely within and outside the country.She blogs at :justlies.wordpress.com.
T. V. Sreekumar
Born and brought up near the coastal area with the St Sebastian’s church, popularly known as Thope church nearby, I was exposed to its culture since young. All the church activities occurred within a short distance and nothing was missed. The most intriguing happening was the different strokes from the bell. It resonated early morning and evening on all days. Add to that, any message or activity of importance in between, the bell was sounded and each had a rhythm of its own in different tones. From the sound of the bell I could gauge the happening to some extent. Once when it rang, I told my mother that someone had died.
“How do you know”?
“From the intervals it is rung”
“Isn’t it all the same”?
“No Amma, this tone reflects loss and has grief in it”
I had made myself understand the in-depth meaning of the sound from way the bell rang. Death had a tone of deep loss and grief. The various messages through the different strokes had got embedded in my mind right from a young age.
Once hearing the continuous ringing at an odd hour I told my parents that there was some problem and later came to know that there was a fire along the coast and a life was lost. The bell was a means of communication - be it a good message or bad. Sometimes it was rung to warn the dwellers to keep away from their houses as the sea was likely to be very rough and the coast was likely to get engulfed. It also warned the fishermen who had gone to sea to return immediately to avoid a disater.
During festival times the bell sounded merry, nonstop and loud. Amidst the difficult life a festival came as a big relief and an occasion to be happy at least for a while. The occasion was utilised in full and family gatherings with food and free flowing liquor gave a much-needed break to all grievances. Everyone smiled, keeping the pain and grief aside. Life went on for these people, mainly fisher-folks, with the church bell playing an integral part in their everyday life.
Sometimes I used to go to the church and kept gazing at the big bell. It talked to me silently conveying tales of the different strokes including joy, sorrow and calamities. I wonder if it had different tones stored at various locations in its short circular space! The long rope that hung there always put up an innocent look.
The walk to the cemetery at the back of the church was a natural happening on many occasions. There I saw the graves of the newly buried ones, with freshly covered sand and the old ones with decorative construction over the slab. Small graves of children who never lived their full life, brought tears to the eyes. All these deaths must have been announced to the world through the bell which hung there, tall and erect, waiting patiently for the next announcement.
I for one saw all these happenings for a very long time and years flew past me. Away in a distant place under different circumstances now and the retired gang for company, the childhood memories lingered and flashed occasionally. Our aged gang made morning walk a regular habit and chatting for a while after the walk was our routine. We discussed all subjects under the sun and often it was a learning process, exchanging each one’s field of experience. Our age compelled us to discuss about death at times.
Everyone of us wanted it to be abrupt, without pain.
“Do we have any say in that?" a query from an aged friend.
“Never, just a wish" was the reply.
The wish evolved from the desire not to be a burden to others. None wanted to be an extra load to others - be it children or other relatives, friends and wished to leave quietly without bothering anyone.
“Your past deeds decide your final end”, came from the wise one.
“If that is the case my end is settled. It is going to be miserable”.
“From what we know of you, it looks you may be wrong but I am not sure about myself.”
“Mine no better,” said another.
And it was a confession in chorus followed by loud laughters in the name of death.
At this late age with our responsibilities settled, all of us wish to have fun even at our own expense. Death is a natural happening and remains the truth. No point in thinking and worrying about it. For all of us it was a subject worth laughing at.
Our life is full even after retirement. Updating of happenings around the world, unbiased political discussions, some spiritual and some of us are into creative work like writing and painting. Grandchildren are a weakness for all and playing with them and educating them is a pride. Never a dull moment. When it comes to ultimate parting it remains to be welcomed with a smile and finally when the bell rings, we want it to fall on all ears with a different stroke.
“Which stroke do you prefer”? Someone asked and in one voice came the reply,
“So long, Farewell from Sound of music”
T. V. Sreekumar is a retired Engineer stationed at Pondicherry with a passion for writing. He was a blogger with Sulekha for over fifteen years and a regular contributor writing under the name SuchisreeSreekumar.
Some of his stories were published in Women's Era. “THE HINDU” had also published some of his writings on its Open Page..
Needless to mention that now a days, vibrant media, gusty speeches of politicians, optimistic programmes of state and central Government are agog with promises to bolster comfortable go of life of senior citizens. But in reality are all these promises fulfilled? If so, whether implementation of the promises made is monitored at ground level in right perspective? Has any one of these agencies, Institutions, leaders ever tried to make a survey of effectiveness of various schemes, programmes launched for ensuring smooth sail of life of senior citizens? Only one such attempt was made by the Govt. of India ever since independence about fourteen years ago with full spirit and that was a grand support for senior citizens.
As far as I remember in 2010 the then Govt. at the centre started formation of senior citizen security cells in police stations of towns and cities to enrol senior citizens for providing various services at their door steps. Truly speaking, it was 20th December, 2010 when an S. I. of Police of our local police station along with a photographer came to my residence unexpectedly. The police officer explained the scheme of senior citizen security cell to us (Myself and my wife) and registered our names; also took our photographs for issuance of ID cards. The officer explained to us the benefits of the new scheme launched by the Govt. of India and assured us of any kind of help for security, health and free movement in the city. He promised visiting my house at least once in every month to inquire about our wellbeing and needs that we could not fulfil.
As assured, the police officer who was then designated as the Nodal Officer continued visiting my house every month and also contacted us on telephone every fortnight. The city police Commissioner also arranged meetings of all registered senior citizens every quarter to review the position and in the first such meeting we were felicitated with flower bouquet, a health kit each and lunch. We were so glad that we thought our old age shall pass very smooth and trouble free particularly when our children are far away from us for their employment.
But things do not go as wished by humans for good. After about one year of this voluntary service rendered by the Govt. under the new scheme, the vibrancy of that scheme subsided and gradually, two years thereafter it came to a dead halt, may be due to some constraints in its implementation. All our hope of a comfortable life with the advancement of age evaporated relegating us to a maze of uncertainty to bear with the order of fate. Ultimately for our own safety, we had to form senior citizen welfare forums in our locality.
Anyway this is of no use now ruminating the past rather it is expedient to delve into some characteristic agonies of senior citizens of which some are self created and some are overlooked by the system.
With the faster rate of growth of population commensurate with the progress of human society coupled with technological development, there has been radical change in lifestyle combined with the change in food habit and health care of people. As a result, there is a visible increase in life span of people in general projecting a shift in demographic landscape. New challenges sprang up before both the senior citizens as well as the Government. The challenge before seniors is how to pass considerable long time after sixty years of age to live a healthy and decent life and the challenge before the Govt. is how to ensure safety, security and peaceful living of senior citizens whose number is growing every year under the present age limit of sixty years fixed for senior citizens.
But what is happening now? Contrary to expectations of secured, healthy and happy life of senior citizens, their state of living is going from bad to worse day by day forcing most of them to suffer from hyper tension, diabetes and several other fatal diseases brewing out of anxiety, suppressed tension for inhuman treatment of the members of own family and by others in the society, consumption of adulterated food materials with which markets are replete and added to all this, repugnance of the system to acknowledge and remove their owes. Instances of shameful treatment done to old people in own family and society are numerous. According to media reports everyday old parents, retired people, sick and invalid persons, widows are subjected to maltreatment by their own children and others in the family or in the society. The number of unreported or suppressed incidents of mal-treatment and torture meted out to seniors are humongous. Sadly enough, most of the senior citizens carry a typical mindset to bear all torture silently only for their fanatical attachment to their children and family from which they do not like to dissociate in spite of having adequate means to lead an independent life and thus they go on suffering without opening their mouth. This is absolutely a self created problem which is needed to be examined and addressed.
As regards lackadaisical approach of the system to identify the agonies of senior citizens and ease their go of life, though a host of rules and regulations have been formulated and several welfare schemes have been floated, their cognizable effects are not seen. For example, inadequate availability of medical and hospitalisation facilities, lack of girdle on astronomical hike in rate of premiums for health insurance of senior citizens by the Insurance companies, loading of 18% GST on health insurance premiums by the Govt., non-availability of recreation or community centres for senior citizens. Where is the respite for senior citizens mostly the pensioners who have contributed their best for nation building for decades?
Another suppressed agony of senior citizens is that either their own children or the Govt. ever care to take advantage of their experience and wisdom. Folklore of Romania shall amplify this in a better way:
Once upon a time in Romania, a group of young people while merrymaking, one among them suddenly drew the attention of all others and said, “Friends! Why do we need our old parents and other old people who have already lived their life and now inactive. They depend on us for their living and go on giving advices to us that makes annoying. It is high time to get rid of them and for that matter let us go to the palace to apprise the king who is also young and he would make some remedy for sure.”
Accordingly all of them appeared before the king and placed their grievance. The kind heard them patiently and agreed to what they said and instantly ordered his soldiers to nab all the old people of his kingdom and throw them in an enclosure so that they cannot impart advices to others.
Order was carried out and all the old people were lifted. But there was one young man, named Felix who loved his father very much and considered him the wisest man in the world, hid him in a celler and took his care secretly lest he would be caught and punished.
In the mean time summer hit the land followed by severe drought; not a single blade of grass grew, trees and other vegetations wilted. Soon winter followed, people shivered from bitter cold. Land was covered with snow. Then spring set in but the people had no seeds to sow for growing crops because of failure of crop last year for severe draught. People were at their wit’s end thinking of their survival. One night Felix discussed with his father in the celler describing the problem. Father asked his son to plow up the entire road leading to the city and do not answer any body when asked. The son did what was advised by his father. Weather was warm and the sun shone bright, the seeds lying under the soil sprouted and within a few days wheat and corn grew on the plowed surface.
All the people were curious to know the magic and loaded Felix with questions but he did not answer as per his father’s instruction. Finally it was reported to the king who summoned Felix and wanted to know about how he could do this to save people from dying of hunger. With due apology Felix disclosed the fact of hiding his father in a celler under whose instruction he could do this miracle. King asked Felix to produce his father before him.
When the king knew the secret behind the bumper crop grown by Felix to save his kingdom from the old man, the father of Felix instantly ordered release of all old men incarcerated and expressed his gratitude to the old man for his wisdom to save his countrymen.
Old people, I mean the senior citizens may not have the technical knowhow of today, may not have that sharp intelligence as the youngsters have but their experience and wisdom are always invaluable and the same should never be overlooked.
A popular song from the film Aapki Kasam as copied in the following link be opened and heard for refreshment.
Bankim Chandra Tola, a retired Banker likes to pass time in travelling, gardening and writing small articles like the one posted here. He is not a writer or poet yet he hangs on with his pursuit of writing small miscellaneous articles for disseminating positive thoughts for better living and love for humanity. Best of luck.
“We are now discovering that animals share many human emotions. And not just animals, which are closely related to us, but even insects such as fruit flies. Researchers in California have discovered that even these tiny creatures might dream.” When I have read these sentences in the book The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate written by the German forester Peter Wohlleben, this reference to the emotions of animals led me into my childhood—into the world of cows, bullocks, pasture grounds, and the grief and mirth of these animals.
We were an agrarian people. Every household did have agricultural implements like plough and yoke; and of course buffaloes, cows and bullocks. Middle class house-holds like mine and upper-class house-holds used to have their own cattle herders. We have had six cows and four bullocks. Every day my father would wake up in the wee hours of morning and summon me to help him in the milking. My duty had been to hold the calf when he was milking its mother.
I was very fond of the calves. The death of calves had been my greatest sorrow in my boy-hood days. There was a cow whose calves used to die one after another. Not even a single calf of that cow had survived its childhood.
Whenever her calf died, the cow would come back running from the place where the cattle herder took them to graze. It would go to the place where the dead body of the calf had been buried and smell the place and moo in full throat. She mooed as if her mooing would wake up the calf from its grave. To milk this cow my father used to make a dummy calf with hay.
Another incident which I could not forget is the gory death of the white cow that was my favorite one. We had a bullock whose horns were as sharp as a dagger. One night it was unloosened and gored the cow to death.
Then my father sold all our bullocks and bought buffaloes to plough our paddy fields. One of them was very fond of me and he even let me ride on his back. I would imitate the horse rider by tying a thin coir on his horns and holding it as ‘rein’. One day, while the buffaloes were being brought back after the grazing, the buffalo felt so happy that he began to run. I clung to the ‘rein’ and told him not to run, but not only did he not mind my words, but also increased his tempo. He threw up his hind legs left and right sides as they do when they are in mirth. I, together with my ‘rein’, was thrown into the air and I fell down with a thud. Fortunately none of my bones were broken. I was not even injured!
PS: Today there is no paddy-field in my village. The cow-shed in my ancestral home has been empty long since. Paddy cultivation and the symbiotic lifestyle of the village have disappeared forever. My father for whom paddy and paddy cultivation were his life blood and breath is no more. With the disappearance of paddy-fields and paddy cultivation everything that connects humans to the environment is gone and the children of today have no connection with Nature. We have "developed" and our development brought us to concrete jungles bereft of trees and birds and bees. People in flats live even without seeing the sky. As Derrick Jensen says in his two-volume book Endgame, "Deadened inside, we call the world itself dead, then surround ourselves with the bodies of those we have killed. We set up cityscapes where we see no free and wild beings. We see concrete, steel, asphalt. Everything mirrors our own confinement. Everything mirrors our own internal deadness."
The author who hails from Palakkad district of Kerala has completed his post graduation from JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University), New Delhi. His articles on gender, environmental and other socio-political issues are published in The Hindu, The New Indian Express, The Hans India and the current affairs weekly Mainstream etc. His writings focus on the serenity of Nature and he writes against the Environmental destruction the humans are perpetrating in the name of development that brings climate catastrophes and ecological disasters like the 2015 Chennai floods and the floods Kerala witnessed in 2018 August and 2019 August. A collection of his published articles titled Leaves torn out of life: Woman the real spine of the home and other articles was published in 2019. He is a person of great literary talent and esoteric taste. One of his articles (Where have all the birds gone?) published in The Hindu is included in the Class XII English textbook in Maharashtra by the Maharashtra State Board of Secondary and Higher Secondary Education.
The post-independence period saw a remarkable rise of Indian writing in English, especially in the field of poetry. A large number of Indo-Anglian women poets of fairly high poetic talent emerged on the poetic scene. Kamala Das, Leela Roy, Margaret Chatterjee, Monika Verma, Mamata Kalia and Gauri Deshpande, Tara Patel, Eunice De Souza, Imtiaz Dharker,Melani Silgardo, Menka Shivdasani, Meena Alexander ,Sujata Bhatt, Rukmini Bhaya Nair are just some of the notable names among Indians English female poet. Their poetry contributes generously to enriching people's sensibilities. The emergence of Indian women poets in English is a sign of their emancipation and self-esteem of their own feelings. It is certain that these female poets are in no way inferior to their male counterparts. These women poets have received considerable critical attention in India as well as abroad. They write consciously about their own issues about their identity, self, and sexuality, and as women. The distinctive features of their poetry seem to be confessional, autobiographical, candid, candid, bold and realistic in the expression of their attitudes towards love, sex and lust.
In the realm of Contemporary Literature Tara Patel occupies a very significant position as a feministic poet against the dominance of men on women by her voice against the patriarchal dominance in Indian Society. Tara Patel exploits her talent as a poet and denounces overtly in her poems. Tara Patel is one of the finest and most distinguished Indian women poets in English who is internationally recognized for her masterpiece, Single Woman (1991). Her only collection entitled Single Woman was published in the year 1992
Tara Patel’s poem, Woman expresses her sense of exploitation at being born a woman and pathetically confesses her intense yearning for love, care and understanding, as she is traumatized by the plutocratic thoughts prevailing in the society.
Tara Patel’s voice gradually changes in her poem Request. The perception of the Modern Indian Poetry by women represents that they all are anti-male is not true as all of them do reject men or are altogether anti-male. Tara Patel also presents the same in her poem Request. The main concept is -- her longing for love and companionship that never meets its due satisfaction. Tara Patel has to literally beg for it in the stated lines:
‘Sometimes for old times sake
You should look me up
Have lunch with me, I’ll pay the bill.
How little I know you though I loved
You so long
And still do for old times sake.
…………………………………….
I will not bore you with details of how I lived
For months after your exit.
But because I’m pining for an old pleasure,
Have lunch with me one of these days.
I miss you most when I’m eating alone.’
In ‘Single Woman’ she expresses the pain, sadness, depression and thoughts of a lonely woman, which can only be written by a woman.
‘ Even a one-night stand is luxury
For one who has spent many years
In squar one.
Begging for love at life’s altar,
One crumb at a time to stay alive.
…………………………………….
…………………………………………
He is another woman’s man
Always he is another woman’s man
In your rosary of crumbs.
Other women’s men offer you love
In rationalized crumbs…’
Tara Patel’s poems Single woman, Woman, Mother, Request and In passing are most convincing to women readers who approach it to identify themselves with the inner sight of the poet and see the world through the eyes of a haunted woman. Most of her poetry concerns itself with the poet’s intensely felt need for declaring all about herself, about her desire for love, her emotional involvement and her failure to achieve such a relationship. Her poetry is crises-crossed by soul searching, self analysis, introspection and looking deep into oneself, which is why she is called one of the best Indian English woman poets of modern times. Tara Patel also endowed with strong Indian sensibility; she depicts women’s issues and problems very deeply in her poetry. Among the Indian women poets Tara Patel follow footsteps of Kamala Das in denouncing the supremacy of male.
In the poem ‘ In a Working Women’s Hostel’ Tara Patel touched the inner most feeling of a women. Such as:
‘ Waking up at night is a symptom of aging,
I kick aside the warm weather of my blanket,
The touch of my own thighs, breasts,
Ia an embarrassment.
……………………………..
……………………………….
‘A woman can feed herself. Love begins
With a man’
And so on and so on. The colour of bones
Is in my hair now
And I have come to a standstill.
The passing days have a posthumous
Touch to them’.
Tara Patel’s persona in her first collection, Single Woman(Rupa & Company-1991) is caught between the desire of being free-wanting out of being someone’s daughter or wife-and to experiences sexual fulfillment. ‘Even a one-night stand is a luxury’, she writes in the poems. She wonders how her mother reacted to sex and whether she turned to religion, to Radha and Krishna, imagining herself to be Sita and Radha, their consorts while her husband was becoming an alcoholic.
For women studies in India, Tara Patel is an important poet and deserved to be equal important similar to Kamala Das, indeed. Her only one collection of poems ‘Single Woman’ is an outstanding contribution to the contemporary Indian English Poetry.
Ref: (i)Single Woman by Tara Patel( Rupa & Co, Calcutta-1991)
(ii)Contemporary Indian Poetry in English,Edited by Mohan Ramanan and others, Sahitya Akademi(2010)
(iii) Nine Indian Women poets, edited by Eunice De Souza
Braja K Sorkar is a bilingual author, poet, Essayist, and Translator. 10 Titles have beenpublished in his credit and a highly acclaimed poetry collection in English, titled ‘ Syllables of Broken Silence(2021) for which he received ‘The Indology Award’(2021). He has edited a prestigious literary magazine in Bengali ‘Tristoop’ since 2001 and an International English literary journal’ Durgapur Review’ since 2023. He edited an International Anthology of World English Poetry, titled’ Voices Now: World Poetry Today’ (2021). His poems have been translated into many languages. He lives in Durgapur, West Bengal. Contact: email: brajaksorkar369@gmail.com. And brajakumar.sarkar@gmail.com Whats App: 9064231839
`TAGORE AND HIS WOMEN` - A VIEW
Kunal Roy
Defying the norms of the conservative society, Tagore portrayed her women characters in his works. His women are powerful, chance takers and never back out from proving their mettle amid the social constraints!
Tagore was a matured individual who knew the ways to bring forth the strength of this segment of society. He left no stone unturned in achieving his goal. He shouldered the onus to prove his point, broke the conventional barriers and reached his destination. However, the most interesting matter is they are very much relevant at this hour!
In "Chokher Bali", Binodini is an inauspicious widow. Despite the grey shades of life, she doesn't embrace her destiny. She never compromises with her sexual desires. Yet she does a lot of work for the socio - economic upliftment of the women at the end of the novel. She feels the necessity of education to tide over every single problem coming on the way. On the other hand Charulata, his famed woman is solitary and seeks solace in the arms of his brother - in - law. She nurtures a special feeling for him. Shows her intense interest in music. A contrast is depicted between Charulata's husband and her brother -in - law! Charulata is caught between the horns of dilemma. Her turmoil gives the author a chance to rediscover the soul! Labonya in "Shesher Kobita" acknowledges her love for Amit. But they are not united in the novel. This really reminds us of one simple truth that if two people love each other they should not enter a wedlock! Love desires freedom. Wedding chains this beautiful emotion. True lovers never want it to happen!
Tagore's short stories are equally appealing by nature. Infusing all the essential ingredients of a good short story, the author penned some of the best short stories in his life. Chondora in "Shasti" is a powerful woman. She shoulders the responsibility behind the death of Radha. Abject penury, social obligations and a sense of latent melancholy enforced her to take such a desperate decision. Still she emerges as the victor. She embraces death. But her husband and brother -in - law would burn in the flames of punishment till the last moment of life. In ghost stories Tagore had shown how the soul comes back to avenge the injustice. Here his woman is supernaturally powerful! His women reign the veins of the earth and beyond the earth in the accepted sense of term.
Women had always been an inspiration to this bard. Be it Victoria Ocampa or Ranu Mukherjee, his bond with them aided him to connect his culture with his creativity. There were rumours that he had a clandestine affair with them. There are many spicy stories which still afford to focus on this typical issue. Keeping such stuff at bay, he marched ahead of times. The complex and intricate relationships have made his works reign supreme!
Times have changed. But his literary accomplishments have not suffered the perfect onslaughts of time. We are not certain of the fact if the women of the present tense have read him or not. Yet he is still a driving force. An unfailing inspiration to every class of the fairer sex!
Every day is his birthday. Celebrating in some other parts of the universe may not be a big deal. But showing reverence to him and his women ought to be our prime motto. After all the world of an artist is deemed to be complete in the flawless blend of reality and fantasy!!
Kunal Roy has always been an ardent lover of literature. He has received various awards for his literary contributions. He is a poet and a critic of poetry. His works have been published both here and abroad. Currently working as an Assistant Professor of English Language and Communication in George Group of Colleges, Kolkata.
BHALOBASAR ONUBHUTI- THE FEELING OF A LOVE
Soumen Roy
Soumen Roy is a professional writer, best selling author and a tri-lingual poet. He has been vasty anthologized. His novel and poetry books have been part of International Kolkata Book Fair as well as Newtown book fair. He is the receiptent of Laureate Award 2022 along with many others. His poetry has been a part of international poetry festival 2017 and Panaroma international Literature festival 2023. He has published in different newspapers, magazines and web portals. He has been part of a web series named Showstopperzz, a cinema for a cause. He loves photography, painting and music.
Sreechandra Banerjee
Yes, you got it right. It is Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay or Sarat Chandra Chatterjee. An all-time novelist and short story writer, his superb capturing of the then village life in his various works have conquered the hearts of not only his readers, but also the hearts of many film makers and the audience thereof.
Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay was born on15th September 1876. He died on16th January 1938.
I used to be mesmerized by his articulate narration and the fluent manner with which he used to create the most common characters and the everyday casual circumstances. His portrayal of lifestyle, struggle in all spheres of life etc, have touched many hearts. He had a deep insight into human nature, his writings bear testimony to his vivid style of depicting characters and events.
The flow of lucid language while analysing characters in a simple way did enthral readers.
Years back, when I wrote on Neel and Charak Pujas of Bengal, my sister reminded me how these festivals made their appearances in his works while narrating the everyday lives of common village-folk.
Says Wikipedia on Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay: - “He remains the most popular, translated, adapted, and plagiarized Indian author of all time”.
Some known and unknown facts about the writer:-
We know him as a legendary writer. But how many of us know that the writer was a multifaceted person- a good painter and a musician too. He could play instruments like flute, esraj, harmonium, pakhavaj. Having a good voice, he could sing Kirtans and Rabindra-sangeets very well.
When the writer lived in Rangoon, his musical skills had fetched him the title “Rangoon-Ratna Saratchandra” or “Gem of Rangoon Sarat Chandra”.
[Rangoon, as we all know is the present day ‘Yangon’ (meaning ‘end of strife’ ), which was the former capital city of Myanmar (Burma).]
Rangoon had played an important role in the history of Indian Independence Movement. Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s patriotic novel, “Pather Dabi” (‘Right of Way’ or ‘Demands of the Road’), was set in the backdrop of Rangoon. The British had banned this novel because of its revolutionary idea.
His novel “Srikanta” was translated into German. He was about to go abroad, but because of bad health couldn’t. It was a great opportunity missed. In fact, he had missed many other opportunities because of ill health.
It is said that he could have also received Nobel Prize for Literature had health permitted. Bad luck for him and for us Indians that he didn’t.
Films made on his novels:-
About fifty films have been made in many Indian languages. There are sixteen versions for the most popular film ‘Devdas’. Also, the film “Parineeta” has been filmed twice. The Bollywood film ‘Majhli Didi’ (or Middle Sister), directed by Hrishikesh Mukherjee in 1967, starred Meena Kumari and Dharmendra.
This was based on the Bengali film ‘Mejdidi’ (1950). Though Majhli Didi was not an Indian box office hit, it was one of the best rated films of the great director Hrishikesh Mukherjee. Besides, it was awarded the Best Screenplay (by Nabendu Ghosh) and Ajit Banerjee bagged the Best Art Direction, B&W Award. In fact, this film was the Indian entry to the 41st Academy Awards for Best Foreign language Films.
The romantic film Swami (1977), starring Shabana Azmi, Vikram, Girish Karnad and Utpal Dutt, was another of his famous works. In this film, Hema Malini and Dharmendra made guest appearances. It was for these films that Sarat Chandra was awarded Filmfare Award for Best Story.
Amol Palekar also starred in one of the films- ‘Apne Paraye’.
Other Films based on Sarat Chandra’s works include:-
-Telegu film ‘Thodi Kodallu’ (1957)
-Telegu film ‘Vagdanam’ (1961) by Acharya Atreya -inspired by his novel “Dawttaa”(Betrothed).
-Film “Aalo Chhaya” (2011) based on short story “Aalo o Chhaya”.
The story of “Pandit Mashay’ had greatly influenced the 1975 Gulzar film “Khushboo”.
Some of his other famous works include Choritrohin (character-less); Dena-paona (Debts and dividends); Grihadaha (lustful arson); Nishkriti (deliverance); Pawther Dabi (Right of the way), Srikanto; etc.
Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay and Rangoon:-
Parts of this novel ‘Srikanto’ was based on the great writer’s experiences in Burma (Rangoon or Yangon). After having moved to Burma in 1893, Sarat Chandra first had a temporary job in the audit office of Burma Railways. Later, he worked in Burma’s Public Works Account Office for many years.
It was in 1916 that Sarat Chandra came back to India and settled in Howrah near Calcutta.
Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay and Freedom Movement:-
Sarat Chandra was also involved in India’s Freedom Movement and was the president of Howrah district branch of Indian National Congress from 1921- 1936.
Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay as a student:-
The prestigious “Jagattarini Medal” was conferred on him by the University of Calcutta. He was also conferred upon an honorary doctorate (D. Litt) by University of Dhaka. He was a meritorious student and got a double promotion too in school. Yet later, he could not attend college and appear for his F.A (First Arts) examination due to financial problems.
Some other lesser known facts are-
After returning from Burma in 1916, Sarat Chandra lived in a place in Howrah (near Calcutta). It was in 1923, that this house was built in Samta. He lived in this house from 1926 t0 1938. During India’s Freedom Movement, this house served as shelter for revolutionaries.
This village Samta is in the Howrah District of West Bengal. He lived with his second wife Hiranmoyee (whom he married in Burma after his first wife and child died from plague). His brother Swami Vedananda, also lived in this house.
This two storied Burmese styled house, known as Sarat Chandra Kuthi or Sarat Smriti Mandir was built by a local worker named Gopal Das for Rs 17,000. Earlier in 1919, Sarat Chandra had bought this plot for Rs 1100. Ponds and paddy fields were added adjacent to this house. Bamboo and guava trees were planted by him. Some of these trees are still preserved there. The writer also fenced the compound and thus named it as “Samtaber”. “Ber” or “bera” means fencing.
However, when this building was damaged by the 1978 floods, West Bengal Government repaired this and now it is a heritage-historical site protected under the West Bengal Heritage Commission Act (IX) of 2001. In 2007, this was declared as heritage building.
Sometime back (early 2019) we went to visit this home at Samtaber– where he lived for twelve years before moving to Calcutta.
His Calcutta residence is now used for music programmes, etc – where some of our musical programmes are held.
Burmese styled house at Samta.
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Works of Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay
will remain etched in our hearts
forever.... till eternity
and the great author will be
read again, again ......and again!
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The photos are from the internet only
to which I have no right (Disclaimer).
I do not have any right to the quote from Wikipedia
and some information regarding the films, etc.
(Disclaimer).
Sreechandra Banerjee is a Chemical Engineer who has worked for many years on prestigious projects. She is also a writer and musician and has published a book titled “Tapestry of Stories” (Publisher “Writers’ Workshop). Many of her short stories, articles, travelogues, poems, etc. have been published by various newspapers and journals like Northern India Patrika (Allahabad), Times of India, etc. Sulekha.com has published one of her short stories (one of the awardees for the month of November 2007 of Sulekha-Penguin Blogprint Alliance Award) in the book: ‘Unwind: A Whirlwind of Writings’.
There are also technical publications (national and international) to her credit, some of which have fetched awards and were included in collector’s editions.
When we talk about continents, we think what countries it comprises of, what are the languages spoken, ethnicity, native population, etc. in that land. The continent on which I am trying to focus on here is the complete opposite, it does not have any nation, nor any government. Its extreme conditions are a major factor for absence of usual habitat. It is the coldest continent, with temperatures plummeting as low as -89°C, and it is also the windiest, with snowstorms reaching speeds of up to 300 km per hour, which can impair vision. It is not a difficult guess that here we are talking about Antarctica, the White Continent. Furthermore, it is the driest continent, with only about 51mm of precipitation annually, which often turns into snow before it hits the ground. Consequently, Antarctica stands as one of the least affected continents by human activity.
However, this has not stopped various nations from making claims over Antarctica. France, Norway, and Australia each claim parts of the continent. So also United Kingdom, Chile, Argentina, and New Zealand. Despite these claims, Antarctica is not actually divided among these countries.
The continent’s exploration history finds an unexpected link to ancient Greece. In his book “Meteorology,” dated around 350 BC, it is said, Aristotle was the first to conjecture the existence of a landmass in the southern high-latitude region. He referred to this hypothetical land as "Antarctos," signifying “opposite of the Arctic Circle.” So, even though he didn’t set foot on icy shores, his musings laid the groundwork for future explorations and scientific discoveries in that distant, frozen realm.
Humans first set foot on Antarctica in the 1890s, but the continent appeared on maps long before. French explorers included it on their 1530 world map, with the southern landmass named Terra Australis, meaning "Unknown Southern Land." In 1773, British naval officer James Cook ventured south of the Antarctic Circle but did not reach the continent. His observations of icebergs with rock deposits led him to believe that Terra Australis existed but was unreachable due to the harsh conditions.
The debate over who first landed in Antarctica continues. Captain John Davis, a British-American, claimed he was the first to set foot there in the 1890s. The first undisputed landing was in 1895 by a Norwegian ship, the Antarctic, with crew members stepping ashore. Carsten Borchgrevink, a Norwegian, claimed to be the first to land before the boat, while Alexander, a New Zealander from the boat, argued that he stepped out first to steady the boat. This debate even inspired humorous illustrations.
The early 20th century, known as the Heroic Era, saw significant scientific discoveries, including the discovery of mosses in Antarctica. This period was followed by the colonial era, during which seven countries—Argentina, Australia, Chile, France, New Zealand, Norway, and the United Kingdom—laid claim to the continent. Countries like the USA, the Soviet Union, Japan, Sweden, Belgium, and Germany conducted explorations without claiming territory.
During World War II, Nazi Germany attempted to assert control over parts of Antarctica, marking the land with swastikas. The USA, meanwhile, remained relatively inactive. In 1924, the US Secretary of State declared that new land in Antarctica would not belong to any country unless settled with permanent residents.
After World War II, nations began to establish permanent research stations rather than engaging in territorial disputes. For example, Australia and France set up bases in the late 1940s and early 1950s, while Argentina established a station in 1955. These research stations often served as political tools for intelligence gathering rather than purely scientific purposes, leading to overlapping territorial claims. The Soviet Union however declared in 1950 that it would not recognize any claims made without its approval. Fortunately, Cold War tensions did not escalate into conflicts over Antarctic.
In 1958, President Eisenhower proposed a treaty to ensure Antarctica remained a peaceful and collaborative space. The Antarctic Treaty was signed on December 1, 1959, establishing that Antarctica would be used solely for peaceful purposes, that scientific research would be free and open, and that the results would be shared. Initially signed by 12 countries, the treaty did not abolish territorial claims but placed them in abeyance. Countries can still claim territory, though these claims are largely symbolic today.
Australia claims the largest portion of Antarctica, about 42%, but most other countries do not recognize these claims. The Antarctic Treaty, set to expire in 2048, could be renewed or replaced, and its future remains uncertain. Currently, the focus is on scientific research rather than geopolitical disputes, with around 4,500 scientists working in Antarctica each year.
India, initially opposed to the treaty, later signed it in 1983 and applied for Consultative Party status. India now operates two research stations in Antarctica. In 1991, the Madrid Protocol was signed to protect the environment of Antarctica by prohibiting drilling and mining. Despite the potential for significant oil and gas reserves, exploration has not occurred due to this protocol and high costs.
The most familiar animal of Antarctica is the penguin. It has adapted to the cold, coastal waters. Their wings serve as flippers as they “fly” through the water in search of prey such as squid and fish. Their feathers retain a layer of air, helping them keep warm in the freezing water.
Today, the Antarctic Treaty remains in place, and Antarctica is a region where countries cooperate and share resources but lack traditional governance structures. Some loopholes in the treaty, like tourists getting their passports stamped at various stations, still exist. The future of Antarctica might involve continued scientific collaboration and tourism or could see further exploration
It may be recalled that India established its first scientific base station in Antarctica during its third expedition to Antarctica in 1983–84. The place was called Dakshin Gangotri. Situated at a distance of 2,500 kilometers from the South Pole, Dakshin Gangotri marked India’s entry into Antarctic research. Built in a record time of just eight weeks by an 81-member team, the station served as a hub for scientific exploration and study in the icy continent. It conducted a wide range of research, including,Physical oceanography, Chemistry of freshwater lakes,Biological traits of land and water,Geology and glaciology,Geomagnetism.
Unfortunately, Dakshin Gangotri was submerged in ice during 1988–89 and subsequently decommissioned. Today, it serves as a supply base and transit camp for other Indian research stations in Antarctica, namely Maitri Station and Bharati Station. Maitri Station, India’s second Antarctic research facility was established in 1988, serves as a scientific base for various research activities. Bharati , commissioned in 2012, is India’s third Antarctic research station that focuses on oceanographic studies, geological research, and continental breakup phenomena.
It is interesting to know that India Post has set up post offices at both Maitri and Bharati research stations. Letters and postcards sent from these post offices are stamped with “Antarctica,” making them unique souvenirs. The letters are collected once a year and dispatched to India’s headquarters in Goa, from where they are mailed to the scientists’ families. Thus practically, these post offices serve a symbolic purpose only.
Again , incoming mail (letters addressed to scientists in Antarctica) is not directly delivered to the research stations, obviously due to the remote location and logistical challenges. Instead, letters meant for the post office in Antarctica are sent to the National Centre for Polar and Ocean Research (NCPOR) in Goa. At NCPOR, the letters are processed, stamped, and then returned to the scientists’ families via regular mail.
It needs mention that continued greenhouse gas emissions from other continents is impacting Antarctica as its ice in certain places is melting slowly, causing a fear of rapid sea level rise. Antarctic is experiencing heat waves in both summer and winter. the melting of Antarctica is a complex challenge that requires global cooperation, scientific research, and urgent action to mitigate the impacts on our planet.
Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik hails from Cuttack,Odisha and is a young IT professional working as a Team Lead with Accenture at Bangalore.
AFRICA ODYSSEY IN NAIROBI – THE SAFARI CAPITAL OF THE WORLD
Gouranga Charan Roul
Emirates Flight took off from C.S.I .Airport, Mumbai in the early hours of 29th July to Nairobi via Dubai, its busy hub. As we have to wait in transit for 5 hours to catch the next flight ,we strolled in the sprawling and captivating duty-free shopping arcades ,window shopping. In the afternoon, the Emirates flight took off for Nairobi, a distance of 5500 KM and landed at Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta International Airport by 20.30 hours .After completing visa on- arrival formalities, we were received by our son, who has been at Nairobi as a business executive in a MNC for East and South Africa. We drove into his service apartment in Lavington area, in the heart of Nairobi. The name Nairobi comes from the Masai phrase ‘Enkare Nairobi’ which means cool water, reference to Nairobi river, which flows through the city .The city is popularly referred to as the ‘Green City in the Sun’.
Nairobi has a subtropical highland climate .At 5889 ft above sea level, night is very cool, especially in the June to August season, and the temperature can drop to 9.c (48.F). We could feel the impact of cold at night, demystifying the popular belief that Nairobi might be very hot as it is situated close to equator. The mean maximum temperature is 24.c (75.F).
The service apartment is located at 75, Isaac Gathanju road in the Lavington area, where expat communities predominate. Majority of population belong to Indian and Chinese origin. Markedly the rising influence of China was felt seeing the numerous Chinese T.V channels and infrastructure projects handled by Chinese experts. While discussing about political trajectory, came to know about one, Dr. Swarup Ranjan Mishra ,whose ‘Medi-heal‘group of medicals, has been rendering medical facilities to the Kenyan people for the last 24 years. His popularity was amply proved recently when he fought an election and won handsomely to become a Member of Parliament after taking citizenship and assuming a Kenyan name - Kiprop Arap Chelule , belonging to Kalenjin tribe inhabiting in Eldoret area in the Rift Valley .The Kalenjin tribe is regarded as an athletics tribe as most of the Kenyan Olympians are from this tribe .As per the 2017 official Gazette Asians are declared 44th tribe in addition to 43 indigenous tribes in Kenya .It was heartening to know that Dr.Mishra hails from Panchapali village of Jagatsinghpur district , in Odisha, India.
Almost a century ago when Africa was infamously known as-Dark Continent; another physician - Dr. Albert Schweitzer driven by a missionary zeal could venture to take an arduous journey from Germany through the South Atlantic sea port Gentil ,Cape Lopez deep into a French colony (Gabon), covering 320 km by raft in 14 days in the hazardous ,serpentine River Ogooue to establish his ‘Albert Schweitzer Hospital’ at Lambarene in French Equatorial Africa in 1913. Dr Schweitzer a humanitarian , philosopher ,theologian, writer, musician and above all a dedicated physician devoted his entire life in his Lambarene hospital ,to alleviate the afflictions of the poverty-stricken ,emaciated patients suffering from leprosy and other tropical diseases, until his death in 1965.However,the 1952 Nobel Peace prize was bestowed on Dr Albert Schweitzer for his philosophy of ‘Reverence For Life’ as a mark of deep gratitude for his unparalleled philanthropic service for over half a century to the impoverished section of mankind in the Dark Continent (during that time)-Africa .
As we are on a month long tour to cover the African Safari, Picturesque lakes and places of tourist importance, our tour itinerary was devised accordingly. Before embarking upon our long cherished trip to Masai Mara, we decided to begin with the local tours keeping the last leg for the much touted African safari to August end when the mass migration of wildebeest would be at its peak.
MASAI MARKET - On the following Wednesday of our arrival, our plan was to visit Masai Market for purchase of authentic African souvenirs. Peculiarly the Masai Market moves around the city on different days of the week typically operating from 8AM to 6 PM at each location. The seat of the Wednesday weekend market was at the capital centre on Mombasa road which was nearer to our apartment. We got awestruck seeing the colorful display of art ware, handicrafts, hand-crafted beaded jewelry and colorful clothing. We purchased a handful of handicrafts to keep them as memorabilia.
ISCON - Hare Krishna Temple - Next leg of our tour was programmed to pay a holy visit to the ISKON- Hare Krishna Temple. We were quite amazed , seeing some locals, most prominently Sri Conard Das , taking the lead in the Sankritan Mandali ,putting on ethnic dhoti ,kurta and smearing sandal paste on his forehead in a Vaishnavite pattern .In the basement, a sprawling restaurant,’Govinda Restaurant’ makes Prasad affordable .The restaurant is subsidizing its sacrificed vegetarian food or prasadam ,so that it is affordable to the low –income workers .The Govinda Restaurant projects a warm and welcome vibe even before you enter, with the wide eyed deity of its name smiling broadly from a colorful Ratna Singhasan.
NAIROBI NATIONAL PARK - The Nairobi National Park, 113 sq.km of forest, plains and cliffs, is unique one as it is located in the close vicinity of the capital city, so much so that wild animals were entering into the city prior to the erection of electric fencing. More than 400 species of birds are found in Nairobi National Park. One can see a herd of wildebeests, a group of zebras, towers of giraffes, a flock of Rhinos, a leap of Cheetahs, and a large pride of Lions, living wild within 20 minutes of drive from the centre of the capital city. Seeing these gorgeous animals outside of a cage, and observing them in their natural habitat, is really an awesome and surreal feeling. The park is a place of great adventure and exotic sights. These exotic sites are the reason why tourists are dreaming to go to Africa to have once in a life time experience.
GIRAFFE CENTRE - Giraffe centre is located in Langata , approximately 20 km from the city centre of Nairobi .It was established in order to protect the endangered giraffes, that is found only in the grasslands of east Africa. This Giraffe Centre, a nature sanctuary was started by a wildlife conservationist Jock Leslie Melville, the Kenyan grandson of a Scottish Earl, when he and his wife Betty captured two baby giraffe to start a programme of breeding giraffe on their Langata property. Since then the programme has had huge success ,resulting in introduction of several breeding pairs of Rothschild Giraffe into Kenyan national park .There is an information centre imparting knowledge about distribution of Giraffe population in Africa. The main attraction, for both school children and visitors, is feeding giraffes from a raised circular observation platform .We felt excited as well as apprehensive to feed the Giraffes, but enjoyed the affectionate touch of the long tongue of Giraffe while feeding them with some type of foodstuff available in the observation tower.
WESTGATE MALL - As per our tour itinerary, we visited the upscale shopping mall, located in Westland division of Nairobi frequented by the elite sections of Nairobi, mostly the embassy personnel and expat foreigners. A 2013 terrorist attack on the mall resulted in death of at least 67 people ,including 4 attackers and 175 nonfatal injuries .The mall underwent refurbishments and subsequently reopened on 18th July 2015 The dreaded Al - Shabab terrorist group operating from Somalia claimed the responsibility .
LAKE NAIVASHA - Keeping the programme to the last leg of our trip for Masai Mara ,National Reserve ,we visited the picturesque lake Naivasha and amazing prehistoric Hell’s Gate gorge on following Wednesday .Lake Naivasha is a fresh water lake in Kenya , outside town of Naivasha in Nakuru county ,which lies 91 km north of Nairobi. It is a part of Great Rift Valley with average depth 20 ft expanding to a vast area of 139 sq km. We went for a boat ride in VIP area, because the other part of the lake was for the residents as recommended by our tour guide. It was a great experience. The camp area is a beautiful place with a lovely huge lawn. We booked a boat for $50 for one hour boating in the beautiful lake .The boatman was well informed on all animals and birds of the lake. We could be able to spot lots of bird species and this is the only place where we found Hippopotamus under water near our boat in families. The boat guide was quite knowledgeable, about their underwater locations and maintained safe distance. Flocks of Flamingos were a wonderful site. There was a small restaurant and clean wash rooms. We were spellbound by the captivating and panoramic view of the lake and its surroundings. Place was so calm and serene. We had a bowl of rice with a chicken leg piece akin to Hydrabadi biryani and a bottle of coke for our lunch.
HELL’S GATE NATIONAL PARK - Hell’s Gate National park is situated to the south; 25 km away from Lake Naivasha. Hell’s Gate National park is named after a narrow break in the cliffs, once a tributary of a prehistoric lake that fed early humans in the Rift Valley. The park received its name- Hell’s Gate by explorers Fisher and Thomson in 1883.The park view is spectacular and climbing in the Hell’s Gate is very exciting and thrilling. Our tour guide with a glint in his eyes gleefully informed about shooting of Hollywood films in this picturesque and panoramic park. The topography of the park was heavily modeled as main setting of the 1994 Hollywood blockbuster, The Lion King .The 2003 film Lara Croft: Tomb Raider- The cradle of Life was shot on location in this park.
Kenya’s capital city has risen in a single century ,from an uninhabited swampland , founded in 1899 by the colonial authorities in British East Africa ,as a railhead depot on the Mombasa- Uganda Railway, to a thriving modern capital and to be crowned as smart city of the year in 2017 in a world convention held at Barcelona ,Spain. Nairobi, a sprawling city, that like many other African metropolises is a study in contrast, with modern skyscrapers looking out over vast shantytowns in the distance, many harboring refugees fleeing civil wars in neighboring countries. Home to thousands of Kenyan business and over 100 major International companies and organizations including the United Nations Environment Programme and United Nations Office at Nairobi(UNON);Nairobi has emerged as an established hub for business and culture .Modern Nairobi is still the safari capital of Africa.
Gouranga Charan Roul (gcroul.roul@gmail.com)
The author, after completing post graduate studies in political science from Utkal University, Odisha in 1975, worked as a senior intelligence sleuth in the department of Customs, Central Excise & Service Tax and retired as senior superintendent. As a staunch association activist, he used to hold chief executive posts either as General Secretary or President of All India Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha for 20 years. Presently in the capacity of President of Retired Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha, coordinating the social welfare schemes of the Association. Being a voracious reader, taking keen interest in the history of India, Africa, Europe and America. In his globe tottering spree, widely travelled America and Africa. At times contributing articles to various magazines.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
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