Woman! Behold Thy Son!

1. Good Friday

The temple veil’s torn apart;

There’s nothing else inside;

For God hangs upon a wooden cross;

His disciples have strayed aside.

The sun’s face is darkened;

‘Cause of deeds of mankind;

The earth also trembles;

At the sacrifice of its kind!

2. Woman Behold Thy Son

“Woman,

Behold Thy Son”

Cries

The voice of the One

Whom you had cradled

In your arms!

The face which you had caressed,

Is swollen and stained with blood!

The little hand which you had held,

Is pierced and nailed!

The body 

Is broken and pierced!

They have

Hit Him with spikes and spears!

Yet, He Cries for you,

Woman, Blessed are you !

                      -Tapan Chakraborty

The Turbulent Days of early 70s

My introduction to Calcutta /NGOs / War Victims 

My sister passed her ICSE Examination at the age of 15 years with flying colors. It was decided to put her in a "good college" in Calcutta. She applied for admission in Lady Brabourne College and as expected, got it. English Honours.  Thus, started my journeys to Calcutta. The city was totally unknown to my sister as well as to me. The purpose of my going to Calcutta was to reach my sister to the private hostel "Nazareth Villa" and to bring her back home during her holidays. Air Conditioned travel was unheard of in those days in the late sixties and more so, in the Giridih Calcutta route via Main line! There used to be a "Howrah Bogie" attached to a night train with only one ordinary compartment - IIIrd Class - as it used to be called in those days! There was no provision for reservation. Whoever could run into the compartment and grab a seat as the train rolled on to the platform would be lucky! A class friend Kishalay had taught me how to run along with the compartment when the train would enter the station, grab the door handle and suddenly throw oneself into the particular bogie. (Unfortunately, Kishalay is no more). Of course, I never told my parents of the antics that I adhered to. The train fare from Giridih to Howrah those days was ten rupees and ten paise. The bus fare from Howrah Station to Park Circus Maidan was ten paise. So we used to spend approximately twenty five rupees one way reaching her to her hostel!  Of course, there were other day trains as well - the early morning train was good enough to enable us to catch the Varanasi Express (now Amritsar Express) at 8.20 a.m. in Madhupur which would take us to Howrah by 1.30 p.m. if at all one could spare the "day".

Those were the turbulent days of Naxalite movement. One of my sister's hostel mates was a girl from Kerala. Her brother, living in another hostel was studying in Presidency College. One day the boy was standing on the verandah of the College when there was some commotion. As he bent down to see what was happening, a CRPF Jawan standing below, thinking that the boy was about to hurl a bomb, fired into his head, killing him on the spot! Many innocent lives were lost. Much did I want to know the thoughts of Mao-Tse-Tung, I never ventured to buy any booklet from the footpaths lest plainclothesmen picked me up. Many-a-time I have been stranded due to sudden bandhs - have walked through alleys from Park Circus to Howrah Station. Once walking along the USIS Library I suddenly found bombs being thrown at the library - I ran across the road into a moving tram. On another occasion, I found myself in a dark alley when a police van moved in - along the wire meshed windows there were glowing cigarette (or bidi) buts and slogans were being raised in hushed voices about setting on fire and killing the bourgeois leaders! There was hardly any space left for me to move out and I must say that the situation was most unpleasant! 

Nevertheless, Calcutta had its own charms. The theatres in "Nandan" - the  vivacious  debates in the British Library with Utpal Dutt taking part on themes such as 'Jesus Christ as a Communist'!

It was during 1971 that the Bangladesh liberation war started. Brother Slack, a Jesuit priest who had taught us in St. Xavier's Hazaribagh, started working for  Catholic Relief Service [CRS]. They had their office on Camac Street. Many of old Xaverians from  Hazaribagh had joined for working amongst the war victims and the refugees. My sister Subha started volunteering with them during her vacations. My cousin Fabian had already joined on full time basis. They would start early in the morning, drive into Bangladesh - to the camps with food, medicines, Intra Venous sets and water. Prior to this I had gone to a centre for rehabilitation for lepers in Chingleput near Madras to volunteer. There I had seen the most poignant face of human suffering -here was another heartrending site of human suffering! 

War brings untold suffering for mankind and therefore, must be avoided. Unwarranted discussions on TV Channels, as is happening today, should be stopped.

The Rajgir Ropeway

There was a time when I lived in  rented tiled house in Pachamba. I was in high school - it was a Government School about three kilometres from where I was living with my parents. I used to walk to school and when a class became too boring, I would quietly slip out of my nearest window, then up on the boundary wall and a jump and I would be out on the street. Less than a furlong away, there used to be a motor garage where a few of my friends worked. They had dropped out of school because they couldn't afford to pay for private tutions for Science and Mathematics. At the garage if I saw two pair of thin legs jutting out from under a car and a hoarse voice singing, "Khwaab ho tum ya koi haqueequat, Kaun ho tum batlao, Hum se itni door khadi ho.... "  I would immediately identify the singer ' Kareem Khan'. I would watch with keen interest how he  would use two spanners and create a lever for opening a stubbornly tight nut. Yes, our Physics teacher did try to teach us first class, second class and third class levers, but I'd bet he never had practical knowledge like Kareem Khan. 

During the summer months I used to play football with the mohalla boys, but nobody played cricket. So during the winter months I would keep cycling along the highway and also through gullies and bye-lanes, country roads that would take me to the Usri on the other end of the town. I would also keenly watch the car mechanics at work I would also keep a tab of the vehicles passing along the road - the different types of cars and motorcycles. One day I saw a foreign made car that whizzed past at very high speed. It was being driven by a foreigner who had his elbow on the glass window beside him and was practically driving with one hand only on the steering wheel. For the adolescent within me, he did look like a hero. During my early childhood I had seen Mr Tootoo Imam driving his racing car to Ranchi or Fazlu Mian driving his 350 cc Bullet to Ranchi and back in half a day or my uncle Dr Sukhendu Mookherjee covering Ludhiana to Vellore via Giridih on his Jawa. During College days I have been offered trips to Darjeeling and back by my cousin Fabian on his Jawa  or Ranchi to Paradeep and back in a day, but nothing seemed more interesting than peeping into the mechanics of these foreign made cars. 

I made efforts in the adjacent garage to find specialities of the Ford Consul cars and soon the owner showed me one such car which was owned by one Dr U Sahay. The car' s suspension rested on two hydraulic shock absorbers only on both sides - I immediately knew the reason why these cars were so smooth! 

Very soon I noticed that the foreigner sahab stayed overnight with a missionary family in Pachamba. They were Scottish missionaries and my direct queries revealed that this gentleman was Mr Peter Edy, a Scottish Engineer and Managing Director of M/s Mackintosh Burn & Co. I also found out that he was constructing the Rajgir ropeway. In one of his subsequent visits I got introduced to him. I asked him many child like questions, like why he doesn't prefer the GT Road to Barhi to which he replied that due to very little traffic on the road via Pachamba, he preferred this route. 

 

On one of his visits he wanted the car to be checked up. I was only too happy to extend help to him! The mechanic my father relied upon was Belaya t Ali Khan. Belayat could be trusted with any car as he would study it's mechanics  if a spare part was not available he was smart enough to make an alternative part to fit the vehicle. 

Peter was impressed by Belayat Ali and was so happy that he invited me to his place in Kharda near Barrackpore in Kolkata. He said if I visited him I could visit The Indian Statistical Institute. He also added that the palatial building where he was residing was occupied by Rabindranath Tagore once upon a time! 

It was decided that I would take the Amritsar Howrah Express so that I would reach Howrah at 3.30 p.m. and he would pick me up from Howrah Station. The train was on time and Peter was waiting for me at the designated spot. Peter had with him a tall person with , long moustache whom he introduced as Khan Saheb, his cook. Besides, he also picked up few crates of drinks. We reached Khardah in about 90 minutes time. Peter explained that Sundays were days on which his friends met and had lunch followed by drinks. Peter had a farewell party to attend and told me that he would return by mid night, so he had called a Bengali boy to keep me company. 

This young boy told me of the proposed luncheon that would take place the following day. Burra Sahabs of Martin Burn, Guest Keen Williams, Arthur Young and scores of other companies would be represented by their burra sahebs and better halves. Peter, incidentally, till then was bachelor. I had a sumptuous dinner of bone less Betki fish. After dinner my Bengali friend showed me around this palatial building and took me to Peter's Elbow Room as well as 

  the workshop where Peter would make his own Yatch for sailing on the Ganga. Some of the balconies of this building extended well onto the river and there was always a strong gust of wind through the Balconies into the rooms. The living room had a panoramic view of the Ganga and was large enough for minimum ten couples for ball. 

That night I enjoyed a sumptuous dinner of Bhetki Fish ( bone less) - I had seen Khan Saheb preparing it with a  large Cigar between his lips, sitting on a high stool. 

Early the following morning I was told that Peter had returned the previous night at around 2.00 a.m.Notwithstanding he joined me for breakfast at sharp 8.30 and drove me to ISI . He was there at the gate waiting for me at 4.30 p.m. When we returned to his house, there were still a few guests around - Sahebs and Memsahebs  the latter generally ensuring that their better halves were not too tipsy! 

I learnt that Peter allowed all his  helping hands holiday after such parties so he took me to Barrackpore Club for dinner. It was 12 o'clock by the time we came back. Peter' s speedometer was clocking 120 on the busy B T. Road. 

Continued from where I left... Builder of The Rajgir Ropeway

Peter, while telling me of his home, had said that his mother was very old and he makes it a point to visit her during Christmas. On one such trip there was heavy snowfall and the visibility was extremely poor, yet he had no option, but to start for Heathrow - some 400 miles overnight! I also came to know that during any exigency say in Asansol or Durgapur he would make a quick visit on his bike and would be back home by early dawn! 

Peter was considerate enough to drop me at Howrah Station the next morning and I could catch the Toofan Express back home. 

The following month he arrived at Pachamba in an Ambassador car. I could not resist my temptation of asking him the reason. I was told that his Ford Consul broke down one day while he was on his way to an important meeting. He left his car in a roadside parking lot, walked in to Deewar's Garage and walked out in a brand new Ambassador.  I went to inspect his new car. In 20 days the car had covered 24000 kms.! I asked him about the car's performance, he replied that he regretted having sold his Ford! 

During 1968 my sister passed ICS Examination and was admitted to Lady Brabourne College, Kolkata. By the time we met the college authorities, all seats in the College Hostel were full. The College office told me of a private hostel almost across the road run by nuns They said it is for working women, but they accommodate college girls also. I went to the hostel, only to be told that there was no vacancy and they needed two letters of recommendation from persons of repute whom they knew. Initially I was disappointed, but suddenly remembered that I had seen aledmanhole covers in the hostel floors reading " Mackintosh Burn". I lost no time in asking the nun-in-charge if they knew Peter. They said Peter was a good friend and, "Of Course his recommendation would be very valuable".

I lost no time in contacting Peter. He asked me to meet him in his office the next morning. As soon as I reached his office, he dictated a letter of recommendation, signed it, sealed it and handed it over to me. I went straight to the hostel and handed over the letter. I was asked to bring my sister immediately the same day. 

My sister Subha spent the next seven years in this hostel Nazareth Villa on CIT Road, Park Circus through her graduation, post graduation and doctorate courses. 

During college breaks I would come to take her home - Rs. 10/10p used to be one way fare from / to Giridih for one person and 0.10 paise used to be bus fare for a person from Howrah to Park Circus. But those were disturbed days. Young boys would be picked up by police and taken away to unknown destination. I would wander why my sister never liked my wandering on the streets of Calcutta! Only recently she told me the reason! 

হাজারীবাগ

আমার প্রথম  ঊষা 

সকাল বেলা মা আমাকে ঘুম থেকে ওঠাবার সাথে সাথে আমি জানালা দিয়ে সিতাগড়া পাহাড়ের চুড়ার  ওপর  গোল পাথরের দিকে তাকিয়ে সেই পাথরের  পাশ থেকে উদীয়মান লাল সূর্যের দিকে তাকিয়ে দেখতাম – কি এক আজানা রোমাঞ খুঁজে পেতাম এই দৃশ্যের মধ্য দিয়ে । রোজ-রোজ এই দৃশ্য দেখবো বলে আামিও মাকে বলে রাখতাম আমাকে ঠীক সময়ে উঠিয়ে দেবার জন্য । আমার মা বিয়ের আগে কলকাতার বিখ্যাত ডায়সেসন্ স্কুলে মন্টেশ্বরী টিচার ছিলেন এবং এখন সেই পরিপ্রেক্ষীতে মনে হয়  -  সকাল সকাল ঘুম থেকে ওঠাবার কী সুন্দর সহজ উপায় ছিল মায়ের l 

খাটের ওপর দাঁড় করিয়ে মা আমাকে জামা কাপড় পরাতেন এবং আমি অপলক নয়নে ঊদীয়মান তপনের পাহাড়ের গায়ে রংএর খেলা উপভোগ করতাম ।  এই দৃশ্য আামার কোমল মনে এতই গভীর রেখাপাত করেছিল যে আজ ষাঠ দশক পরও হাজারীবাগে গেলে সিতাগড়া পাহাড়ের চুড়ার  ওপর  গোল পাথরের দিকে তাকিয়ে দেখি ও স্বাভাবিক ভাবেই ছোটবেলায় দেখা সেই দৃশ্য মনের পটে ভেষে ওঠে ।

হাজারীবাগ ঠান্ডা যায়গা – শীত কালে নদীর ধারে ঘাসের ওপর জলের কণা প্রায় জমে এক হাল্কা সাদা চাদরের সৃষ্টি করত । মা তখন আমাকে ওনার নিজের হাতে বোনা এক লাল সোয়েটার ও লাল উলের হাফ প্যান্ট পিরিয়ে দিতেন । এ পোষাকটিও আমার বড় প্রীয় ছিল ।  হয়ত এ কারণেই লাল রং আমার বড় প্রীয় ।

Usri Falls

Look what I shared: Usri Falls: Usri Falls @MIUI| http://usrifalls.blogspot.com/2016/10/usri-falls.html?m=1

The Giridih which I knew

The Giridih which I knew

I visited Giridih on 4^th February. It was a short visit. Reaching Giridih on the afternoon of 4^th; my wife and I stayed there on the 5^th – only to return the next day. I came back with a melancholy feeling. The town where I had spent my adolescence and youth, was lost. It was lost in the maze of numerous upcoming shops and commercial establishments; the beautiful road to Usri Falls was dotted by ugly black iron mills bellowing dark smoke – covering the blue sky that had been so characteristic of Giridih.

As I crossed the river Barakar on the Dumri – Giridih Road, I was wanting to stop at the huge bungalow to my right which had been owned by the Roy Choudhurys of Gauripur [an erstwhile Princely State]. But to my utter dismay, the bungalow was nowhere to be seen and a huge multi storied building was under construction a few yards away. The low boundary wall was however there, encircling a number of hills. This bungalow was initially built by an European whose passion was catching huge poisonous snakes from the nearby jungles. He had also built a strong iron cage on his verandah where he had kept a tiger! This place was about eight kilometers from Giridih and along with my friends Prabir Chattoraj, Rana Pratap Choudhury [the three musketeers], we would  cycle up to this place to unravel the mysteries of  the bungalow. This was during our early teens and we had perhaps not grown up from our Agatha Christie stories! We had befriended the guards telling them that we were visitors from Calcutta and would wander inside the mini palace! There were costly carpets; a billiard room with tables etc.;  expensive imported cutlery; varieties of spears, swords and other armory hung in a room the wash rooms were fitted with imported sanitary ware – yet hardly any one ever came to this building. The guards were huge men with thick moustache and I always had a feeling that we may be caught unawares by them while roaming inside the rooms – so I always kept an alert eye around ourselves.

I had made up my mind that I would stop and take a few photographs of this extraordinary building – but alas, it was not to be!

There were a number of other interesting bungalows along this road – a bungalow on the left hand nearer the town was known as the Myers Bungalow. Mr. Myers was reportedly an European merchant – probably had come to Giridih for trading in mica. He was a big fat person and it is said that one of the early young Brahmo settlers had won a ‘bet’ to pat Mr. Myers’ huge pot-belly! I have seen this bungalow housing one Mr. Pearce – a Mica Consultant. Mr. Pearce had a lovely family. They were from Mangalore and lived in this bungalow during their stay in Giridih.

Further nearer the town there was a homeopath Dr. Dutta. A very renowned homeopath from an aristocratic family, he also lived in a palatial building. This building was razed to the ground in the early eighties after Dr. Dutta left Giridih.

The entire area is in the vicinity of coal mines. In those days these were underground mines and not open-case, so there was no pollution to the environment. Some of the mines had been abandoned by the NCDC (the mines were later taken over by CCL). Guards had been placed at these mines. We, the three musketeers, would cycle to the guards and befriend them to allow us to measure the depth of the mines. We would also use indigenous methods to see if poisonous gases existed in these mines by lighting candles and lowering the same with a long pre-measured string. At times to camouflage our identity we would paint moustaches and beards on our faces using my elder sister’s eye-brow pencil! True, those were our golden days!

The Geological Survey of India were still searching for deposits of coal and other mineral during the sixties. A young geologist was deputed by the GSI in the area. It was not possible for him to walk to the town every day and so, my father made arrangements for his stay in one of the unused buildings after talking to the owner. He had been recommended by one of my aunts who was a scientist in the GSI. Unfortunately, after a month, this person went missing. There was no telephone in those days. After a frantic search with his friends, my father located him in another bungalow. It seems he had fainted while working in the fields and had been carried there by some passers by.

Barganda was the  area in Giridih where as a ten year old I first came. I had been brought to Barganda from Patna as a fifteen-day old but was taken to Hazaribagh after a few months.  A light green colored single storied  building with a flight of stairs leading to the verandah  standing at the corner of Barganda was called – “Pastry Building” by my elder sister. It seems that during her earlier tenure in Giridih, she went to the bazaar with my grand uncle and had somehow lost her way. It was this “Pastry Building” which helped her to locate her way back home.

This building, named “Upala Path” was built by a Deputy Magistrate Mr Suresh Chandra Sarkar. Mr. Suresh Chandra Sarkar’s eldest son was Mr. Subimal Sarkar – a well known professor in Patna and his youngest son was Dr. Sushobhan Sarkar a professor of History in Presidency College, Kolkata. The building had a beautiful garden and was the hub of Brahmo activities. Opposite this house was what we saw, a dilapidated tiled bungalow – which was the residence of Dr. Sashi Bhushan Basu. Although he was an ordinary teacher, Dr. Basu was regarded as the father of Geology. His daughter Dr. Maitreyi Basu resided in the next cottage known as Majhla Kothi and the third cottage was that of Sir Nilratan Sarkar [after him the Medical College in Calcutta was named]. Dr Nilratan Sarkar died in this building which much later was the office of the Life Insurance Corporation of India and later, an oil mill! Although I did not see most of these luminaries, yet I have seen the subsequent occupants of these buildings with lovely gardens, people living as a closed community. What a harmony!

There was another building with a marble plaque reading “Ma”. One Miss Radha Rani Lahiri, niece of Ramtanu Lahiri lived here. She had an impressive personality. My grandmother went to meet her and I had the opportunity of accompanying her. Miss Lahiri and my grandmother had been from the same Bethune Collegiate School and it was a pleasant meeting for them in 1960.

I can continue writing on the great people who were the then residents of this lovely town, where birds chirped and flowers bloomed and perhaps could write volumes, but none of the cottages exist now. Ugly shops – including paan shops have sprung up all along the boundary walls of these cottages – most of which are mere rubbles. 

I was really sad that I could not see our school! This High School, established in 1887 by leaders of the then Brahmo Samaj had produced luminaries like renowned scientist Prof. Gyan Ghosh and Mr. Probhat Mukhopadhyay, author of the biography of Rabindranath. The school building was hid behind ugly – dirty tyre repair shops, shops dealing in motor car spares and what not!

 Two Brahmo Samaj buildings were there – one was  the Sadharan Brahmo Samaj and the other was the Naba Bidhan Brahmo Samaj. I was told that the 99 year lease given by the government for the Naba Bidhan Brahmo Samaj had not been renewed and land sharks have broken the Samaj building for construction work.  The Sadharan Brahmo Samaj, however is well maintained by our friend Nittyendu Sundar Banerjee. They have regular worship there and they are maintaining a beautiful garden inside the campus. Mr. Nittyendu Banerjee’s father was a unique personality. He had inducted Uttam Kumar into the Bengali film industry. He possessed a letter written to him by none other than Gurudev Rabindranath himself on his mother’s demise.  I had the opportunity of reading the letter.

While returning from the Giridih trip, I had the feeling that such melancholy is what one would have, should s/he happen to visit her/his old place of earlier years – sans his close friends and relatives! 

Wadia Hospital

1. 1. The Journey from Bamdah Eye Hospital to N.M.Wadia Hospital, Poona
   

   
   

   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   "সুদূর তুমি যে বিপুল - তুমি যে বাজাও ব্যাকুল বাঁশরী" If I were to translate this opening line of the Poet's song I would say, " (O) Distant thou art vast - thou art the one that plays the desperate flute". Yes, a desperate call it was. An unknown beckoning from a Pied Piper which was taking me away from home - away from my near and dear ones - to the unknown ....  
   

   
   

    My journey from Bihar to Poona was not easy. The telegram summoning me to N.M.Wadia Hospital, Poona read; "Please make it convenient to appear for an interview on ..........and come ready to stay back". I had appeared for an interview in Bombay a couple of months earlier and this telegram was a result of the same. My father carried the telegram from Giridih to Bamdah, where I was working. The Medical Superintendent of Bamdah Hospital knew that their project was coming to an end and I was looking for other avenues so he was mentally ready to relieve me. In fact, he was kind enough to provide a driver with the Hospital Jeep to take me to Giridih.  By the time I was ready to set off from Giridih, after packing a small leather suitcase, it was past 7.00 p.m. and I realized that unless I set off immediately for Dhanbad to catch the Bombay Mail, I would not be able to make it to Poona by the stipulated date. I hired a black and yellow Ambassador taxi of those yesteryears and off I started via Dumri [the road via Tundi was not functional till then]. Unfortunately, near the Madhuban turning where the road branches off to Parasnath Hill, the taxi broke down. The driver and his helper made efforts to start the vehicle till 12.30 a.m., but in vain. It was not possible for me to catch the Bombay Mail at 1.00 a.m. in Dhanbad, nor did it seem possible to catch it in Parasnath where the train stopped for a mere one minute. So when the vehicle started, I asked the driver to return.

   
   

   Next day I sent a telegram to my future employer that I would be late by a day. I started off again in the morning, but this time by a Bihar State Road Transport Corporation bus at 9.30 a.m. On reaching Dhanbad Railway Station, I made enquiries for a berth, but there was no chance. So I caught hold of a porter who said that it was not possible to board the train because of the crowds they were carrying. He however, promised to put me inside the train should I pay him Rs.3.50. Being the only option available, I agreed. When the train rolled on to the platform with people hanging out of the doors, the porter called his friend and handed over my suitcase to him. Then before I knew, he bundled me - picked me up and threw me in through a window. The train windows in those days were not secured with rods.  I fell down in the compartment with my suitcase right in the middle of a family who were squatting on the floor having their dinner - as they had no other option in the crowded coupe. I heard screaming and shouting as I stumbled up, got a hold of my suitcase. There was hardly any space for me to put my feet and keep my suitcase. With a lot of effort, I could shove the suitcase under a berth while I started asking my fellow travellers who were fortunate to be sitting,  where they would disembark! I could find none who would get down before Allahabad. So next, I started asking those who were hanging from overhead bunks. At last I found a man who said he would get down at Gaya. What a joy! I calculated that I would get a place to hang from the overhead bunk at least from 5.30 a.m.! To my utter disappointment, the train suddenly stopped just after leaving Bhuli. Somebody said, the engine had broken down. I kept standing there for full eight hours till  a new engine came from Gomoh. I was not able to move either for fear of losing my place! Going to the  toilet was also ruled out!

   
   

   At Gaya, I got onto the promised place on the bunk. I was hoping that I might be able to capture a vacant seat in Allahabad later in the day - but in Moghulsarai as well as in Allahabad more people got in than those  got down.  People were getting inside the moving train through windows even before the train could enter the station - hence all my efforts to get a seat were in vain!  I was not born a camel, yet I could go without water for long hours. The train moved on and on. Stations came and passed by. It passed through Jabalpur in the dead of the night - 12 hours late.

   After leaving Jabalpur, I must have  travelled for another 18 hours still perched on the bunk above. The train reached Kalyan station at about 4.30 p.m. the third day! I knew that if I proceeded to Bombay, I would miss the connecting trains to Poona.  I got down at Kalyan Junction. A cool breeze welcomed me - it was a relief after the long stuffy train ride.   It was a pleasant evening - local trains reminded me of the local trains that run between Burdwan and Howrah.The    passengers travelling in local trains are short distant travellers - people who commute for work on a daily basis.They are fortunate to return home after a day's work! I had a cup of tea and  got hold of  a porter to enquire about trains going to Poona. I was told that the Mahalaxmi Express had left Bombay and was on its way. Again, the porter promised me a seat for the same amount - Rs.3.50. I agreed. The train arrived at around 7.15 p.m. The porter had his men occupying seats in the train. So as soon as I got into the indicated compartment, his contact person  got up and vacated a seat for me. I was happy to get a seat near a window. The train started. I was feeling dizzy by then - not having a morsel of food for three days! After a while I realized that the train was moving through hills - I could see towns down below - hundreds of lights twinkling - I felt more dizzy and turned my head away.  Normally while travelling I spend my time observing people, their queer mannerism and conversations, but now I was in no mood to observe all these - though the fellow travellers looked different from those with whom I was accustomed to. The train passed through Lonavala and Karjat, but I was not able to enjoy the scenes. People sitting near me were gazing at me with awe - I don't know why - maybe I was looking haggard. They were good people. I understood little of what they were saying and neither was I in any condition to try to hear their conversation. When the train reached a station called "Shivaji Nagar" and many people who were saying that they were going to Poona got down. I wondered if I should get down as well. In fact, few years prior to this journey, I had gone to Agra. Instead of getting down at Raja Ki Mandi went ahead to Agra Cantonement and had to travel back again! To my relief, I saw a Sardarji in the next coupe. I rushed to him and asked him in Hindi whether Shivaji Nagar was the station where I should get down. He saw the address where I was going and said I should get down at Poona. So I sat for another 20 minutes. It was 2.00 a.m. when the train reached "Pune". There was another dilemma.  The name of the station read "Pune" - was this the correct station? I got down and enquired from the Ticket Collector near the gate. The ticket collector confirmed that this was Poona. While I was enquiring, a group of white uniformed auto rickshaw drivers surrounded me. It was evident to them that I was a new comer. I had no option. I did not have the stamina to wait either. I gave one of them the details of my destination (the hospital). The auto started and whizzed through the darkness. Minutes seemed hours. At some places street dogs chased us. I was wondering where I was being taken. It must have been an hour's ride after which the auto stopped near a well lighted big hotel. I had asked for a good hotel as I badly needed good night's  rest. Colourful lights were twinkling, sound of music floated through the air. The sign board read "J................ Hotel". The auto driver read the meter and asked for the exact fare - Rs.2.50. I was surprised. In fact in my subsequent months in Pune I have found the people very honest. I have never seen brawls on streets.  I walked to the reception counter and asked for a room. The gentleman said that they had vacant suites only. I asked the rent and he said Rs.25/-. I was happy. I was shown the room. The sound of fast music floated through the corridors as the waiter took me to my room. Once inside - I wanted food. He asked me; "Cabaret chalna hai sahab [Sir, would you care going to the cabaret]?"   When I refused, he brought me a menu card. I made one of the greatest mistakes of my life - I asked for a plate of rice and curry. I had no idea that in Maharashtra people take rice along with chapattis.   The amount of rice that was brought for Rs.20/- was perhaps less than that I would have taken during my Annaprasana.  I ordered for another plate of rice as the waiter looked at  me with awe. After I had finished, the waiter asked me; "Sahab, room mein  Whiskey ya Gulab ka Phool Cahiye ?[Sir, would you like whiskey or a bud of rose in your room?]" I got alarmed. Hurriedly chasing him away I locked the door behind him with a bang! Ensuring that the room was well bolted, all windows were closed properly I went to the annex room of the suite and again ensuring that the balcony doors were well bolted - lay down only to fall fast asleep after a good hot shower.

   I got up at around 7.00 a.m. in the morning. I went on to the balcony attached to my bedroom. It was a wonderful sight!  The road below was lined with  beautiful landscaped gardens - men and women going to work on  scooters - children in uniform going to schools - it seemed a bright and happy place. I went to the reception and asked for the direction of the hospital where I was to go - I was told it was just behind the hotel - round the corner. So, after all, the auto driver had brought me to the correct place!  After my breakfast, I set out for the hospital.

   _______________________________________________________

   2. N.M.Wadia Hospital:

   
   

   As I walked up the stairs of the new building, with its shining marble floors, spotless walls, sparkling windows and smartly dressed medical interns in their jackets - for a moment I wondered if I would fit in to the atmosphere - not that I looked a country-boy, but.........

   
   

   I enquired for the Superintendent's room. There were two superintendents - one in charge of Administration and the other was the Medical Superintendent. The first one, Mr. C, a Chartered Accountant, was to be my boss. I went to Mr. C's room and he said to me in Marathi; "Basa" [in Marathi it means 'sit down'] When I did what I was told he said; "You know Marathi?" I said I did not know Marathi, but the word is similar to Bengali where we say "Boso".  He then said to me that the Board had met the previous day for the interview and some members had come from Bombay. [Bombay had not become Mumbai till then - although the Marathi name Mumbai was very much there]. So he said that he will need time to contact all the members and then if all the members agreed, I would face a smaller Board the same day. He asked me where I had  put up. When he heard that I had put up at J.............. Hotel, he was surprised and quickly said that he would arrange a place for me. Later I heard that the hotel was infamous for its cabaret dances.

   I faced a session of questions in the afternoon and Mr. C said that after his office he would take me to a men's hostel and make my stay arrangements. Meanwhile, I went back to the hotel, checked out with my suitcase, came to the hospital and waited outside for Mr. C to finish his work. My suitcase seemed very shabby against the sparkling ambience of the hospital!

   
   

   The hostel that Mr. C. arranged for me was about two kilometers away. It was in the cantonment area - 1, Stavely Road.  It was a very big compound with cottages all around. Families lived in the cottages while there was a long building with several halls. Each hall had around six to seven beds. I was allotted a bed in one of these halls. There were six other beds. As a special case they arranged an iron desk and chair by the side of my bed. I was told that I would have to pay Rs.25/- per month as rent. The bath room and toilet complex was at one end of the compound and in the morning men and women alike stood in queues waiting for his / her turn. The toilets were in one row on the backside of the building while the bathing rooms were on the other side of the same row. Even those living with families  in individual cottages had to share the common toilets and bathing place and stand in the sandas' queue.

   
   

   The hospital timings were 8.30 a.m. to 1.30 p.m. and again from 2.30 p.m. to 5.30 p.m. There were restaurants nearby where I used to have my breakfast. Masala Dosa or Vada Pao and tea for Re.1/-. Pune being in the western part of India,  the sun appeared to be lazy and did not rise till about 7.00 a.m.

   
   

   Access to telephone and Trunk Calls were not easy. I was carrying "Inland Letter forms" from home and I sent two letters that day, one to my parents in Giridih and the other to my sister in Calcutta.  I often wonder what patience we had in those days - awaiting news for days and weeks together! I could well imagine a smiling Sharmaji - the postman of our beat - carrying my letter home! Later, it was sheer joy to receive my mother's reply in her beautiful handwriting.Her handwriting depicted her love more than the contents of the letter! We have lost the charm of receiving handwritten letters.

   
   

   The first day, Mr. C showed me the various wings and introduced me to the doctors on duty as well as the office people. He said that he would place me at each counter for one week at a time so that I could know the type of work passing through each counter. I was first made to sit at the Inpatient Counter. I learnt the nuances of the business. I had to go through each file, find the cost of consultation, pathological tests and medicines and place the bills to the patients at the time of discharge. At times, similar exercise also was required when a patient needed some extra tests etc. during his hospitalisation [in case of a prolonged treatment].

   
   

   The outpatient counter was manned by a young girl. Miss D. I learnt that she had joined the day when I was to come for the interview. She was good looking, tall - about five feet five inches, fair and of a good built. I also learnt that she was from Goa, but her father had settled in Pune many years back. 
   

   
   

   Family planning operations used to be carried out in the hospital. Vasectomy for men and tubectomy for women. Patients wanting tubectomy to be done had to come to the Inpatient Counter and the men wanting vasectomy done had to go to the Outpatient Counter. Naturally, at the inpatient counter I was supposed to get the prescribed form filled by a patient wanting to have her tubectomy done. When the patients were unable to fill the forms themselves, we had to help them. It was difficult for me as some of the queries related to very personal matters. So I used to ask a typist girl Lata who used to sit in the same cubicle - to do the needful. The questionnaire was in Marathi but I was able to read and understand the questions.  Patients' names were very different from ours, as they would add their father's name or in case of married women, their husbands' names as 'Middle Name'. I was not familiar to these names, so I had to listen carefully and at times, had to ask them their names more than once.

   
   

   I came to know eventually that I had been taken in the place of another person who had committed a fraud and had been thrown out!  He was not turning in the total cash received to the Accountant.  Mr. C soon told me that he was looking for means to strengthen the system and also asked me for suggestions.

   
   

   The people were kind and friendly. My colleague in the Inpatient Counter was and elderly gentleman Mr. Gaikwad.  On realizing that I was taking lunch and dinner from hotels, he spoke to the Nursing Superintendent so that I could get food from the Nurses' Hostel. The hospital had a very big and renowned  Nursing College which was headed by one Sister Chabook, a highly qualified lady with many years of experience at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences, New Delhi. After Mr. Gaikwad had secured the necessary permission, I was asked to go to the Nurses' Hostel dining hall during lunch and dinner time, but as this was not convenient for me and moreover, I also felt shy and out of place. They asked me to buy them a 'tiffin carrier' so that they would give me my food at my desk. I purchased an aluminium tiffin carrier for Rs 18/-, which I have till this day.  Charges for lunch for full month was Rs.25/- and the same was for dinner. They used to give me the tiffin carrier with my dinner by six o'clock in the evening before I left for 'home'.
   

   
   

   Initially, the conveyance for commuting between the hospital and the mess was public transport (bus). The bus fare was twenty paise one way. The buses were never too crowded and in the evenings people were seen carrying small garlands made of jasmine flowers - the ladies wearing them in their hair  - and this gave a very pleasant atmosphere in the bus. Subsequently my colleagues told me that I could hire a bicycle for Rs.15/- per month. The normal maintenance would be done by the hirer. One day a colleague escorted me to a bicycle repair shop and arranged for a bicycle to be rented out to me. He stood a surety for the same. Moreover, for office work I had the option of taking the Office Matador Van or the Yezdi Motor Cycle.  As Mr. C used to go out in the Matador Van, I used to take the Yezdi bike.

   
   

   A week at the Inpatient Counter soon passed and I was shifted to the Administration Wing where I was allotted two jobs, (i) Preparing Reimbursement papers for Government and other employees after their discharge so that they were able to submit the same to their respective offices. This required going through the files of individual patients. Usually after their discharge, the files used to be kept neatly numbered in a separate room. However, in case of patients who died during treatment, their files used to be kept in the personal custody of a senior doctor, Dr B who was an aged lady, a member of the Governing Body. Staff were scared of facing her as she was a no-nonsense lady and would shout at the staff if they even made the slightest mistake. (ii) My second job was to claim reimbursement from the Maharashtra Government Health Department for all the Family Planning Operations done in the Hospital.  For each family planning operation, there was a prescribed amount that had to be paid to the patient (different for tubectomy and vasectomy), a fixed amount for the "Promoter" [Promoter was the person who used to bring in the patient for family planning operation]. There were also amounts fixed for the patients' nourishment, payment for the doctor performing the operation, OT Charges, Medicines etc. besides a fixed amount for the hospital.  The Government Health Department was far away and for going there I used to use the motor cycle. One Mr. Kulkarni was the contact person there and I generally used to meet him for our claim  related work. 
   

   
   

   Thus began my journey at the hospital. Sundays were very boring. At times a young person named A K  who lived in the same compound with his parents and siblings would take me for a film. In absence of A K  I would spend the mornings washing my clothes and putting them outside in a clothesline to dry - later I would spend the afternoon on a bench  in Koregaon Park with a book in my hand at the same time watching the followers of Osho dancing in a trance. I have never been a keen film watcher, but in the company of  Mr. A K  I was able to see some of the great masterpieces in grand halls - Cleopatra, Ben Hur and a host of other good films.
   

   
   

   A K was a unique person. His father was a jockey at the local race course. Besides his father also used to take contracts of painting in different buildings. A K had attended the best educational institutions in Pune. Two of his brothers were engineers employed with Bajaj Scooters. Because he had been to the best schools and colleges, he had friends who were from the upper echelons of the society. He would, at times, accompany his father for a painting job to a rich person's bungalow, only to find his class friends there. This however, never dithered him or bring in any inferiority complex in him. He would tell me how he would hold the ladder for his father, while his friends would be passing by! There was much to be learnt from this person! In due course I came to know that he had liked a Bengali girl in his college and that was the reason he was so keen to make friends with me and learn the Bengali customs! 
   

   
   

   Saturdays were days when the race course would get crowded. Every Saturday, Rajesh Khanna would come in an open car, waving at the crowds. I seldom got chance to see the star as Saturdays were full working days. I had made a few attempts to watch Rajesh Khanna as the road to the Health Department passed along the same road.  The film "Bobby" had hit the screens and had become very popular. A K came one day and took me to see the film. The term "Dabba" used in the film had become a slang word for young girls and some of our male staff would use this word for Miss D or for any other good looking girl.  One day A K told me that he was going to Srinagar to attend a wedding party of one of his close friends who was from the family of the then Chief Minister of Srinagar Mr. Abdullah. I found that he was very happy and made no fuss about his ordinary clothes etc.
   

   ______________________________________________________

   3. Life & Death:

   
   

   26th January being National Holiday, the hospital was to be closed. A circular was issued asking for staff who would volunteer their services on the holiday. As I used to find the holidays very boring, I volunteered my services. I came to the office at 8.00 a.m. It was a calm day - there was no hustle and bustle - no ambulances bringing in patients - no crowd, only butterflies fluttering in the gardens. Suddenly at around 10.00 a.m. a patient came in. She was brought in on a wheel chair.  A lady in advanced stage of pregnancy - bleeding profusely. She was rushed  to the Operation Theatre which was just above the Administration Section. A very qualified surgeon Dr. L along with Dr. B came in from their quarters which was in the same compound. Soon, I got a requisition for a couple of bottles of blood of a rare group. I called up the Red Cross Society Blood Bank, but they said they would not be able to give blood of that particular group that day as the then P.M. was visiting the city. It seemed the P.M. had received a threat and as she was having blood of the same group,  blood banks had kept stocks ready for any eventuality on instructions from the Administration. I tried K.E.M Hospital, Sasoon Hospital, and a few other hospitals,  but everywhere there was the same response. Meanwhile there were SOS calls from the O.T. - the lady was sinking.  Mr. Kulkarni of the Red Cross Society knew us well as we used to get blood on a daily basis. Without losing any time, I locked the office, not finding either the van or the motorcycle, took a bicycle [our messenger was already waiting in the Red Cross Blood Bank]  and off I went, pedalling hard. I was not sure of the way, so I kept asking the traffic police the way to Tilak Road. I bargained hard with the Blood Bank authorities - I said they had enough stocks for emergency, moreover they had vans ready with blood bottles at the venue of the P.M. and there was a lady patient about to die. I also told them to put some other labels on two bottles, but at least give me the required blood. Finally,  I almost snatched away two bottles of blood and ran.

   
   

   In my hurry, I had locked up the office and hence the only telephone also got locked. The doctors were not having access to the office telephone. The office always had the telephone made accessible thorough a small opening in the window- but in my hurry, I had closed it also! As I ran to the office with the two bottles; I saw Dr. B. at the window, impatiently stumping her feet. As soon as she saw me, she knew what was the matter and made for the staircase to the O.T. I ran simultaneously to the O.T. and pushed the two bottles through.
   

   
   

   While the doctors were busy with this patient, three more patients came in. All urgent surgical cases. That morning what had seemed a very calm morning turned out to be an extraordinary busy day. In the evening at 5.30 p.m. when Dr. L the surgeon came out, he was unable to straighten his back. When I tried to sympathise with him, he smiled and said; "I am happy, I have been able to save lives today". Later in the evening Dr. B. came to over to me and said; "Well, you have saved a life today. Do come over for a cup of tea at my place" I had never known any staff or even doctor being invited by her to her place! I had made a special place for myself - after this incident, she never hesitated trusting me with files pertaining to deceased patients.

   
   

   My enquiries a couple of years back revealed that Dr. L has passed away! What a wonderful surgeon was he having studied and worked in CMC Vellore. 
   

   ______________________________________________________________

   4. Taking over from Accountant:

   
   

   A few weeks later I was told by Mr. C that the Accountant was going on leave for an operation.  He asked me to take over. On the day that I was to take charge I kept telling him to show me how he closed "cash", but he did not seem to bother. In the evening he threw the keys at me and disappeared. I secured the "steel safe" and went 'home'. The next evening Miss D came from the Outpatient Counter to turn in her cash.  She  asked me why I was working as the Accountant. When I told her the reason, she was disappointed. She started saying; "I am a commerce student, I should have been given charge - why is it that you have assumed charge, even though you do not have a commerce background?" I did not want to argue with her and somehow cut short the conversation. That day I was not able to tally the total cash after taking the previous day's closing balance and taking into account the payments made and amounts received. A sum of Rs.30,000/- approximately appeared excess. Mr. C had gone to Bombay for some work. After repeated efforts, when I could not tally the cash, I had no option but to go home. The next day the situation was same. That day, the amount was some other amount - a sum of Rs.40,000/- appeared to be in excess. I made many attempts, but could not find any reason. I knew that some lose vouchers of advances given were to be accounted for, but even after taking such vouchers, there was no improvement of the situation. The next morning Mr. C returned from Bombay and came to me. I told him the situation to which he got alarmed. He quickly took the keys from me and put them in his pocket. He said he would come back and see things for himself. Mr. C came after a few hours. He kept trying to tally the cash, but also failed. I tried to calm him down by saying; "But Sir, cash is not short, it is excess, why should we worry so much?" To this his reply was; "Suppose a debit entry has been wrongly made, in such case it would be Rs.60,000/- short".  I was unperturbed as I knew that nothing had gone wrong - it was some voucher which the Accountant had kept aside and we were unaware of it.  I was however, happy that Mr. C also was unsuccessful and that I wasn't a fool after all! He asked me to prepare the Trial Balance, which I did and the Trial Balance did tally.  He asked me to freeze a particular amount which was reappearing  as 'difference' and asked me to ensure that the same  difference continued till the Accountant returned - but that did not happen and every day a new "difference" came up!
   

   
   

   On the second day Miss D appeared with another girl and a young man at the time of handing over her cash. She introduced them saying; "She is my younger sister. I had brought her today to help me at my counter as these days the crowds are swelling by the day". I learnt that she had taken permission for bringing her sister along from Mr. C so I had nothing to say. Then pointing to the other gentleman she said; "He is my sister's boy friend". Saying this she stopped for a while and added; "I don't have any boy friend". I wondered why she was telling me this. I kept quiet. Meanwhile there were few phone calls and I became busy taking the calls. I was not speaking the Bombay type Hindi, but the real Bihar Hindi. After I had finished taking the calls, the young boy said; "I like your Hindi"  I found that they were unnecessarily hanging on around the place. Miss D then asked me if I would accompany with them to a musical fest. As I was busy, I excused myself. In the subsequent days I found that Miss D was becoming inquisitive about me. She enquired about my family members, where I was from and was also eager to tell me about herself. My mother had cautioned me that I should be careful about girls. I remembered her boding and refrained from encouraging her, lest I hurt my mom. I would make excuses about work load. One day however, I was caught off- guard and she appeared while I was just locking the room. She literally pulled me to a hall where young men and women had assembled with guitars and other instruments.  I spent a couple of hours in the company of the young people before leaving for my "mess".

   
   

   Yes, a "mess" it was. The guy occupying the bed next to me was a drug addict. He was in the habit of asking food, money, clothes from others. He was an orphan, brought up in an orphanage. He had started making a living by fetching milk from outside the city. He would add water and sell the milk to local residents. He had made good money, as I was told. He had started wearing gold chains and expensive watch and clothes. Then he started going to cabaret shows and started taking drugs and that was the end of his good times. One day on reaching the mess from my office in the evening, I found he had vomited near my bed. There was an unbearable stench. I lost no time in going to the caretaker and lodged a complaint. The care taker came, kicked him and made him clean the place. The next morning after coming from my bath, I found him sitting on his bed with a shinning dagger in his hands shouting; "Whoever has complained against me, I will kill him". I entered the room - faced him and said; "I have complained against you"  Everybody in the room was dumbstruck - they though he would pounce on me with the dagger. As I came nearer, he started shivering and said; "Boss - Please don't complain against me in future, should I drink again. This happens only when I drink, this doesn't happen when I take tablets" I replied; "I will report against you whenever there will be another incident of this type" After a few days this person disappeared. On enquiries we found out that influenced by the film Bobby, he had eloped with a small high school girl..... He never returned during my stay in Pune.
   

   
   

   The owners of this property were a Trust and they were having some land disputes. I learnt that Mr C was also one of the Trustees. I had taken all their papers and prepared a draft plaint for them for settlement of their dispute through the competent court. I did this on a holiday and the draft was later vetted by their lawyer with minor changes and finally they won the case. The caretaker after this incident had started taking special care of me. This is the reason that he immediately responded to my complaint that evening, which otherwise he would have ignored.
   

   
   

   5. Bengali Films
   

   
   

   I was staying very near to East Street. In one corner of this street, a man used to sell "Desh" which has been a renowned Bengali magazine.  He also used to sell the Bengali newspaper "Ananda Bazar Patrika"  I used to buy Desh every week and started avoiding buying English magazines, as other inmates of the mess would borrow  English magazines and I would not see them again. Desh had no other takers. Once a Bengali movie "Mem Sahib"  was to be screened on a Sunday morning in a hall on the same East Street. The timing was 11.30 a.m. After having washed my clothes and putting them out to dry, by the time I reached the hall, it was 11.15 and all the tickets had been sold out. 'House Full' boards had been displayed. I kept loitering around in despair. I could see quite a few people whom I had seen in the bus while going to office! I also saw a young girl whom I used to see riding  a large Royal Enfield Bullet motorcycle in the morning while going to office - she had come with a plastered hand!  Before finally returning I made a last attempt and walked up to the booking counter and to my surprise, found that a person was wanting to return his ticket as he was required to rush somewhere. I could get the ticket. I saw a few Bengali films in the same hall, but always made it a point to arrive pretty early!

   
   

   6. Family connections:

   
   

   My mother wrote to me that one of her cousin brother's son Bhaskar Mukherjee was studying in the Armed Forces' Medical College. One Sunday, I made it a point to visit him. The AFMC was not far from the place where I lived. From my father I also learnt that some of my grandmother's sister's grand children were living in Spicer Memorial College Campus. Spicer Memorial College has been a large college run by the Seventh Day  Adventists. I could find out the family through some nurses who were in our hospital, but hailed from the same campus. One day they invited me to their place. Spicer Memorial College had a sprawling campus - a few hundred acres of campus - with their own farming lands - farming being made by the most modern mechanical sprinklers; workshops, bakery, grocery stores, laundries besides the college. I found people who had spent a couple of generations in the campus - born there, studied there, got married there and grew old there. The College is now known as Spicer Adventist University and has high standards of education. The place is known as Aundh and is far away from the city. As a small 5 year old, my grandmother's youngest brother had once wanted to take me to their school and I remember having cried so much, that I always avoided going out with the gentleman thereafter fearing that he may take me away!

   
   

   7. The City:

   
   

   A K was always eager to show me places of interest in the city and on a Sunday, he took me to the Yerwada Central Jail where Mahatma Gandhi had been kept imprisoned  on two occasions.

   I was getting used to the city, though for bus routes I used to depend on A K. On Sundays I never bothered going to the hospital for my meals, but enjoyed lunch and dinner in restaurants of my choice. Often I would see what other people were eating and without knowing what to order, I would simply point at their food while asking the waiters what to bring. Traffic Police in Pune required all cyclists to have lights in their bicycles. As the bicycle that I had hired did not have any light, I used to carry a torch in my pocket. I knew the turnings and junctions where there would be policemen and I would just take out the torch at these points and light it. One Sunday evening while going for dinner, suddenly I found somebody pulling my cycle by the carrier. Turning round I saw it was a traffic police. It was in the middle of a road and the policeman was not supposed to be there. Naturally, I hadn't taken out my torch! He asked me my name and took out a diary to note my details. They had a rule that they could just fine a sum of Rs5/- on the spot - else, the procedure was that I  would be summoned to a court. He asked me my name in Marathi. When I told him my name, he wouldn't believe that I was telling my correct name as I did not have my father's name in the middle. He kept insisting that I tell the correct name and I kept repeating my name. I felt amused and decided to pull his leg for a while. To confuse him I was giving my Giridih address and again the Stavely Road address.  After he had unwillingly noted down the details as I told him  I started insisting that he just take the fine and give me a receipt so that the matter ended there, but he would not listen. Finally when our arguments had ended and he had folded his notebook back into my pocket and shooed me saying; : "Za Za" I turned, caught hold of him and asked; "Now tell me, you have taken down my name and address. Now I am going for my dinner. After a while I will return again by the same route. Will you again take down my name and address" He did not answer this query of mine and got angry with me and started repeating; "Za! Za!". I went after but not before flashing my torch light into his eyes!

   
   

   8. Alacrity of Pune Police

   
   

   One day, while most of the staff had gone for their lunch, Miss D came running to me. Some men were creating a ruckus at her counter. I asked her to come inside my room and tell me what had happened. She told me that some men had come for their vasectomy operation. Of them one was in inebriated state, but she had not understood it. She had done all formalities and taken his signature. Now in the absence of influence of alcohol the man had realized that he should not have had the operation as he was unmarried and the statement recorded by him was not correct ! It was apparent that the promoter had done the mischief to get his commission. I rang up the police station. I was surprised to see policemen arriving within three to four minutes of my ringing them!

   
   

   9. Working of the hospital:

   
   

   The crowd for family planning operation was swelling by the day. That month when I went to the health department, I was told that the Government had issued a circular reducing the promoter's honorarium   as well as the patient's reimbursement by Re 1/- each. Somehow we had not received the circular and we had been paying them Re1/- more than the other hospitals and hence the crowd. I calculated that in one month we had earned remuneration from the Government which was more than the total profits of the previous year. We had already paid our patients as well as the promoters and there was no way we could recover the amounts from them!
   

   
   

   Births and deaths were every day affair in the Hospital. People would rejoice at new arrivals in their family, bouquets and sweets would flow. Similar mirth and merry would be seen when a critical patient would go home happily and on the other side, there would be weeping and mourning whenever, although rare, somebody would lose their near one. At the close of a day, I would wonder at the strewn petals on the porch whether they fell off from a corpse or from the cradle of a new born! Between the cycle of births and deaths, I had started liking the work. In fact, I became an integral part of it. Mr. C started coaching me the nuances of Book Keeping during his spare time. I was already a student of the Institute of Cost and Works Accountants of India.  I was also offered accommodation in the Hospital premises once some of their new buildings came up.  I had started contemplating bringing my parents to Pune once I was allotted a quarter. It was at this stage that I got a call from the Company, Aurther Young MacLelland Moore & Co. in Edinburgh for an internship with them with the condition that I pass the FCA Examination. I was asked to appear for an interview with M/s Batliboi & Co. at their Nariman Point office in Bombay. 8th May 1974 was the date fixed for the interview. When I went to Pune Station for catching the Deccan Queen that morning, I came to know that Mr. George Fernandez had given a call for a nation wide rail - strike and no train would run on that day. I next went to the Bus Depot and again found that no buses were plying to Mumbai. Shared taxis used to ply between the two cities. Premier President cars carrying four passengers @ Rs 30/- per passenger. Unfortunately, no taxi was plying that day either. I requested the Company to give me another appointment preferably on a Sunday. And an appointment I did get. When I approached the office on a Sunday morning at about 8.00 a.m. I could see lights inside. When a door was slightly opened, I could see men and women sleeping on tables; cooking utensils under the tables - they were Articled Clerks in the audit firm who had come from other cities, working and also living in the office premises. After about an hour's waiting, Mr. Desai, one of the partners came and interviewed me. I got an appointment letter from Edinburgh in about a month.
   

   
   

   10. Adieu
   

   
   

   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   When I told Mr. C of the developments, he kept quiet for a while - when he raised his face, I could see his moist eyes. Miss D started avoiding coming near me. It was necessary for me to go to Calcutta for my visa as my passport had been issued from Calcutta [The passport office at Patna had not been functional then].  The Official at the British Dy. High Commissioner read my profile and started  asking me about my previous employer, Bamdah Eye Hospital. I could not help asking him how he came to know such obscure a place. What he told me astonished me. He had been a student of Dr. Macphail (Junior) who had taken over the reins of the hospital from his father on the latter's death.  Since I had come to Calcutta, I took a night train to Giridih  home. What I saw in Giridih, broke my heart. My father had lost weight and was beginning to show signs of fast deteriorating health.  I caught a return train from Madhupur on a wet Tuesday. It kept raining throughout the journey. My heart was heavily drenched as well. I almost made up my mind to join SBI should I get another chance for an interview. On reaching the Hospital at Pune, the Medical Superintendent asked me when I would finally quit. I realized that they were all waiting for my departure so that they could bring in their relatives in my place. This made me very sad. I wrote a registered letter to the Personnel Manager, SBI, Local Head Office, Patna that I had missed my previous interview as I was working in Pune and should I get another chance with advance notification, I would like to join SBI. I had given up the thought of going to Edinburgh and returned the air ticket that arrived.

   
   

   Of the people who felt bad at my leaving were Mr. C. I kept getting letters from him even after few years of my leaving to return and take up the reins as Hospital Administrator. 
   

   The day I was to leave, I asked the Asst. Matron of the hospital Mrs. Fernandez, whose husband was the Superintendent of Bombay VT Station to arrange a berth for me on the Calcutta Mail via Dhanbad. By then I had received a letter from the Bank asking me to report to the Branch Manager, Dhanbad Branch of SBI. Mrs. Fernandez  had prepared a nice cozy room for me for taking lunch and rest in the afternoon, although I never liked taking rest.

   
   

   When I got into the Deccan Express, waiting for the train to take me to Bombay from where I would catch the Calcutta Mail via Dhanbad in the evening, suddenly a big packet landed on my lap. Thrown in through the window. I strained my neck only to see A K running away. I have not been able to connect to him again. My registered letters have not yielded any response.  
   
   

   
   

   Posted Yesterday by Tapan

     

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