I stand outside Chetan Pan and Cold drinks corner, just across the road from the NDDB office, as you take a right from Upasna circle and move towards Ahmedabad. Hey! Don’t get bored by the vivid description of where I stand. I know it hardly matters to you, or for that matter to anyone who comes to Chetanbhai’s shop for paan, cigarettes, cold drinks or simply to spend some time away from the scorching heat, Surendranagar subjects its residents to. But I too have seen days of glory. It’s a different matter that now Chetanbhai uses me as a store room for the cold drink crates. It is easier for him doing so rather than taking them inside every night before he downs the shutter for the night.
I must admit, I have started looking ugly. It has been more than six years since Chetan bhai last put a coat of fresh paint on me. Those were, I must say, my heydays. Mobile phones were yet to become a rage and internet telephony was just making its way in. In fact there must have been only one shop which had facilities for internet telephony, the cyber café in the lane beside Axis bank. The Navratras were a rage for Chetanbhai. Long before he would worship her, on Diwali, the Goddess of wealth, Laxmi would have already showered her blessings on him. People especially those staying in the societies in and around Wadhwan, would line up till late into the night to talk to their relatives settled at the other end of the world. I would often feel surprised, when people would say “Good Morning Beta, Kem Chhe” at 9 in the night. But slowly I came around to come to terms with the fact that while its night here in Surendranagar, it must be day in the other part of the world.
Those were the days, when BSNL had not come out with the One India Plan and other companies like Airtel, Reliance and Tata had not made forays into the Land Line segment. They call it Fixed phone, I suppose. Sim cards were hard to come by. Not like today, when you get a sim card for as less as 5 Rs. with Rs. 30 talk time for a month. And yes, even incoming calls to mobile phones were charged. “What a fucking joke”, many of you would say. But that is true. And yeah, getting a land line connection at home was far tougher than getting a pass percentage in the board exams. So it would be me and only me in the moments of (now lost) glory. STD calls made between 11 in the night and 8 in the morning would be charged at one fourth. That would precisely be the time, when the working class would queue up to call up children and relatives studying or staying in “out states” (That’s what the Gujjus call other states). Of course, the shop would close at 12 in the night, but Chetanbhai, the shrewd businessman he is, would open it quite early at 7:00 in the morning. Chetanbhai had very tastefully done my interiors. I must admit he has a great aesthetic sense, though he has spent half his life applying gulkand to the betel leaves. There was a small fan which would not make much noise. There was a small sleek tubelight too. All that, however, is gone now. The fan holds a place of pride at a chemist’s shop in the bazaar and the tube light along with its frame lies in Chetanbhai’s house, that too because even a Bhangaarwala had once refused to buy it.
I have been privy to so many intimate conversations of various aspects of peoples’ lives. Maganbhai’s son Jinkal found his love here. I still remember the day when Jalpa told “hun pan tane bahu prem karuchhu”. Now, stop getting ideas. I was not eavesdropping, but how could I have helped, if Jinkal had put the speaker on. Jinkal had started jumping on my wooden floor and I had started shaking out of fear. Thankfully, I didn’t come crashing down. However, I must also thank Chetanbhai for reprimanding Jinkal for jumping. Must admit, Chetanbhai took great care of me. It was here that Maulik, Jethabhai’s son got the news of his getting selected for some course in America. The 95 dialing had begun just a few days back and people were happy that they could dial 9579 instead of 079 for Ahmedabad even during the peak diurnal hours and charged lesser. Rameshbhai had availed of my services to convey the news of the death of his wife Shardaben to his relatives around the world. I felt sad for Rameshbhai. He seemed to love his wife very much as he would often burst into tears conveying the news of her death.
However, people slowly stopped realizing and acknowledging my importance in their lives. Post 2006,cheaper mobile phones started hitting the markets in a big way. You could get phones at as less as Rs. 1200. Chetanbhai had stocked many such phones for a long time. However, the odd labourer or a rickshawwallah would still use me. SIM cards were probably still hard to come by, you see. But my significance was totally lost when some, what do they call it here, Chinese phones started being sold in India. I still did not have much to worry, many would think, since they being “imported maal” would not be cheap. Right? Wrong. Now even the laariwaala across the road, you know, the one who sells aamras in the summers and khariseeng in the winter, possessed a mobile phone. And as if to rub salt on my already wounded self, SIM cards had also become cheaper. Everyone possessed a phone now. The truckwallah who would buy biris from Chetanbhai’s shop, the pastiwallah who used to come to buy old copies of Divya Bhaskar from Chetanbhai, even the guy who controlled the road roller when the road was being broadened. I was not needed anymore. What a fucking joke!, I would often think.
I have been witness to changing times. And my diminishing importance as well. The asbestos cover above my head, to protect my interiors from the rains is now gone. The road infront is now a four laned one. There is a Hyundai showroom just down the road. Jinkal was here the other day, with his wife. He has just acquired a Blackberry. He was showing it off to Chetanbhai. I say “he was here with his wife” as it was not Jalpa. I know Jalpa far too well to forget her. They would often meet at the shop. I don’t know what transpired between them. Jinkal had left for Bombay just a year after the floods. Even if they had a break up it would have been on a mobile phone. Its so easy with one, isn’t it? All you have to do is, type, “Get the hell out of my life” on your mobile phone and send it to the other party. What a fucking joke! Maulik is here too. For preparations for his thesis viva, or so I gather from his talks with Chetanbhai. I wonder what America has done to him. He shouts F words at his girlfriend on his mobile phone, that too publicly. Now, tell me is that what is expected? There is something called privacy goddamnit. I don’t know what the last word means, I just heard Maulik shouting it over his mobile phone. Rameshbhai has retired from his job. His daughter has been married off to an NRI engineer in Canada.He too doesnot require me,as, I gather he has got some “ISD plan” on his phone gifted by his daughter, the last time, she was here during Uttarayan. Maganbhai, Jinkal’s father does come here for his Mawa supari, but as I often see him, he is mostly glued to his Nokia 2700. And Jethabhai has got a new i-phone, so that he can read Maulik’s mails even on the move.
And here I am, the doomed STD telephone booth, with a rotten base (The rot started after the floods, there is a brick underneath to prevent me from falling off), peeling paint, laden with empty bottles of cold drinks, waiting to be sold off to the Bhangarwala.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Satna
Of late I seem to be having the writers’ depression or whatever the hell you call it. In simple words, I just not feel like writing. And I have no qualms in saying, that Facebook is the main culprit. With no offences meant to anyone. Well, of course I have been reading a lot. And a book which I read recently is Chai….Chai, Travels at places where you stop but never get off, by Biswanath Ghosh.
The book, though not exactly, a travelogue, gives a vivid description of places which are important railway junctions and which, despite having a place of worth on the map of Indian Railways, are virtual non-entities on the political map of India.
And quite frankly, after reading the book, I find myself unable to resist the temptation of writing about Satna, a small city in Madhya Pradesh which, though by no means an important railway junction as Mughalsarai or Etarsi is nevertheless an important trade centre and a railway station too, and for the uninitiated, my home for more than six months now.
My story in Satna began on the 27th of May 2010. It was my first posting in my first job. The day my posting was announced in Bombay, where I was then ,for my induction, I found a large number of my colleagues woefully unaware of this place. Many infact confused it with Patna. As a matter of fact, my situation would not have been much different had it not been for my interest in railway routes. I knew for a fact that Satna is a place in Madhya Pradesh and any train to Bombay from Bihar or Uttar Pradesh stops here. It is a different matter that I reached this place after a 31 hours bus journey from Bombay. Bombay to Nagpur, Nagpur to Jabalpur and then Jabalpur to Satna.
The first impression which I have of this place is not very different from that of any person arriving at a newbplace, that too at 12:30 in the night. The autowallahs here are bastards. This impression, I still carry which by the way is not exactly untrue. Satna is the nearest railhead for those who want to have a feel of two words starting with S, one a three lettered and another a twelve lettered, at Khajuraho, which is 126 kms from here.
Satna is a typical small town in the Hindi heartland. Dusty lanes, overcrowded markets and awfully bad traffic. The summers are seething hot, the winters awfully cold and the monsoons, a punishment. Infact the 27th of May was the hottest day this summer. It is,however an important industrial centre, or as the local daily, Dainik Bhaskar claims, the industrial capital of the Vindhya region. This region is an important storehouse of limestone, the basic ingredient for producing cement. And as a result, we have three cement factories in and around Satna. Birla Cement, Jaypee Cement and Prism Cement. In fact, as old timers say, it is solely because of one of the many Birlas, that this place has gained importace in the last ten years. Bees saal pahle ek tho gaon raha e. (Twenty years back, it was a village). The railway station had just one platform, compared to the three we have now. Jyon ghar sab dekh rahe hain kuchcho na raha idhar. Continued, the guy, who as he claimed is one among the first hundred employees of the Birla cement plant. Another comparatively younger person, who had come here at the age of four about 15 years back, added about the platform bit. The importance of Satna on the Indian Railways map, according to the former, grew mainly because of two reasons. One, it being the nearest rail head for Khajuraho from this part and secondly, the trains needed to stop here for the dak (mails) to and from the Birlas from other parts of the country to their cement establishment here. Of course, I can in no way claim the authencity of this statement, as this was reminisced by the person, I have mentioned above. It is a fact however, that you can reach any corner of the country from here. Be it Guwahati in the North East, New Delhi, Bombay, Poona, Bangalore or Rameshwaram, down south.
Brands made a foray into this place just two or three years back. Earlier, it was mostly the traditional market here. By traditional, I mean, the one which you typically find in a place, devoid of all the big brands, which have become so much a part of our lives today. The businesses here are controlled by Sindhis, unlike in many other places where it is mostly the forte of the Marwaris and the Gujaratis. The main market place consists of six or seven roads all running parallel to each other. The roads themselves have many crisscrosses in between and therefore you have many chowks (cross roads)in the market place here. Pannilal Chowk, Jai Stambh Chowk, Bihari Chowk, Lalta Chowk, Hanuan Chowk and the like. The exclusive showrooms are more on the outer skirts of the city, on the National Highway 75, known as Rewa road, because it connects Satna to the capital of the Baghel rulers.
In a city as old as this one, you do have famous establishments. Lotan mugaudi wala at hospital chowk is one such establishment. The original Lotan is perhaps no more there, the person manning the shop claims that the shop is more than 30 years old. Similarly there is the Ahuja Jalpan grih, my favourite shop for my daily breakfast of Poha, which has been in business for the past 25 years. These are the first shops which come to mind when you mention the wares they sell. Similarly Sardarji’s aloo tikki shop in Prem Nagar, though not as old as those mentioned above, is a place to be in. One thing which I find strage here is the name of the phulki walas (golgappa or phuchka or panipuri). 90% of all the phulki carts here bear the name of Kushwaha Phulki Centre. I really don’t know the reason for this, but its not some Mr. Kushwaha , who owns these carts.
However, another Kushwaha, made famous by Bollywood, Mahadev Kushwaha, stayed and operated in a place nearby. Mahadev Kushwaha was the protagonist of the film, Welcome to Saajjanpur, by Shyam Benegal and Sajjanpur is just about 15 kilometres from Satna. The plot of the story was based on this very Sajjanpur, as there were mentions of Rewa, Banban and of course Satna. Banban is about18 kilometres from Satna.
40 kilometres from Satna is the famous temple at Maihar. Maihar apart from being an important religious place for the Hindus, courtesy the Sharda temple, which you reach climbing about 1000 steps. But Maihar, as many claim also holds an important plac in the cultural scenario of the country. It is claimed that Ustad Alauddin Khan learnt most of his music here and some people also claim that he even made his foray into music at Maihar. In fact, you have an Alauddin Chowk at Maihar, in reverence of the great musician.
There are however, only two movie halls here. Jhankar and Chandni. Chandni shows satellite movies (I really don’t know what that means, its probably some DVD movie on a smaller screen). Jhankar shows the regular stuff.
I really don’t find anything more worth wrting about Satna. I might begin someday later as I explore the city more. However, I must thank Satna that it finally gave me a way out of the shell which I had been in for the past four-five months.
The book, though not exactly, a travelogue, gives a vivid description of places which are important railway junctions and which, despite having a place of worth on the map of Indian Railways, are virtual non-entities on the political map of India.
And quite frankly, after reading the book, I find myself unable to resist the temptation of writing about Satna, a small city in Madhya Pradesh which, though by no means an important railway junction as Mughalsarai or Etarsi is nevertheless an important trade centre and a railway station too, and for the uninitiated, my home for more than six months now.
My story in Satna began on the 27th of May 2010. It was my first posting in my first job. The day my posting was announced in Bombay, where I was then ,for my induction, I found a large number of my colleagues woefully unaware of this place. Many infact confused it with Patna. As a matter of fact, my situation would not have been much different had it not been for my interest in railway routes. I knew for a fact that Satna is a place in Madhya Pradesh and any train to Bombay from Bihar or Uttar Pradesh stops here. It is a different matter that I reached this place after a 31 hours bus journey from Bombay. Bombay to Nagpur, Nagpur to Jabalpur and then Jabalpur to Satna.
The first impression which I have of this place is not very different from that of any person arriving at a newbplace, that too at 12:30 in the night. The autowallahs here are bastards. This impression, I still carry which by the way is not exactly untrue. Satna is the nearest railhead for those who want to have a feel of two words starting with S, one a three lettered and another a twelve lettered, at Khajuraho, which is 126 kms from here.
Satna is a typical small town in the Hindi heartland. Dusty lanes, overcrowded markets and awfully bad traffic. The summers are seething hot, the winters awfully cold and the monsoons, a punishment. Infact the 27th of May was the hottest day this summer. It is,however an important industrial centre, or as the local daily, Dainik Bhaskar claims, the industrial capital of the Vindhya region. This region is an important storehouse of limestone, the basic ingredient for producing cement. And as a result, we have three cement factories in and around Satna. Birla Cement, Jaypee Cement and Prism Cement. In fact, as old timers say, it is solely because of one of the many Birlas, that this place has gained importace in the last ten years. Bees saal pahle ek tho gaon raha e. (Twenty years back, it was a village). The railway station had just one platform, compared to the three we have now. Jyon ghar sab dekh rahe hain kuchcho na raha idhar. Continued, the guy, who as he claimed is one among the first hundred employees of the Birla cement plant. Another comparatively younger person, who had come here at the age of four about 15 years back, added about the platform bit. The importance of Satna on the Indian Railways map, according to the former, grew mainly because of two reasons. One, it being the nearest rail head for Khajuraho from this part and secondly, the trains needed to stop here for the dak (mails) to and from the Birlas from other parts of the country to their cement establishment here. Of course, I can in no way claim the authencity of this statement, as this was reminisced by the person, I have mentioned above. It is a fact however, that you can reach any corner of the country from here. Be it Guwahati in the North East, New Delhi, Bombay, Poona, Bangalore or Rameshwaram, down south.
Brands made a foray into this place just two or three years back. Earlier, it was mostly the traditional market here. By traditional, I mean, the one which you typically find in a place, devoid of all the big brands, which have become so much a part of our lives today. The businesses here are controlled by Sindhis, unlike in many other places where it is mostly the forte of the Marwaris and the Gujaratis. The main market place consists of six or seven roads all running parallel to each other. The roads themselves have many crisscrosses in between and therefore you have many chowks (cross roads)in the market place here. Pannilal Chowk, Jai Stambh Chowk, Bihari Chowk, Lalta Chowk, Hanuan Chowk and the like. The exclusive showrooms are more on the outer skirts of the city, on the National Highway 75, known as Rewa road, because it connects Satna to the capital of the Baghel rulers.
In a city as old as this one, you do have famous establishments. Lotan mugaudi wala at hospital chowk is one such establishment. The original Lotan is perhaps no more there, the person manning the shop claims that the shop is more than 30 years old. Similarly there is the Ahuja Jalpan grih, my favourite shop for my daily breakfast of Poha, which has been in business for the past 25 years. These are the first shops which come to mind when you mention the wares they sell. Similarly Sardarji’s aloo tikki shop in Prem Nagar, though not as old as those mentioned above, is a place to be in. One thing which I find strage here is the name of the phulki walas (golgappa or phuchka or panipuri). 90% of all the phulki carts here bear the name of Kushwaha Phulki Centre. I really don’t know the reason for this, but its not some Mr. Kushwaha , who owns these carts.
However, another Kushwaha, made famous by Bollywood, Mahadev Kushwaha, stayed and operated in a place nearby. Mahadev Kushwaha was the protagonist of the film, Welcome to Saajjanpur, by Shyam Benegal and Sajjanpur is just about 15 kilometres from Satna. The plot of the story was based on this very Sajjanpur, as there were mentions of Rewa, Banban and of course Satna. Banban is about18 kilometres from Satna.
40 kilometres from Satna is the famous temple at Maihar. Maihar apart from being an important religious place for the Hindus, courtesy the Sharda temple, which you reach climbing about 1000 steps. But Maihar, as many claim also holds an important plac in the cultural scenario of the country. It is claimed that Ustad Alauddin Khan learnt most of his music here and some people also claim that he even made his foray into music at Maihar. In fact, you have an Alauddin Chowk at Maihar, in reverence of the great musician.
There are however, only two movie halls here. Jhankar and Chandni. Chandni shows satellite movies (I really don’t know what that means, its probably some DVD movie on a smaller screen). Jhankar shows the regular stuff.
I really don’t find anything more worth wrting about Satna. I might begin someday later as I explore the city more. However, I must thank Satna that it finally gave me a way out of the shell which I had been in for the past four-five months.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
The Dream
One fine morning
I wake up and find
A bright face in the mirror
And a worry free mind.
The future looks perfect
No signs of any past gloom
The present I start living for
And life becomes a bloom.
New days I look forward to
With no rat race to run
Every day a new learning
And work becomes fun.
Oh! God Please make this dream come true
Make everyday such a day
Leave me with nothing to rue about
To thee I pray
To thee I pray.
I wake up and find
A bright face in the mirror
And a worry free mind.
The future looks perfect
No signs of any past gloom
The present I start living for
And life becomes a bloom.
New days I look forward to
With no rat race to run
Every day a new learning
And work becomes fun.
Oh! God Please make this dream come true
Make everyday such a day
Leave me with nothing to rue about
To thee I pray
To thee I pray.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Shock
I do not find any other word to describe the incident. It was a shock. A big shock. But I hope this serves as a wake up call to all those, who lament about the poor health services in the country.
It was like just another day in office. Some problems which we had foreseen had been solved and though another problem was popping its head up, it too got solved. I was on my laptop going through some mails, when I heard a voice. “Good Morning Sir”. I turned around to see a smart bespectacled young man in his mid 20s. Now our office gets around 10 persons everyday, who come for interviews. This guy too had come for an interview for the post of Centre Manager, the lowest rung in the hierarchy of the field staff. He, however looked different and his Hindi too, was a bit different than what the people in this part of the country speak. I assumed him to be from a different district. But a look at his CV left me stumped. He was a homeopathic doctor. I could not believe my eyes. And if that was a joke he had planned to play on us, I for one, was surely not laughing. I asked him why he didnot start his own clinical practice. He replied “I need capital for it and my family is not in a position to provide me with that.” Our professional ethics do not allow us to reject any candidate without first testing him. So we had to take his interview. We tried to reason it out with him, telling him that he was overqualified for being a centre manager and not having any experience in the Microfinance Sector, under qualified for the next rung in the hierarchy, that of a Branch Manager. But he told us that he was ready for any post we recruited him for, because he badly needed a job. We told him about the duties of a Centre Manager, his pay packet and work conditions. And though we didnot out rightly reject him, we tried to convince him to reject the thought of taking up this job. We also gave him suggestions for those functional areas where he would be more comfortable, keeping in mind the field of his study. And I must thank my colleague from HR for handling this so effectively. Had I been alone, I would find myself all at sea.
As a professional this was perhaps one of the many shocks which our work lives bring us face-to-face with. But this interview left me with so many questions. As a country are we so obsessed with the idea of being treated by MBBS doctors, that homeopathic doctors have to take up jobs of salesmen? Yes, this guy had worked as a salesman after completion of his BHMS. When we lament about the poor conditions of health delivery systems in our country, do we do it considering only MBBS doctors? Or else, why should doctors from the alternate systems of medicine be jobless, when as a country we have one doctor for about 250000 people? And most importantly, aren’t doctors practising alternate systems, considered as doctors? Because, as far as my limited knowledge goes, a leading public sector bank announces many loan schemes for doctors, every year on Doctors’ day. And Doctors’ day was celebrated just a week back. If the bank makes capital available for “doctors”, why was this doctor left out of its purview, even when, as he claimed, he had approached them?
I don’t know what made this guy get into medical college. His description of his family suggests that it was either his parents’ wish or maybe his attempt at making a better life for himself. Whatever, it is, his life is now topsy turvy. A doctor ready to work in the microfinance sector at a post for which the minimum qualification is “Pass in higher Secondary Exam”. Of course, some may argue, that we don’t have any “maximum qualification”, but I certainly would not expect a doctor to apply for such a post, even when we don’t have one.
Going back to the paragraph at the beginning of this post. Are the powers-that-be doing enough to promote the alternate systems of medicine in our country? We do have a programme called AYUSH, which deals with such systems. But is it being done the right way? Are we as a country ready to embrace our own legacy? Or may be even a foreign legacy, which by no means is ineffective? Perhaps not. And if not why allow someone to practice a system, which even the government is not really serious about. Why not order the closure of all the Ayurvedic and Homeopathic medical colleges, when we don’t believe in such systems of medicine? People won’t atleast have to see their dreams being washed away. Doctors are required everywhere to rid people of their miseries. With medicines. Not by disbursing loans to poor women. My questions still remain un answered.
It was like just another day in office. Some problems which we had foreseen had been solved and though another problem was popping its head up, it too got solved. I was on my laptop going through some mails, when I heard a voice. “Good Morning Sir”. I turned around to see a smart bespectacled young man in his mid 20s. Now our office gets around 10 persons everyday, who come for interviews. This guy too had come for an interview for the post of Centre Manager, the lowest rung in the hierarchy of the field staff. He, however looked different and his Hindi too, was a bit different than what the people in this part of the country speak. I assumed him to be from a different district. But a look at his CV left me stumped. He was a homeopathic doctor. I could not believe my eyes. And if that was a joke he had planned to play on us, I for one, was surely not laughing. I asked him why he didnot start his own clinical practice. He replied “I need capital for it and my family is not in a position to provide me with that.” Our professional ethics do not allow us to reject any candidate without first testing him. So we had to take his interview. We tried to reason it out with him, telling him that he was overqualified for being a centre manager and not having any experience in the Microfinance Sector, under qualified for the next rung in the hierarchy, that of a Branch Manager. But he told us that he was ready for any post we recruited him for, because he badly needed a job. We told him about the duties of a Centre Manager, his pay packet and work conditions. And though we didnot out rightly reject him, we tried to convince him to reject the thought of taking up this job. We also gave him suggestions for those functional areas where he would be more comfortable, keeping in mind the field of his study. And I must thank my colleague from HR for handling this so effectively. Had I been alone, I would find myself all at sea.
As a professional this was perhaps one of the many shocks which our work lives bring us face-to-face with. But this interview left me with so many questions. As a country are we so obsessed with the idea of being treated by MBBS doctors, that homeopathic doctors have to take up jobs of salesmen? Yes, this guy had worked as a salesman after completion of his BHMS. When we lament about the poor conditions of health delivery systems in our country, do we do it considering only MBBS doctors? Or else, why should doctors from the alternate systems of medicine be jobless, when as a country we have one doctor for about 250000 people? And most importantly, aren’t doctors practising alternate systems, considered as doctors? Because, as far as my limited knowledge goes, a leading public sector bank announces many loan schemes for doctors, every year on Doctors’ day. And Doctors’ day was celebrated just a week back. If the bank makes capital available for “doctors”, why was this doctor left out of its purview, even when, as he claimed, he had approached them?
I don’t know what made this guy get into medical college. His description of his family suggests that it was either his parents’ wish or maybe his attempt at making a better life for himself. Whatever, it is, his life is now topsy turvy. A doctor ready to work in the microfinance sector at a post for which the minimum qualification is “Pass in higher Secondary Exam”. Of course, some may argue, that we don’t have any “maximum qualification”, but I certainly would not expect a doctor to apply for such a post, even when we don’t have one.
Going back to the paragraph at the beginning of this post. Are the powers-that-be doing enough to promote the alternate systems of medicine in our country? We do have a programme called AYUSH, which deals with such systems. But is it being done the right way? Are we as a country ready to embrace our own legacy? Or may be even a foreign legacy, which by no means is ineffective? Perhaps not. And if not why allow someone to practice a system, which even the government is not really serious about. Why not order the closure of all the Ayurvedic and Homeopathic medical colleges, when we don’t believe in such systems of medicine? People won’t atleast have to see their dreams being washed away. Doctors are required everywhere to rid people of their miseries. With medicines. Not by disbursing loans to poor women. My questions still remain un answered.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
........
So tough it is to tell you
What you mean to me
Feelings fail to inspire words
As, you and only you, my eyes strive to see.
You are my dawn, you are the day
You are the lighthouse showing me the way
You are my dusk you are the night
In all this darkness, showing me light.
You are the warmth,
Brought by the first streak of sunlight
You are the cool beauty
Which the moon spreads at night.
You are the calm lake,
On which I am a boat
Your crests cradle my life
And help me stay afloat.
Shudders are all I get,
When I think what fate has in store
But as seconds become days,
I love you more and more.
What you mean to me
Feelings fail to inspire words
As, you and only you, my eyes strive to see.
You are my dawn, you are the day
You are the lighthouse showing me the way
You are my dusk you are the night
In all this darkness, showing me light.
You are the warmth,
Brought by the first streak of sunlight
You are the cool beauty
Which the moon spreads at night.
You are the calm lake,
On which I am a boat
Your crests cradle my life
And help me stay afloat.
Shudders are all I get,
When I think what fate has in store
But as seconds become days,
I love you more and more.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sagar
I don’t know what to term this blog entry as. This might seem to an obituary. But this is a tribute. A tribute to a fighter. A person, who was well aware of his impending death, about a year and a half before he took his last breath.
I first met Sagar at the university, where I went for my post-graduate studies. Infact, he was the one, who had introduced himself to me. The main reason he wanted to meet me was the fact that he had heard about a Bengali “who spoke strange Bengali” and wanted to confirm whether it was me.
Sagar was from Bangladesh. Or that was what I had heard of him in my initial days at the university. His parents stayed in Bangladesh and he would go to Bangladesh during his vacations. Later on, as relations between the two of us improved, I also asked him about his trips to Bangladesh. It was around this time, that the train service between India and Bangladesh was initiated, though, it was of little help for him. But I never came to know, how he crossed the border during the vacations, for he did not possess a passport. He was from a family, which was in no way well-to-do. He did have some relatives staying on the Indian side of Bengal, but I didn’t know much about them. To be very honest, we were not the best of friends, and the fact that student politics at the university did not allow you to trust anyone in a jiffy, further fuelled our distance. But I did see him going outside the campus every evening to give tuitions to school students staying around the campus, while we would go for our rounds of cha and cigarette. This was what made me respect him. He was ready to fight all odds to complete his studies.
My relations with him were seldom cordial. Of course, I did try to make amends later on during my stay at the university, I must admit, he was one of the few persons, whom I have called a mother fucker. He is no more there to accept my apology, but I do wish I could tell him that I am sorry for that. However my initiative at cooling things down between us did work and we became good acquaintances, if not good friends .during the second year of my M.Sc.
At around the same time that I cleared my MBA entrance, he got placed in a leading bank. I still remember the date. It was the 18th of February 2008. That was the day, I was leaving for Anand for my interview.
I had to leave the university early, on account of my classes in MBA beginning early, but, when I went back for my thesis viva, I made a point to meet him. I wanted to know, where he had been given a posting and also wanted him to know that I was so happy at his success. But fate had something else in store for him. I was told that he had been rejected at the medicals because he had leukaemia. My limited knowledge of biology suggested that it was something to do with blood cancer. However, everything was forgotten after my thesis viva was over and I officially became an M.Sc. in agricultural sciences.
He passed away last week in Mumbai. It was blood cancer. The news took me back to that day at the university, when he told me about his medicals at the bank. And that fateful Saturday in Mumbai, marked he end of the road for a “struggler”, who had struggled all his life to make a good life for himself. And quite fittingly, he breathed his last in a place, where people from all around the country land up to make a good life. The city of “strugglers”, Mumbai.
I first met Sagar at the university, where I went for my post-graduate studies. Infact, he was the one, who had introduced himself to me. The main reason he wanted to meet me was the fact that he had heard about a Bengali “who spoke strange Bengali” and wanted to confirm whether it was me.
Sagar was from Bangladesh. Or that was what I had heard of him in my initial days at the university. His parents stayed in Bangladesh and he would go to Bangladesh during his vacations. Later on, as relations between the two of us improved, I also asked him about his trips to Bangladesh. It was around this time, that the train service between India and Bangladesh was initiated, though, it was of little help for him. But I never came to know, how he crossed the border during the vacations, for he did not possess a passport. He was from a family, which was in no way well-to-do. He did have some relatives staying on the Indian side of Bengal, but I didn’t know much about them. To be very honest, we were not the best of friends, and the fact that student politics at the university did not allow you to trust anyone in a jiffy, further fuelled our distance. But I did see him going outside the campus every evening to give tuitions to school students staying around the campus, while we would go for our rounds of cha and cigarette. This was what made me respect him. He was ready to fight all odds to complete his studies.
My relations with him were seldom cordial. Of course, I did try to make amends later on during my stay at the university, I must admit, he was one of the few persons, whom I have called a mother fucker. He is no more there to accept my apology, but I do wish I could tell him that I am sorry for that. However my initiative at cooling things down between us did work and we became good acquaintances, if not good friends .during the second year of my M.Sc.
At around the same time that I cleared my MBA entrance, he got placed in a leading bank. I still remember the date. It was the 18th of February 2008. That was the day, I was leaving for Anand for my interview.
I had to leave the university early, on account of my classes in MBA beginning early, but, when I went back for my thesis viva, I made a point to meet him. I wanted to know, where he had been given a posting and also wanted him to know that I was so happy at his success. But fate had something else in store for him. I was told that he had been rejected at the medicals because he had leukaemia. My limited knowledge of biology suggested that it was something to do with blood cancer. However, everything was forgotten after my thesis viva was over and I officially became an M.Sc. in agricultural sciences.
He passed away last week in Mumbai. It was blood cancer. The news took me back to that day at the university, when he told me about his medicals at the bank. And that fateful Saturday in Mumbai, marked he end of the road for a “struggler”, who had struggled all his life to make a good life for himself. And quite fittingly, he breathed his last in a place, where people from all around the country land up to make a good life. The city of “strugglers”, Mumbai.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Indian Railways and the Class Divide
Having studied agriculture for ages (six years is a long time yaar!) and then being a student of this well known management institute in western India, words like class divide have been very much a part of my academic lexicon. Though earlier, I would pass it off as a mere jargon, it somehow, did not seem to leave me alone. Having spent two years in a place where the government is run by those who are followers of the person, who actually seemed to have brought the word class divide into existence, I have always had a love hate relationship with this word. But travel in an air- conditioned compartment in a train and you cannot but acknowledge that class divide is not merely just another word, but it actually exists.
To begin with, air conditioned travel in trains in itself is considered to be meant for the “haves”. (That is where the class divide begins, between the haves and the have nots). In fact, this was the exact reason, why a former railway minister whose favourite dish was cow fodder, introduced a new breed of trains, christened, Garib Rath, so that the have nots can enjoy the comforts of air conditioned travel. I am however, not sure, how many of them could actually enjoy that, because, travelling ticket less in a general compartment is economically more feasible.
Coming back to the air-conditioned compartment. The difference that Indian Railways makes between a passenger travelling on an air-conditioned compartment and a general sleeper class one is visible right at the railway station. You have a separate air conditioned waiting room meant for “upper class passengers”. It has all the amenities, mobile phone chargers, cushioned seats and a television with cable connection, included, which many of the sleeper class passengers are often deprived of. As the train arrives, you have a conductor (attendant in Indian Railways parlance) to open the door for you, cater to small whims and fancies of yours and also keep watch as you break the rules (read smoke in the train) at your own free will. The TTE is always in uniform, full with the maroon tie, having the Indian Railways logo on it and who does not address you as “bhaiya” or “hello” but addresses you as “sir”. Quite unlike the often inebriated (especially in late night trains), kurta and black coat wearing TTE, in the sleeper class compartments, bearing a grim face, cursing you under his breath, for boarding the train, so late in the night. And yeah! The TTEs in the air-conditioned compartments also speak English, which their sleeper class counterparts are seldom found doing. Also, probably only the “upper class passengers” need pillows to sleep on, at night, because the sleeper class passengers are not provided any, leave alone sheets or blankets.
The toilets also present two different pictures. The railways probably assume that only the haves possess the need to wash their backsides after answering to the call of nature. That is why you can find mugs (tied to chains of course! The haves can be kleptomaniacs too) in the toilet to fulfil this need. And you don’t need to carry strips of paper soap with you because the toilets are replete with containers of liquid soap. While in sleeper class you have to carry a bottle with you or pray that, someone, who has used the toilet earlier, has left his or her bottle as a mark of benevolence.
The class divide is fully visible even among the haves. This applies to those travelling on fully air conditioned trains like the Rajdhani or the Shatabdi Express. The difference lies in the food served on board. Those travelling three tier on Rajdhanis are served a two course meal, while those on first AC are served three course meals. Same is the case with those travelling on the Shatabdis. The ones travelling the executive chair car are served three course meals, as against two course meals for those travelling chair car.
To be very honest, I am in no way, a socialist at heart and don’t really mind, being pampered in an air-conditioned compartment, when I can afford that. And this class divide is there to stay, no second thoughts abot that too. But may be the Indian Railways, will do better to provide a little more comfort to the sleeper class passengers in way of providing some amenities, apart from just a cushioned berth to sleep on.
To begin with, air conditioned travel in trains in itself is considered to be meant for the “haves”. (That is where the class divide begins, between the haves and the have nots). In fact, this was the exact reason, why a former railway minister whose favourite dish was cow fodder, introduced a new breed of trains, christened, Garib Rath, so that the have nots can enjoy the comforts of air conditioned travel. I am however, not sure, how many of them could actually enjoy that, because, travelling ticket less in a general compartment is economically more feasible.
Coming back to the air-conditioned compartment. The difference that Indian Railways makes between a passenger travelling on an air-conditioned compartment and a general sleeper class one is visible right at the railway station. You have a separate air conditioned waiting room meant for “upper class passengers”. It has all the amenities, mobile phone chargers, cushioned seats and a television with cable connection, included, which many of the sleeper class passengers are often deprived of. As the train arrives, you have a conductor (attendant in Indian Railways parlance) to open the door for you, cater to small whims and fancies of yours and also keep watch as you break the rules (read smoke in the train) at your own free will. The TTE is always in uniform, full with the maroon tie, having the Indian Railways logo on it and who does not address you as “bhaiya” or “hello” but addresses you as “sir”. Quite unlike the often inebriated (especially in late night trains), kurta and black coat wearing TTE, in the sleeper class compartments, bearing a grim face, cursing you under his breath, for boarding the train, so late in the night. And yeah! The TTEs in the air-conditioned compartments also speak English, which their sleeper class counterparts are seldom found doing. Also, probably only the “upper class passengers” need pillows to sleep on, at night, because the sleeper class passengers are not provided any, leave alone sheets or blankets.
The toilets also present two different pictures. The railways probably assume that only the haves possess the need to wash their backsides after answering to the call of nature. That is why you can find mugs (tied to chains of course! The haves can be kleptomaniacs too) in the toilet to fulfil this need. And you don’t need to carry strips of paper soap with you because the toilets are replete with containers of liquid soap. While in sleeper class you have to carry a bottle with you or pray that, someone, who has used the toilet earlier, has left his or her bottle as a mark of benevolence.
The class divide is fully visible even among the haves. This applies to those travelling on fully air conditioned trains like the Rajdhani or the Shatabdi Express. The difference lies in the food served on board. Those travelling three tier on Rajdhanis are served a two course meal, while those on first AC are served three course meals. Same is the case with those travelling on the Shatabdis. The ones travelling the executive chair car are served three course meals, as against two course meals for those travelling chair car.
To be very honest, I am in no way, a socialist at heart and don’t really mind, being pampered in an air-conditioned compartment, when I can afford that. And this class divide is there to stay, no second thoughts abot that too. But may be the Indian Railways, will do better to provide a little more comfort to the sleeper class passengers in way of providing some amenities, apart from just a cushioned berth to sleep on.
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