Durga Puja

Days of the summer vacation were as far from Durga Puja as Siberia is to Sahara. But not for nine or ten year olds! The vacation afternoons were hot and humid - a strong deterrent to playing outside. It was the late sixties or early seventies.

Naxalism was on the rise though as kids we did not understand the threat as yet. But some things were missing - the evening out to the Maidaan, the occasional visits to the restaurants and cinemas in the evening, the staying out after dusk......

But one thing remained constant in Calcutta of the times - the joy of Durga Puja. The entire locality would come together in the Pandals, new dresses, lots of great food, music, plays after the event was over on Dashami. The fear of Naxals vanished, the young would come out without fear, the shortages were forgotten, the slogans and the rallies of the extreme left took a back seat for the month covering Durga Puja.

The sights of the decorated and fearless Goddess, the sound of the "dhaak" (drums) and the smell of special food would effectively drive away the atmosphere of fear for some time. The slight nip in the air would rejuvenate spirit and the gathering of the locals (it was primarily a local affair in those days very different from the commercial event that it has become now!) dressed in finery was something everyone in Bengal looked forward to for a year.

The beginning of the event was marked by recital of the Mahalaya (invocation of the Godess) while it was still dark. The morning "Anjali" (Offering), the "Dhunuchi" dance, the "Sindoor Khela"(application of vermilion on the faces) of women dressed in white saris with red borders as they bid farewell to the Godess at the end of the event - all transported Bengal into a magical world far from the tension, grime and poverty that was fast becoming Bengal.

In absence of entertainment the three friends were left to look forward to the coming Durga Puja, still a few months away. Three friends, oblivious to the religious implications of the event, oblivious to the detailed planning and the organization required to make the event a success - suddenly chanced upon the idea of organizing their own Puja. It is not relevant as to whose proposal it was nor will it be possible to put an exact date to the concept.

Ajit, Rahul and Babloo had grown up together and were as thick as thieves. They had no inkling then that their personalities would develop so differently that it would be difficult to find any common thread that would bind them together in the long run. Later in life they did drift apart - not out of any difference but because of lack of any common ground.

 

One thing was clear - it could not be organized overnight. The planning would have to start now. They were old enough to understand that money would be required. How much, was not clear, as yet! So, they started with a premise - it would be much more than their combined pocket money!

They started with an assumption of Rupees Fifty - a princely sum in those days, specially for young children. When one could travel in a tram for seven paise, in a bus for ten paise, a Dosa would cost forty paise - fifty rupees would surely go a long way.

The planning was detailed out over many days because they tried to break up costs and activities in as many workable parts as possible. The seriousness with which they set about the task would have done anyone proud.

The first task was to fix a location. There were many possibilities - it could be Babloo's garage, or the empty plot behind his Mama's house. There was another possibility - on the footpath in front of Ajit and Rahul's home. There were pros and cons to each.

The plot behind Babloo's house was ideal - it was large and comparatively clean - not many bushes to clear and fortunately not many people used it to dump their rubbish and waste. It would have the ideal location to attract visitors but was too open to make crowd management a potential problem. There could be another problem - that of senior boys from the locality trying to hold their own Puja - which could lead to a potential confrontation.

However, if we could rope in Tapas, this problem would go away. Tapas’ father owned a factory which employed the people living in the slums adjacent to New Alipore. The children of the employees were a rough lot and quite numerous so much so that even the local senior boys (who came from so called "genteel" families) were wary of confronting them.

The slum children were devoted to Tapas - one call from him and they would be behind him before one could blink. The trio were reasonably confident that Tapas would agree to join the enterprise.

There was also the problem of providing lights - generator sets were then a rarity in Calcutta - a far cry from the times of the next decades when they became more common than fish on the Bengali plate! However, they could get the temporary connection from the adjacent houses.

The problem of possible rain was a little more difficult to solve so other options had to be considered. However, the scales tipped in favour of the plot once a large tarpaulin was discovered in Ajit's garage.

The second option was good - but posed some negatives. Babloo's garage was reasonably large - it could hold four Ambassador cars and had its opening right on the road so that visibility would be good - but not as good as the plot. The problem of protection from rain was non -existent, and cost on decoration and pandal would also be lower. Security during the night would also be better than at the plot - one could not leave the idol of the Goddess and the rest to the mercy of thieves over five nights.

The problem would arise with getting permission from Babloo's grandfather - a real cranky old man. He would not say no but neither would he say yes - instead he would raise the issues of alternate parking for the cars, getting permission from the tenants (who incidentally would not say no if the old man agreed). Babloo assured us that he would try to get him around but the assurances lacked conviction.

The third choice was not seriously discussed. Puja on the footpath was not very attractive - even to their inexperienced eyes and there would be a limitation on the size too. Whatever was to be arranged for the Puja in the empty plot of land would also hold true on the footpath.

The next point to be pondered was the things that were actually required for the Puja. There would have to be an idol, of course. And flowers, some new cloth for covering the pandal, the tarpaulin was already available. They would also require a raised platform, incense, sweets everyday some decoration for the pandals, matting or carpet for the floor and a pundit (priest)! Flowers, fruits, cloth, incense, sweets posed not much of a problem - they were all available in the local market.

The idol posed a bigger challenge - it was difficult to agree on the right height. It would have to be bigger than they were, considering that it represented a Goddess, but how much bigger? If it was just a little bigger, it would not be impressive enough, if it was too big, it would be difficult to carry.

Arguments were put forth and much excitement was generated but no conclusion could be arrived at. Finally, after many sittings it was decided that the matter would be decided by the vendor and after they could pin down the actual number of volunteers.

The next point to be decided was whether the idol would be procured locally or from Kumartuli. Kumartuli was the centre of artisans of the highest class but was quite far. How far - they were not sure. But idols from Kumartuli were a class apart - everybody said so.

Armed with all this data - the trio were now having real doubts about the adequacy of the budget. With all this to be arranged, Fifty Rupees seemed a bit low. Therefore, it was unanimously hiked to Seventy Rupees! To get a more accurate idea the three decided to accompany their parents to the market everyday so that the idea of the prices prevailing in the market were more realistic.

This was to be followed diligently so that they did not run out of money halfway through the Puja! Did they follow through! Not a single day passed without noting some new price data in the "Puja" notebook.

The next issue to be sorted out was getting the actual funds and volunteers. A balance needed to be arrived at - too few volunteers meant lower contributions and lesser hands, too many volunteers meant more differing opinions and a real risk of the credit being hijacked.

Only the most reliable and controllable were to be drafted in. There were many arguments about the correct number of volunteers and the potential candidates. Names were added and struck off - too lazy, too meek, to dominating, too ambitious, not enough effort, would not get permission from his parents.....the list of criteria was long and constantly changing. Tapas was an asset if the Puja was to be organized in the vacant plot, but would be a liability if it was held in the garage.

They also needed a receipt book. The other Puja organizers always gave a receipt when they came to collect contributions or "chanda" as it was called. A close scrutiny of the receipts collected from their homes revealed that their Puja also required a name and identity along with a venue to be mentioned on the receipt. Therefore, the venue would have to be finalized before the collection started. A name was to be decided on. This was quite tricky!

Some suggested names were not impressive enough, some were impressive but difficult to spell! Dictionaries were consulted, meanings understood, appropriateness weighed but the task seemed more difficult than envisaged.

Finally, after hours of brainstorming and heated arguments they compromised on the solution - it would be called the "O Block Puja" - a name, which was relevant, simple yet elegant and easy to spell as well as remember.

The list of potential contributors was drawn up. The contributors were classified as Big, Medium, Small, Uncertain, Difficult and Unlikely. They also listed the probable amount of contributions against each name - the highest coming from the Kedias - a handsome sum of Twenty Rupees with the average being about Two rupees.

The final tally revealed that they would probably be able to collect about Two Hundred and Fifty Rupees!

This was much more than they had anticipated (the revised budget standing at Seventy Rupees) and there were doubts about the validity of their list and estimates. Surely, Two Hundred Fifty Rupees was too much. They had never seen so much money and surely, one could not spend so much for a Puja!

With so much money they could feed more than six hundred people a Dosa each - a full meal! But they decided to stick with their estimate and if money was left over, they could always use it next year and give some to charity too.

The real problem was now before them. Where would they get the money to have the receipts printed? They did not have enough between them because their piggy banks sounded quite empty. The solution was to start with their immediate family and immediate neighbours - people likely to shell out money without a receipt.

That would give them seed funding. They decided to approach Babloo's youngest uncle first - a rather jovial guy with experience of having organized a few Pujas and a person who could give them sound advice.

It proved to be a wise choice. He suggested that they should not waste money on printing receipt books unless it became absolutely necessary. Since it was to be a Puja targeted toward the residents of one lane, everyone would know where to go.

Most people would not ask for receipts as they were known to all and sundry in the lane and if someone did, one could always provide a signed receipt on a plain piece of paper. He went through their plan and nodded his head when he approved, offered a few suggestions here, a few changes there. He really fine-tuned the entire plan in one sitting.

The time was drawing near. They set about the twin tasks of getting volunteers and collecting the "chanda". Some of the potential volunteers just laughed it off, some agreed but did not do anything, but finally a team of five including the original promoters was ready. This automatically fixed the size of the idol to not more than four feet high. Anything bigger would be too difficult to carry to the pandal and for the immersion.

They went to each house in the lane and some in the next. They also discovered that their initial classification of potential contributors was reasonably accurate from the promises and declines that they received. But, in actual fact, no contributions were coming in!

Promises would not be enough, actual cash was required!

They redoubled their effort. It was hard work and the Pujas were drawing near. Some organizers had already come and collected from their homes. However, as the days drew nearer it was quite obvious that probably they would not have the money in time to actually organize the Pujas that year.

Could not be helped!

They had tried. And, learned a lot in the process.

No matter!

Maybe next year!

The Puja came and went. They enjoyed it as they had done in the past. The wistful longing to organize their own Puja remained with them for some time but gradually faded away.

Rahul did not know that a few miles to the east a little girl and her group of her friends mostly boys a little older than her would be bitten by the same bug a few years later with slightly better success.

The group had succeeded in collecting fifty paise in all, which obviously was not enough to organize a Puja. 

With some guilt in their hearts, they had done the next best thing. 

Hiding behind an Ambassador car in their lane, the group had partaken of a packet of "begun bhaja" (deep fried aubergine) as a mark of respect for their contributors.

Rahul also did not know then that he and the girl would tie their fate as a couple many years later!

Gauri

The room was dark and sooty. It had always been so, but Gauri was used to this. Years of cooking using wood and cobs had left thick layers of soot, which had embedded itself so deeply into the mud walls that the walls had lost their original colour and had taken on a greyish blackish hue. No amount of application of cow-dung mixed with liquid earth would restore the original colour. That the only ventilation that the room had was through a tiny window high up on the wall did not help.

Gauri wanted to finish the cooking as fast as she could because of a pleasant change in her daily routine that had been planned for today.

She was stirring the “Dal”, washing the rice and slicing the vegetables simultaneously - an expertise acquired through years of practice. She had started helping her mother in the kitchen when she was six or seven and it was over a decade now that she had been cooking independently.

Her mother had taught her the basics of cooking when she was seven or eight and that education had stood her in good stead because her mother had taken ill shortly afterwards. It was an illness, from which she never recovered. Her passing left Gauri in charge of the household chores. She had to grow up in a hurry and acquire skills normally associated with grown up women even before she reached puberty.

Her father apparently had no skills except trying to look intelligent (without much success!) and spent his time apparently making plans, which were neither shared with anyone nor ever saw the light of the day.

Her Grandfather was a man who showered his love on her because there was nothing else he could offer and was lost in his world in a "bhaang" induced haze.

Her brothers were still trying to get what passed for an education in the village and would help her to the extent of taking care of chores which involved going out of the house.

It was not that the family was very badly off since they owned quite a bit of agricultural land which was quite fertile, but the tendency to outsource agriculture activities (her father considered agriculture below his lofty standards!) meant that only a small portion of the income trickled in. It was not as bad as it was for some of the villagers.

Gauri managed the household like an expert. The toil and grind of this busy life did not take away from her the sparkling smile, which always reached her eyes. She was quite a beautiful girl, reasonably tall, strong of built but lithe, dark.

The complexion enhanced her beauty, long shining black tresses usually tightly collected in a braid - but the striking thing about her was her easy laughter and a charming smile which lit up her eyes.

She owned only a pair of saris, which were ragged from use but she wore them with dignity. The color had faded but she had tried to keep them clean.

Her day started early with sweeping her house, getting the water from the well, preparing the midday meal, washing the utensils, taking a bath and washing the clothes and repeating most of the activities again after a short nap. It was a hard life but she bore it with equanimity.

The one thing that she looked forward to was the visit of her cousin from Calcutta. She was more a friend than her cousin and the afternoons spent chatting on the terrace of her friend's place were very enjoyable. Gauri would fill her in with the village gossip and her friend would talk endlessly about films and life in the city.

Gauri would take it all in and would be filled with wonder at the romance of it all. She would imagine herself involved in the tales in a manner which was possibly quite different from how her friend picturized them. For she had never so much as visited a small town, let alone a city like Calcutta. She had never seen a film and could only imagine what it would be like.

 

Her appetite for these trite stories was insatiable and it took her to a world far removed from her own. Dressing up in fine clothes, travelling in cars, having a film star showering his affections on her, living in a large house with staircases rising out of the large sitting room to the beautifully decorated bedrooms on the first floor - all these played out in her imagination. The thought of a hero singing to her, wooing her, taking her on long rides in the hills - all this seemed so real!

She would absorb all this and lie awake in the night playing out the situations on the celluloid of her mind. She would live with these thoughts long after her friend had left and they would sustain her until the next visit.

She could only hope against hope that all this would come to pass. Often when she was alone in the afternoon, she would enact these scenes - playfully laughing at the hero's advances, putting a bindi on her forehead, looking back coyly over her shoulder - but she dare not have her family catch her at it. The world of films became her secret world.

With all this there were changes taking place in her. The desires that she was not aware of were gradually rising and she was becoming aware of the changes in her thoughts and body.

The need to fulfill the desires was becoming strong, as was the perceived necessity to escape from her dreary life. Over the next few years, the pressure to escape made her rash and the risks involved were becoming hazier.

The roving eyes of the village youngsters did not miss all this but the fear of her family kept advances at bay. That she hardly moved far away from her home made any communication even more difficult. However, she caught the eye of a man who was quite a bit older than she was, married and had a string of romances in his past. Quite a Romeo, he had quite a reputation for passing flings. That he often came to her house because he tilled some of the family land made it easier for him to approach her.

The romance, though short lived, caused quite a scandal and almost led to a caste feud. Gauri was trashed soundly by her father and brothers and only the intervention of her grandfather saved her from serious injury or maybe even death.

That the man involved belonged to a lower caste made matters worse. There was quite a tension-filled atmosphere in the village and it would have taken only a small spark to start a full fledged riot. However, the wisdom and restraint of the village elders prevailed and their advise to get Gauri married off at the earliest was considered to be the best course of action.

The lack of money for a substantial dowry and the urgency were both constraints to a great match but considering the circumstances a reasonably good marriage was arranged shortly afterward.

The groom lived in Calcutta and had a steady job in one of the jute mills. A bit older than Gauri the match was considered good owing to the steady employment, distance from the village and the readiness of the groom to settle for a small dowry.

Gauri however looked forward to the marriage and the move to Calcutta. Though her fantasies had taken a hit because of the trashing and loss of face, she was sure that her dreams were about to take flight. The marriage was a subdued affair and the villagers heaved a sigh of relief when it was over. The sordid affair would be soon forgotten, and peace could prevail again.

For Gauri the move to Calcutta was an opportunity and she was playing out in her mind the plans for a wonderful life all through the train journey. The first sight of the bustling Howrah Station, of the Bridge, the taxis, the trams, the buses - all brought the description of the tales closer to her. She absorbed the sights, sounds, and smells and felt on top of the world.

The arrival at her husband's place dampened her spirits somewhat because he lived in one of the numerous tiny, dingy quarters in the labour lines. Not as different from her house, at least it was build with brick and mortar unlike her home in the village. The surroundings were filthy and congested unlike her village home. However, she decided that she would transform the place with hard work and counseling.

 

As she was soon to find out, it was not an easy task. The dinginess, politics, and hopelessness had been ingrained so deeply into the psyche of her neighbours, that the transformation that she had planned never took place. Though she fought hard, the same characteristics that she despised were taking over her persona too.

The birth of her son was an event that brought some cheer into the household and the next few years were reasonably happy as the child grew up. Gone were her dreams of a fantasy life and the small mercies were all she looked forward to.

However, the son found the attractions of the area more powerful than the teachings of his mother who had turned her attentions to ensuring that at least her son had a good education so that he would have a better life.

The realities of the struggle for survival had firmly settled in. She crushed the occasional sparks of fantasy with a ruthlessness that one could not imagine she was capable of. She, however, had no idea of what "good" education comprised and in this, her husband was not of much help since his education was also limited.

The friends of her son took him along predictable lines - some pick pocketing, some fraud, some minor trespasses but fortunately, he steered clear of drugs. He joined some course in Astrology and at least could eke out a reasonable income from this "skill" whenever he decided to work - which was not often.

The sudden death of her husband was a passing hurt for she had never been attached to him. His dreams were too small for her to appreciate and her dreams were impossible foolishness for him. They lived in a sort of mutual compromise and at least were blessed in that there were no major disagreements or fights. They simply did not care enough!

However, the death of her husband caused a change in the attitude of her son! He had always cared for his mother and with his limited skills, he set about working seriously. The income was steady though not spectacular and they managed with the small savings and the compensation money that they had received from her husband's employers.

The last time her relatives saw Gauri was at one of the marriages of her nephews that she attended. This was a rare event, for she usually did not attend family functions. As expected, she looked old, the beauty was gone, and the toll that life had taken on her was obvious.

The one thing that struck everyone was -the smile did not reach her eyes!

Jacob Saheb

The most magnificent thing about Jacob Saheb was his moustache!

Thick and bushy, the hairs stood out straight and bristled as he spoke and smiled, as he was wont to do often. Not very tall, swarthy, twinkling eyes, of an indeterminate age, a typical south Indian accent, and of course, the marvellous moustache….this is how one would describe Jacob Saheb.

An Anglo Indian of the old school, he was usually dressed in beautifully tailored trousers and a bush shirt – to counter the humidity of Calcutta. It was only in winter that he would be seen in Suits and conservative neck-ties – which he carried off with a natural flair for he was a man whose business and passion was to ensure that his clients were some of the best dressed people.

In today’s times, he would be called a dress designer but in those days he was just a master tailor. The suits that he produced for his clients were cut in a manner that made it appear as if they had been designed for none other. He did not have a studio where he would display his designs and the cut as well as the measurements were defined by him.

He would not take kindly to suggestions other than how many pockets one required or the width of the loops for the belt. None of his clients minded. There was no option! One would not remain a client if one meddled too much into his vision.

He only made house calls. He had no shop nor did people really know specifics of his residence. He stayed in Park Circus – that was about the most that people knew. One had to have his phone number or a reference from one of his clients to be able to engage him. Once he was given a tinkle that there were clothes to be stitched, one had to have patience.

He only came on weekends and there was no uncertainty about which weekend he would saunter in. It could be the one immediately following the call or maybe a month later! The delivery would follow the same pattern. But one thing was certain. The product would be worth waiting for.

My earliest memories of him are when I was about three or four years old. One Sunday morning, I walked into the drawing room and was confronted with the awe-inspiring sight of a dark man with a huge moustache who looked neither comforting nor threatening. I could not take my eyes off the moustache.

Then he smiled and beckoned to me. The smile lit up his entire face and transformed him into a friend for life. After that, I would see him off and on and whenever he came, I would take my place beside him. The main purpose of sitting there was to see how he would sip his cup of tea without wetting his moustache. It was a fascinating battle between the tea and his moustache. The tea would reach out to wet them but the lips would curl upwards to prevent this from happening.

The usual visit would start with Jacob Saheb sauntering in at about 9:30 AM on a Sunday. If he came with a brown paper packet tied with a string – it meant he was there to deliver an order. Else, he had to come to collect a new one. The first thing that he asked was – “Is Saheb awake?” This may sound strange to some but in our household, it was a perfectly pertinent question.

My Uncle, one of his oldest clients, lived life not depending on the clock. He would often wake at 10:30 and had been known to set alarms for 11 in the morning.

Jacob Saheb did not expect him to be awake when he arrived. He did not mind waiting. He usually made only two visits and only on weekends. He probably liked having his leisurely tea and the chat about both households – his own and his clients. The visits could last for at least a couple of hours, if not more. There was no hurry for he probably savored his time with people.

Soon after, my Uncle would come in to see if tea had been served and would inform him that he would be joining Jacob Saheb soon. Usually he would be there after about a half hour or so freshly shaved and bathed. Then they would have another cup of tea that my Uncle insisted on pouring himself from the beautiful china teapot into the china cups. The business of the day was still some time away.

Jacob Saheb spent this time in enquiring about each member of the family. He would take special interest in my studies and about the results of the cricket matches that I had participated in.

After many years he would tell me about his grand children who were now in faraway Australia. Probably he missed them and he used my presence to relive what it would be like to have them around. He always called me Baba.

Once Uncle arrived, they chit-chatted about other members of Jacob Saheb’s “club” – his clients who were usually friends of each other. Remember the referral system! They would talk about how the business of each member was doing, about new additions to the family, new cars or homes that were acquired. They discussed politics, literature, films – everything under the sun! I could see from their faces that they rather enjoyed it – perhaps more than the actual business of having clothes made.

When they finally got down to the business at hand, it was well over an hour and a half at the least. The cloth would be brought in. Jacob Saheb would look at it closely, feel it with his fingers, hand it on his arm to see the fall and at times even smell it!

If he nodded his head, it meant that the selection had met his approval. He would then ask my Uncle about the shirt that he planned to wear with it. They would often have a long argument about the colour of the shirt and tie that would go with it. It was not often that they agreed at the outset.

My Uncle was an adventurous dresser while Jacob Saheb was more old-school. I never understood how Jacob Saheb had any control over what shirt my Uncle would decide to wear with it once the suit or the trouser was stitched.

Jacob Saheb would then start taking measurements, which he never seemed to write down. While measuring he would sometimes comment on how and where Uncle had lost or gained weight. There would also be advice on what to do to achieve his ideal weight. Some would take this sort of chatter as offensive, but with Jacob Saheb, it was impossible to be offended. He owned the dress and the wearer was just a matter of chance.

Once the job was done, he would now ask for coffee. This was a ritual that never varied. Two cups of tea and then the coffee! This would mark the nearing of the end of the visit. No one asked him when the clothes would be delivered. It would be an exercise in futility. It would be delivered when it was ready, and when that would happen was anybody’s guess.

But I found out about Jacob Saheb’s genius when I was about ten or eleven years old. He had taken a cloth for one of my early trousers. The norm was shorts, so a trouser was something we looked forward to with a lot of anticipation. I pleaded with Jacob Saheb to deliver it within the month so that I could wear it during the ensuing Durga Pujas.

But Jacob Saheb lived up to form. The Pujas came and went, months passed by; his many visits thereafter did not result in the delivery of my trousers. Initially, I would ask him, plead, throw tantrums and generally try to force him to concede that it would be delivered on his next visit.

All he would do was nod, smile and ruffle my hair, but he did not make any commitment. The next Pujas came and went. My parents tried to convince me that though he did not admit it, Jacob Saheb had probably misplaced the cloth and the trousers were unlikely to be ever delivered. I gradually reconciled myself to the fact that it was probably so.

Then almost a year and a half later, Jacob Saheb stood beaming at the door one Sunday and specifically asked for me. Lo and behold, there were my trousers. I could not wait to try them out. I must have grown about an inch or more and generally grown in the intervening time. I put them on, and surprise, surprise – a perfect fit! Jacob Saheb’s explanation for the delay was – if he had delivered it earlier, I would have outgrown it very quickly!

 

Jacob Saheb was like family. He would join us in our celebrations and the family was invited to his. When his elder daughter got married I was too young to attend. However, I did attend the party on the occasion of his younger daughter’s marriage.

I enjoyed the outing but not the food. It was too alien for my tastes. All the people present were beautifully dressed – all of them. The ladies from his family in long dresses and the guest ladies in beautiful saris; all the men in perfect suits! I was one of the few children in trousers, the rest in shorts.

Jacob Saheb and his wife looked very happy and he received his guests with a big smile and bristling moustache. He informed everyone that his daughter was moving to Australia after marriage. One more place to go for him!

But shortly afterwards, during his visits he inadvertently let out that he was not happy and that his wife had become depressed on account of loneliness. He also looked older! His daughters wanted them to move to Australia too, but he confessed that he had been a Calcuttan too long to be able to move away to a new place.

All his friends were here but a few of his relatives had decided to move to Australia and Canada. He was torn between staying near to his children and leaving his friends. He just could not decide. The attachments were too strong. He missed his children and subsequently his grand children terribly.

As time passed, his visits became more and more infrequent. The twinkle in his eyes was diminishing. His smile seemed forced; the moustache was as bushy as ever, but the appearance suggested a droop. Over time, I am not sure when, his visits stopped.

I was engaged with the changes in my life to bother to enquire. I can only conjecture that he would have grown old, maybe become sick and gradually faded into the deep blue.

However, one thing I am sure. He represented a time when business was more than earning money, skill was something to take pride in but not carry it on your sleeve, relationship with people, and attachment to places took priority and personal appearances were something to cherish.

He is one of those people who leave a lasting impression and become representatives of the time that they live in. Wherever he is, I am sure he is turning out beautiful suits and assessing his creations with a critical eye.

They don’t make people like him anymore, more is the pity.

Aaji

It was early in the twentieth century. The Indian society was still centered primarily on its villages. This village was no different from the thousands of other villages across India. The joint family system was still dominant as was the agriculture-based economy. The migration to the towns and cities was not a significant phenomenon. The struggle for independence had not yet reached the levels of frenzy, which it was to become subsequently.

The villages were not the simple dreamy places as is often portrayed in the Bollywood films. There was politics inside the household as well as outside. Caste systems had a strong hold on the population. The village areas were strictly divided along caste lines.

Brahmans, Kshatriya, Vaishya and Sudra households were clustered in different parts of the same villages. Within each cluster the households were also sub-clustered along levels of financial status. While the evil of untouchability was fighting a losing battle, it had not been completely eradicated yet.

She was married during her mid teens to a Kayastha land owner of a reasonably well to do family. The term landowner was really a misnomer. The land was owned jointly by the extended family of cousins and brothers, but the real power over the family was concentrated in the hands of the eldest cousin. In effect, there were three cousins present. Her husband’s brother had been yearning to free himself of the stranglehold that the eldest cousin had over the family and would shortly leave the village in Bihar to seek a better life in the state of Uttar Pradesh.

The three cousins actually lived a grandiose life by the standards of those times. Not that there was any great income to support this lifestyle. The finances were the result of sale of plots of land that their forefathers had accumulated with hard work and prudence. Unfortunately, the trait of working hard had not passed on to the present generation.

The life of comfort extended to the eldest cousin’s family only. The others were barely surviving on what little was handed over to them infrequently. The dominance of the eldest cousin was such that no one dared to protest at this clear injustice.

The other cousins had seen no other life and therefore the appalling injustice was lost on them. There would be good food, good clothes, some jewellery bought from time to time, but the distribution would start from the eldest cousin and by the time it reached the youngest in the joint family there would be hardly enough to go by.

The food was served to the three cousins and after they had their fill, the others in the hierarchy would have the meal. Often the youngest would not even have enough to fulfill their modest needs.

Her husband was reasonably educated and sometimes felt guilty about all this but could not gather the courage to speak up lest the villagers called him an upstart.

The youngest of the cousins was a man of even temper and was immune to the injustice. He was more interested in wrestling and the “bhang” that he prepared daily.

In this household walked in this young woman – frail of built, quiet and rather beautiful. There was no hint of the steel and the strength of character that was hidden in the slight frame. While she found the ways of the family strange and unjust, the custom of the times did not allow her to gather the courage to speak up.

She lived the life that other women in the family had lived for years. While she could not raise her voice, she did feel for the other women, especially the wife of the youngest cousin. She would often share her small meal with the younger cousin’s wife to provide at least enough food for survival.

Before the birth of her first son, she made her first visit to her parents’ house. As daughters are wont to do, she shared the customs and events of her in laws’ home with her mother. This conversation was shared by her mother with her father and soon the entire household was in the know.

However, this was not a situation unique to her home for there were many families where the patriarchs were no different. Her brother, fearing that she may not go back, one day admonished her for speaking thus about her husband’s family. He was not subtle in his hints that he would prefer that she went back as early as possible. Strong words were uttered, and these were not responded with any protest from her parents.

She was aghast at this turn of events. Next day, she asked her youngest brother to accompany her back to her husband’s home. While she did not utter a single word, her self-respect did not allow her to return to her parents place.

This was the last time she saw her parents, for she never returned to the place, which had once crushed her closest bonds. While she wept inconsolably on receiving the news of the demise of her mother and then her father a few years later, she did not go to the funeral. The steel in her had started being tempered.

After her return, life went on as usual. The misery continued and a few times, she spoke about it to her husband. While he empathized with her, the burden of customs was too hard for him to shake off.

As was the norm, she had occasion to talk to her husband only at night, for the men folk remained away from their women during the day and they could be alone only at night. During these times, she tried to make him aware that the land that sustained them would not last a lifetime at the rate that it was being sold off, and that he needed to work to maintain and if possible increase their holdings.

Her husband gathered the courage to speak about this to his cousins but his suggestion was laughed off. They said that there was enough to last a few lifetimes. He had no option but to drop the subject.

In the meantime, she gave birth to a girl. With two children to care for, with the household chores to be done there was very little time for her to think of anything else. The burden of feeding her growing children within the small portions allotted to her was becoming heavier by the day. Her own portions grew smaller and smaller and her already frail frame started wilting. The need to rebel was growing stronger.

One evening, the three cousins, having had a good meal were chatting. As was the norm, before going to bed, the servant brought milk in three bowls for them. Before they could drink it, she walked up to her husband and took away his bowl.

The cousins were dumbstruck at this overt show of rebellion and disrespect. Normally, such an act would have merited a sound thrashing at the hands of her husband at the very least. But, the determination on her face did not give them the courage to say or do anything.

They just sat there with their mouths open. Finally, her husband sheepishly got up and went to his bedroom. He saw that she had divided the milk among her children. Her look of disappointment pierced his heart. Quietly she asked him “How could you bear to drink this milk day after day, when your children went to bed without enough food?”

He, being a man with little capacity for displaying any emotion, just looked at her and lay down on his bed. He did not sleep that night. Early next morning, he asked her “Will you be able to manage on your own for some time while I am gone?”

She nodded.

He gathered a few clothes and without another word, left to seek work. Not having done any work ever, he did not know where to start. He went to the closest town. He did not have many skills, which would allow him to get employment. He went to his friend’s place and told him about the situation. His friend listened with the attention of a well-wisher and the lack of passion of an affected being.

They agreed that his knowledge of Persian was an asset that could be put to use in the Court. The same day his friend took him to a lawyer that he knew. These were simpler times and the lawyer promised to give him some work drafting title deeds and petitions. He had to learn the techniques and the formats for doing this. The lawyer instructed one of his assistants to teach him.

The money was negligible at first but his diligence at the job soon ensured a reasonable earning. His wife, in the meantime, bore her situation with calm and though her position in the household was precarious, she withstood the slanted barbs that were thrown at her.

In her misery, her dreams were taking shape. She saved all her husband’s earnings and sacrificed her present for ensuring a better future for her children.

Over time, they had saved enough to build a small house with a thatched roof where she could live separately with her children. Normally, this would have resulted in a big fight within the family, but her strength and her husband’s support negated all this. That she did not want a share of the joint family holdings, helped.

With their savings gone into building their home, times were difficult. There was not enough to go around at times but she ensured that her children went to school and had something to eat. She herself sometimes went to bed hungry but she never let anyone be aware of this.

 When there was not enough food to be cooked at night, she would feed her children with the leftovers. She always lit the fire so that the other people saw the smoke coming out of the chimney. This conveyed the impression that food was being cooked. Her pride would not allow others to feel sorry for her.

As the years passed, four more children were born to her – two sons and two daughters. The income was steady now and the days of hunger were a thing of the past. The couple now had reasonable savings and owned land too. Whatever they saved, they used to buy land from their cousins who had continued their ways of living off the proceeds of the land sale.

She ensured that at least some of the land of his ancestors at least remained in the family. Her children were getting education and life was becoming a lot better.

She supplemented her income by selling off the produce of her land. For doing this, she devised a brilliant strategy. She could not go to the market to find the going price of the produce. So she had the market come to her.

As usual, one of her daily chores was to clean the glass lanterns to have them ready by the evening. There was a “Teli”, an oil vendor, who supplied mustard oil door to door and who would also come to her house every week. She struck a deal with him that she would sell the mustard that grew in her fields to him. This became a business partnership that sustained for many years.

He would provide her information on the going rates that the grains and other produce were likely to fetch. He would often direct genuine buyers who would offer the best price for the produce.

This friendship, though unusual for the times, proved to be sustainable and rewarding. She never sold the mustard to anyone else while she lived nor did she buy oil from any other source.

Together husband and wife had built a sturdy house and lovingly converted it into a home of laughter and joy. Their land holdings also grew substantially with the combined income while those of their cousins kept reducing at a steady pace.

The Gods do not allow happiness to last. Within a span of a few tragically short years, she lost her second daughter to smallpox and her third son to typhoid.

She was heartbroken but did not allow her spirit to die. Her husband decided to forgo his good practice at the court to be with her and take on the role of a landowning farmer.

Her advancing years and grey hairs gave her a new name – “Aaji” – Grandmother! Almost the entire village addressed her as Aaji with respect and love. For she had earned the love!

Even with prosperity she had never forgotten her early days. She did what she knew best. Every evening, she would tie up some rice and some “Dal” in the folds of her sari and walk around the village. If she saw there was no smoke coming out of any hut, she knew that the family would go hungry.

She would quietly walk in and provide the rice and Dal to the family so that this did not happen. Her husband, now a grouchy old man, would know what she was up to, but chose to remain silent. Being a man not known to be overtly expressive, maybe this was the closest demonstration of his love for her.

In spite of what troubles life had thrown at her, Aaji never forgot how to laugh. The time to cast votes was festival time for the women of the village. They would deck themselves up and go in groups to cast their vote.

Not a very politically active person, Aaji's voting preference would mostly be decided by the symbol that was her husband’s favourite at any given time. The journey to the booth was more enjoyable than the process of voting.

The winning candidate would always be blessed by her, irrespective of the fact that she may not have voted for him. Often she did not even know that she had voted for a particular candidate.

On one such occasion, she along with a few other elderly ladies went to the booth to cast her vote. The polling officer asked her name.

Aaji was stuck!

She did not remember her name! Nobody had called her by her name for many decades.

She turned to her companion and asked “What is my name? Do you remember it?"

Her companion did! For, she was as old as Aaji! “Isn’t it Rucha Devi?”

All the persons in the polling booth were having a good laugh at the simplicity of the old women.

Aaji was illiterate but she ensured that her children got education. She was fortunate to see her two sons employed in good jobs. She saw her two daughters being married off well and also welcomed the wives and children of her two sons.

The sons and daughters now went about making their own lives and Aaji had time with her husband. Maybe, to make up for the time that they had lost in their early years!

She looked forward to their visits and the grand children were a matter of great pride to the couple. Whenever, they were due to visit, Aaji ensured that her larder was well stocked up. She insisted on making the “puris” for their travel on the return journey herself.

Her youngest grandson was only about four years old and already a foodie. On the day of their return from the village, as was usual, Aaji was making “puris” for them. The young foodie was standing at her shoulder while his mother was packing the food in Tiffin carriers.

Aaji got up to get something and seeing his opportunity, the kid said to his mother “Ma! Aaji has gone out. Quickly, pack some more puris, before she comes back!”

Aaji heard the little fellow as she was about to enter and this innocent remark caused so much hilarity that for once she could not prepare any more puris! She sat down and could not stop laughing.

In spite of all the difficulties faced, Aaji miraculously was never bitter. Perhaps this was the strength of her character. She helped her husband’s cousins all the time with money, food, land to build a home – now that they had almost squandered away their fortune.

She invited her nephew who stayed on with her for many months looking for work. His father had almost thrown her out of his house when she had visited her parents for the only time after her marriage.

As time passed, she saw her sons build a grand house for her a little way from her home. But Aaji never lived in the house. She steadfastly refused to move saying that she would get lost in it, it was so big.

This was all just an excuse because by no stretch of imagination was the house large enough to be lost in. the fact was that she was too attached to the house, that she had built with her husband and which she had converted into a warm home full of love, to abandon.

She did go to that house in the end, though probably she was not aware when this happened. She was diagnosed with cancer of the liver and that too at a very advanced stage. During the last days of her life, she slipped into a coma. Managing her care was easier in the new house so she was moved there.

The last three days, the village folk took turns to stay at her side night and day chanting the verses of the Ramayana. Her youngest son had gone off to get a non-conventional medicine that someone had suggested, hoping against hope that it would save her.

She was barely alive and all hope was gone. People had given her “Gangajal” (water from the Ganges River) as is the custom for a dying person. But she refused to let go. Her husband would put up a gruff front publicly but many saw him silently crying when he thought he was alone.

Her son received the news of the rapid deterioration as soon as he got off the train. He cycled like a madman to have a last glimpse of her. As soon as he reached, he was told by the elders of the village to give her Gangajal.

They said she had been waiting to receive Gangajal from him and that it was befitting that he fulfill her last wish. She was barely breathing and probably not even aware that he had arrived. He took the spoon of Gangajal and as soon as the first drop touched her mouth, her breath slipped out of her body.

As the funeral procession started for the cremation grounds on the banks of the Ganga, all who saw it coming joined in. By the time, it reached the cremation grounds the crowd had swelled. Right at the end of the procession was the Teli – her business partner, her friend, her confidante.

That was the last time that he came to the village.

With his friend gone, there was no reason to do so.

Back to Basics

It was one of the usual conferences.

The same dreary group of people were assembled. People who attend because they have been instructed to, others who attend because they consider it the most productive activity in their professional life form the core of the group. There were yet others who attend because they are well past any productive activity. The usual set of girls who rush around with harried expressions trying to organize mundane things like nameplates on the dais, notepaper and pencils which are seldom, if ever, used went about trying to look important. There were some who were longingly looking at the tables where tea and snacks would be served shortly.

These conferences drew the same subsets from the usual pool of people who spoke and listened to the same trite rubbish that passed off as the most significant words of wisdom ever spoken. If one attended a single conference annually usually one could predict the entire set of events at all the future and past ones during the year.

Amitabh looked around for a face that he could ask out for a smoke. Usually he would go by himself, but he had left his pack of cigarettes in the car and fetching them was a bit of a hassle. He spotted a prospect and moved towards him with a bright smile on his face. He did not remember the name but that was no big deal. Neither he nor his bait would admit to the fact.

“Hi! Long time no see!” The man moved his head so that he could see Amitabh over the shoulder of the person he was conversing with.

“Hi!” They shook hands like old friends as was the norm.

“Amit….????” The voice brought him up short.

He turned to see the bait’s companion.

“Rahul….?? Yes! It is you!”

It was indeed Rahul! Rahul had been a part of the trio in school and then in college but it had been years since they had met. Both had been friends for something like fifteen years but after college had moved on with their lives. They did keep in touch for a few months but then the calls became less frequent. It had been maybe twenty five years since their last conversation. But there was no mistaking Rahul. The deep voice, the drooping eyes were the same. He had put on some weight and lost a bit of the hair – but maybe the same could be said of Amitabh.

The bait forgotten, they moved out of the hall as if on accord. Once out on the balcony, Rahul brought out a pack of Gold Flakes (King Size, mind you!) and they lit up.

“So? Where have you been? And how have you been?” Both spoke at the same time.

“OK, buddy. Managing! What about you?”

Amit shrugged. “Much the same, man! As you can see, grabbing bullshit here. How is Anita?” Miraculously, he remembered Rahul’s wife’s name. He had got a card, but was unable to attend the wedding as he was travelling. After returning, he had been meaning to visit them, but the visit never materialized. He had become too caught up in his own career and new friends to make an effort.

Though they had been the best of friends for such a long time, strangely and suddenly each found that there was not much in common to talk about. However, as with old friends it was not an uncomfortable situation and there was no embarrassment.

Finishing their cigarettes, Amit suggested that after the conference they have a drink together and chat. Rahul agreed mainly because there was not much to do in the evening since his flight was next morning. Returning to an impersonal and lonely hotel room was definitely not appealing.

By the time the conference was over and the farewells had been done, it was nearly six. Amit found Rahul waiting for him outside the entrance. They drove to a restaurant in Amit’s car and Rahul was impressed with the swanky new SUV but did not say anything. He was still driving his old Esteem and had been planning to replace it with a new car but some expense or the other popped up and pushed his plans on the back burner. Fact of the matter was that he believed he was not earning enough for the good life.

Amit, however, seemed to be rolling in the dough. Fine clothes, great car, good healthy looks all indicated that he was doing great. The restaurant that they arrived at appeared swanky. Probably the time spent on planning to buy his new car was mainly to decide on the model that met his fancy and not the cost.

As they walked in, it was obvious that Amit was a frequent visitor. The stewards knew him; he shook hands with the manager and waved to some customers. They were escorted to a corner seat which afforded them privacy. As the drinks arrived, Amit asked “So, what have you actually been doing? Do you visit Delhi often? You should have called me and stayed with us.”

“Not really! I mean, I do come here once in a while but usually only for the day.” Rahul replied. He did not touch upon what he did. In any case it was nothing to brag about.

All he did was push files, collect data and prepare information systems for the Board Members – who he never actually met. He prepared all this for his idiot of a boss who then presented his work to the Board. He had long realized that he needed to have the complete overview of the business and the way to do this was through analysis of the data. He had done some great work in the initial years when he was in operations and had proposed innovative solutions which were implemented successfully.

Somewhere along the line his CEO had decided that he was a great number cruncher and had moved him into his team. He had been thrilled to be part of the CEO’s team initially but as the years went by his role as an operations expert got lost and all he was doing on a day to day basis was sifting favourable information for his CEO and preparing explanatory notes for the failures. Basically, his job was to save the CEO’s ass! Nobody took him seriously any more. He would attend most conferences on behalf of his CEO – except those where the CEO was a speaker. He was just a glorified errand boy. He had tried to move back to operations a few years ago without success. He was just too good a lackey to be let go. The salary was comfortable enough to prevent serious thought of change but not large enough to prevent him from squirming in frustration from time to time.

Amit was looking at Rahul closely. Things did not look great. Rahul seemed to have let go. There was no spark in his eyes. Rahul had been the best student amongst the three friends and had frequently saved them from embarrassment during the exams. But he was looking old and resigned. Was he working too hard? Did not look like it. He wanted to ask him about it, but decided to let it pass for the time being.

The silence between them was becoming uncomfortable. Amit decided to break it though he could not think of anything interesting to talk about. Finally he decided to ask “Why did you stick to the same job all these years? Must be really interesting! I could never do it. After a couple of years every job becomes boring and I just have to move on. But it has its positives. Each change gives a higher designation, more money. And new things to do….”

The last bit came almost as an afterthought. Did it really give one new things to do? His mind went back to his early years. He was a go getter. Always had been! And he would put all his energies in things that interested him. Sometimes this would mean ignoring other things which were also important. During every term, he would be brilliant in one subject and barely pass in some others. This was what kept him away from the “good student” category. He was passionate about his favoured topic and often became argumentative about it even with teachers and professors, rubbing them the wrong way. His passion was often construed as arrogance but also gave him an air of charisma. It drew some people to him like a magnet but also alienated others.

“Any news of Kartik?” Amit enquired. He realized that this would sound rather strange to Rahul. Or maybe not! Kartik had been in integral part of the trio and probably was the one who had kept them together through the years. Kartik was the quiet, unassuming sort of guy who would soothe frayed tempers. Not exceptional in any way, he was one who was level headed and calm at all times. Kartik was a steady sort of a guy who appeared to lack any sort of passion or ambition. But he was a friend who would stand with you irrespective of the situation. And he kept the three together when Amit and Rahul had heated arguments, which was often. These would cause strains in their friendship but Kartik would smooth things over not by mediating but by just being there.

“Yes! We talk from time to time. He stayed back and is a school teacher of sorts. He has also written a couple of books which, I understand, the students find quite helpful.”

“Really? That’s great. Never could have visualized Kartik as a school teacher. Or an author! Actually, never could visualize him as anything specific. But, good for him!” Amit was shaking his head.

“Yes! But I think Kartik is really happy. And he is actually quite passionate about what he does. Whenever we speak, all he talks about is his work. And about Bhaumik Sir! Apparently they work together o the books and are the closest of friends.”

“Bhaumik Sir? Yes! Yes! I think now I understand it. Do you remember the way he used to teach? And his marking system? Nobody would fail! All he did was ask – what next? And again and again; till we either worked out the solution ourselves or understood where we were going wrong. And even if we didn’t arrive at the right solution he would let it pass till another time. He was a real guru! In fact, I think he was the one responsible for us becoming what we are today. How many of the students from small towns do so well in life? But we did!” Even as Amit said the last lines, his voice lost the conviction that he had earlier.

Rahul noticed this change in tone but stopped himself from saying anything. He could now feel an empathy for Amit. For all the glitz, both had actually failed.

“Hey! Why don’t we go and meet with Kartik? This weekend? Give him a big surprise! We are the last people he shall expect. What say?”

Rahul was doubtful. He liked the idea but he was often at work even on weekends His boss was nothing less than a slave driver. Often, he would be preparing rubbish reports for Monday morning, which would often be presented only on Thursday or Friday. But he could not bring himself to admit this in front of Amit.

Amit could sense Rahul's hesitation. Though he did not know the reason for it, he could sense that Rahul was afraid. Across the table he laid his hand on Rahul’s and said “Let’s go. It will help. Maybe it is overdue. Probably we need this – more now than ever.”

Rahul nodded.

………………………………………………………………………………………

The morning sun was warm and soothing. Bhaumik was sitting in an easy chair outside his house in the small piece of land he lovingly called his garden. Nothing could be further from a garden. There was no grass, no plants and not even a hedge. All it had was two bamboo poles with a thin coir rope strung across for drying clothes. He had never been a gardening buff and that plot was left vacant only because his wife had insisted and hoped against hope that he would take up gardening some day, but it had never happened. Now his wife was long gone, he did not have the energy to take up gardening; his eyesight was not what it used to be. All he did was live from day to day. The only bright spot in his day was when Kartik came for his daily visits. Those few hours he again came alive. Discussing new concepts of teaching, working on Kartik’s new book, arguing for hours over methods – all these made his day. Kartik was the son he never had. His needs were few and activities negligible. His head lolling he did not know when he dozed off.

He felt someone shaking him gently by the shoulder. Must be Kartik! But it was too early in the day. Kartik usually came in the afternoon after his school duties were over. He fumbled for his glasses which dangled from a string. It was not Kartik but two other people. What did they want? Then he heard Kartik’s voice. “Sir, see who has come? Don’t you recognize them?”

He looked over his shoulder to see Kartik smiling broadly. He peered closely at the newcomers. “Amit?...”

“Sir! Yes, you are right, but who is this? Let’s see if you recognize him too!” Amit was smiling as he bent to touch his teacher’s feet. Bhaumik looked closely, but failed to recognize the other one. Surely, it wasn’t someone he knew! This balding, haggard looking man could not be one of his students!

“Sir! Rahul! Don’t you recognize me?” Rahul also bent forward to touch his feet.

“Rahul?!! What happened son? Are you Ok?” in spite of himself, Bhaumik could not hide his surprise and shock.

“Nothing, Sir. Age is catching up. But so good to see you after such a long time. You are looking the same – you haven’t changed a bit!”

“Tch! Age? I have aged, not you. Kartik, make arrangements for Khichri. You know where the Dal and Rice are in the kitchen. We will have lunch together. I will make some “bhaja” for you today.”

“Sir! You don’t need to take the trouble. We will get something from Onkar Hotel.” Both Amit and Rahul protested.

“Onkar Hotel? You think they can match my Khichri and bhaja? No arguments! Or do you want to be punished after all these years? “Seeing Bhaumik’s enthusiasm, the trio did not have the heart to protest further.

While the Khichri was cooking, they spent a couple of hours chatting about the old days. But Bhaumik was more interested in knowing what they were doing now. Though both Amit and Rahul tried to gloss over details of their work, Bhaumik persisted with his probing questions. He was an old fox at getting to the bottom of things and his students were no match for the skills of subtle interrogation honed over years. The interrogation was never overt, but a question here, a remark there gave Bhaumik a clear idea of where the lives of the duo were headed.

At last the Khichri was ready and Bhaumik went into the kitchen to make the Bhaja. In spite of their protests, he insisted on making it himself. Kartik had done most of the preparations but Bhaumik insisted on mixing the ingredients in the right proportions himself and he would not allow anyone to do the actual frying.

They had their meals in silence since Bhaumik would not allow them to talk while eating. The city duo marvelled at the tasty and simple food. The love that had gone into making it was not lost on them.

After the meal, they again sat in the garden. Bhaumik sat in the easy chair and a couple of chairs brought from inside were taken by Amit and Rahul. Kartik sat on the stairs.

“Rahul, do you realize what you are doing wrong?” Bhaumik’s straightforward query did not come as a surprise. Rahul had been dreading this question for he knew that Bhaumik would raise this sooner or later. Not much escaped the old teacher.

In spite of being prepared for the question, Rahul had not been able to prepare a satisfactory answer. Amit started to say something, but Bhaumik's look shut him up. Rahul continued to be silent.

Bhaumik kept looking at Rahul not saying anything. After a while, Rahul could not keep silent anymore.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

Bhaumik did not say anything. He just kept looking at Rahul. There was neither disappointment nor accusation in his gaze. If anything, there was expectant waiting.

“I am doing good work Sir. Important for the company. Decisions are made on the basis of what I prepare. My boss appreciates the work that I do. People hold me in high regard. What more could I want. Yes, they could pay me more, but then who is happy with his salary? My work gets recognition. I am important for the organization……….” Rahul’s voice trailed off.

“But are you happy?”

Rahul stared back at Bhaumik for a long time willing him to withdraw. Finally, giving up he could not bring himself to say no. he just shook his head.

“Why?” the classic Bhaumik style was back in play.

Rahul knew that the standard reply of “I don’t know” would not cut any ice. “Sir. I was wrong. My work is used, but not appreciated. Most people don’t even know it is my work.” Rahul was resigned.

“But is it your work? Is it what you really want to do?”

“No Sir”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to create solutions. Numbers talk to me. Numbers tell me a story. They present problems but also offer solutions. I know I can create new systems which are better than those at present. I can analyze factors, get the clear picture and create solutions. It is like a duel. I enjoy these duels.”

“So, why don’t you do what you want to do?”

“Because I am scared. Scared of losing my job. Scared of my propositions being laughed at. Scared of standing up to my boss. Scared of being rebuffed.”

“Why are you scared? Have you tried taking a stand about what you want to do?”

“No. But my boss is a powerful man and I don’t earn as much as Amit to risk losing my job!” the last bit came out inadvertently. But Bhaumik let it pass.

“Did you learn your work from your boss?”

“Of course not! He insisted that I join his team because I was damn good at what I did”

“But have you always done the same work?” Bhaumik would not let go so easily.

“No. I was doing work that I enjoyed initially. But then my boss decided to shift me here and for the last few years this is all that I have done. The reports come to me since I prepare the information for the top management and I see so many areas crying out for improvement. I do suggest changes based on the limited data, but mostly they are not acted on. This is frustrating. If I was in charge, I would affect the changes so that the system would improve.”

“Have you proposed these changes to the top management and been rejected?”

“I don’t know. I just send across the proposals to my boss. He is the one who interacts with the top management. I don’t even know whether they know about the proposals!”

“So, is it clear what you need to do? To be happy with your profession? To try and present your ideas to the right people or to seek the opportunity to implement the things that you propose to be done? Do you see what needs to be done? Do you….?”

Rahul nodded. He could now clearly see his worth. He was not a paper pusher. He was a problem solver. But he had forgotten that he had to solve his own problems first. He felt better. His old teacher had removed the clouds as he had done often in the past. But his next remark came as a surprise.

“Amit, did you learn something from all this?”

“But Sir, Amit is doing fabulously. I wish I had been successful like him.” Rahul blurted.

Bhaumik was looking at Amit. And Amit was looking at the ground.

“Are you successful, Amit?” Bhaumik asked again.

“I …..I……I have a good position. I have made decent money. But I always feel incomplete professionally.”

Bhaumik did not ask why as he usually did. He kept looking at Amit.

“I was a thought leader. I was a creator. I created products. I taught people to create new things. I had passion for what I did. But as I climbed up the hierarchy in different organizations, I was getting involved more and more in corporate political gamesmanship than in creating products and ideas. “

“A few years ago this got the better of me and I lost out to a more aggressive opponent for who gamesmanship was a passion. Since then I am just a decorative asset. I market the products irrespective of whether I believe in it or not. And I lost the will to fight for what I believed in. I lost my hunger for creation. Life had been easy on me. But the happiness was gone. I miss the heated arguments, the energy of new minds challenging my own.”

Bhaumik smiled “Do you now know what you need to do? To be happy? To feel useful? To realize your worth?”

Both nodded. The old master had used his tried and tested methods to guide them towards the most important solution of their life. The quest for confidence, excellence and happiness beckoned at them.

He had brought them back to the basics!