TO GIVE OR NOT TO GIVE

Let me take you to Lucknow of 1970 to share a personal experience which I found funny then but thought-provoking now.

I had given my wrist watch at Rupani Bros. for repairs. So on our way back from the University, I asked a friend of mine to stop over for a few minutes in Hazratganj to take care of my bicycle while I went to pick up my watch from the shop.

As I stepped down after picking up the watch, I was intrigued to find my friend grappling with a young beggar woman who was trying to wrench her wrist from her firm grip holding a baby in another arm. Suspecting trouble, I ran to my friend’s rescue and tried to intervene. In the melee’ that followed, the beggar-woman managed to pull her wrist away and ran, with me chasing her.

“Let her go. Let her go,” my friend called out after me. 

On hearing her, I stopped and came back.

“What had happened?” I inquired excitedly.

“Nothing,” my friend, cool as a cucumber, continued in her inimitable style, “This woman was asking for money. So I advised her to do some work instead of begging. I told her that she is hale and hearty and should not demean herself by seeking alms.”

“So, what happened then?”

“Well, she replied that there are no jobs available. So I told her that she should come with me. Our maid has left. She could stay in our servant quarters and work in our house. We would have given her salary as well as food and shelter. But she started running away. So I caught hold of her wrist and told her to sit on the carrier of my bike so that I could take her home. Ha..ha..ha..Seeing a potential employer, she ran away.”

As she shared this, we laughed and laughed pedalling our way home.

Today whenever I think of it, I can’t help thinking that we the people are basically responsible for encouraging beggary in our country. We think that by giving alms to beggars, we are washing away our sins or may be doing some good to humanity. Or is it that by doing so, we are unburdening ourselves of the guilt of having all that the poor beggar is deprived of?  The fact is that by giving alms to professional beggars, yes I mean professional beggars, we are only encouraging a tendency to beg and shun hard work. 

Here I must share a more recent experience of mine. While driving down quite late from office, I think it was around 11pm at night, that a pedestrian on the pavement near Hotel Hyatt Regency caught my eye. A frail bearded fellow wearing pants and T-shirt walking confidently looked very familiar …who is he?  Where have I seen him? I kept wondering without my brain finding an answer.

Next day morning, as I stopped at the same traffic junction, I sighted the same old, frail, bearded man who was lame also whom I had seen so many times begging at this traffic light. He walked with the help of a stick and had an aluminum begging bowl in his hand as usual. Half bent as he moved towards my car, the expression on his face invoked tremendous sympathy in the passersby.

It is then that it flashed like lightening, he was the same guy who I had seen walking confidently on the pavement the previous night with both legs intact! He was apparently in his professional attire now.

THE ROMEO OF THE SEVENTIES

It was Lucknow University in the year 1970.  She was doing her post-graduation in Economics and was the only girl who cycled her way to the university from the Cantonment area.

Those days, although it was a co-ed institution, the interaction of boys and girls in the university was extremely limited. However, one particular boy started waiting for her at the Cycle Stand every day and would stalk her after the classes were over. On the lonely cantonment roads, on hot summer afternoons, it was extremely uncomfortable for her as he would keep his bike’s front wheel close and parallel to her rear wheel for full one hour.

She was an average looking girl, thin like a reed but had tremendous guts. She would abuse him every single day, but he was quite thick-skinned and would not give up. One day she pulled out her chappal while riding her bike and tried to hit him, but he ducked and kept smiling without allowing the distance between the two bicycles to increase. It was becoming highly irritating for her, but a strong person that she was, she would not seek anybody’s help in this. Over a period of time, it became too infuriating for her.

And one day, his courage knew no bounds and he decided to follow her to her house. As she stopped in front of her bungalow in the Cantt, he kept cycling further hoping to move on after seeing her house. Little did he realise that it was a blind road with barbed wires securing it from all sides with no exit available and he had no alternative, but to retrace his steps which he did.

Meanwhile, my friend acted fast and laid her bike across the road. She also called out her mother, a hefty woman from the village of Haryana, fed on the diet of pure milk, curd and home-made butter who was used to carrying three pitchers full of water on her head back home. In a minute, she was out on the road and by the time the young Romeo came back, the mother and daughter were ready for action.

They caught hold of him by the scruff of his neck, pulled him inside the bungalow and tied him to a pillar in the veranda. Within half an hour, her father, a Colonel in the Army had also come home for lunch. On hearing the story, he was all fire and threatened to send the boy to Quarter Guard for punishment. The boy was now scared like a mouse and was pleading for apologies.

Colonel Sahib listened to him and finally his heart melted and he decided to reduce the punishment. He ordered him to pick up the lawn mower and mow the grass of his one-acre lawn on that hot June afternoon which he took about five hours to complete. At the end of it, the poor Romeo was totally pooped out.

The boy was then allowed to go but thereafter was never sighted in the university.

I at times wonder now, what kind of turn the things would have taken place if the incident had taken place in today’s crime-infested society? Would the girl have been kidnapped, raped or murdered after this incident? Would she have been riding her bike with the same confidence in the subsequent days as she had done earlier? …Perhaps not.  

(A real-life incident)

                               *****

AN ENCOUNTER WITH DACOITS (A REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE)

He was driving his open Ford 1919 one summer afternoon, his wife seated on the front seat holding their six month old baby. Two of his children, a daughter and a son aged 5 and 3 years, happily seated on the rear seat, were obviously enjoying the outing in the car. A distant relative who was all of 18 and who had come all the way from Dehra Dun to spend his summer holidays with them was also seated on the back seat.

It was a Sunday afternoon and he was not on any official visit but his eyes and ears were alert looking around for any unusual activity. He was the young Sub Divisional Magistrate of that area.

The year was 1954 and the place was somewhere in District Jalaun in Uttar Pradesh, close to the infamous dacoits infested ravines of Bhind, Muraina and Chambal Valley.

While driving along, he noticed a rickety UP Roadways bus which had stopped to take the passengers at a road-side stop. What he particularly noticed was a posse’ of police men trying to get into the bus.

“What are these police-men doing here?” he said slowly emphasising each word as if thinking aloud.

Without losing time, he drove the car straight towards the rear entry of the bus. Bringing the car to a screeching halt, he hailed the police men, “Arre O! Kaun ho tum log?” (Hey, you guys! Who are you?”)

Hearing his strong and powerful voice, the last of the constables who was getting into the bus, turned his head, saw him and quickly asked others to come down. They were five of them, in UP Police khaki uniform with badges, pistols and bullets etc. They fell in single line and saluted him with alacrity.

The commanding voice of her father and the nervous sound of the heels clicking into “Attention” mode was found to be very thrilling by the little girl on the back-seat who was intently watching every action of this drama and is able to recall it even today after 58 years with total clarity.

“Kaun thane ke ho? (Which Police Station are you from?)” he roared.

“Sahib…hum XXXX thane ke hain. (Sir, we are from XXXX Police Station),” the senior-most of them uttered with almost trembling voice.

“Kahan jaa rahe ho? (Where are you going?)” he shot another question.

They stood attention and replied most deferentially, “Sahab, XXXX gaon se dakaiti ki khabar aayee hai, wahin ja rahe hain, saab (Sir, There is a report of dacoity in XXXX village. We are going there only, Sir.)"

“Theek hai… Jaldi jao… Tehqeekat kar ke ittala bhejna. (OK. Hurry up and go. Send your report quickly after investigations!”), he said waving his hand at them. He was about to shift the gears of the car when the young lad Hari Ram who was sitting in the open car on the rear seat stood up and pointing fingers at the constables started screaming, “Chachaji, ye jhooth bol rahe hain…..ye dakoo hain…inhe pakad leejiye. (Uncle, they are lying. They are dacoits. You catch hold of them.)”

My father turned around to look at him and then turned to look at the constables. Were they dacoits? No, no way! They all had recognised him and had, therefore, come down from the bus to salute him like any disciplined police force members.  He smiled and said, “Arre nahin. Ye sab police constable hain..Inhe jane do. (No, no. They are Police Constables only. Let them go.)” And he confidently waved at the bus driver to carry on and the bus trudged off.

The only action that I noticed at that time was that the last constable on the steps of the bus had turned around and was looking at our cousin who was still throwing his arms up and creating a ruckus repeating excitedly, “Chachaji, Ye dakoo hain. Inhe pakad leejiye. (Uncle, they are dacoits. Catch hold of them)”.

We drove away from there but Hari Ram kept arguing that they were definitely dacoits and that we should have caught them. My father kept asserting that they were not.  


I now at times wonder how my unarmed father single-handedly could have caught five armed men even if they were dacoits. Thank God, he was totally convinced of his own observation and did not agree with my cousin. If he had even an iota of doubt about the identity or genuineness of these people, he would have got into an encounter forgetting about his young wife and three small children seated in the open car.

Next day morning, my father left early in the morning for touring a far off place for four days. That day itself, as we were settling downing for lunch in the afternoon, our cook Chattroo walked in and handed over a long brown envelope to my mother, “Memsaab, This envelope was lying near the door. Somebody seems to have slipped it in from below the door.”  My mother tore it open. Out came a yellowish page as if taken  out of a very old register. 

As she read it, her looks became stern and resolute. Was she stressed, I cannot say for she was a very strong woman who knew exactly what needed to be done. She called an orderly and told him, “Call Tehsildar Saab and Thanedar Saab,” and turned to Hari Ram, “You quickly finish your lunch and pack your bags. You are leaving right now.” But Hari Ram would not pack up unless he was told what had happened. He wanted to grab the letter and read it but my mother did not give it to him. She read it out aloud.

“Adarniya SDM Sahib, 

Sadar Pranam!

Kal hum aapko XXX chungi par mile thay. Haan, hum dakoo hee thay. Par achha hee hua ki aapne humko pehchana nahin. Hum aapko koi haani nahin pahuchana chahte hain. Aap apni duty keejiye par SDM Sahib, Dakuon ko pakadne ka kaam aapka nahin hai.Yah kaam police ka hai. Aap police ka kaam karne ki koshish na karein. Aapka kaam tab shuroo hota hai jab police hamein pakad kar aapki adalat mein pesh karegi, aap insaf keejiyega aur humein sazaa deejiyega.

Aur haan, wo jo ladka aapke saath tha jo aapka koi rishtedar hai, wo bahut hee shatir lagta hai. Use aap yahan se turant bhej dijiye nahin to hum use aapke ghar se aaj raat ko hee utha kar le jayenge.

Saadar, 

Hum hain aapke shubhakanshi,

XXXX Gang

(Respected SDM Sir,

Regards and salutations!

Yesterday, we met you at xxx check-post. Yes, we were dacoits only. Good that you did not recognise us. We do not intend to harm you.You do your duty SDM Sir but catching hold of dacoits is not your job. This is the job of Police functionaries. You should not try to perform their job. Your job will start when police will catch us and bring us for justice to your court. You should then do justice and award us punishment.

And yes, that young man who is some relation of yours, appears to be quite shrewd. Please send him back immediately. Otherwise, we will kidnap him from your house tonight itself.

With regards,

We are your well-wishers,

Xxxx Gang.)

Hearing the contents of the letter, a chill went through my spine and the thought of a bunch of dacoits jumping into the courtyard at night and firing from their guns curdled my blood. It was my mother’s call now. There was no way that she could contact my father as there were no phones, no mobile phones and he was to come back only after four days.

We used to sleep in the open courtyard which had barely 6’ high walls. Anybody could have jumped into the courtyard from the side which faced the forest. And the pecking order was first my father’s cot, then my mother’s cot, the next was my younger brother’s cot.  In the last was my cot. You see I was the oldest and could afford to be in the last. Some fearlessness expected from a five year old!

Meanwhile, the SHO and the Tehsildar reached and my mother instructed them to arrange a vehicle and escort Hari Ram to Jhansi railway station and put him in the train for Dehra Dun. Hari Ram tried his level best to not to go because he wanted to fire at the dacoits with my father’s 303 gun which he had seen lying at home but my mother stood like a rock and packed him off. A mother’s instinct to protect her children is definitely stronger than what can be comprehended by an ordinary person. 

That night in the courtyard, with 6’ high walls around, sleep was difficult to come by and I kept awake for I don’t know how long. This happened night after night, every night for four nights. 

When my father returned after four days and heard the entire episode, he was absolutely cool about it and said, “Why did you send him away? Nobody would have dared to come here. This is MY house.”

The shine in my eyes returned and they glistened with confidence. I felt absolutely secure once again, comfortable in the knowledge that I was absolutely safe in this citadel of my father’s domain and that nothing could ever happen to me so long as he was around.

*****

At times now, I shudder to think of what would have been our fate if my father had not failed in his judgement that afternoon. He would have definitely got into an encounter with the dacoits and perhaps I would not have been sitting here punching away the keys of my laptop. 

TRAVELLING AIR INDIA

The cost of air ticket from New Delhi to Cedar Rapids by Air India was not the cheapest option but I still decided to buy it because this was the only airline which had a direct non-stop flight to Chicago. I logged on to www.expedia.co.in and booked the flight for our ensuing visit to USA. Aisle seats selected after carefully going through the layout of the carrier on www.seatguru.com, payment made by credit card and print out of the itinerary taken, I even verified the details from the Air India site and took the printout of the e-ticket. Now I was armed with all the details, ie, the e-ticket number, PNR number and the web reference number. Hurrah, I am now all set to go to USA, I thought.

AIR INDIA PILOTS STRIKE WORK: A few months passed and as the date of departure was approaching, Air India pilots went on strike. I did not bother. They are used to going on strike at the drop of a hat and this being their fifth strike during the year will also pass off in a few days, I consoled myself. Days passed and so did weeks, but there were no signs of the strike being called off.

CANCELLATION OF TICKETS COSTS TOO MUCH: I considered cancelling my ticket and buying a fresh one from another airline but I was told that Air India has not cancelled its flight and will, therefore,  charge Rs. 10,000 per ticket as cancellation charges if a passenger cancels it. Moreover, the cost of the ticket in other airlines had already gone up now as the date of travel was just about a week ahead. I had no choice but to stick to Air India like an old faithful.

INABILITY OF AIR-INDIA TO SEND E-MAIL: A week ahead of the scheduled departure, I managed to get the toll-free number of Air India and miraculously managed to talk to a Customer Care Representative too.

“Is the flight to Chicago going as scheduled?” I asked her.

“Yes, it is going but it has been clubbed with flight no. AI XXX and will now stopover in Frankfurt for two hours”, she informed.

“In that case, it will reach Chicago  two hours later and even if it is not late, I may not be able to catch my next flight as emigration formalities will take place in Chicago and I will have to take delivery of my luggage and redeposit it,” I was alarmed.

“Please hold the line,” the Customer Care Executive put me on hold subjecting me to non-stop music for the next 15 minutes.

After fifteen minutes which felt like more than an hour, she got back and announced, “I have changed your flight from Chicago to Cedar Rapids. Now instead of 11.30am flight you are now booked for 14.45 hrs flight. Is that alright?”

“Ok. That sounds good. Can you now send me a fresh ticket by e-mail, please?” I asked.

“No. But that is not possible and why do you need it?”

“Surely, for showing on the counter at Chicago,” I said.

“No. That’s not required. You just go there and they will do the needful. You don’t require any paper ticket,” she was absolutely firm.

I still insisted, “What will I do there at Chicago Airport if they do not listen to me?”

“I don’t have the facility to send you any e-ticket,” and she hung up the phone.

A few hours later, I decided to check on the web-site of United Airlines the particulars of my new travel schedule and to my great satisfaction, our names were appearing there. “God bless her,” I muttered under the breath and took the print-out of the new ticket also. Needless to say, I was mighty pleased with my achievement.

MANIPULATION OF WEB CHECKED IN SEATS:  On the designated date, when we reached the Air India counter and Ms Monika Singh, the Assistant issued us the Boarding passes, I was astonished to see the seat numbers as 44G & 44H. But I have already web-checked in and my numbers are 20 E & 20F. Ms Monika Singh would not listen. According to her, the seat had already been given to one Mr Bhandari. “The web check-in is only a suggestive process and it does not ensure that you will get that seat only,” she tried to explain but I refused to accept this logic. I also refused to accept seats in row number 44 as it is very close to the lavatories. When I demanded to see the Supervisor and there was none over there, she agreed to change my seats to row no 13. Although this row has Baby bassinets, I agreed to take these under protest preferring babies cries over foul smells of the lavatories. Anyway, what options did I have?

ISSUE OF WRONG BOARDING CARDS: Soon after leaving the counter, we realised that one of the Boarding Cards had been issued in the name of one Jaikri Bhandari and not in my husband’s name. Oh my God, we again rushed to the counter to obtain a fresh Boarding pass.

CHANGE IN THE TIME OF DEPARTURE WITHOUT NOTICE: The aircraft was scheduled to take off at 1.05am but everywhere it showed ETD as 2pm and finally it took off at 2.45pm. These are small issues and should not be allowed to spoil my mood, I told myself. In the aircraft, I located the irritant Mr Bhandari who had a fixed sly smile on his face all through. During the flight, I kept wondering who he was and why was he given such a preferential treatment.

AIR INDIA’S INEFFICIENCY FOLLOWS ME TO CHICAGO TOO: Embroiled in my thoughts, soon we reached Frankfurt and then Chicago. Immigration process over, luggage collected and re-deposited for Cedar Rapids, we stood in front of the United Airlines counter to collect our Boarding card. And a new tale of woes started here.

“What is your ticket number?” the girl on the counter demanded.

I gave her the e-ticket no, the web reference no, the PNR no., but she became more and terse. “What is your ticket number? I don’t have any booking for you,” she was rude to say the least.

“But I have booked on this airline only”, I was panicky and cursed the Air India Call Centre girl under my breath.

“What do I do now?” I tried to be as polite as possible.

“Go back to Air India…Next please!” she simply dismissed me.

I looked around for the Air India counter and approached them with the problem. She looked around, tapped some keys on her computer and gave me a printout containing the Ticket number, encircled it for the convenience of all and handed it over to me explaining that Air India in Delhi had not carried out all the changes while changing the flights on phone.

I rushed back to United Airlines counter who finally gave me the boarding pass. “Thank God!” I said and grabbed the cards.

AIR INDIA STILL STINGS: Once again at the UA boarding point, as the girl on the entry point swiped the boarding pass, her computer made one shrieking sound and she asked us to fall out of the queue. Later, after all the passengers had boarded the aircraft, she shouted brusquely, “Who sent you here? You are not on our list of passengers.” It was time for me to lose my cool now. I almost barked back at her, “What do you mean, who sent me here? I have a valid ticket and I am a valid passenger. Here! Look at it. How would I have got the Boarding pass if I didn’t have the ticket?” She looked at me defiantly, but I stared back and then she blinked and started tapping on her computer keys, did some jugglery here and there and gave me clearance to go in and board the plane. In the melee’, she forgot to give me the card for carrying the hand-baggage in the aircraft.

Once again, as we approached the entrance to the plane, the attendant started asking for the ticket, “Where is the ticket? You don’t have the ticket.” I was getting exasperated now. “Now, which ticket?” I said. We were the last passengers with real fears that we may not be able to board the plane. At this time, the beautiful air-hostess of United Airlines, waved her hand like a magic wand at the porter and beckoned us to walk in with a smile.

Hers was the sweetest smile I had ever seen during my entire journey from New Delhi to Cedar Rapids. Somebody has rightly said, all is well that ends well.

(Based on real life experience)

For my TRAVELOGUES, please visit my dedicated blog on travels http://globalhindustani.blogspot.in

THE CIRCLE IS COMPLETE

We reached USA two days ago to be with our younger son and daughter-in-law and today was our first day alone in the house as they left for work. 

Yesterday, as I was planning to get on the treadmill for my daily work-out, my son asked me, "You know how to switch it on? I will tell you. Here is the switch.This is speed control and this is incline control. Now do it in front of me."

"Ok," I said obediently and followed his instructions meticulously.

In the evening, as I was going out on the deck, he called out from the other end, "Wear your chappals Mom before you step out. The wood may hurt your feet."

This morning, while leaving for office, he suddenly came back from the garage to hand me over the duplicate key of the house, "Keep this key to the house on your person, just in case you get locked out of the house or have to go somewhere..."

He turned to go but came back again, "You know how to switch on the TV?"

"I know how to do it," I said but he still explained all the steps and left saying, "In case you have any problem, just ping me on gmail."

"Ok", I said and he left.

He left only to turn back again.

"I think one of us will leave our mobile with you. Here, keep this one," and explained the modus operandi of his highly sophisticated mobile phone.

"OK. Now you go. You are getting late for office," the mother in me was worried about his being delayed to office.

After an hour, the phone rang.

"What's up?"

"Just finished our breakfast," I replied.

"Why so late? What were you doing?"

"Dad was removing weeds from the lawn and I was trying to organize your garage," I said with a glint in my eyes. 

"Oh! Why are you doing all this without telling me? Did he wear gloves while doing so? He could be hurt by the thorns in the weeds. And you shouldn't  do all this  cleaning up. There are pieces of broken glass lying over there. You could have got hurt. At least you should have told me before doing this."

"Oh, Baby nothing of the sort has happened. Don't you worry!"

And saying this, I felt immensely touched with his concern for us and my eyes became moist with love for my son. It seems like yesterday only when I used  these very words when he was small and I used to go to work leaving  him behind giving instructions and cautioning him about various things. 

The time has flown past so quickly and my little boy has grown up. The love, care and concern was so amply clear in his words and actions. I quietly wiped the tears of joy from my eyes and whispered a prayer for him. 

The circle seems to have been complete. 

                               *****

THE POWER OF FRIENDS

A Red Rose For Friendship

My nephew, a young man just out of the Engineering College, recently moved to Pune to join his first job. Passionate about playing soccer, he could not keep himself off soccer there too. 

Two weeks ago, while playing soccer in a nearby park at night, he chased the football to a corner and while retrieving it from behind the bushes, leaned over an electric pole. Shock of shocks... The pole had live current. He did not get a shock, he simply got stuck on the electric pole. The more he tried to pull himself, the more he got stuck to it.

There is nothing like a good friend.

Hats off to his friends who immediately noticed this and came to his rescue. They tried to pull him off but were thrown off by the strong electric current. But they did not give up. Without caring for their own lives, they put their mite together and managed to pull him out of a situation which was heading towards being fatal in a few seconds. A few burns on the hands, some body muscles in spasm but the power of friendship once again proved that there is nothing like good friends!

The local residents later shared that this pole has been having electric current for a long time and it was public knowledge. 
What are the civic authorities doing? Is anybody accountable? Nobody knows.
What I know is that there is nothing like a good friend! 

(A real-life incident)
                                           
                               *****

IS ANYBODY ACCOUNTABLE?

A young man in his 40s, a dynamic officer in one of the largest PSUs had come to Delhi on posting just a few days ago and was staying in one of the company Guest Houses. To cut down on commuting time, he decided to shift to another Guest House which was closer to his office. After settling down in the new Guest House on the very first day of his arrival, he got into his casuals, told the caretaker to keep the dinner ready and went out for a walk.

The next day morning when the driver of his official car came, he kept calling him on his mobile only to realise a short while later that the phone, which was going on ringing, was lying in an empty room. The matter of his missing was reported to the police who informed that they had no information except that a dead body was brought to them. The body was that of this young officer. As he had no wallet on his person nor any mobile phone with him, nobody knew who to contact.

He had gone for a walk in a nearby park which happened to have an open man-hole and accidentally fell into it and hit his head while falling. As his hand was still sticking out, some passers-by noticed him and managed to pull him out of the manhole. He was still breathing and was rushed to a nearby hospital where he was declared “Brought Dead.”

The Police did not lodge a FIR as nobody had lodged a complaint. They even told the media that he was drunk and was talking on his mobile while walking. Later being told that his mobile was lying in the Guest House and that he was a strict tee-totaller, they were quick to retrieve their statement. Quite Interesting! 

Nowhere in the entire episode, was any responsibility attributed to the civic authorities who had laid this death-trap for this man who was extinguished in the prime of his life due to the negligence and neglect of duty by someone.

A man has lost his life, a wife has lost her husband, children have lost their father and the parents have lost their son…an organisation has lost a capable officer.

Is anybody accountable?

(A real-life incident)

                                                     *****

MY FATHER MR. RC SHARMA : EARLY YEARS OF STRUGGLE

My father Mr R.C. Sharma

SCENE 1 (YEAR 1934)

“B..A..N…..Ban,” the teacher in the village school was teaching English to the students of Class V.

“B..A..N…..Ban,” the students repeated.

“M..A..N…..Man,” the teacher spoke loudly.

“M..A..N…..Man,” the students followed in a sing-song voice.

“C..A..N…..San,” the teacher again announced.

“No. C…A…N is not San…It is Can…CAN,” the class was interrupted by the loud voice of a frail woman who had just walked into the classroom to hand over lunch to one of the students who had forgotten it at home.

The teacher was indignant and shouted, “ C..A..N is San, not Can. Do you know better than me?”

“Yes..Of course, I do know. My elder son is studying in the city. I have heard him saying C..A..N Can, not San,” she retorted without any hesitation.

The teacher felt even more humiliated and almost shouting at the top of his voice said, “Then you take away your son from this school. I’ll not teach him. Take him to your city school. There is no place for him here. Take him away…Right now,” he grabbed the boy by his arm and pushed him towards the woman. The child almost lost his balance but the woman held him midway and saved him from falling.

The frail woman was bold and fearless. She stood straight, “Yes, yes! I also don’t want my son to sit here in this school and learn wrong things from a fool like you, Master. Come with me, son”, and she walked away from the school holding the tiny hand of a nine year old scared boy.

*****

SCENE 2 (YEAR 1934)

Two months later, a small boy with closely cropped hair and silver rings in his ears feeling very conscious was sitting in the last row of the classroom in a Govt. School in the city of Saharanpur in western Uttar Pradesh.

“Look at him. He looks like a scared mouse... Ha..ha..ha”, said one of the fat affluent looking boys of the class.

“Mouse? Yes..yes.. mouse… Let us drag him by his tail,” said another trying to grab his choti (a bunch of hair on the head of Hindus) as the third one actually moved towards him to enjoy the fun of pulling his hair. All the other boys in the class watched the fun and giggled.

The little boy was scared to his bones but fortunately for him the Maths teacher walked into the class at that very moment and the bullies retreated to their respective desks. After the attendance, the teacher opened his bag and took out the monthly test notebooks. In his tough strong voice, he said, “Ram Chander?”

“Yes, Sir,” as he stood up, his legs were shaking with fear.

“This is your note-book, Oye Murkiwale (the one who is wearing earrings)?,” the teacher’s tone was stern as usual and the boy was gripped with fear.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied in a shaky voice still going weak on his knees fearing the worst.

“Come here in front,” the teacher commanded in a thunderous voice and a chill went down his spine as the little boy very hesitatingly moved towards the teacher who in the mean time again roared, “Hasn’t your mother given you any food today? Move fast!”

As the little boy quickened his pace and moved towards the teacher fearing caning on his palms, the teacher came forward, caught hold of his trembling shoulders and turned him towards the class. With his hands still on the boy’s shoulders, he addressed the class, “He is the only boy in the class who has scored ten out of ten in the test. Well done, my boy!” 

He patted his back.

Next, the teacher announced looking at the three-some on the last bench, “Oye Fatso! Oye Blackie! Oye Fox-Face! All three of you come here. You rascals, don’t you study at all. All of you are a blot on my class, getting big zeroes in Maths. Come here fast,” the teacher’s tone was as brusque as it could be.

What followed after this, the meek little boy had never imagined even in his wildest dreams. The teacher handed him over his cane and asked him to lash the three boys, who were torturing him a few moments away. “Cane them on each palm five times, one each for one mark lost. As the little boy was scared and hesitated to comply, the teacher yelled again, “Do as I am telling you or you get the caning.”

Whoosh…whoosh…whoosh…the sound of the cane resonated thirty times in the classroom for the next three minutes.

Then on, the young boy became the uncrowned King of the class.

*****

SCENE 3 (YEAR 1940)

A small room in Dehra Dun near Mata-ka-Bagh. Two small cots placed side by side. A wooden plank kept in the middle joining the two cots. A kerosene lantern placed precariously on the plank providing light to both. Two youngsters aged 14 and 26 sitting in their respective cots and pouring over their books. The younger one is studying for his matriculation. 

Exams are on the anvil. The lantern is flickering.

“Go off to sleep now. The lantern is flickering. It is running out of kerosene,” the elder of the two said.

“But I have not finished my revision,” the younger one replied.

“Why don’t you understand? There is no kerosene in the house now. I’ll buy some for tomorrow if I get my tuition fees. Put away your books and go off to sleep. I will also sleep now.”

The flame flickered one last time and it was pitch dark in the room, kerosene fumes filling the room. The elder one pushed his books onto the floor and stretched himself on the cot.

The younger one picked up his books and quietly slipped out of the room. Next moment, he was perched on a tree trunk lying on the roadside under the lamp post. The study session had continued uninterrupted.

*****

I have to carve my destiny

SCENE IV (YEAR 1942)

“Your Inter result has come. It is time you start looking up for a job. I’ll speak to someone and you can easily get a clerical job somewhere.”

“No Bro! I don’t want to work, I want to study further.”

“I can’t afford your fees. It is better that you start earning now.”

“But I have topped in the Board exams. I’m sure some college will condone my fees”, there were traces of a new found confidence in his voice.

He took a train and reached Cawnpore (now Kanpur) and met Dr. Kalka Prasad Bhatnagar, the then Principal of DAV College, Kanpur. Seeing his mark-sheets of High School and Intermediate, he was given admission in the College with tuition fees, hostel - boarding & lodging expenses fully condoned.

This is the time to prove. This is the time to make big in life. This is the time to break the shackles of poverty and come out. This is an opportunity for laying foundations of a meaningful, satisfying and rewarding life ahead.

*****

In DAV College, Kanpur (1946)
Seated on the left. 

SCENE V (Year 1946)

January 1946. Examinations for MA (Economics) are scheduled to start in April. The lecturers are trying to finish the course at a frantic pace. There are extra classes every day. The principal Dr. KP Bhatnagar is a hard task-master. He would not let go of any lecturer if the course is not finished on time or if the performance of the college students is not up to the mark. It is a question of his personal prestige. He is aiming to be the Vice- Chancellor of Agra University, the biggest University in northern India shortly. The atmosphere in the college is charged with hard-work and anxiety.

And suddenly, he is suffering from high fever. The diagnosis is typhoid. This miyadi bukhar (fever with a minimum specific time-frame) will take at least 21 days to go. No grain is allowed to be eaten during this period. Fruits, he can’t afford. All this would be followed by crippling weakness for days on.

The fever has come down but he is still very weak. But he has no option but to get out of the bed as early as possible. It’s a question of “Do or Die”. He pulls himself out and goes for his bath but weakness overpowers him. He faints in the toilet. His room-mate manages to assist him back to the room. He is trying to convalesce as quickly as possible. 

One evening, the roommate enters the room and announces with concern, “Ramchoo! Wo saale sab bahut khush ho rahein hain (Those fellows are feeling very happy.) They are saying that now that you have become so weak and would not be able to study, their friend will top in the exams.” He sits up in his bed, “Jaa ke bol de un saalon ko, top to main hee karoonga.” (Go and tell those fellows that I will be the one who will top in the exam.)

Study....study....and study...The focus is clear.

Next few months, his focus is even sharper. He does not know when the sun rises and when it sets. The books are his world. Reading, assimilating and reproducing as notes is the only activity he is aware of. The room-mate provides him all the moral support and keeps him pepped up. In turn, he would read his laboriously prepared notes when he went off to catch up on his sleep. 

Time flies away like leaves on a stormy summer afternoon. The exams come and go. The result is announced. 

He stands tall amongst the successful candidates holding first division and first position in the University.

Thus ended the first phase of his life bringing him to the threshold of a new and bright world with hope, expectations and cheer as his companions.

*****

Taking the salute on Independence Day
 as City Magistrate,
Bulandshahr (UP) in 1959

25^thApril, He was born this day in the year 1926. Yes, today is his birth anniversary. Had he been alive, he would have turned 86 today. Although he has left his physical form, he is still alive in all of us, his children, who treat him as the source of light in our lives. He is also alive in the hearts of all those who came in contact with him, the poor, the needy and the downtrodden and the people who worked with him.

He lived for his ideals. He lived for justice. He lived for righteousness and honesty. Even after his demise 15 years ago, his ideals are alive in us, his children and continue to lead us. 

May we and our future generations continue to be inspired by you and your ideals, dear Father!

(This is not the end. More about his life and achievements later in my blogs……)

HAVELOCK ISLAND (ANDAMAN & NICOBAR), INDIA - TRAVELOGUE

Havelock Island

Havelock Island, no doubt, is Andaman & Nicobar Islands’ most sought-after destination. This is an island with the best beaches in Asia, the only island where foreign tourists are allowed to stay overnight and a place which must not be missed at any cost. We purposely planned our visit to this island to the last day so that we could end our trip to this beautiful part of our country with the best memories still lingering in our minds.

Crystal clear water, white beach.

And yes, it did happen like that! This turned out to be a fantastic visit not only in terms of the travel to the island and in enjoying its beauty but also in terms of getting a strong tan and sun-burns despite profuse use of sun-blockers. Yes, the memories lasted quite long with skin still peeling off. Well….well…well! That was only in lighter vein. The fact is that this was actually a fabulous visit.  

Cool feel of waves

While planning for the visit to this island, we were told that the tickets for the cruise have to be booked in advance. So we went to the office of “Makruzz”, a company which runs a stylish catamaran to ferry passengers to this island. This is supposed to be the best and the fastest vessel in the island which starts daily from the Phoenix Bay Jetty in the morning.

There were three types of return tariffs for the cruise, Royal (Rs. 2200 pax), Deluxe ( Rs. 1600 pax) and Premium (Rs. 1400 pax). The lower cabin was supposed to be having “No View” of the sea,   second one was on the upper deck with a view and yet another one, the best in the cruise with great view etc.  Thinking that we are going to the best place during our visit, to the best beach and by the best vessel, we decided to pamper ourselves and booked the top of the line class only to realise later that we would have been equally well off in the Deluxe Class too. Anyway, no regrets!!!

We board the bus for the jetty

For the cruise, we were required to report at a particular point from where a bus would take us to the Phoenix Bay Jetty. We reached there at 8am sharp, to be taken to the jetty office by bus which was barely five minutes’ walk. Then there was a proper check-in process, almost like a visa and passport kind of thing. A systematic queue thereafter and we were ushered in and taken to our exclusive Royal Class.

Makruzz Vessel

For the first time in the islands we experienced a vessel which was of almost international standards. The vessel was 37m long and had good interiors unlike what we had been experiencing so far in the boats and indigenous vessels. It was air-conditioned and had a public announcement system, a utility shop and food and beverages on board. The display of safety equipment available in the vessel was quite comforting for non-swimmers like us.

Once seated comfortably, the concierge came to check about our beverages and snacks. Only then did we realise that they give only pre-mixed extra sweet tea/coffee. Both of us being off sugar just cannot relish the taste of sweet tea anymore. So we enjoyed the potato chips and a hot samosa. We had an exclusive cabin for four and since no-one was foolish enough to part with extra money as we did, we were the only two passengers in the cabin. But even privacy was at stake what with other passengers barging in frequently to have a look at it or to take photos from there, only to be pushed out by the security chaps time and again creating avoidable bad blood.

At Vijay Nagar Beach

After about an hour, vessel Makruzz reached Havelock Island. That it is beautiful, there is no doubt about it. We just loafed around the place to get a hang of it and enjoying  tender coconut water. By the time we decided to proceed further, all the cabs had disappeared. Most people had perhaps already booked one in advance. And when we started looking around, only three-wheelers were available, an option which I turned down forcefully. 

The beautiful tall trees adorn the sea-side.

We realised that in the limited time available to us, we had to visit Hathi Tapoo (Elephant Beach), Vijay Nagar Beach and Radha Nagar beach, one of the 7 best beaches of Asia. With great difficulty, we managed to find out a cab which agreed to take us to Radha Nagar beach via Vijay Nagar Beach at exorbitant rates. There was not enough time to go to Hathi Tapoo which is known for scuba diving and snorkelling. So in our wisdom that we are any way not going in for snorkelling and scuba diving, we decided to give it a go by and opted for Vijay Nagar beach which turned out to be a disappointment. There was only one family and the beach was dirty to say the least.

Are we in India or in Bahamas?

This disappointment with Vijay Nagar beach was more than made up as we reached Radha Nagar Beach navigating app. 10 kms of narrow road meandering through thick green forests enveloping both sides. Wow! What a place! Unusually tall lush green trees, pristine white beach, azure blue sky, turquoise water changing to emerald green in the distance, the experience was a real treat to our eyes. It left us absolutely awestruck. Are we in India or in Bahamas?

It all feels like a dream now....

The firang bikini babes trying to get a tan as quickly as possible on one side and hordes of Indians diving away in deep blue waters unmindful of the tanning effect on the other side, it was a study in contrast, the only common bond being that each one was happy doing what s/he was doing. So we also decided to do what we could do best and took a lot of photographs of the beach and the sea waves.

Helping Kingfisher to come out of red..:-)

Soon it was time to leave and have our lunch somewhere before we board the catamaran at 3pm. We chose to go to “Sea Shell” and had a delicious lunch preceded by fish tikka and beer. Sitting under the canopy made of bamboo and palm leaves with warm sea breeze touching us softly, we did not want the lunch to end. But as is the wont, all good things have to come to an end and we had no choice but to get up.

sHe sEllS sEa shEllS oN tHe SeA sHoRe :-)

Before leaving Sea-Shell, we decided to take a stroll around the hotel and were once again enamoured by the beauty, the peace, the tranquillity of the place. Sitting by the beach after a sumptuous lunch and experiencing the sound of waves and cool sea breeze was an unprecedented feeling. How we wished that we had planned to stay at least over-night in this place. But as it was getting late for our return journey, we had no option but to leave the place with the resolve to return here with a few days’ stay factored in our visit. Any takers to accompany us? 

Bye bye SeaShell...we'll come again.


For more TRAVELOGUES, please visit my dedicated blog on travels http://globalhindustani.blogspot.in