Ramchandran Sahib

My first job was in Ramgarh, a subsidiary of SAIL manufacturing firebricks. It was an old defunct factory privately owned, stripped of assets by the owners eventually nationalized by the government to run by SAIL. It was located in a place called Ranchi Road because it was the nearest rail head about 40 km from Ranchi. Ramgarh was only some 5 Km away towards Ranchi, a cantonment town housing the Sikh Regiment. It used to be a beautiful wooded place. Back then sparsely populated, idyllic, lush with slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year and when yellow briefly in Fall, the place seemed like on fire. There were seven-eight little bungalows near the factory premises where entrenched officers lived. A little away from the noise and bustle of the factory, amidst the woods, was a large Guest House where, we the young engineers, were provided accommodation.  This far in time it looks so endearing and romantic but while I was there it was humdrum home nothing more. Since it was firebricks plant therefore it raised copious dust of powdered silica sand, China clay and other motley fireclays used for making high temperature resistant bricks. A new dust catching plant was installed but it not very effective. Workers were used to living in dust while we sat in our cabins only occasionally wading out to check on machines. I was part of a new batch of seven- eight raw engineers who had joined the company. 

The climate here was moderate with frequent showers between hot summer days. This was tribal country although most permanent workers and staff were outsiders but most of the manual work was done by tribal women called Rezaa engaged through labour contractors. These women were strong, muscular and promiscuous.     

Ramchandran Sahib

Inscrutable Ramchandran was a fifty plus frail angry middle-aged man. Wore glasses over sunken eyes in his small head with thin grey hairs. He did not possess any educational degree but tons of experience in Kilns. He was the Kiln man, a no-nonsense specialist, even top brass was deferential, to him. The fellow was always busy. Ramchandran was a bachelor; after work hours kept to himself. Since he was a bachelor therefore lived among us but kept his distance. He would mostly remain in his room only come out for dinner and then back to his room.    

In his absence a couple us, in particular Umakant Basing, who was adept in the art of pantomime, would mock him. U K Basing would make Ramchandran, Gabar Singh and in his typical south Indian style regale us with Sholay dialogues. On one occasion Ramchandran Sahib (we used to call him Ramchandran sahib) caught me in the Sholay parody act, I thought all hell will break but he merely looked hard at me and then a little trace of smile broke out in his face. Thereafter I thought he had a soft corner for me because everyday in the evening he would take a peg of Old Monk rum in his always shut room before getting down to mess for dinner. One day he called me aside and whispered, ‘Sharmaji, aap ko jab rum mangega, mere room men knock karengaa”.(Whenever you need rum, knock at my door) Not much was known about him or his family. He seemed be a man on his own. Many old fellows, who knew him from his past companies, told that he was always like that. 

So, life moved on. A couple of years passed by when one day suddenly there was some buzz about Ramchandran. While returning from the factory to Guest House after work, we saw a plump Rezaa( a tribal woman), may be in late thirties, sitting under a large tree outside the Guest house. We came to know that she had stationed there for past few hours, not talking to anyone. Later whispered gossip came to us that she is Ramchandran’s wife. Late at night after dinner we didn’t see her at her station under the tree, apparently Ramchandran had taken her to his room (he had a room for himself whereas two of us engineers shared a room). Next morning the woman was gone. Nobody had the courage to talk about it with Ramachandran. A few months later Ramchandran too left the company. 

Who knows, may be his location exposed to that woman meant she will be a frequent visitor, so he left. But that’s what gossiping folks would think, may be something else was the reason. 

    

The Baggage

It was a warm summer afternoon. Most of the village folks were having siesta, a few stray animals among them a robust vagabond bull and his side kick were listlessly grazing over dry pasture. As usual Kali Hawa was mulling over intractable problems of cosmos sitting under the Semal tree. A very dull day, not even a little breeze to allay boredom of the inert afternoon.

Just as Kali Hawa decided to wind up session at the Semal shade, he saw a well-built man heaving and puffing past his perch. Astonished, rishivar asked,

 Why are you carrying that strange man on your shoulder?

Surprised, he said, what are talking, there is no one I am carrying?

Then why are you heaving, dragging your feet along the path?

I am just tired?

Don’t you see the man you are carrying?

No.

You are carrying a ‘Vetaal’ on your shoulder?

Now that you mention, I do feel burden on my shoulder but I see nobody.

Hey, wait a minute I have spoken shouldn’t ‘Vetaal’ leave me alone and hang from that forsaken tree?

No, since you don’t see Vetraal, Vetaal doesn’t hear you either therefore he is hanging on there, making your life miserable.

How did Vetaal got on my shoulder.

Why don’t you understand, Vetaal is the baggage dumped on you by the traditions you inherited from your society, parents, and religion. You have to cast them off to get rid of Vetaal. You will feel very light.    

A Train Journey

 I booked ticket for home on an irregular train not the usual Rajdhani, nevertheless Rajdhani which takes a longer route through Itarsi to Bombay. My usual train takes me straight to Panvel, a stone’s throw distance from home but there were no berths available on it. This train terminates at VT Station from where I can catch a home bound local without climbing stairs, therefore the preference. This train is not as clean as the other Rajdhani trains and passengers are on a flux, coming and going at odd times. 

The train was not crowded, there was this trader kind of a middle-aged pugnacious fellow, a young lady with gorgeous mehndi done on her palms, looked very young but obviously married, kept talking on the phone mostly video calls and two self-absorbed young fellows on the aisle seats. This trader guy was also constantly on phone talking business, soon he slumped on the entire berth, leaving no space for others. He also parked a handbag on the small eating table in the middle of two lower berths, leaving no space to put your water bottle etc. Before, the train could commence journey another young girl arrived, she decided not to bother this rascal slumped on the entire lower berth, put her stuff on the top berth and promptly climbed and settled down there permanently. Having nothing to do, I pointed finger to the young lady by my side, “Very beautifully done.”

At first, she couldn’t understand, when I said the ‘mehndi’ she first took offence, thinking I am some kind of a molester, but later relented. Said, she had done it herself. Well, I complemented her on doing a fine job, when this trader guy also concurred with me, the lady relaxed. Soon, snacks arrived and I got opportunity to get at the trader fellow for which I was itching to engage (what riled me was his insensitivity to the young girl now stationed on upper berth). I said gruffly, would you put this handbag in some other place, showing my snack tray to him. 

Man, briefly waited for a moment, but eventually, took away the handbag from the table, one small victory for me. 

Then arrived the caterer supervisor asking, what kind of meal the passenger’s wanted. It is funny that when booking tickets, we mention our preference for meal, veg or non-veg, on website but they probably use that info for gross number of veg and non-veg meals. They always come to individual passenger to ask for their preference, so I said, ‘veg’. He asked, “Breakfast?”, I said, “Cutlets”. 

He said dismissively, ‘Sir, only poha, upma or omelet.’

I remembered the last time also I was conned into taking ‘poha’, so I really exploded, ‘What do you mean, I always take cutlets, who are you to change the menu?’

The man cowed down, left immediately. This show of aggression from me created an aura of bully for me. Everyone began to talk to me respectfully including the pugnacious trader. Luckily this guy disembarked at Gwalior station only tow hours later at about 8:30 PM, before dinner was served. One pest gone another set arrived. At Gwalior a family of a young couple with too kids arrived, one toddler and the other infant, barely a year apart in age. The lady next to me was itching to get her seat down though, said, ‘Uncle when you want to sleep, tell me’. Meanwhile there was much ruckus on the other berth across, the toddler was one hell of an active character knocking things all the time crying and demanding stuff from hapless young mother. Her husband oblivious to all the commotion sat like Buddha at the other end of the berth. After a ate my dinner, I went to wash hands, when I returned the young companion on my side had already downed the center berth. I too made bed and went to sleep, time was 9:30 PM. But no peace the ruckus continued unabated for a while. Lights were switched off and slowly peace dawned. 

These days the train attendants set the compartments at a lowest temperature setting because some jerk always comes to them complaining that AC isn’t cool enough. I find it very uncomfortable, probably most passengers are inconvenienced but they do not go out to complain. In the past, on a couple of occasions, I have sought out the attendant and forced him to lower the blower speed but now I carry a thick full sleeve T-Shirt which I put on over my regular T-Shirt. This compartment was also going cool full blast so I slept soundly until 4 AM, thereafter slept fitfully till morning tea arrived. The caterer guy saw me awake, promptly brought tea. I was still in bed at 7:45 simply because everybody else was also in bed, the caterer came to me and whispered, Sir, aap kahaan tak jayenge? 

‘Bombay’

Sir aap ka breakfast zara late ho jayega, Nasik men cutlets milenge.

Now, I realized why this guy was asking me where I will get off. By then I too was mollified so said cheerfully,

‘Forget cutlets, omelets le aao.’

He went away happily. 

At about 8:00 everyone was up, middle berths began to disappear and the obnoxious kid woke up, began raising hell. The young bride had her hands full tending to the 3-6 months old infant as well as the hyperactive toddler. Her husband, the stoic Buddha, earphone in year, remained rooted to his end of the berth oblivious to the ordeal being suffered by his wife. The young lady on sitting on my side with great mehndi in her palms, picked up the infant to the great relief of the young hapless wife. There was steel tumbler on the table between the berths half full with water, this kid knocked it down letting the water sill on the floor. I was getting restless with all this ruckus going around there, when the girl next to me said, ‘aap apna bag utha lo, giila ho raha hai.’

I realized that my shoulder bag was sitting right below the table where this kid had dropped the tumbler. I looked at him angrily with chilling stare without saying a word and picked up my bag, it was wet on base side. …..

At Nasik, this woman nudged her husband to get some milk for the kids. The Buddha, without saying a word, promptly got down to platform brought back two small bottles of scented milk. This made me thinking, this guy isn’t bad or indifferent or misogynic, he is just a creature of his environment, of the tradition and ethos of his society. In order to probe further I said, ‘Why don’t you take care of one the child, don’t you see how harassed your wife is?’  

Before he could say anything, his wife jumped in his defense, ’wo bahut help karte hain’

Now who is at fault? Difficult to say. Life is complex, you can judge yourself only, nobody else.   

Memoirs of Ramgarh

Hazaribagh used to be a laidback idyllic town full of slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year. Since the terrain in Jharkhand area is not plains therefore the landscape is an undulating symphony of geography. Sparsely populated, churning out little industrial output; it was like old days Dehradun or Poona, ideal for pensioners to settle down. Roads were lined both sides with green trees. The British built this town with care. Hazaribagh was only an hour’s drive through the jungle of motley trees in the most beautiful rising and falling valley. Even then, as a naïve young Kali Hawa, I used to be mesmerized by the beauty of the nature although the distraction was sitting in a rickety transport cramped full of people.     

Rai Sahib had his ancestral house in Hazaribagh. It was an old-fashioned house with a very large lawn surrounded by a high boundary wall. Lots of Saals and other tropical trees within the boundary. A distinguished family of judges and bureaucrats, Rai Sahib was the youngest among the brothers and also the least ranking in family. His wife was a chic, sophisticated but timid unhappy woman. Rai sahib was not a bully on the contrary, he had a disarming amiable nature and treated wife with due respect and civil manners, when not drunk. Even when he was drunk, he became unmanageable but never a bully or cad hurling abuses and descending to uncouth behavior. It was the exasperation and helplessness, the reason for her unhappiness.

Rai sahib was my boss, He was Dy. Manager, a position on the middle of a small company, where he was neither part of the management nor a full member of young engineer’s group which had joined the recently nationalized private firm. The firm was part of SAIL group engaged in manufacture of firebricks used in Steel Plants. The management was made up of ill-educated fellows who rose through ranks, very insecure and always suspicious but got lucky when the company was nationalized. Now they were suspicious of fresh engineers therefore kept a large distance, made us wait long before letting us in their office to assert their authority, a malicious display of insecure inferiority complex. I hope you get the general drift. Rai Shaib was also new to the firm, apparently, he was booted/transferred out of Bokaro Steel plant where he worked before messing up our lives; obviously due to his drunkenness. It must have been a very difficult job for Bokaro Steel plant to ease him out of the firm, given the fact that he came from a highly connected family and Bokaro had a very militant officer’s association and those were peak days socialism.

Initially Rai Sahib swung between the company of management (they were aware of his influential family therefore respectful to him) and us engineers. Since he had amiable nature and easy accessibility, he was quickly co-opted as our own. We used to have a drinking binge once every month sometimes in a fortnight in our mess. Some of the characters in our group were hard drinkers who could never be satisfied until dropped dead and carried to their rooms. It used to be funny as we will have our cook, a Bengali bloke, cook elaborate meal for us but we hardly touched the food. We always promised ourselves, no more hard drinking, we will eat the damn food this time but as the evening progressed this guy Ajit Bijapurkar(a Marathi guy who spoke flawless Bangla being a resident of this part and nearby Bengal for ages) would borrow a bike and another guy Umakant Basing (an Assamese) on pillion speed away to nearby market hub at Ranchi Road station, knock at some known seedy joint at 11 PM in the evening, get some whiskey at high premium and return. I also went pillion riding on a couple of occasions.      

So, we invited Rai Sahib to one of those binge parties, unaware of his alcoholic affliction. It was a bad idea to invite Rai Sahib to our party. It opened the floodgates. Rai Sahib was provided bachelor’s accommodation in the Guest House adjacent to our rooms (quarters as a Bihari would call), every Saturday or on the eve of holidays he would leave for Hazaribagh and come back on Monday. Once he became pally with us, he would get hold of one of us, remove from under his belt the ‘addhaa’ or ‘pavvaa’ tucked in there. He would not care if it was afternoon or the middle of the morning, get hold of a glass pour little whiskey in it and drink the rest from the bottle himself. Soon we began to avoid him but being a boss and fine gentleman otherwise, it was difficult to avoid him. Anyway, the guy was smart enough to find out when our party is (which invariable was on Saturday or a holiday eve, began to skip visit to home at Hazaribagh where his harassed wife lived. I don’t remember if he had any children, if he had they perhaps lived at some boarding school or at one of his brothers was taking care of them. I don’t remember seeing them at Hazaribagh.

It was Diwali perhaps or may be Puja (Durga Puja, just Puja in those parts) which is a big deal in Bihar just like Bengal, and brings in a connected 3-4 days of holidays. He forced upon us an invitation to visit him at Hazaribagh, stay put overnight. We dutifully arrived at his residence in the evening hoping to be firm and in control in deference to his wife whom we had  already met on a few occasions in the past. A la carte was laid out on the table, Mrs. Rai happy to see us but apprehensive of her husband turning the occasion into a disaster.

To cut a long story short, our firm resolve could not withstand the hurricane that was Rai sahib. In the end we slumped where ever we could find a place without touching the food. Next morning, very embarrassed and sorry for our behavior we fled from that home without taking breakfast for which a composed Mrs. Rai beseeched us.

I think within a couple of years, Rai Sahib left our company too, to join some contractor. I too moved away from Ramgarh. 

Is Hinduism Becoming A Religion?

Religion collectively is always a political grouping and its spirituality is an individual’s faith – Kali Hawa

I remember in sixties and seventies, that is when I became conscious of political and mundane world around me, Hinduism seemed like a big sponge, joined together with tiny strands; homogeneous in ways discolored at places in other ways but having no central core. It was indifferent, self-absorbed and tolerant to others who did not interfere in its system, inclusive in belief but isolationist in relation to castes and traditions. The binding was common festivals and pilgrim centers otherwise everyone listened to or cared about her/his own local guru/deity and traditions.  Back then any calander picture of deity was as important as the idol in temple. Mythology from Puranas and handed down traditions gave theological underpinning to spiritual quest whereas esoteric Vedantic doctrines were pursued by serious seers who had detached from the family life and the mundane world. It was not a political grouping purely a caste/region/ethnicity-based groupings held together by all-encompassing mythological umbrella of traditions. Since it offered no political leverage, it was ignored by all political parties whereas other religions which were political grouping were actively wooed.  

Early on there were a few political groups trying to usurp Hindu plank, thereby, trying to preempt political capital out of massive Hindu majority. But the masses were largely unimpressed and indifferent even though all political groups including the dominant Congress party, were hobnobbing with religious minorities. One reason probably was the track record of these radicalized outfits duringc the pre-independence period and the second was self-absorbed Hindu indifference and the confidence and sense of security that comes with massive majority. Some religiously avowed minority political outfits did get traction, the Akali in Punjab and Muslim League (IUML) in Kerala.  But religiously aligned Hindu groups remained on the fringe barring RSS which kept a low profile, had dedicated cadre but not the critical mass to make any dent. Hindu multitude viewed them with comic curiosity particularly for their funny uniform but they were growing quietly albeit at a pace as not to cause any alarm at political circles. It was like GM bosses dismissing Tesla engineers as ‘a bunch of engineers playing with laptop batteries.’ All this while the general discourse was still about socialism and secularism; meanwhile Congress broke in to parts engendering several political outfits all married to ‘samajwadi’ ideology one way or the other. In the Eighties after persistent failure of enterprises and inherent inefficiencies, socialism ideology began to decline, open market economy which was viewed disdainfully by the political class gradually began to find acceptance.   

Eighties were watershed years. A paradigm shift in politics and economy. Dhirubhai Ambani transformed the stock market, millions from working middleclass joined the stock markets until now preserve of a miniscule business community, booming technology and market changing from supply dictated to demand driven with the opening of Japanese based collaborations in bikes like TVS Suzuki, Hero-Honda and Yamha, Bajaj-Kawasaky etc. brought in defining change in the life style. Consumer items which were always unavailable or having long wait lists suddenly became available on demand. Final push came from telecom revolution brought in by Sam Pitroda. This was renaissance period in post-independence Indian. Not just business, politics too changed color dramatically due the ennui set in by years of tired /lackluster and unimaginative rule of Congress party. Several Regional parties rose in different parts of India and the beginning of the rise of OBC as a powerful pressure group. Politics of exclusivity and polarization began to solidify.

Mandal movement and its counter Ram Mandir movement are two defining milestones in India’s post-Independence politics. This was also the time when for the first time Hindu votes began to gel into vote banks in some pockets of India viz. Rajasthan, Gujarat, Delhi, Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh, similarly OBC vote bank’s consolidation began in UP and Bihar. During this time seeds of a core, a center of gravity began to emerge in the spongy Hindu mass. While the political face of RSS, BJP, was gaining strength, still keeping low profile yet exerting enormous influence through its umbrella organization like Bajrang dal, VHP and ABVP, RSS began to acquire critical mass quietly and the center of gravity of Hinduism. The idea of a non-formal power center has basis in perception. The core of a religion is its political seat in the garb of theology and threads holding it in the center of gravity are small but vociferous bands as enforcers. An individual reacts to situation on the basis of perception, a society reacts on basis of collective perception of its individual members. The perception of masses that RSS is the de facto central core of Hindu doctrine and has the ability to enforce its doctrine got accelerated push after Modi began in 2014. A religion has a core, whether a central doctrine or a seat that interprets and enforces the doctrine. In that sense Hindus were not adherent of a religion rather members of a humongous mass held together loosely by a set of books/traditions vaguely and at times in contradiction to each other. Now there is a seat in a position to dictate terms and rules of conduct. Hindus are therefore fast slipping into a regular religion.