IN THE BEGINNING

                                     IN THE BEGINNING

It all started , I am told, at around 8.45pm of  Thursday the 23rd of November 1944 in the modest district headquarters called Purnea in north Bihar. I was born! - to Kalyani and Siddhadev Chatterjee. I was to be the youngest of five children with a brother, three sisters and me , in that order.

A lot of people have asked me in subsequent years as to what my mother was doing in Purnea. Well, my mother was only accompanying my father and the children to where duty called him. And it called him to Purnea to discharge his functions as an officer of the Imperial Bank of India! Purnea was, and still is, the District Headquarters town. Its importance was strictly of the commercial kind, being rich in indigo plantations and paddy cultivation. In those years of wartime India it had nothing else to offer. But the Bank reckoned that one of its officers be present there to look after its interests in indigo and rice and so, voila! my father was posted there!

From what I have heard, my parents did not have a pleasant sojourn in Purnea. Firstly, it seems, the town was in a very primitive state with hardly any other civilized inhabitant on  view, let alone any schools or hospitals. Secondly, the place was infested with snakes and my mother could not take to the idea of cohabiting with these slithery and often venomous creatures, come night or day. Thirdly, my father had an unfortunate accident while out on an inspection tour. This resulted in a very badly broken ankle. The Bank wouldn't grant him leave to visit Calcutta to have the injury attended to and Purnea did not have the medical wherewithal for such emergencies. After struggling with pain and functioning from home for about one whole year, my father was finally given a leave of absence. So, finally, the broken ankle was attended to in Calcutta. But it left my father with a permanently troublesome foot!

Thus ended the forgettable chapter in my parents' lives. However, they always maintained that the inconveniences of Purnea were more than made up by the arrival of their youngest child!

I am told that all great stories must include several eventful flashbacks. I believe that it makes the writing appear more "professional", or at least, more impressive ! In deference to this golden rule let me not move ahead with the story but let me go back to tell you a little about us, the Chatterjees.

   

Somesh, a Bohemian from Barisal.

If you have referred to my blog of late you would have noticed that, on the 17th of October, I had written about our two-months' sojourn in North America in the months of July and August of this year. What I had not mentioned was the fact that my idyllic holiday in the balmy summer days in Ajax, Ontario, Canada had been stirred very violently by the arrival of a telling piece of bad news.

Much as I am loathe to remain "connected" during holidays, I did have to borrow my daughter's laptop on occasions to keep up with the Jones! Peer pressure, I suppose. At any rate, on one such occasion, I was shocked to learn from a mail from my dear friend Sudas that the inimitable, irrepressible and irreproachable Somesh of our youthful years, was no more!

This was shocking! I was dumb-struck with disbelief! Although Somesh had been ailing for many years now - he had not quite recovered fully from a cerebral attack of many years' standing - it was still inconceivable to me that he had gone, never to come back. I was overcome with a feeling of deep sadness, coupled with extreme remorse, at this terrible loss. I felt sad for obvious reasons. But I also felt remorse that I had not been able to stay as much in touch with him as I would have liked, despite my best intentions. And now it was too late to repair the damage! I can easily exonerate myself by saying that I live in New Delhi whereas he lived in Kolkata and hence the difficulty in keeping contact. But all that is hogwash in actual fact, isn't it?

After the initial crippling realisation, my mind meandered along the memory lanes and revisited the the years of almost half a century ago when Somesh came into my life, totally un-announced, and stayed put there like an obstinate limpet.

One day, in the winter of 1962 (I think) my college St. Xavier's played the annual cricket friendly with Presidency College on the latter's ground. Now, this annual match always drew a packed house for the simple reason that Presidency was one of only two or three colleges in Calcutta University which was co-educational. This was the cue for SXC boys to indulge in some wholesome bird-watching and, for the lucky few, may be score a hit or two ! Naturally, it was with alacrity that I accepted the invitation of my old school friend Sankar to spend the day in Presidency College, his college, ostensibly to cheer our team.

St. Xavier's College had an excellent cricket team those days. In contrast, Presidency, while being streets ahead in academics, was not that hot in sporting endeavours. On this particular day, as was to be expected, our team soon had Presidency in trouble while they were batting. At the fall of a wicket, I saw a boy walking in to bat and I turned round to Sankar and asked if this chap was a regular, because he didn't look as though he had ever held a cricket bat in his life. Shanks (that is what I had dubbed Sankar) said that this boy was not only a regular but was, apparently, quite good.

I kept my own council. This boy who was coming out to bat was of medium height, slight in built, wore glasses with a thick black frame, wore badly crumpled whites, and above all, the the buckle straps of his trousers were flapping in the breeze as he walked. His buckles were missing! On top of that he was chewing paan! Sacrilege! I remember I told Shanks that surely an "ABK" (ak baller khodder) was going to bat for his college!

Well. believe it or not, St. Xavier's lost that match and, to a great extent, the cause of the defeat was an immaculate and polished half-century from this boy in glasses! After the match, my childhood friend Jhunu introduced me to this amazing guy who was her classmate in History (Hons) and went by the name of Somesh Das Gupta.

This was the beginning of our relationship which grew steadily over the years till one day it had transformed into a reliable friendship. I remember that Jhunu had by then started seeing Robi (Mihir Deb) and was thus all wrapped up in her own affaire de couer. She was, therefore, not the catalyst of our friendship.  In fact, the next time I saw Somesh was quite some time later in Shanks's home - casually, of an evening. Shanks's home, above Amrita Bastralaya on Rash Behari Avenue near Gariahat, had become a sort of den where guys dropped in most evening for adda.

In the beginning, I found it a little difficult to relate to Somesh. I had labelled him in my mind as a typical product of Presidency College - a paan-chewing pseudo-intellectual with a superior air, with a penchant for dropping names of Greek philosophers, English poets and European musicians!. The fact that he played cricket was the extenuating circumstance, which made me grudgingly accept him in our group of largely St. Xavier's boys.

Much later, I realised with utter dismay that, in his turn, he considered most of us, and particularly me, to be the usual anglicised, English speaking, ill-read, vacuous, skirt-chasing snobs!

Well, we began on that rocky start and moved on to a level where we spent a lot of time together, both at our homes and away. Our friendship really took off only after both of us were in our post-graduate years. By then Somesh had inevitably become an integral part of our gang, started by Shanks and me and headquartered at The Den above Amrita Bastralaya.

I have mentioned earlier that Somesh used to study History and , therefore, had his masters classes in the Asutosh Building in the main Calcutta University campus. On the other hand, I was pursuing my MA in Economics . Our department was in the Emerald Bowers, some eight miles away. The famous College Street Coffee House thus became the place where we ran into each other on most days.

One of the first things that I discovered about Somesh was his unique sense of humour. In fact, this comic side of him was very endearing. Once, when I congratulated him for a match-winning innings he had played, he told me with a solemn face that it was not his fault!

 On another occasion, during a bus ride in which we were all crushed together on the footboard of the crowded bus he suddenly called out in a distorted voice " Sealdah Sealdah" when actually we had just reached the previous stop! Nobody noticed him saying this in the crowd. People assumed that it was the voice of the conductor! A whole lot of them pushed and shoved their way out of the bus in a hurry. Soon there was space and we promptly went inside and grabbed the vacant seats. Had we waited for Sealdah stop, our mission of grabbing seats may not have succeeded in the face of hordes of people who would have joined us in a huge rush!

Once my mother complimented him on  a new pair of shoes he was wearing. He promptly told her that he had procured it at Rs 5.00 a kilo!

Somesh was one person who had absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever. He fancied himself as a folk-singer of some talent (which he was not!) and would burst into song at the drop of a hat strumming an imaginary guitar!

 Once, four of us friends spent one month across Holi at my sister's place in Kalaikunda Air Force Station. My brother-in-law was in the IAF. On the day of Holi there was a big gathering of all officers and their families at the Officers' Mess. At my sister's insistance the four of us also joined the party. We chose to sit in one corner with young Flying Officer Subramaniam and enjoy his hospitality of the free flowing beer. The beer helped us to shelve our shyness to a great extent. Everyrhing was going on fine. The officers, wives and children were all having great fun.

Suddenly, the Station Commander suggested that we youngsters should also contribute by singing a song or two, maybe. At this, for Somesh to spring up and take centre-stage was the work of a moment. I suspect that he was a bit lit up by the beer. Nevertheless, there he was addressing the Station Commander directly to say that he was going to sing a Tagore song in the Beatles style. He called his fusion "Rabindrik Beatles!" And  there he was, stomping his feet, strumming that famous imaginary guitar, face distorted, belting out "aa aa aakash bhora, su u urjo tara......" at the top of his voice! And mind you, he provided the sounds of the guitar accompaniment too!

 Want to know what happened after he had finished? He got a thunderous applause from the gathering. The Station Commander even suggested that he give a repeat show on the next Mess Night! Mercifully we had to get back to Kolkata before this could come to fruition!

Once, some of us were taking a turn round the Dhakuria lakes when we spotted two girls sitting on a bench. I knew them to be sisters living across the street from us in Lake Gardens. Both of them were quite attractive and seemed to be of our age. Although we were neighbours, I had never actually met them. One of us suddenly had a brain wave (I forget who). Somesh was challenged to go and talk to the girls!

Like on that occasion in Kalaikunda Somesh was not the one to let grass grow under his feet. He was off in a flash and in no time, we saw him approach the bench, saw him saying something to the girls and soon was sitting down with them and chatting, looking quite comfortable! And to top it all, after ten minutes or so, they all got up together and started to walk away in the direction of Lake Gardens!

To say the least, I was alarmed. Should there be any unpleasantness (remember in the mid-60s Kolkata was not so liberal about "boy-meet-girl" in public) it would happen right in front of our house and my parents were quite likely to be a witness to it. And mind you, I  had the sneaking suspicion that I would have to  somehow take the rap because I was the youngster who lived opposite and Somesh was my friend!

We put our heads together and decided that the best thing would be to follow them and see what ensued. We did just that - and landed up in our street. We concluded that Somesh would see them off at their front door and try to join us again. But then Somesh was Somesh! To our horror we saw him go in with the girls through the front door which seemed to shut with a telltale bang! As far as we were concerned, that was that!

We went to our place, up to my bedroom and sat down to wait, always keeping an eye on that front door across the street. A lot of theorising went on amongst us as to what was taking place in the house opposite. Jams (the ininmitable) even went on to suggest that perhaps Somesh was receiving the pasting of his life from the girls' brothers right at that moment!

We were kept in suspense for the good part of an hour. Then we thought it best to go and investigate. So promptly Jams was nominated to go across the street and find out (he was the biggest amongst us after all!) When the two of them came back, much to our relief, Jams looked outraged while Somesh was quite unperturbed. In fact he kept waxing eloquent about the terrific shingara and cha that he had been offered and accepted with pleasure!

For all that, Somesh was an out and out extrovert. Sheer lack of inhibitions took him to places where we would have hesitated to venture into. And he was the eventual gainer. And, to be with him was always adventurous.

I cannot forget the bizzare week we once spent at his behest with a group of American "Project India" students. From attending charity events in the distant suburbs to attending inter-college fests (courtesy American University Centre) to hanging around with the bunch in their hotel in the Bohemian surrounds of Sudder Street!

And then there was the "Utopians". Since Calcutta University lacked any kind of compact and enclosed campus, it was very difficult for any student to interact with those of other colleges spread across the city. In order to try and solve this problem, a handful of us conceived this idea to form an association whose objective would be to bring the students of various colleges together on a regular basis. And, if I am not mistaken, the initial suggestion to name the group after Sir Thomas More's "Utopia", came from Somesh (or was it Ronen?). At any rate , Somesh became the first General Secretary of the Utopians.

His eccentric energy saw us organising a week-long Czech Film Festival, a similar Polish Film Festival and a series of inter-college exhibition debates within the first year itself. Most of us did the legwork, but it was Somesh who networked tirelessly with various Consulates, College Principals, media celebrities, the Police Department, Student Unions, etc to bring the "Utopians" considerable success and publicity. His "my dear fellow" kind of approach would invariably open many doors for us as a group.

Somesh was not just a fun guy. While on the one hand he was a good sportsman (cricket, table tennis) he was also well read, well versed in contemporary music and a true film buff! He even wrote poetry and had actually published a book of poems with the blessings of Prof Lal's Writers' Workshop. Add to that the fact that he was a good student and you pretty much have an all-rounder of considerable merit.

If he had a failing, it was a compelling desire to wear the sobriquet of "intellectual" on his sleeve. He did not have to. His multi-skills were evident to one and all. This was the reason that some guys would dub him a pseudo or "aantel" and give him a wide berth. I know, because I too had done that in the beginning. Luckily for me, I could see through the veneer of superiority he donned and discover the gem that lay deep inside.

Somesh was a guy who did not conform, for the sake of conforming. He had a mind of his own and knew what he wanted out of life. He pursued his own vocation in an age when competition was tough and jobs were hard to come by. Yes, he had to struggle a bit. He even sold hamburgers in New York to earn a living! But he came back and adopted the noblest of noble professions , that of a teacher. He was good at it, he loved it with a passion and he made a more-than-handsome living out of it. There was a time when he was financially far better off than the rest of us battling through corporate or government jobs. But one could never tell by interacting with him. That was Somesh.

As I reflect on this quirky ex-member of our gang and our association with him over the years, what readily comes  to mind is the undying images of those two characters Ramalingam and Sundar Kaka
who had regaled us over the years courtesy Somesh Das Gupta. That all his claims towards the absolute authenticity of his storie were complete balderdash, I never had any doubt! Yet their exploits never failed to make his audience roll over with laughter.

After all these years, I cannot remember every  story about them. But I do remember that Mister Ramalingam, along with some other people allegedly appeared at Fern Road ( where Somesh lived) at the crack of dawn one day to have their palms read by our friend - "Bhor belai shobey Forhans ti marisi, hatath chitkar, artonaad; dekhi Ramalingam in three-piece two piece suit with one piece tie, standing with fourteen madrassi couples with palms extended!"

On other occasions Mr. Ramalingam would wear Terylene shirts with Boroline pants! That is vintage Somesh for you once again! He was a master in this type nonsense humour.

Somesh always claimed that Sundar Kaka was one of his father's distant cousins.( He always referred to his father as Subodh as, indeed, he referred to my father as Sidhu and Shanks's father as Dhrubo!) Anyway, I always suspected that Sundar Kaka was a fictional one. This suspicion was reinforced by the fact I had never ever come across this mysterious uncle in my numerous visits to Fern Road!

Nevertheless, in no time, with considerable help from Somesh, Sundar Kaka had become widely known and popular amongst our friends and relatives. His travel tales were incredible! Who can forget his reaction to viewing Taj Mahal for the first time; "Taz on a moonlit night was a toussing sight from a passing train! Ki ze kabo. Money hoite silo zano akta raazbhog suspended in time!"

Or his recollection of Darjeeling: " lift er doroza khuila galo, aami hitkaiya bhitorey dhuklam. Tar por lift othey aami uthi, aami uthi lift othey! Hatath doroza abaar khuila galo. Aami hitkaiya sitkaiya gia porhtei dekhi, 14 peaks of Kansenzonga amaarey ditesey salute!"

I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that all these gems were cococted by Somesh himself. He did give us a first hand experience of his ability to speak non-stop nonsense on the night of Jams's wedding when he, single-handedly, kept us all awake throughout the night with his tales of M/S Ramalingam and Sundar Kaka.

Despite this pronounced streak of the jester in him, Somesh was a serious fellow. He was an equally serious school teacher, husband, friend and well wisher with a large-sized heart. The abiding image of him is that of a lively countenace racked by raucous laughter.

Yes, Somesh had become my friend. He is the one who got me to play cricket for CUPG Calcutta University Post Graduates) in the 'versity knockout. It was his efforts that enabled me to play for Dalhousie Athletic Club in the CAB 1st Division League and it was him who accompanied me on many Saturdays (1966-67) to Mallikpur to play friendlies in a village surrounding.

Again it was he who initiated me into the activities of the American University Center, although I was already a member.

And also, typically, it was he who took me to Loreto College and introduced me to several girls he had befriended!

And it was him who would often visit our home when I was not around, just to keep my aging parents company.

R.I.P. Somesh Das Gupta. You brought many a smile to many a face in this life. Hope you are smiling happily for ever and ever.

On The Move

Well, all that self-remonstration in my last post has not really worked, has it? Here I am, back on these pages, yes, but after 6 months!

When I wrote on 24th April, we had come back from a fortnight in Kolkata and were comfortably back into our domestic circuit for a while. But, hardly had we settled down, when our thoughts turned towards our 40th marriage anniversary. The 40th is always an important one (so say our friends and relatives!). We decided to celebrate in a special way. Travel!

We had received rave reviews of Angkor Vat in Cambodia from several friends. It was quite natural that we visited this idea more seriously this time. After that it was only a matter of logistics. So come mid-May and we were happily off,  armed with an attractive tour package designed by TUI. And oh yes! Since we were going all the way to Cambodia, how could we not refresh our memories of Thailand and Singapore? And so it was that we had a really wonderful fortnight of holidaying. Who can ever forget the awesome ruins of Angkor Vat?

Just about a month later, on the 5th of July, to be precise, we were off once again to distant shores. This time our destination was North America. We were already scheduled to visit Rupa in Canada. To this we added a ten-day trip to USA to cover , both, my nephew's daughter's wedding and a look-see at the Big Apple, Boston & Cambridge, etc. We spend a memorable two months in the balmy N. American summer before returning to base on the 29th of August.

What I meant to record is that, because of my absence from home for about two and a half months, my resolve to get on to the pages of my blog ASAP (made in April) has taken a knock.

But South-East Asia, North America and Kolkata are done and dusted. Chandigarh and Darjeeling are still about a month away. So, despite the attractions of Pujo and Diwali, I shall do my best to put in at least one more post before we push off once again.

Let us see what ensues!

I am back!

Yes indeed, I am back!

I admit that this has been a very long absence from my blog - over six months! I cannot think of any momentous reason for this hiatus. because there isn't any! Its just that I did not get down to putting my thoughts into words. Let me attribute it to my innate laziness.

The other day, my friend Ekta Singh rang up for a chat. I must say that she regularly does that, bless her!. While nattering over many things she happened to mention that she enormously enjoyed reading my blog (ahem!), especially the post on some hilarious moments from our years with Toshali Resorts International. It was most exciting to chew the cud and share a few laughs with Ekta over the memories. Also, I have to confess, I was secretly flattered when she praised my writing and narrative skills!

Anyway, this call from Ekta proved to be a much needed nudge to my mental ribs to shake me out of my state of stupor! The result? Well, here I am! I now hope that my "Reflections" will find more representations in the future!

I notice that my last piece was posted on the 22nd of September 2011. Since then, the political scenario has been replete with incidents, co-incidents and accidents that have been quite memorable. But all that is history and, undoubtedly, they have been discussed and debated threadbare in every forum. Therefore, I give to myself the privilege of opting out of commenting on them. A lot has happened in our personal lives since I penned that piece in lament over the loss of the irrplaceable Tiger Pataudi. Firstly, suddenly there was a deluge of classes to be taken in the Indian Retail School. That is the strange thing of being a member of a guest faculty. There could be periods when one is in limbo; and there could be times like Sept-Dec '11 when I had to take classes every other day. However, classes are always fun and I had an engrossing four months. Secondly, a decision to redevelop our house was finalised, no doubt precipitated by unforseen circumstances. This meant shifting out temporarily to another house, a transit home, as it were. Wow! Not having done this for 20 years -a period when all of us have grown 20 years older! - proved to be a back-breaking experience. Anyway, it had to be done and it was done. We moved out of C498 on the 13th of November. The house was handed over to the builders on the 31st of December. And on the 1st of January 2012, C498 went under the sledge hammer. Well, the work is going on steadily. The structure is up. All the details of the interior work now remain. This is the slow and tedious part.However, we hope that we shall be able to move back to C498 latest by mid-2013. Apart from this, the social world keeps on buzzing. Wheteher it is Durga Pujo or Diwali or the New Year, there is never any dearth of excuses to party! And so it was in the last quarter of 2011. Add to that the odd birthday or wedding anniversary and you get a calendar of continuous "hell-raising", if I may say so! In the midst of all this, Titir (Sohini) the beautiful daughter of my college pal Sudas Roy, got married in January this year. Sudas made sure that we spend the best part of ten days in Kolkata and participate in the non-stop activities that he had laid on for the occasion! From September '11 to March'12 we were also extremely privileged to have lots of friends and relations as house guests. To say the least, this not only ensured that we were totally absorbed in the welcome change from the routine of post-retirement life (Kumi also retired in Nov '11), but also it injected a great deal of excitement and fun into our days! It is a blessing to have such wonderful people around to seek and provide meaningful company. So, times have been hectic and busy. But now I hope to be more consistent in my interactions with "Reflections"! Till the next time then!

The Nawab from Oxford

Amongst our friends, during our college and univ days, the chief criteria for judging a guy' worth were i) whether he could converse in English - even more whether he could think in English - and ii)whether he played cricket! This apparent elitism was nothing but a product of our self-assigned snobbishness. It was our way of trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. And so it came to pass that cricket, and all it stood for, became a high point in our lives.

Into this world of fanatics, a young Oxford and Sussex player, and a Nawab to boot, stormed in with his elan and accomplishments in those early years of the 60s. The Nawab of Pataudi, much like his late father in 1946, was picked to play for India! The buzz around this happening was unbelievable, more so when, after appearing in only three or four tests, captaincy was thrust upon him in the midst of the West Indies tour of 1962.

At the "ripe old age" of 21 years, Pataudi with his immense promise of talent(despite a horrific car accident which made him blind in one eye at the age of 20) and his enigmatic persona with an aura of royalty around him, became the cynosure of all eyes. Not surprisingly, therefore, our band of friends made it a point to watch every test match at the Eden, during Pataudi's heydays,
i.e. the decade of the 60s. Only, 1969 onwards did I watch Pat and his team at the Feroze Shah Kotla having moved to North India by then.

I had been watching test cricket from 1956 when Ian Johnson's Australians stopped over in India on their way back home after an "ashes" battle in England (which they lost) to play a 3-test series. It was the familiar story of those days. We lost the rubber 2-0 after being bundled out on a turning track at the Eden Gardens by the Australian opening batsman Jim Burke!

In the rest of the decade we actually went to the test matches to watch all the greats from the visiting sides! Though we did have some Indian heroes, we were well programmed to expect only token competitiveness from them. A draw against other teams was a much coveted result. Those were the years when the likes of Ray Lindwall, Bill Johnston, Ron Archer, Roy Gilchrist, Wesley Hall, Ian MacKiff, Alan Davidson and Fazal Mahmood, etc, annihilated India with their raw pace, steep bounce and canny swing. And who can forget the epic innings of 256 by Rohan Kanhai in 57-58? Or the fantastic ability of the peerless Gary Sobers, whether batting, bowling or fielding? Or the glimpses of the greats Neil Harvey, Collie Smith or Hanif Mohammad?

Then came the 60s. In this scenario now entered the Nawab, a stripling 21, leading men rather long in the tooth in a cricketing perspective. The transformation was quick and palpable. Suddenly, The Indians started to field instead of merely escorting the ball to the boundary every time the batsman hit the ball into the gaps! The Nawab himself was breathtaking in his pursuit, pick-up and throw while fielding. No surprise then that soon there were the likes of "Panther" Borde, Abbas Ali Baig, Russi Surti and the "Tiger" himself patrolling the covers and the onside. Who can forget the phenomenal Eknath Solkar at short leg; or the sharp Venkat, Abid Ali and Wadekar in the leg trap? India had metamorphosed into a fielding unit that could give today's Australia or South Africa a run for their money! This was the Tiger's foremost contribution. Incidentally it was the nature of his fielding that had won him the sobriquet of tiger during his stint with Sussex.

This one-eyed wonder had, by now, completely captured our imagination. Although I did not get to see a really big innings from him at the Eden, it is difficult to erase from the mind the image of Pataudi repeatedly dancing down the track to loft Tony Lock over the straight field. This was heady stuff; never before seen in test cricket! I remember that in a later test at Feroze Shah Kotla in the same series Pat scored an unbeaten double hundred. This was such a rare occurrence in Indian cricket those days! Only Vinoo Mankad (twice) and Polly Umrigar had managed the feat against New Zealand in 1955. I remember I was glued to the radio as Pat approached the landmark. When he hit a four to jump from 199 to 203 it felt as though we were listening to a bit of history being made. It was exhilarating! The whole stadium must have erupted! However, my joy was somewhat spoilt by the fact that, at that historic moment, the Maharaja of Vizianagram was on air. Old Vizzy, as the potentate was more familiarly known, had gone into patriotic raptures congratulating practically everybody in the Pataudi lineage, failing completely to describe the action on the cricket ground!

Pataudi was a hero several times over for us youngsters. His electric fielding, his innovative stroke-play and his bold captaincy tickled the cricket ribs in us. We worshipped his in-born stylish mien. And his aura of royal sophistication was simply awesome! All in all, a heady mixture which turned us into instant, life-long fans of his. I believe, that Pataudi was responsible to convert the Indian cricket team from being the subject of derisive laughter to one which could hold its head high and look the the opponents squarely in the eye.

The people of Kolkata (then Calcutta) just loved him. Later on, this love was reinforced many times over when Tiger began wooing the Bengali girl Sharmila Tagore, a celebrity in her own right, firstly as a member of the great Tagore family and secondly as a film star of repute, introduced to the industry by no less than Satyajit Ray. What was thrilling for us was that, during match days, we did manage to catch glimpses of their courtship once in a while in and around the entertainment hub of the city!

But life was not always a bed of roses for the young nawab.The terrible crash that took away the sight from one eye must have been a crushing blow for the 20 year old cricket prodigy who had the world at his feet with his prodigious talent and promise.
Certainly, all his fans were crushed. But not for him to despair. Reportedly, he told himself that though he may have lost the use of one eye he had not lost his objective! Soon he was back playing cricket and the rest, to use a cliche, is history. His determination to be back proved to be phenomenal, mind-boggling! When asked at some point of time as to how he overcame, when batting, the double vision he suffered for a while, he calmly said that he had learnt to play the inside line of the two deliveries that he saw at a time!!

A highly accomplished cricketer,a popular & well-connected individual and a mature personality honed by the early loss of his father and a sudden induction into the India captaincy (the youngest at 21), should have made him a natural for running the business of cricket in India. But, no. The BCCI had no use for a man like him. Is it because he was above all pettiness; all shenanigans? Is it because he always played with a straight bat? I shall leave it to the readers to decide.

I was much taken to the brand of humour that Pataudi often displayed - pithy, snappy and tongue-in-the-cheek. He lived up to the Shakespearean adage that " brevity is the soul of wit". Despite being an erudite and highly gifted person, the Tiger chose to be self-effacing, and amazingly so. On the limited occasions that he appeared on TV or radio he remained the picture of mature dignity, once in a while coming out with his classic one-liners. Who can forget his pronouncement from the TV commentary box as India threw away a match from a winning position - "snatching defeat from the jaws of victory!" A lot of people say this nowadays but it is the Tiger himself, and nobody else, who is the author of this gem!

Tiger Pataudi is no more. In mourning for him, which I do deeply, I fervently hope that people do not debase the legend by resorting to statistics in remembering him. That would be a deep insult to a great cricketer, who did a lot for the game which nobody in India had done before and who, at the end of the day was a true pioneer and path-finder.

RIP, Pat.

Mumbai re-lived in capital city - almost!

Delhi, 9th September, 2011.

There is a common belief that bad things happen if one gets off on the wrong side of the bed! Well,it is irrelevant to me since I have been getting off on the same side of the bed for several decades - what being happily tied in wedlock and what not! Is it the right side? Is it the wrong side? Who cares? However, yesterday, for a fleeting moment, the thought did cross my mind that there may be something in that belief, after all!

The day dawned with copious amount of rainwater being precipitated from the heavens on to the hapless and unsuspecting people of Delhi. City rain, and its accompanying greyness, has always caste a pall of gloom on my mood. Yesterday was no exception! Added to this was the thought that I would have to make an early start(i.e. 07.30 hrs.), drive 13 kms in the rain and set foot on a squelchy, muddy car park of the Institute - thus spoiling both my Hush Puppies and the Institute's floor with equal facility! The gloom in my mood knew no bounds!

When trouble comes, it pours! This adage proved prophetic, for, no sooner was I informed on arrival at the Institute that there would be no class, the rain intensified and became a veritable cascade! A double whammy, if ever there was one! This was at a little after 8.30 am.

It was only by 9.30 or so that the deluge seemed to be easing off. By 10.00 the rainfall had come down to a mild shower. That is when I made my first mistake. Armed with an umbrella I set off for the car park. Straight away I sensed that things were much worse than it had appeared from the dry safety of the Institute's lounge. The "ground reality" ensured that I was immediately in shoe-deep water. The umbrella did manage to protect my half-bald top for a while, but did little else to help. In no time my shirt was drenched; my trousers were drenched and, in trying to get into the car, finally my head too got drenched! And it was in this state that, with a sense of dubious achievement at having made it to the car, I drove off.

I do not know if you have ever been to Nebh Sarai in outer Delhi, a part of the substantial expanse of rural habitat that Delhi has. There is a stretch of road 1.7 kms long which bridges the Badarpur-Mehrauli Road with the Institute. This road is a road by name only. Actually, 0.7 kms of it, towards the institute, have been concretised and broadened. The remaining 1km is a motorist's nightmare of the worst order. It is narrow. It is used by an amazing mix of transport vehicles from trucks, RTVs, cars(big and small), two-wheelers, push carts, rickshaws, bullock-carts, cycle-carts, etc. You name it - it plies there! The road also has no surface worth its name. Moreover, there are several even narrower roads which converge on this from both sides. Given the rustic habits of the drivers (whether of urban or rural pedigree!), coupled with the total absence of traffic lights or policemen, the area is a potpourri of the chaotic and the insane!

My second mistake was to drive off, as I did. Immediately, as though on cue, the rain started to intensify again. The concretised part of the road was not a problem. But the moment I hit the infamous stretch, I realised that I was in trouble. The traffic had piled up - and there was water everywhere. Now, this situation was not really new to me as I had faced such hurdles in previous years too! Although, things did not look encouraging, I had every hope of safely , though slowly, negotiating the stretch like in previous occasions.

As I inched forward, I noticed that some cars were turning around in search of other routes - of which I had not the faintest idea. The rain also gathered a little more momentum by now so that I had to keep the windows up. Inching forward on half-clutch I advanced about 50 yards in 15 minutes! It was a regular waterway out there in front of me! Where was the road? The water level was at the hub-cap level as evident from the other cars. Another 25 yards - and the snail-march came to a halt. And there I stood for 20 mins or so, unwilling to switch off the engine, cocooned in the car with totally frosted windows affording no view, except through the wind shield, which was kept partially clear by the metronomic whoosh- whoosh of the wipers. And then, suddenly, my worst fears were realised! Water started entering the car!

As I heard the dreaded lapping of the water, I was momentarily transported to another point of time when I had read horror stories of the plight of motorists caught in the catastrophic flooding of Mumbai in 2005. Believe it or not I broke out in a cold sweat. I was petrified! My brain stopped functioning. I could not decide as to the right course of action. I was alone in a water tank and slowly drowning. An there was no chance of anyone coming to my rescue. At least this was the vision that arose in my mind. What was I to do?

Very soon, my feet were completely submerged in the water up to the ankles. The chilling sensation must have jolted me out of my near-panic state, for I suddenly decided to turn and head back to the institute, if I could! Some divine force must have taken over my body because I do not know till now just how I managed to turn the car around without any visibility of the surrounds because of the fogged windows on all sides. Also with every shift of gear from reverse to forward I was expecting the car to stall. It took me all of 10 minutes but turn it I did. I was bathed in sweat but at least I had managed to face the other way. With gritted teeth, and still driving on low gear and half-clutch I headed off and managed to regain the institute's car park in ten minutes. The time was 11am. After an hour' traumatic struggle I had returned to base having travelled not even 1km! The rain continued to come down in sheets.

A helpful person from the institute arrived with a mug and managed to decant the accumulated water from inside the car. I was ever so thankful that, through sheer blundering, I had managed to take a sensible decision of returning to the institute. I was grateful to squelch back to the dry safe haven, viz. the institute's building. A visit to the washroom, a cup of steaming hot tea and some magazines did restore a semblance of order in my mind. The most important part was that I was able to recover my poise soon enough.

The rain petered out slowly. At noon, I was told by the staff that word had come that the 'infamous stretch' was at last cleared of waterlogging and traffic jam. So, after an hour's recuperation in the college lounge, it was time for me to leave once again.

I was a trifle apprehensive about the car's refusal to start, but it did. So, with almost a song in my heart, I set off again. But, it being that kind of a day, my joy was short-lived.

The 'infamous stretch' was safely negotiated only for me to discover that Delhi was in a gridlock of vehicles, covering practically the whole city. No route was free to travel in. All that I could do is change direction, reverse and seek strange looking by-lanes over and over again. I spent 45 minutes in Saket; 30 minutes on Press Enclave Road and half an hour inside Defence Colony itself before reaching home at 2.00pm. I descended from the car in a totally knackered state to discover Kumkum waiting for me at home. She had not been able to go to office in Hauz Khas which is 3 kms away!

Well so ended the saga of the deluge. Looking at the state I had been reduced to by my 3-hour battle with water-logging and traffic jams, I could not but feel blessed in contrast to many poor souls who had suffered much worse on that fateful 2005 day in Mumbai. This was Mumbai re-lived, but not quite!

A hellhole on earth?

Soudhriti Bhabani, reporting about a proposl to entertain motorists with music during red traffic signals at street intersections in Kolkata (Mail Today, July 5 2011),provides a sharp comment in passing about the great metropolis itself. The reporter says - and I quote - "often described as a hellhole on earth, Kolkata is a city on the brink of an urban collapse."

On the 27th of June this year, I returned from Kolkata after spending 15 days with my siblings, other relatives, friends and a few acquaintances. Needless to say that my wife and I had a wonderful holiday despite the uncomfortable weather which, believe it or not, included a cyclone to boot!

For a "non-resident Calcuttan" that I am, a fortnight spend in Kolkata is usually spent in indulging in large doses of both hugging and hogging! This time was no exception. Add to this a few bouts of compulsive shopping and voila! You have your Kolkata holiday!

We drove around a lot (both sides of the river), walked about a good deal, visited people in all parts of the city, looked in on all kinds of shops from stand-alone retail outlets to the undying New Market, to the iconic South City Mall to the Metro Cash and Carry wholesale facility. We lunched or dined in various restaurants. We went to a few of Kolkata's famous clubs. We attended several parties. We even visited the serene monastery at Belur built by Swami Vivekanand to perpetuate the memory of the saint Ramakrishna Paramhansa.

Having so recently had such a good time, I could not but help raise a mental eyebrow at the pronouncement of the Mail Today! I realise that no city in India is perfect; that all cities have their plus and minus points; that each one portrays an unique characteristic. I can recall many regrettable atrributes of Delhi or, for that matter Mumbai - so much so that they grate on the nerves, they irritate no end. Yet I would think a thousand times before letting a comment like Bhabani's roll off the tongue(or pen) with such facility.


The cultural scene is flourishing as usual in Kolkata. In fact the new genre of Bengali music including the copyright-free Rabindrasangeet. is pulsating with excitement, creativeness , dynamism. The concept of the "Bangla Band" has revolutionised Bengal's popular music into contemporary rock and pop art-forms.

The Bengali stage is still producing high class plays & dramas albeit without the presence of the once legendary professional theatre of Star, Bishwaroopa and Rang Mahal.

There has been a remarkable revival of the Bengali cinema in recent years. Never has the Bengali screen and its stars caught the imagination of its audience in such a big as it is doing nowadays, by the consistent production of quality cinema of every genre.

From whatever we could see around us, we saw signs of progress - be it in the cityscape, the traffic patterns (did not find a single mal-functioning traffic light in sharp contrast to Delhi), the lifestyle, transportation (new buses, plenty of cabs), infrastructure projects like east-west metro corridoor passing under the river Hooghly, etc. Whether or not all the projects of civic amenities are completed within respective target dates, they certainly do not convey to me the unmistaken sign of a "hellhole - on the brink of disaster!"

Take Delhi - with its maddening, choking traffic without benefit of one-way systems or functioning traffic signals; with its incendiary road rage that takes a toll of human lives with alarming regularity; with its dubious yet well deserved sobriquet "the rape capital of India"; with its non-existent drainage system that floods all roads after every rain shower - even with one-tenth the rainfall of Kolkata! Will I call Delhi a hellhole? No way!

The simple truth is that no city can be dismissed so callously as Bhabani has done with Kolkata. As I have said earlier, every city has its merits and demerits. Yes, I agree that individuals are free to have their own opinions on these. However, this does not, or should not, allow columnists to pontificate on things that cannot be established credibly in any case!

The Kolkata I know, and I know it well, can teach the rest of India a few things about human and social values that are prominent features of civic society, in other words, a city. To dismiss such a place as a "hellhole" smacks heavily of preconceived notions. And that is a sad commentary on newspaper reporting.

In the cool of the hills!

Once upon a time there was a piece of land up on the hills of the eastern Himalayas known as independent Sikkim. This was before the British arrived in India. One part of this hill-state was believed to have "holy and energetic powers" by a certain lama from Pemayangste Monastery of the region. The lama was called Dorje Rinzing. During one of his visits to this particular hill spot he decided to lay down his shrine right at the top. The local people named this area after the holy man and called it Dorje Ling - the "abode of Dorje (the lama)" or the "abode of the Dorje the thunderbolt".

Soon after the British established their headquarters or seat of government in Calcutta, they began to scout around for an elevated location with a cool climate to nurse their sick and wounded. They persuaded the Chogyal (King) of Sikkim to gift them this parcel of land on which lama Dorje Rinzing had built his shrine. They merged this bit of land with the province of Bengal. The shrine was subsequently shifted down to Ging Monastery in Bhutia Basti where it stands till today, but the place continued to carry the name bestowed upon it by the locals. It was the British who anglicised it to Darjeeling and called the hilltop Observatory Hill.

This then is the origin of Darjeeling - many things to many people, from a holy land to a beautiful hill station, to a place which pays humble obeisance to the mighty Goddess - the Kanchenjunga - through the prayers and worship of the local populace!

My undying love affair with Darjeeling started long ago when I spent my childhood in its bosom. The time spent living in Darjeeling was a happy one for this youngster who did not have a care in the world in those halcyon years. Everything that Darjeeling could give was cherished and nurtured with childish zeal. Those were formative and impressionable years for me and, not surprisingly, the lure of the little hill station got absorbed into my blood stream for good. The love only got reinforced every time I went back, which was quite regularly for years to come.

Having settled down in the concrete jungle of the National Capital Region on my own volition and with eyes wide open, there is scant excuse to regret the decision. But being a Delhi-ite has in no way dimmed the memory of that wonderful place in the distant hills of W.Bengal. Living far away has its limitations and to me nothing could be more limiting than being unable to go back to Darjeeling regularly, like it was possible in my years in Kolkata. A family trip for a week in 1982 was the last that we managed and it seemed destined to remain so. Or so I thought!

After a gap of a full 29 years, Kumi and I went back to beloved Darjeeling in end-April this year. People who heard of our plans questioned our wisdom in deciding to do so. Amazingly, folks living in Siliguri, a stepping stone from the hill station (3 hours drive), were the most shocked at our alleged foolishness. They said nothing works there any more. It is dirty & filthy, full of concrete structures, full of shacks, hotels have been shut down, there is water shortage, electricity outages, the local people are hostile and rude etc etc etc. They said that Darjeeling has changed. It is not the same any more. So much so that, having committed ourselves we were in a real dilemma on the eve of our scheduled arrival in Darjeeling. To cancel and lose a lot of money or go? In the end we decided to press on and leave everything to our luck.

Thank God that we did, for we had a wonderful four days at the top! Kumi and I were not on a journey of discovery of Darjeeling. We have been to that hill station many times. We wanted simply to relive the experience of 1982. We were looking forward primarily to spending quality time in the same hotel, located in such sylvan surroundings, where we had such a memorable holiday long ago. We did not need to venture beyond the Observatory Hill, the Chowrasta, the Mall Road, Birch Hill Road, Keventer's and Glenary's. The lovely lawns and terraces of the hotel itself were attractions enough for lazing and whiling away the time!

The hospitality of the hotel itself is a high! The fabulous meals (included in the tariff) are simply a gourmet’s delight. The service is so polished that it makes one feel like a celebrity all the time. Even the cup of tea and the sandwiches & cakes served at 4.00pm every day in the parlour, seemed to assume special taste and flavours in the homely ambience of a warm décor, a roaring fire and congenial company! And what to say of the candlelight dinners every evening? Just a dream!

Kumi and I spent a lot of time in strolling along the serene and beautiful Mall Road around the Observatory Hill. After the walk in snowfall in Canada, it was a different kind of ethereal feeling to walk about in a pure, cool mountain mist! The interplay of mist and sunshine on the hills was magical. We would often stop by the railing just to watch the fog rolling in from the valley. It was something special to be able to gaze at the mountains and know that we were looking at Sikkim, Bhutan, Nepal and even Tibet in the far distance.

The one regret was that we were unable to see the snow range from town. The sky did not clear enough to reveal the majesty of the Kanchenjunga even once. We did venture to Tiger Hill, where after a disappointing hour, the mountain goddess condescended to show herself, very briefly, at sunrise! And what a sight that was! A once-in-a-lifetime experience!

Of course Darjeeling has changed! The area just below the Planters' Club has become the taxi stand. The Capital Cinema, which was a landmark for our home is no more, although the clock tower remains. The Rink Cinema is now a shopping mall. A lot of open spaces have been filled up - like the Victoria Park which used to be my playground and which was there even in 1982. A flea market has sprung up on Nehru Road. There are a lot more buildings on the hillsides than what I remembered from the past.

But this was only to be expected! Darjeeling has not deteriorated any more than any of the hill stations in the North. We were given horror pictures of the place. We know very well that the long-drawn Gorkhaland agitation has had its toll on the hill station. But what Kumi and I saw and felt was an experience of a different kind altogether.

With whomsoever we came into contact – and I am talking about the local hill people - was helpful, polite (not at all sullen) and willing to go the extra mile for our benefit or comfort. For instance, the three drivers that ferried us from place to place were sheer assets to have alongside.
The street cleaners were on the job morning and afternoon. In fact Kumi remarked that if only the Delhi roads were cleaned as thoroughly and regularly, the city would improve vastly in everybody’s view! The old favourites like Keventer’s and Glenary’s are still going strong and serve yummy ham sandwiches, shakes and other delights. The Planter’s Club looked good – at least from the outside. Chowrasta was clean and always full of people including a fare share of foreigners! We should know because we spent a lot of time there – just sitting and watching the small world of the hills go by. The hotels were almost filled to capacity, which was surprising! After all it was very much the off-season in Darjeeling!

In the end, I would say that our visit to what the Brits had dubbed the ”Queen of the Hills” was well worth the time and money spent. I think it is futile to compare the place with what it was 50 years ago. It is no worse than any other hill station and it has an unparalled scenic beauty which only the eastern Himalayas can provide. It is therefore well worth the while to back one’s desire to visit Darjeeling and not to pay too much attention to what people say about the place. There is no dearth of prophets of doom!

I cannot help but end my little narrative with what was perhaps the high point of the holiday for me personally. On arrival at the hotel, I made my way to the reception to check in. As I was talking to the manager, a foreigner lady ( to me British from the way she spoke) came and welcomed me. I was a bit taken aback because I could not figure out who she was! Later on I discovered that she was the Executive Director of the hotel – and indeed a British lady by the name of Elizabeth Clarke! Anyway, what puzzled me then and amused me later were her actual words of welcome. Even as I was talking to the manager she came, shook my hand and said “welcome to India”! See what I mean?

It only remains for me to add that, before landing up at Darjeeling, we had spent 2 days in my niece’s place in Siliguri. Siliguri is a big city now, the second biggest in W.Bengal. Needless to say it was beyond recognition. This is not really surprising because I was visiting the place after 29 years! Siliguri is now like any other B class city in India with its share of hotels, restaurants, shopping malls, multi-plexes, fast-food chains, ice-cream parlours, beauty parlours, et al!

However, the drive around the Terai on our second day of stay was truly memorable and highly nostalgic. We drove through the beloved Simulbari Tea Estate where, over the years, I had spent months together in fun-filled holidays, either with the extended family or with my own friends or both!

We drove over the Rakti river which used to be a must-visit for most of us, especially in the hours between breakfast and lunch in the good old Simulbari days. This was where one could get into the water and brave the challenges of the thigh-deep but extremely fast-flowing river!

We discovered a new road to Kurseong which has been driven through the Rhohini Tea Estate which is just adjacent to Simulbari! We also drove through old familiar areas of Marionbari, Panighata, Tirrihana, etc, all replete with fond memories. We crossed the Balason river several times bringing back memories of picnics with mangoes and beer chilled in the river bed!

The Terai remains a beautiful segment of North Bengal in spite of the ravages of the Gorkhaland activism. The tea plantations, the gurgling rivers and the backdrop of the blue hills of the lesser Himalayas, together make a very attractive picture which needs to be savoured.

Canadian Delights!

In all probability it is a sheer coincidence that the federal government of Canada fell the day we left that country! It is true that we, i.e. Kumi and I, did contribute a bit towards Canada's progress by spending a few Canadian dollars here and there! But, contrary to popular belief, I do not think that our departure was the reason for the government to come crashing down!

We began our sojourn in Canada from the Pearson International Airport at Toronto at10.30 local time on the 4th of March this year. We had started off from IGIA Terminal 3 at around 3.05 am of the 4th by the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt, where, after a pleasant stop-over of 3 hours, we took the Air Canada flight to Toronto. The stop-over was spent fruitfully at the Duty Free and at a deli, eating - what else? - Frankfurters, of course!

The Pearson International Airport, though not a patch on our own IGIA T3, did have two very pleasant surprises waiting for us. Firstly, our bags appeared on the carousel in no time, despite all my trepidations! Secondly, I caught a welcome sight of a porter, ready to yank baggage off the carousel in exchange for a modest fee! This exercise had been a point of concern for me and my dodgy back. But now - all was well!

Arvind was there at the airport, armed with (I thought) arctic clothing for the two of us! And a good thing too! Otherwise, on emerging from the terminal, Kumi and I would have been frozen for posterity as some dusky frescos in the icy Toronto air! IT WAS COLD! We drove out in what turned out to be Rupa's Kia Rondo and made good time through a city coloured in various shades of white, grey and brown - Toronto recovering from recent snowfall!

The Soods (Rupa, Arvind and the 2 boys for the uninitiated) live in the suburban hamlet called Scarborough. Their house is an attractive stand-alone house built like a two-storeyed cottage with sloping roofs and a back garden bounded by a picket fence! The whole locality comprised of similar houses inter-laced with neat roads and tidy sidewalks.

We spent three weeks in Canada at Rupa's place, at the end of which we were in no mood to leave! However, due to the usual constraints of everyday life, we did leave eventually, but not before having a wonderful time with the children and grand-children. Arvind and Rupa went out of their way to make us welcome, comfortable, entertained and well fed! It is surely a special gift from God to have such wonderful children.




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Canada was a revelation, to be brief. If people were to ask me about what struck me most about this country, I would be hard-pressed to name it. It was not just one thing but a conglomerate of numerous features that impressed my mind, which is, understandably, tuned to the Indian way of living and functioning. To enumerate all these features would not be easy, but let me try!

The thing that I liked straight away was the obvious harmony amongst its people. We did a lot of walking around in Toronto, Ottawa and Niagara. Nowhere did I see any sign of strain or animosity as people walked together, dined together, enjoyed together. On the contrary, lots of smiling faces and spontaneous greetings were evident wherever we went. In fact, a gentleman in Ottawa actually stopped on his own and asked if we were lost.....which we were!!!
It is, of course, needless to add that he gave us absolutely spot-on directions, unlike the ones we are used to receiving on the streets of Delhi!

Everywhere that we went a particular happy sight met my eyes, irrespective of city or borough. There appeared to be a high percentage of inter-racial social intercourse, for all to see. Whites, blacks, hispanics, Asians et al were visible in large numbers, mostly as couples but also in groups. Try as I did I failed to detect any kind of bias in my general observations or in my interactions with all and sundry, unlike what we sensed in our brief stop-overs in Frankfurt and London. Canadians seemed to be happy and comfortable with their multi-ethnic national identity. I loved the atmosphere of friendliness that greeted us wherever we went, including Rupa-Arvind's multi-ethnic neighbours.


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The other memorable experience was, of course, that of snow.....snow on the houses, snow on the ground, snow on the trees and bushes, snow in the air, snow around the shoes, snow over the shoes, snow everywhere! These whiteouts were not only awesome and magnificent but also hugely exciting, as novel experiences often are. We were lucky to be present during three bouts of heavy snow during our three weeks' stay.

Our first walk in the snow was a thrilling affair. It had snowed overnight so that the morning of the 7th of March revealed a world gone completely white. From the comfort of the indoors (a warm 22 degrees C) it was impossible to gauge the extent of cold that was prevailing outside. Early morning found me lounging in my pajamas and admiring the scenery through the windows – a beautiful landscape in white! Rupa insisted that both of us join her outdoors to savour the "charms" of a Canadian winter morning. She had actually stepped out for a smoke! This was long before we had bathed, dressed or had breakfast! I argued (rather weakly) that it would be improper to step out in the grosssly under-dressed state, but Rupa assured me that none would be the wiser as no one would be visible at that hour, in any case! Moreover we would be all covered up! So, the "arctic" coats were duly donned over the night clothes as were the fur-lined boots, warm hats and warm gloves. Having converted ourselves into virtual ice-men, we opened the front door!

I do not know if you have ever been unexpectedly struck on the face by an ice-berg. If you have, then you will be able to appreciate the feeling we had on opening the door. The difference of temperatures either side of the doorstep was staggering to say the least! Kumi and I gingerly ventured forth into our first encounter with extreme cold, looking like eskimos for all we cared. Our faces were frozen in a second! We shuffled around for a few minutes on the snow-covered driveway trying to get used to this new phenomenon.

After a while, little by little, very slowly, our senses seemed to adapt to the new thermal conditions in our lives. Slowly we began to get a grip on the situation! But just as I was feeling smug at having conquered the cold ,in a rash act of bravado, I took off my gloves! The idea was to reach for the camera. Deservingly, in just moments the hands were frozen and paining from the numbing cold. Needless to say, the gloves were back on in a flash!

Gradually, after the initial shock had passed, we got used to the unimaginable cold, thanks to the alpine attire. So much so that , after breakfast and after the three Sood men had left for their day's calling, Rupa took us on a walking trip to a neighbourhood shopping mart. It was a thrilling trudge through snow. Everything and every place around us was covered in white. We walked past the school grounds - a veritable sea of snow. Our clothes protected us from the weather alright, but the faces were soon dead with the biting cold! Walking around was a novel experience what with having to step carefully over the icy parts even while squelching our way with less difficulty through the layers of powdery snow.

It was only a couple of hours later, after we had regained the warmth of Rupa's kitchen, did she spring upon us the news that we had been wandering around in a temperature of -18 C with a real feel of -25 C!!!

Well, the snow kept us company almost throughout our stay. Thank God it did, because it was certainly the high point of our Canada visit. After our initiation, the two of us would frequently wander off in the snow in delightful escapades, so to say! I shall never forget the ethereal feeling of walking in snowfall that we experienced on one of those days! It was an absolute first for both of us. I must add here that both Kumi and I thoroughly enjoyed the novel experience of a North American winter, despite the doubts expressed by all and sundry back home when they heard of our impending trip to Canada in the month of March!


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We drove around a lot in those three weeks. On the morning of the 12th we set forth for a four day trip to Ottawa & Montreal. The thought of driving 575 kms in 5 hours (driving time) would never have occurred to me had we not actually done it! Needless to say this was possible because of the wide roads, complete absence of any intersections on the highway and, of course, no errant humans, or cattle, or dogs to contend with!


Ottawa and Montreal turned out to be two beautiful cities, both modern and traditional at the same time. Montreal, falling as it does in the province of Quebec, has a pronounced French flavour to it. We were there for a day only but still managed to see the Old City (truly charming with its horse-drawn buggies) downtown Montreal, the famous McGill University, the Church of St Andre, the St. Lawrence river and even a glimpse of the Olympic Stadium from the West Mountain. I must not forget to mention the delicious "Quebecoise" lunch and dinner that we were treated to at my school friend Supro's beautiful home. We even savoured the quintessential Bengali "shingara" in the heart of French Canada! Supro and his charming wife Lennie spent the whole day in looking after us -- from playing guide to playing delightful hosts!


I loved the capital city of Ottawa. It is full of beautiful buildings and bridges and parks apart from the churches and cathedrals. We wandered around leisurely on a bright, cold and sunny day, across a large part of the city and enjoyed the sight of stately buildings like the Supreme Court, the Parliament House, other ornate government buildings, etc. The Basilica of Notre Dame was simply magnificent with its exquisite stained glass and frescoes. We also spent a fascinating afternoon at the Museum of Civilisation.

Once again, an elderly white couple, who were also sauntering along the snow-covered streets of Ottawa, stopped to chat with us about the history of the Basilica de Notre Dame, which we were passing. Rupa was admiring a mural or fresco on the outside of the church, which, I believe, drew their attention. They are the ones who prevailed upon us to visit inside and take pictures of the magnificent interiors. And we did exactly that! Had not this lovely couple taken so much interest in our exploration of the city, I doubt if we would have experienced the overpowering splendour and beauty of this famous cathedral.

We came back to Toronto on the 15th to find that the snow had completely disappeared from the rooftops, trees, streets, from everywhere, thanks to a couple of days of glorious sunshine. The whole feature of Toronto seemed to have changed. Gone was the white shroud of snow that hid everything about the city from the eyes of the beholder! However, we soon discovered that this was only a short interlude, so to say!


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In two days' time we were off again, this time to see the wonder of wonders, the legendary Niagara Falls. And a wonder it sure is! What a sight! What a truly overpowering, awesome and astounding sight!

I got transported while standing almost over the Falls, as it were, leaning on the railing and looking straight down into the incredible Horseshoe! The sight of millions and millions of gallons of water of the Niagara river incessantly pouring into the gigantic gorge is something which can only be seen to be believed! There is something mesmerizing – something compelling – about it. The other two falls, the Cascades and the Bride's Veil, although very impressive, are not a patch on the one and only Horseshoe Falls. It is huge. It is marvelous. It is unbelievable! So much the pity that, because of the winter season, the mind-blowing boat ride into its spray, called the Maid of the Mist, was closed and we missed it!

Like gazing at the Taj Mahal, one can spend hours together in the Niagara Falls too, just drinking in its tremendous atmosphere and aura. The roar of the waterfall, the mountainous spray and the jaw-hanging incredibility of it all contribute to one's sense of sheer awe. No wonder that the Niagara Falls have been immortalised down the years in film, music and literature. Who can forget Marilyn Monroe and George Ewell portraying the romantic mysticism of the Falls in the iconic movie "Niagara"!

In simple words, the sight of the Niagara Falls was the undoubted piece de resistance of our visit to Canada.


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Back in Toronto, we were to experience another bout of snowfall. It is amazing how the all-round scenery changes dramatically with every, snowfall or thaw. We were back inside the enormous white shroud of snow in no time! Not that Kumi or I was complaining! On the contrary! In fact, Kumi did a fair share of snow shovelling which is so much a part of life in Canada. I was spared the dubious distinction because of my back problem!

Driving or walking around Toronto was great fun. Unfortunately, 59 Wynford Drive in Don Mills is no more. The magnificent building housing Bata International Centre has been replaced by another more utilitarian structure after BSO moved its global headquarters out of Canada and into Switzerland. The memory of the iconic building, which formed a part of every Bataman’s life, will remain just that, a memory!

We did spend an appreciable amount of time on a windy and rainy day in the Bata Shoe Museum in downtown Toronto. It was mesmerizing! I wouldn’t call it a shoe museum at all. Rather, it is a museum of history, down the ages, across all continents, depicted through the evolution of footwear. It is simply fascinating! And it is large! It occupies full four floors! It is such a pity that the curators do not allow photography through flash at all. In the subdued lighting, my camera could not cope without flash.

The Canada National Tower was another memorable experience. The famous symbol of Toronto, indeed Canada, is the third tallest tower in the world, and believe me it is tall! The view from near the top (you actually do not get to the real top) is breathtaking! It is Toronto in miniature. An aircraft taking off from the Toronto City Airport looked like a grasshopper moving along a white carpet!

The glass-bottom floor (by the way, it is only part of the floor, not the whole thing as one may be led to believe!) is truly amazing. I was sure that I would be seized with a bout of vertigo the moment I ventured on to it. But surprise of surprises! Nothing of that sort happened! In fact I managed to take a couple of pictures of the city way down below, through the glass. Toronto in miniature, indeed! In fact, Kumi and Kabir stayed away scrupulously, clutching at each other! No such problems for Mr. Raghav (all of seven!) who sought a birds-eye-view of the city by lying on his stomach and peering down!

On our way back from the CN Tower we had to get into a cab as it was a long way off to where the car was parked. This turned out to be another special experience as I, who sat in the front, was heartily greeted by a Sat Siri Akal! Our cabbie turned out to be a Mr.Avtar Singh from Jalandhar! I immediately pounced on the opportunity to practice some of my rustic Punjabi on him! However, I cannot really claim that Mr.Singh was highly amused!

Toronto is a beautiful city with wide, sweeping roads and lovely buildings of all kinds all over the place. The pace of life appears to be delightfully gentle. People seem to be relaxed and at peace. No signs of frenetic rush for anything and everything. The public transportation system revolves round the underground railway which is networked by an efficient bus and cab system. Downtown Toronto even has charming streetcars (trams?) running through the main routes.

There are a large number of art & culture centres which can keep a person occupied for days on end. They have beggars too, though no stray dogs or cattle perambulating on the city roads! But that is a minor blemish.

All in all, my kind of city!


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The telltale nature of any city or country is much revealed by the eating choices of the people! From what little we could see, Canada eats big; it eats everything; it eats everywhere: and it eats out regularly! As a true reflection of the population, the local cuisine on offer is also multi-racial and multi-national. There are eateries in plenty - starting from the finest of fine dining options down to the food-courts presenting a huge choice of fares from all over the world.

It is perhaps needless to say that with foodies like Arvind and Rupa around, our dining out experiences were both copious and adventurous! Why let grass (or snow!) grow under your feet? We started in right earnest from the second day of our visit itself by paying obeisance to the Red Lobster on a rainy afternoon! Sea food at its best! Crab, lobster, shrimps, fish, what have you! Red Lobster is a popular chain of sea-food restaurants in Canada. The food was delicious, the portions were humongous and the accent of the waitresses, totally unfathomable! It merits a mention that I finished my sojourn in Canada having had salads everywhere but ended up with only Thousand Island dressing each time, because it was the only one I could understand! .The rest of the choices were invariably lost in the accents of the serving ladies!


We ate in a couple of Irish pubs in both Toronto and Ottawa, interestingly named The Royal Beagle and the Heart & Crown, St Patrick’s Day was on us which meant special festivities and special food, together with the inevitable – the inn-keeper’s best pint of mild!


We had yummy, juicy steaks in a restaurant in Niagara, strangely called “The Outback”! We had lovely fish dishes in the outrageously named “Fish Market” in the trendy Ward Market of Ottawa. We savoured superb Canadian fare in eateries variously known as “Four Brothers” and “Family Restaurant” in Niagara. There was a delicious celebratory oriental sea-food dinner on Kumi’s birthday at a place called “Rsstorant Malaysia” in Toronto. On Kabir’s request we even had an Indian meal in a Bangladeshi restaurant in Ottawa called, believe you me, “Indian Restaurant”!


We had Japanese food in a place called “Chako” in Toronto. Now, this was an extraordinary experience for us because, here, everyone has to cook his own dinner right there on the dining table which is equipped with several burners! Having never cooked anything more than an occasional boiled egg, I was naturally quite nervous about the prospect. I need not have worried. Raghav showed me the way. In fact he did most of my cooking!


Even the wayside eating places on the expressways are plenty in number and range from quite fancy to the mundane. A& W, attached to a petrol pump (called Service Centres) in Kingston en route to Ottawa, was clean, neat and efficient in doling out sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs, etc. On our way back we stopped for lunch at “Denny’s” in the town of Napanee. This was a much more classy place serving gourmet short-orders and regular meals for motorists who keep passing by all day. I shall remember “Denny’s” in particular, because this is one place where I could find manageable portions to eat from a selection of dishes for senior citizens!!


Finally, we did have our trysts with the ubiquitous “Tim Horton’s”, the place in Canada for coffee and doughnuts! Let me tell you they are not over-rated in the least! We also had our share of food-courts and McDonald’s and a tiny place called “Soups & Sandwiches” in the charming village of Unionville in Toronto!


If we add to this list the dishes churned out daily by Rupa and the dinner given in our honour by their friends Noel and Susie (mind-blowing mussels, pork dishes, et al!) it adds up to a lot of wonderful food! So gastronomically, the Canada trip was a real gourmet’s delight which almost turned us into veritable gourmands!


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We discovered a lot of the Canadian way of life by spending time at home with Rupa, Arvind and the children. Since they were not in a condo, their life, to a large extent, comprises out of doors activities. Shovelling and blowing snow, defrosting cars, raking dry leaves during fall, mowing the lawn in good weather, tending to the garden, mending the fences, disposing trash the specified way and on specified days – all these keeps the hands full for the average person. And do not forget the indoor activities like cooking, cleaning, dish-washing, clothes washing, floor-polishing, house-keeping, etc – all aided by fancy apparatus but performed by the self. The system makes the people very hard-working and not so much subject to hard work, if you know what I mean! And it is not a bad thing at all!

One interesting feature of life in a Canada home is the very Indian habit of being barefoot once indoors. Every home has a closet, either walk-in or otherwise, located in between the double doors at the entrance. This is where visitors leave their footwear behind and householders store them. The various jackets, hats, gloves etc. are also kept here. Shades of South India and Bengal?

We were fascinated by the way the GTA authorities (Greater Toronto Area) go about their duties. Since we visited during winter we were witness to how promptly and efficiently they descend with mechanized snow-ploughs of various sizes to clear the roads soon after a bout of snowfall. Even the tree-care people regularly arrive with their massive trucks. The team of two (including the driver) treat the trees with various injections, chop off overhanging or dying branches and instantly convert them into wood dust by passing them through a hopper on the truck which is connected to a grinder powered by the vehicle’s engine! Reminded me very strongly of our crumb plants in the rubber factories which converted scrap Hawai sheets into reusable crumb!

Self-help is the style of living on a daily basis. Whether one is shopping, filling petrol in the car (ooops sorry! it is gas, not petrol!), automatic washing of the car, - one has to do it by oneself. One even has to personally key in the amount of tips into a hand-held computer brought forth at the time of payment at a restaurant! Of course this is not unique to Canada alone.. Nevertheless, I shudder to think what I would have done if I had to contend with so much technology at every step in life! Give up? Become a hermit? Commit suicide? Well, I think not. I would have adapted. After all, it is a good life out there!

Canadians are heavily dependent on the weather for planning their day. The days of uninterrupted sunshine are not so many as we are used to having in India. They have to contend with rain, snow, gales, storms, etc on a fairly substantial basis. Proximity to the cold land mass to the north, the presence of oceans on two sides and the proliferation of very large lakes, exert their varied influences on the Canadian climate. So, people are naturally reliant on weather forecasts given out regularly over the radio, TV or news papers. I must say that the accuracy of the forecasts are amazingly spot-on! Amazing because in India we are simply not accustomed to such precise guidelines. If the forecast says that snowfall is expected from 3am and will last till 10pm, you can be sure that this is exactly what is going to happen. If there is forecast of rain or sunshine, then again one knows exactly what to expect! Makes life easier, doesn’t it? It was a pleasure to read the weather forecasts every morning and track the pattern through the day!

The Toronto Star is a nice newspaper to read. From it I gathered that the Canadian economy had not really fully recovered from the recent downswing judging by the stories that popped up from time to time regarding some discontent arising out of austerity drives/pink slips apparently initiated by some corporates. There appeared a few allegations of corruption in high places, which really surprised me. Canada, after all, is rated one of the least corrupt of nations and it also appears to be so everywhere!

Apart from the weather and politics the Toronto Star interested me with their coverage on contemporary music which sounded familiar from time to time – what with Shania Twain, Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, etc making news quite often. But what captivated me the most was that the Star kept us in the loop with the Cricket World Cup on a regular basis!




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We were very pleased to see the happy life that Arvind, Rupa, Kabir and Raghav have got into. There is no struggle, no panic and not much problems living in a highly tolerant and enlightened society. They have brought about a happy work-life balance which is such a rarity in contemporary corporate India. They have found some wonderful friends which is a boon in a foreign country.


The boys have adapted well to the school system which provides a far more conducive learning environment than we have in India. No pressure. No inhuman work loads. They have been duly initiated into the nuances of sports like ice-hockey, American football, baseball, etc but still have major interest in soccer and cricket. In fact I was often hard pressed to cope with Raghav’s knowledge of world soccer and its stars! They have enough playtime, including time for weekly lessons in unarmed combat like karate. Obviously, they are enjoying themselves and have taken to their new life like ducks to water, This is never more evident than in hearing Raghav’s marked North American twang in his speech!!


We left Canada on the 25th of March with heavy hearts from parting with our children. But we were also much consoled by the fact that they have struck out on their own to seek their fortunes in a distant land; with the prospect of building a dream future; and provide a secure, fulfilling and meaningful life to the boys.


A bit of drama was still left to unfold. On our way back the Air Canada flight to Frankfurt got delayed. In fact we had not only boarded but also had a sip of the welcome glass of champagne, when we are asked to disembark. The later flight made us miss our connection at Frankfurt. So, instead of flying east to New Delhi we were pushed west to London! Anyway, after a wait of 5 hours at Heathrow (where we had to suffer the most horrendous of soggy sandwiches!) we finally flew out to touch New Delhi at 10.00am of the 27th of March!

What's a good word?

I honestly believe that there has to be some kind of universal language - Esperanto, for example? - that aspiring politicians must master before they make a foray into public life. Otherwise, much time will be wasted in trying to figure out what one is saying to the other. Additionally, more time-consuming and difficult will be the task of calming ruffled feathers at the drop of a Gandhi Topi!

Every time a public servant utters words which are new to the intended audience, sinister meanings are ascribed to them. Eyebrows are raised in anger. Accusations of slander are flung around. Motives of political vendetta are suspected. Soon it becomes grist to the mill for interpersonal, inter-party or inter-departmental face-offs.

Take the expression "spoilt brat". You and I are certainly no strangers to this description of a fellow human being. Perhaps, we have to deal with more than our share of them in our everyday lives! We do not panic at calling or being called spoilt brats. We do not take offence at this. After all it is a matter of perceptions, in the end. But does Mr.Gadkari think so? No. He thinks Manish Tiwari indulged in bad-mouthing him in the vilest possible words! Well, one can only hope that Gadkari saab brushes up a little on colloquial English before he pronounces judgements on the alleged mal-content of a word simply because he fails to appreciate its nuances!

This is reminiscent of the controversy that descended on Sashi Tharoor for having referred to economy class travel on international flights as "cattle class" travel. I had written about it on April 5 2010 in the post "It pays to increase your word power!" What a colossal drama was enacted by the law-makers and the media alike! All because of the lack of understanding of the connotations of certain words and expressions!

The "Headless Chicken" episode was no less an exercise in stupidity than the "cattle class" and "spoilt brat" cases!

It is not just a lack of mastery of the English language which leads to the wastage of time, money and commitment of the public servants. Molehills can be easily turned into monstrous mountains by the lack of appreciation of the vernacular, as well! Just recall the hilarious case of Nilotpal Basu. He was once stopped at the gate of Parliament House by the security guard who had failed to recognize him. Mr. Basu did not mind this at all. But when the guard called a superior and said that there was a "banda" at the gate calling himself Nilotpal Basu and was it alright to let him in, Basu babu flew into a terrible rage. He took extreme umbrage at being called a "banda" which, seemed to him, to be a bad word of the most heinous type! Well, it was a while, after much effort by a lot of people, that Mr. Basu was finally assuaged!

Therefoe, in the interest of the nation's progress and image, I contend that some kind of an universal languge be made compulsory for our public servants. No doubt, we, the general public, will lose out on a good laugh or two but the world will be spared the agony of the nonsesical dramas enacted from time to time due to language barriers.

The murky side of the Games!

Thank God the Prime Minister wasted no time in ordering a thorough probe into the shenanigans of the Commonwealth Games. Despite the doubts generated in peoples' minds by the hysterical media as to whether the games would be held at all, the latter went off with a bang! Indeed the Games brought immense and much-deserved laurels to our silent, unseen and highly-ignored sportspersons from all over India. The athletes excelled and out-did themselves in the various disciplines, so much so that they reeled in a record haul of medals!

All these super achievements were almost rendered non-starters by the, I would say, Indian way of doing things i.e. with little imagination, no competence, zero professionalism, a high degree of ego-clashes and, of course, the pan-Indian and innate epidemic of corruption. Please pardon me if my views offend you in any way. I am not at all a cynic by nature. But decades of life in the corporate world and co-habitation with our other fellow-citizens through everyday or business experiences, have convinced me that corruption is more widespresd than we perhaps believe. This makes bungling shamateurs of a whole lot of us. And that is why I am happy that a detailed probe has ben instituted. My only prayer to God is that let the investigators not be corrupt too!

I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts that I am eagerly waiting to see who will be the popular scapegoat for the whole exercise - for, a scapegoat will be there for sure! Mr. Kalmadi has emerged as the favourite! Let me clarify before my good friends pounce on me! Suresh Kalmadi cannot be a scapegoat in the real sense because he himself is steeped in this controversy. However, in so far that he is being pushed forward to take the rap on behalf of all others does make him a scapegoat of sorts...or the American "fall-guy" if you so prefer.

This is my point. Let not the probe forget to examine the roles of the earstwhile Union Sports Minister, the current Union Sports Minister, the Union Urban Development Minister ( who was entrusted the responsibility to co-ordinate and oversee the preparations for the Games), the Cabinet Secretary, the bureaucracy of the concerned ministries, the numerous government departments responsible for the infrastructure, the civic agencies, the Lieutenant Governor of Delhi and ,of course, the State government itself!

Let not only the Organizing Committee be left to bear the blame for the rampant inefficiency and corruption attributed to the XIX Commonwealth Games because all of them were equally involved in the task. So, the truth - and nothing but the truth - must be unearthed.

May we, the nation, live in hope for retribution and just desserts for ALL the culprits, whoever they may turn out to be?

From Al's Diary....What was that again?

I was associated with Toshali Resorts International for a little over 3 years. During this time I was privy to some hilarious experiences which have left me with a rich repertoire of anecdotes. These anecdotes have the makings of entertaining drawing room natter with friends, on a leisurely evening or two.Let me recount a few of them for my readers.

The people in TRI, from the Directors to the junior executives, formed a milieu of cross-cultural personalities. The diverse ways of talking, the choice of words, the accents, the pronunciations - all carried a distinct Pan-Indian flavour! This made for a heady cocktail of unbelieavable hilarity.

Take the case of one of the General Managers. I shall never forget the earnestness with which he breezed into my office one morning to propose that " aal journal managers must be alotted steam cars or state cars". At least, phonetically, this is what I heard. I was foxed, to say the least. However, soon enough, I reasoned that our GM(of good North Indian stock) was, perhaps, being funny. It was obviously his humorous way of suggesting some innovations in cost-saving by converting the company's vehicles into steam-driven ones! But,when he started talking about prestige of the senior management, I realised that I was on the wrong track. By some nimble mental footwork, based on years of exposure to the vast possibilities of North Indian pronunciations, I finally realised that he was actually advocating that all General Managers be provided with big cars by the company, like the Esteem(Maruti) or the Estate(Tata). So much for innovations and cost-reductions!

On another occasion, the same worthy gentlemen was coaxing me into coming to his house for a stag lunch on a Sunday. Quite honestly,for various reasons, I did not find the idea welcome. So I demurred saying he lived vary far away and I did not know that part of the city at all. At this, he gave me a massive thump on the back and assured me that "it is no praablem yaar! I live in Palam Gaon. You know Palam Vihar sir ji? My rasidence is a mere crow's throw from there!" Crow's throw? That was a new one alright! I thought to myself that only an uber-confident North Indian could so unabashedly synthesize "as the crow flies" and " a stone's throw" to come out with a completely original howler such as this!! I could not wait to go home and tell Kumi and the kids about this. Obviously, I also shared this with many of my friends. Boy was it a hit! So much so that I heard one friend narrating the experience some time later as one of his own and, that too, in my presence!!! Talk about stolen thunder!

The eastern states of India do not lag far behind either in producing innovative and unique conversational masterpieces. TRI is an Orissa based company and, naturally, the owners and Directors mostly hail from that state. The MD, a tubby man of pleasant disposition, had foxed me early on in my stint with the company with some classic Oriya-accented pieces like - launch,doll,lob,ROM. Only later did I come to realise that he actually meant lunch,dull,love,rum, etc. How was I to know that the alphabet u is given a wide berth by a majority of Oriyas?

One day, in the weekly morning conference of the top management, we discovered that all were present except the big boss himself. Naturally,we waited and sure enough, after 10 minutes or so he appeared and started to apologise forthwith. " Sorry for the late" he began. "Actually what happened was that I was arrested!" We were all taken aback and were anxious to know what transpired. It seems his driver jumped a red light and was pulled up and challaned by the cops. That is how he was " arrested!" He added for our benefit that "The problem was that I had no monny. Fortunately Mr. Bhora (read Vohra) was also passing that way and he stopped to escape me from the police and absconded me in his car!" He further lamented that "too many traffic signals are being installed. Yesterday while going home I discovered that our locality has become a totally red-light area!!"

During one morning conference the big boss had all of us stumped by his indictment of all "overnight fly-byers". He exhorted us to be extra vigilant in protecting the goodwill and good reputation of our product, our organisation and the credibility of the industry as a whole. Although we recognized the importance of the goodwill and credibility part, the rest of us were much exercised about the mystery of the "overnight fly-byer" phenomenon. Our attempts to tactfully elicit the meaning of this expression produced no satisfactory result, especially since the MD was not very fond of being questioned about his pronouncements. Only when he made a couple of references to some new, wet-behind-the-ears Time Share operators who had turned out to be the "here today, gone tomorrow" type, did it dawn on us that he was actually talking about the fly-by-night operators who had suddenly mushroomed in the industry!!! It is needless to point out that the lunch hour in the office was a specially boisterous one that day!

One day our assistant manager in the Customer Relations department, burst into my room, somehow uttered a "good morning sir" and flung herself into a chair, before I could even say Jack Robinson! On top of that she broke out into a paroxysm of uncontrollable laughter!

Considering the fact that it was well short of 9.30am and she was a habitual late comer, I was completely baffled at the turn of events. Why the laughter (in particular), I was asking myself? Well, eventually the young lady gathered herself and explained that she had purposely come in early to appraise me of what she had experienced the previous evening in a meeting with the MD.

On the previous day, the head of the Customer Relations department had been on leave. As a result of this, the big boss had asked my early visitor to see him at 5.00pm to discuss various issues related to that section. As the discussion progressed the boss lost track of the time. Many of the client-related points were complicated and my visitor, being a junior, was struggling at times to fill in. Suddenly the big boss asked her "you are missing your boss, no?" Our young friend very candidly said "yes sir, she has vast exoerience in this field and she really helps me out whenever I have any problem, especially in important discussions like this". The big boss looked dismayed and hastily clarified "No no no! I am talking about your "chotor bos" - you have missed it, no! It is already 7.00pm!" The Assistant Manager (CR) claimed, that as soon as she realised that the boss was in fact referrring to the Chartered Bus that she availed of every day, she excused herself for the night and ran away lest she burst out laughing on his face!

One of the officials, who was a popular man, was in charge of Toshali Sands, the company's resort on the Konarak-Puri Marine Drive in Orissa. Although he operated out of Sands, there came a time when he was given the additional responsibility of Toshali Royal View, Kufri in Himachal Pradesh. Obviously, this meant a lot of travel to and fro for him. One day, when he was visiting the Corporate Office in Delhi en route Kufri, I asked him if he even knew where he would spend the next week in, at any given point of time. He was very frank and forthright about his plight. He said " it is bheri difficolt. You see I have both my legs on one side!" I am still trying to figure out that one!!

The eastern states of India also contain West Bengal. Needless to say we had a fair number of Bengalis too in the organisation. One such gentleman was in our Admin Dept. This man was excellent in getting a job done - any job. However, while he was very high on delivery, he was a bit rustic in his spoken English. He became a source of a lot of hilarity in office by his doings - whether yelling at the top of his voice on the telephone "I want you. I want you now!" while asking a girl employee to report to office or whether ordering "bhanilla with cadbury" for dessert (meaning vanilla ice cream with hot chocolate sauce!) during an annual departmental lunch in a restaurant.

But the piece de resistance came at one of the official dinners at my residence. These dinners at our home had become a half-yearly feature by popular demand of our Advisor, Mr. Pran K Choudhury. On one occasion such a party was sprung on me at a couple of hours' notice. Therefore I had no alternative but to ask some caterer to put up the dinner. And, since I would be stuck in office till late, I designated Manager Admin to look after everything, food, drinks, service, etc to help out Kumi who was still in office.

The evening went off well. I had whispered into the ears of Mr. Admin to keep a discreet eye on the bar and the bartenders. He must have taken his task a little too seriously for, soon enough, I discovered a merry twinkle in his eyes and a new-found verbosity, both of which were quite uncharacteristic of him.

Just a few days earlier, I had finalised a new house for our MD. It was no mean task because he kept dilly dallying inordinately till the prospective landlord gave us an ultimatum. Only then was the deal clinched. Earlier, I had deputed our man in Admin. to carry out the initial search and short list 2 houses for my final approval before I invited the MD to see it.

At the dinner, after being suitably primed by a few large ones, our man from Admin suddenly dropped his reticence and decided to join in on the conversation. He approached the MD and announced with glassy eyes and a pasted smile "You are bhery lucky sir,you phound new house! You are bhery lucky sir." After this, every now and then he would stagger up to the MD and repeat "You are bhery lucky sir!" I had to quietly lead him awsy from the MD by asking him to check up on the caterer. Even then, off and on he would be back to accost the MD with the familiar refrain of "You are bhery lucky sir!"

Anyway, the evening progressed nicely. Everybody appeared to be in a mellow and jovial mood. The conversation ranged from the latest blockbuster on screen to the Pokhran II blast. In the meantime,the periodic reminder to the MD of "You are bhery lucky sir!" continued with metronomic regularity. So,finally, when the caterer informrd me that dinner was ready to be served, the news came as a great relief to me in my capacity of an embarrassed host! But I had counted my blessing a little too early! Before I could even approach the guests to invite them over to the buffet, our over-zealous man from Admin. had artfully dodged past me, planted himself right in front of the MD and announced "You are bhery lucky sir, dinner is served!"