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Tawang, situated at 10000 feet above the mean sea level, is the name commonly associated with the small
town, though it is also the name of the much larger district. It has a chiefly Monpa dominant populace,
which is found only in the Twang and West Kameng districts of AP. (The people there are more the self-
contented, peaceful kind and are, generally, eager to help.) It is situated on a slight slope and is famous for
having the Second largest Monastery in Asia and the largest in India. There is also a War Memorial (which
we didn't visit). And within a distance of about 25 kilometres, there are a number of lakes and points to
look forward to (Cabs are readily available).In essence, it takes about two days to cover everything in
Tawang.
We le from our hotel in the morning for the trip to the lakes and viewpoints. Madhuri (scenes of the
movie Koyla were shot near Tawang and the lake borrowed its name from the famous actress) and
Pangateng Tso (or PTso) are the two famous lakes. Apart from them, a few other smaller lakes and ponds
are also worth stopping for. Madhuri Lake is famous for the picturesque it evokes at first sight. On a warm,
sun-filled day, with the placid lake water reflec ng the thicket –laden hillock adjacent, one could lose hours
at a stretch si ng by the lakeside, only to be bothered by the occasional brushes of the cool wind against
the face. There are (what appeared to be) stubs of tree trunks le in the middle of the lake. And it adds
certain uniqueness if not an oddity to an otherwise serene scene. We were told there is also a peak
frequented by trekkers and a waterfall that is absolute delight for the eyes, but that we'd have to visit in
some other season to enjoy those.
On the way back, we were lucky to see some ar llery tests being carried out by the Indian Army. Medium
sized shells were being fired in sets of threes at the peaks in front, from small ar llery guns, much like a
smaller Howitzer.
'Across the stream with wooden shoes,
With bells to tell the King the news,
A thousand misty riders climb up
Higher once upon a me.'
‘Wondering and dreaming,
The words had different meanings.'
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
On coming back to the town, we visited the Monastery. 'Tawang Gompa', as it is locally known, is open to
tourists up un l the evening and no special permissions are required to visit. It houses an 8m tall Buddha
statue and the walls are adorned with pain ngs and depic ons of his life. Prayer services are carried out at
specific mes and standing in the main compound one can strongly connect with the energy flowing
around. It also has a school a ached to it and groups of tradi onally clad students murmuring and
chan ng hymns add to the mys cism of the place.
We ambled about the streets of Tawang for the rest of the evening and discovered that finding the right
place to eat in Tawang might be difficult if one limits oneself to pure vegetarian, chicken or mu on-based
cuisines. Almost all the local prepara ons offer a different taste, but are not very sapid to the North-Indian
pale e; except, of course, the 'dimsums' which come with a variety of stuffing inside. There is also a special
red wine that is famous for being a local produce.
Having played a quick round of cards a er returning back to our hotel, we re red for the night. We le
Tawang two days a er we'd landed. And this me we did not bother to stop over at Tezpur, which meant a
19-hour drive straight from Tawang to GHY and plenty of me to finally arrive at the answer to the one
ques on that kept coming back, “Why Tawang?”
The Tawang valley from above.
If you are wondering about the tle, it is portmanteau for Tawang-Shillong-Bhutan. See you in Shillong and
Bhutan in the next ar cle, if the Ed. agrees to publish it.
(Definitely, Pranjal. We'd like to read more about your accounts, in the next issue. – Chief Ed.)
50
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Mumbai
- Parth Adhikari '2k11
I, amongst many others of my batch, celebrated the first day of 2016 on a train, travelling in our very own
carriage to Mumbai from Goa along the picturesque Konkan line. It will be the best first day of a year for
me; and the stay in the Maximum City, or the City of Seven Islands, perhaps, the best four days of my life.
I did many things expected of a young traveler arriving for the first me in Mumbai – visited the Gateway of
India, travelled aboard the famous Local lines of both Central and Western Railways (some mes without a
cket, turning a blind eye to I and II painted on the coaches, and then with a poker face, walking by the
cket inspector), had a photograph clicked in front of the name plate 'Jalsa', et al, but these were not what
ma ered, and these are not what I will remember.
Stuck in my memory will be the experiences – strolling along the Marine Drive in the morning, then also
around midnight, both alone and once with someone innocently and incessantly pra ling about their
intents and interests; watching crazy people skip upon the tetrapods there; gobbling down all the fast food
Chowpa y had to offer; looking out of the gra ng of the Suburban (travelling with the white-clad
Dabbawallahs) to realize that Dadar is awfully crowded (always being careful with my wallet), ea ng Pav
with almost anything under the sun – Vada, Bhaji, Omele e; in almost every form possible – grilled, bu er
grilled (thank you, Jumbo King); visi ng the orderly Godrej unit in Vikhroli, reaching Juhu Beach and finding
it a big disappointment; searching like a hound for a suitable book at Kitab Khana (way be er than the
Oxford Bookstore located nearby); picking up a lot of Bhindi (a portmanteau for Bombay Hindi) swear
words, straining my neck looking up at the Statue of Progress atop the imposing and colossal Chhatrapa
Shivaji Terminus, and, finally returning to Marine Drive for a farewell walk, with the waves breaking up at
the shore and the breeze in my face, taking in the panorama of the lit up stretch across the sea, and I
couldn't help but liken Mumbai to Manha an.
I did miss out on many predictable things – making a day of the Elephanta Caves; having a cup of tea at The
Taj; visi ng the billion dollar An lla; diving or prancing at Adlabs Imagica; watching a play at Prithvi
Theatre; driving on the Bandra Worli Sea Link (pedestrians are not allowed and there was not enough
money le for the to and fro cab with the toll tax); buying something at the Colaba Causeway, and many
other ac vi es, I am sure.
But I think Mumbai, or Bombay, as I prefer it to be called (like Madras for Chennai), is a wonderful city and
has been the highlight of the technical tour which we are comple ng here. There remain places to be
explored and experiences to be lived, but Bombay has set the bar pre y high.
I hope to return, more mature, to Bombay, and relive everything. And thus, live again.
Mumbai, like Norah Jones' New York City, is such a beau ful disease.
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Coupled for the Sojourn Ready, Set, Go!
Atop Something
At Doodhsagar
At Athirapally
Beach Boys
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Breeze At Auroville
Cannon
Keeping It Close
Dil Chahta Hai Enter the Sandmen
53
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Groupie! Happily Stuck
Horror World In Shades
Industry Visits Mumbo-Jumbo
54
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Mee ng Old Friends (Part 1) Mee ng Old Friends (Part 2)
Members of 2011 batch
with Mr. and Mrs. M.S. Mathur '73 Ministry of External Affairs
Mr. Moustache The In-Coach Guitarist
55
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
One Big Happy With Mr. Sunil Bajpai '80
Ridin’ Temple Run
The Beach and the Bikes Wri ng's on the Wall
56
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The SinKing of Pop The Three Musketeers
Darjeeling Diaries First Snowfall at Rohtang Pass
Ra ing in Satluj... Naa Myo Ho Ren Ge Kyo....
The Ul mate Thrill All Japanese
57
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Fun At Hundru Falls Himalayan Mountaineering
Ins tute
Parasailing in Digha We Don't Need No Educa on
Safety First Howdy, Spidey!
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Pu ng Our Heads Together
Bonds for Life
59
PROBATIONERS’ SCRAPBOOK
Aaj Main Upar Veni Vidi Vici
Backstreet Boys Beelined to Beeling
Birthdays Be Like Breaking a Leg
60
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Bridged Chhappan Bhog
Unending Tracks Doing My Bit
Ek Garam Chai ki Pyaali Ho Mysore Prince
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Kingpin Let's Jump In
Living on the Edge Locoed in
Wanderers at Hampi Tired
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Officers' Gang Selfie Le Le Re
Stairway to Heaven Sun Filled
The Three Musketeers Yeh Dos Hum Nahi Todenge
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All Smiles Munger Picnic with
Director, IRIMEE
Dinner at Director's Residence Convoca on Ceremony
Hope to See You Again
64
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TECHNICAL TOUR FOR FINAL YEAR SCAs
- Parth Adhikari '2k11, Penuboina Bharath Krishna '2k12 and Alok Bha '2k11
Although in wri ng part of this ar cle, I feel somewhat like the medieval traveller Ibn Batuta (“Travelling – it
leaves you speechless, and then turns you into a storyteller.”) I will refrain myself, hard though it is, from telling
you stories. There will be facts and, alas, no fandangle; but you should excuse flashes of our collec ve
expressionism.
To travel is not solely to cover the miles lying stretched between two places. And that is something an SCA
definitely learns during their Technical Tour. SCAs of the final year, of batches 2011 and 2012 also learnt that
they were wrong in considering themselves perpetually unfortunate (they have had shop submissions, tests
and interviews dot on me during all these years of appren ceship) and found that fate had really blessed them
in their fourth year – what be er year-ending present than a twenty five day Technical Tour crossing most parts
of Southern India.
*
The seventh semester was hec c for us, with the mixed emo ons of bidding farewell to academic
examina ons, and preparing for the technical tour side by side. Whatever me we got in between papers, we
collected ourselves and plans were made and scratched; TAAGs (Trains at a Glance) turned and tossed aside;
calendars constantly looked at for dates. The examina ons finally concluded and we returned to Jamalpur, with
our tenta ve programmes prepared, just like us.
The drama that unfolded before the tour was just a reinforcement of the famous Murphy's Law. Two nights
before we were to leave, we were informed that clearances from the different zones were yet to be received,
trains had to be changed, new reserva ons had to be made and the coach had to be rerouted. The next 25 days
were le to fate, which silently mocked our situa on. With just a single working day le before the start of the
tour, we faxed, phoned, typed and finally got our zone approvals. On the morning of the tour, mul ple
reserva ons were made, by evening our coach was adequately stocked and finally the caravan began.
Our first stop was Puri, where we were accommodated at a guest house overlooking the Bay of Bengal. It was a
precursor to the later mee ngs we were to have with the mighty Bay on our journey. It was also the first of many
of our feasts of sea food. We visited the Jagannath and the Konark temples which made us marvel at their
pris ne architecture. From there, we proceeded to Pondicherry, a small and beau ful town. It was a paradise of
no taxes and the well paved roads had our speedometers clocked unimaginable speeds. The serene
Promenade with a lighthouse overlooking the seashore and the Paradise beach were some of the unforge able
memories we took back from Pondicherry. Our next stop was Rameswaram and the experience aboard the
train on the Pamban Bridge was breathtaking. We then reached Kanyakumari to capture the spectacular
sunrise and sunset at the southernmost point of Indian mainland, both in our cameras as well as our hearts.
Biding adieu to Tamil Nadu, we then entered Kerala - God's own country. We had our share of beaches,
coconuts and mouth-watering thalis served on banana leaves. The day-long house-boa ng on the backwaters
at Allepey with its wholesome diet of tradi onal Kerala dishes was an experience of a life me. Celebra ng
Christmas Eve at Kochi's China town, we then le for the hill sta on of Ooty aboard the Nilgiri Queen on a
journey through long and winding tunnels, several waterfalls, alluring teak forests and tea planta ons. We
visited the Botanical Gardens, Dodabe a peak, the tea factory, and also had our share of homemade
chocolates. A'2k12 achieved his goal of visi ng the shoo ng site of the famous Bollywood horror movie Raaz.
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Next in Bangalore, we enjoyed ourselves at the Snow City, our very first experience of the white magic that is
snow. Into the final week, we headed to Goa -the most awaited des na on. The holiday season was on and Goa
didn't fail to amuse us with its colourful beaches and breeze. The arrival of the New Year was celebrated on a
jam-packed Baga beach amidst a plethora of fireworks which lit up the shore in mul hued showers. We also
had an adventurous ride to Doodhsagar falls where SKM'2K12 displayed his amateur swimming skills.
Concluding our tour in Pune, (wandering in malls and watching movies on the big screen) we le for Jamalpur
with our hearts full and with our thirst for adventure quenched.
*
It is o en a widely accepted fact among batches that the most interes ng parts of technical tours are its
detours! One night in Kochi, a er a hec c day, we assembled in our 'home away from home', coach 15054, to
decide about the next two days of our stay in the city. We had already been to the hotspots of the city, namely,
the Jewish synagogue and its adjoining architecturally spectacular places, and Lulu mall, a human marvel (yes
indeed! It seemed to have an en re Disneyland with rides and even a ska ng rink at its top floor!) We next
decided to explore different nearby places of interest. So, a group decided to head to Wayanad.
The next morning saw us hurriedly packing at 0800 hours. We caught the Janshatabdi Express to Calicut. The
bus journey from Calicut to Wayanad was an experience in itself. The hilly road was not more than thirty feet
wide, with a total of nine hairpin bends. We gaped in awe as the KSRTC buses raced past against each other at
the curls of the beau ful hills. The sights of 'Banasura sagar' dam were one to behold with large expanse of clear
blue water on one side and lush green grass on the other side of the road. The Meenmu hy falls and the Kuruva
island groups were a treat in themselves. We spent the Christmas evening at a church and the fes ve
atmosphere was full of joy.
The next day we saw the age old Edukkal caves and therea er caught the familiar bus ride back to Calicut.
Arching across through the coastline of the Indian peninsula for the past twenty days, we were now in the final
stages of the journey and 'Bumbai' couldn't have come at a be er me! We had set foot on the city of dreams at
1700 hours and were already on the streets just an hour later gorging on the famous Pav Bhaji, Wada Pav,
Panipuri and whatnot! The visit to the Gateway of India, travelling in the famous 'Bumbai ki locals' and strolling
at Marine Drive were all experiences were having. For more about Bombay, I will take the liberty of direc ng
you to our Travelogue sec on in this magazine.
*
While on their Technical Tour, we, the final year batch crossed as many as eleven states of the Indian Union.
It was an experience that will remain with us for a long me to come.
*
We would like to express our gra tude to officers who helped us during our Technical Tour: Mr. A. K. Gupta '76
(IRIMEE), Mr. Sunil Bajpai '80 (SR), Mr. A. K. Pandey '81 (IRIMEE), Mr. Sanjay Gupta '81 (KRCL), Mr. Uday
Borwanker '85 (WR), Mr. Krishanan Raman '87 (SWR), Mr. Ajay Singh '88 (RWF), Mr. Samir Lohani '90 (IRIMEE),
Mr. Arun Devraj '91 (ICF) and Mr. G. Venkatesh '2k3 (SWR).
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Chopra, Dogra & Bogra
-V. Narayanan '55
Subadra, my wife, hails from Tirunelveli, the southernmost district headquarters town of erstwhile Madras
state, now known as Tamil Nadu. It is situated barely 50 kms north of Kanya Kumari. Normally her visits north of
her home town were mostly to Thanjavur, the rice bowl of Tamil Nadu and occasionally to Madras, now called
Chennai. There were a few visits to Tirupa . She had gone north of the Vindhyas only once when she was part of
a field trip from her college to go to New Delhi in 1960. Things were so informal in those days that the college
sought an appointment for the students to meet with the Vice-President of India Dr. S. Radhakrishnan which
was duly granted! Pictures taken on that occasion are reproduced.
Students from Sarah Tucker College, Tirunelveli intently listening to the vice-president Dr. S.
Radhakrishnan (1963)
The next me she crossed the Vindhyas was when we were married in January 1964 and she accompanied me
to Kalka, where I was posted as AWM/N. Rly.
I had requested welfare inspector Mr. Chopra to receive us at Kalka railway sta on. Polished as he was, he'd
introduce himself first to her, even as he made arrangements to get our few personal belongings carried to our
quarters situated very near the railway sta on. OS Dogra (1956) had travelled by the same train and was
heading towards Shimla. He was introduced to Subadra.
Kalka was a very small place. There was a theatre owner called Bogra and he was a very young fellow with whom
I had interacted earlier. He was also seriously interested in computer programming. He was thrilled that I had
returned and turned up at our home almost immediately and introduced himself to Subadra. She was bemused
and started to wonder if all names in Kalka would have a “o” in it, ending with “ra” as the names of first 3 men
she got introduced to were spelt that way! In her first missive to her father she would report about this.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Sarah Tucker students awai ng their turn to get
Dr. Radhakrishnan's autograph
Later Madan Mohan Lal Verma, progress foreman, would visit me to ascertain if I had any requirements and
was amazed to see that we had no beds and we'd spread the ma resses on the floor to sleep! He quickly went
home and arranged for two charpoys to be delivered. These were short and the ma resses would protrude far
beyond the charpoy! However he was happy that his AWM did not have to floor it. It was early February anyway
and there was s ll some chill in Kalka. Subadra was moved with the spontaneity of Verma.
One of the first things that I had done earlier was to dispense with the services of a shop khalasi who was
working for the AWM at home. Being a small town this bit of news spread quickly and earned me the reputa on
as a person who seeks no favour, that is not officially due to him, from IR. It earned me many friends from the
senior supervisor community and made my job easy. Interes ngly, Dr. Mathur, the railway doctor
complimented me about this.
In Kalka we were treated like royalty, ge ng an invita on from various senior foremen for tea. Most found it
very difficult to cater to her tastes, due to her strict “no-onion, no-garlic” s pula ons! Verma family was to be
the first to be taken by surprise by what was considered to be a near-impossible condi on to meet! He would
quickly rush to the nearby shop to fetch a packet of biscuits. Those invited us later were a li le be er prepared.
But they were all fascinated that the AWM's bride was a young girl all the way from deep south. She and I would
have to explain the proximity of the place to Kanya Kumari and they'd all be suitably amused. And she did not
speak a word of Hindi!
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Our Sunday walks would be by road to Taksal, the next railway sta on towards Shimla. From Taksal we'd return
along the railway track to Kalka. A couple of weeks later Taksal sta on staff started to greet us!
One Sunday we went by bus to Kasauli, a most beau ful place by any reckoning. The tourism official would
explain to us that first thing to enjoy was the unpolluted air and the beau ful surroundings. We finished our
packed food carried in a substan al ffin carrier, spent a few more hours there before returning to Kalka.
AWM's home garden had magnificent rose plants and at the peak Subadra reckoned that there were over 400
blossoms!
Vyas, the foundry foreman, was very enterprising and once arranged an ancient car for a weekend visit to
Chandigarh where it, not unexpectedly, packed up! The breakdown had happened before a home where a
senior, slightly-built sardarji gentleman was seated in a lounge chair. Hesitantly we opened the gate wan ng to
get some drinking water. In a booming voice he'd say that not only would we get water to drink but tea too as it
was tea me! The en re family was duly pleased to meet Subadra, who hailed from a place so far south from
their city! He would despatch a young boy to get a mechanic to fix our car. Subadra was touched by the
wholesomeness of this experience.
Plenty of armed forces personnel were posted in Chandigarh. We once visited a movie theatre where we heard
Tamil being spoken by a few ladies. Subadra beamed and those folks also recognised her as a fellow Tamil. It is
a er all a small world!
She was pleased too to meet 2 AME proba oners viz., S. Ramanathan and R. Subramanyan as they were
returning from Shimla.
Holi fes val happened when we were there. Subadra would experience for the first me applica on of colours
in each other's faces, something she revelled in. But we were so unprepared that we did not have any edibles to
distribute.
ZAM (Zafar Ahmed Malik 1949) used to visit Kalka o en from RDSO and made it a point to spend me with us
during each of his visits. He accompanied us once as we travelled to Barog on a Sunday. A er breakfast we
would walk back partly along the rail route via Solan before catching the last train to Kalka. In all innocence,
Subadra would ask him as to why he is s ll not married. With characteris c tongue-in-cheek candour, he'd say
that girls take one look at him and say no! When she was embarrassed with this response he'd quickly make her
feel comfortable saying that he was not offended.
RDSO was situated in Shimla then. Passenger coaches would have to be subjected to trial runs. We'd both travel
to Shimla and meet senior folks such as the Kodikals (1945), and the Seths (1952) regularly.
This small Chopra/Dogra/Bogra town, as Subadra referred to Kalka ini ally feted her con nuously. The
universal warmth displayed across the board towards her was the reason why she developed a love for
anything to do with the railways.
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A Page from the Service Diary (All India Railway Strike- 1974)
- G.K. Khare '55
It was the beginning of May at Mughal Sarai. The air was thick with the talk of impending strike to begin from the
th
8 of May, under the leadership of the Fireband socialist George Fernandes. I was then Sr. D.M.E. (Diesel),
Mughal Sarai, which curiously came under the jurisdic on of Lucknow Division of Northern Railways, while the
rest of the Railway establishments of Mughal Sarai were under the Eastern Railway.
The Government was determined not to submit to the pressure tac cs of the labour unions and the unions on
their part were equally adamant to go ahead with it.
In the run up to the strike, I would hold frequent parleys in the shed office with my AME Rajiv Chandra, AEE
Sampath, General Foreman C. L. Mehra and a seasoned Loco Inspector Sohan Singh to work out strategies for
mee ng the strike situa on. Meanwhile, workers and supervisors would huddle together in small groups in
corners, discussing possible ac on plans in hushed tones. Tension was palpable in the air. Arrangements were
afoot to mobilize the Territorial Army to blunt the strike ac on.
It was a common sight to see union leaders leading processions through the colony streets and shou ng
slogans, like “8 May ko kya hoga, rail ka chakka jam hoga” or “DME/Diesel kholo kaan, nahin toh hoga chakka
jam.” The atmosphere had become so surcharged that the echo of this was soon to be heard in my house too,
when my two younger children aged about 6 and 4 years with small s cks held alo , also started going around
the bungalow compound, chan ng “DME Diesel kholo kaan…………”!
There was to be some important family func on to be held at my in-laws' place, so just 3 or 4 days before the
strike was due to begin, I packed off my family to Allahabad. It also suited me to be free of family responsibili es
during those tension filled days.
MGS shed then housed 72 GM locos, and catered to a number of important mail-express trains besides bulk of
traffic goods to Patna-MGS-LKO-Saharanpur route. Of these the most pres gious was Punjab (Howrah-
Amritsar) Mail for which the loco needed to be turned out at shed bar line at 09:00 hrs sharp.
We, a small group of five people, had worked out a strategy to place the Punjab mail loco on the bar line at the
scheduled me on the first day of the strike, as a symbol of management's determina on to keep essen al
th
services going. As the 8 of May dawned, there was an eerie of silence in the Railway Colony and more so in the
shed. All staff, barring two senior foremen and one loco inspector and of course the officers stayed away.
However, as planned, we did bring the Punjab mail loco on the bar line as scheduled. It is a different ma er that
the train didn't show up, but our loco was ready.
As a counter move, the ring leaders of the strike were quick to muster up the support of their womenfolk, who
descended on shed premises in hordes and squa ed on the bar line and the adjoining yard, taun ng the
‘loyalists’ with bangles.
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The stalemate con nued for three days. Some staff, especially supervisors, went underground, as they were
more vulnerable to persuasion by the management, but most of them reportedly returned to their homes at
night to slip away again next morning. Meanwhile, personnel of Territorial Army were posted at sensi ve
loca ons around the shed and the traffic yard, not so much to operate any train services, but to see no
th
untoward incident takes place. On the 12 morning Mr. Sachdeva, the then DS of Danapur Division, had a closed
door mee ng of all branch officers and unit heads at Area Manager's office to discuss strategies for mee ng the
strike situa on. Various sugges ons were put forward. On my part, I offered to raid the diesel shed colony in the
wee hours of the morning to round up some supervisors and get them into the shed to start some ac vi es.
Considering the charged atmosphere, the DS advised taking some security personnel with me. I chose to
disregard the advice as involving men in uniform in such an opera on could vi ate the atmosphere further, and
possibly invite charges of excesses on the part of the security men. 'loyalists' with bangles.
th
And so it was that about 4:30 hours of 13 morning accompanied just by the Inspector Sohan Singh I visited
about two dozen houses of supervisors in the diesel colony, and brought out the surprised men from their
homes and to the diesel shed. There was not much protest. In fact, some of them appeared relieved at this
development, as they were possibly feeling uneasy with this stand-off.
Later in the morning, I learnt that some ladies of the diesel colony, assuming that their men folk were being
forcibly confined to shed, and possibly being harassed, marched out in a procession to my house intending to
gherao my family and demand of release of their men. My family being away, the agitated ladies were soon
brought to the shed to show that their men were happily si ng around, sipping tea and planning the next move
to set the shed on the course of normalcy, with the limited staff then available.
Thus the diesel shed became the first units to break the deadlock, and catalyzed similar ”back to work” process
in other units at Mughalsarai complex, which is a key opera onal area on the Indian Railways. Two or three days
later the strike was formally called off.
A erwards, in a get-together of diesel officers and supervisors at the Railway Ins tute, the la er narrated
stories and experiences as to how they would hide during the day, and return to their homes at night. There
were quite a few interes ng episodes including the one where one of our senior chargemen, a Bengali
gentleman by the name Poddar, had became so nervous and ji ery that he would jump every me he heard a
football behind him. There was much laughter and bonhomie all-round.
Ten years later, Poddar's son, Manash K. Poddar, became an SCRA of 1984 batch. I happened to have my pos ng
at Jamalpur as ACME (W) then. Mee ng Manash brought back memories of those tumultuous days in vivid
detail.
And as I write this piece, I am assailed by so many other memories of my service days, but more about them
later, perhaps.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Shakur - The Legendary Cycle Keeper
- G.K. Khare '55
When I landed in Jamalpur in mid-1956 as an eager-faced (though somewhat nervous), 18-year old, one of the
first things I was told a er the ini al heckling by seniors (mercifully the ragging was quite moderate in those
days, and even enjoyable at mes) was that the most important accessory which a fresher needs while star ng
life as an SCRA, apart of course from the regula on Khaki shirts and trousers is a bicycle. This piece of machinery
is an unavoidable necessity for commu ng four mes a day between Workshop (or school) and Gymkhana. The
result was that the very next day saw me heading towards Munger (Monghyr in those days) with the faithful
Shakur in tow, and I became the proud owner of an “Eastern Star” bicycle for a princely sum of Rs. 145/- (this
was a lot of money those days).
There used to be a large cycle shed at the North Eastern corner of the front lawn (I presume it is s ll there),
under the sole charge of a guy called Shakur. The remarkable thing about this fellow was that whatever be the
condi on of the bike entrusted to his care at the day's end- whether just a case of a flat tyre or a more serious
ma er of twisted wheel, he would have it ready and available at 6:30 am the following morning. In the rare
event of an unusually bad case, he will at least have a subs tute bike handy. Never was a case when a young
SAM all dressed up for shop was stranded without conveyance.
There was an interes ng case of Vijay Kanwar '55's bike. Whether it was his bulky frame- all of 180 pounds, or
his rather “laid back” style of cycling, the poor machine took a bow shape within two months of use. You can
well imagine how hard it must have been to keep that contrap on in working order. It did stretch Shakur's
ingenuity to the utmost.
Shakur knew his bikes like the back of his palm. Once it so happened that I lost my bicycle from the bylanes of
Jamalpur market, where I had gone shopping for a pair of shoes. I was a bit ra led, Shakur asked me not to
worry. And sure enough, within a ma er of two days Shakur had finished out the bike from somewhere in
Munger. It was rumoured that Shakur could smell a Gymkhana bike from miles away.
Such was our Shakur – cool, unflappable and a master mechanic to boot. It was some me in the 70s that I heard
that the great chap was no more, and that his mantle had passed on to his son. But there can be no real
subs tute for him. He will forever remain a bright star in the annals of Gymkhana.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Stay Posi ve Stay Blessed
- Rituraj Verma '84
Everything I ever needed to know about staying posi ve in life I learned at Jamalpur. If you have forgo en those
lessons, here is a refresher course. I know that sounds crazy given the working condi ons in the Railways today,
but the truth is many of us have forgo en what we learned. I will also, of course, tell you a li le bit beyond the
Jamalpur lessons, but you need to take that more as an upgrade on your opera ng system rather than a new
app download.
Lesson one. You can do it.
If you have somehow forgo en that lesson revisit the memories of the first month and the subsequent club
entry. Did that jog a memory? So if you have lost your sense of self-worth or have begun to feel low then you
need to know you can do it. Get up early. Go for a run. Play a sport. You are not too old. Never will be. Sure you
can do it.
Lesson Two: There is no one who knows as li le as you do.
Keep learning. Forgot your prac cal training? Thing is - you went, did li le, and learned li le. But li le by li le,
you kept learning. Be a lifelong student. Keep sharpening that saw. Learn a musical instrument. Or a new
language. Keep the mind fresh. And hungry to learn more. Because you went to Jamalpur.
Lesson Three: Be a sport.
You can't win them all. You win some and you lose some. Every me you lose however you don't give up on
hope. You learn from your mistakes and get back in the game. Then you try to be the winner in the next game.
Every me you win you walk up to the other guy and shake him warmly by the hand and thump him on his back
and say "Well played".
Lesson Four: Play to win
This is mostly applicable with a long drawn out game like handling unions or playing contract bridge. Know your
cards. Count the tricks. Guess your opponent's hand. Take a chance whenever you think you know you have
listened well and taken the right call. If you missed out on playing Bridge in Jamalpur its me you caught up with
the game.
Lesson Five: Lead from the front.
This is the part we tend to forget easily. It calls for courage. You had plenty of training on that. Every shop was a
challenge. Every principle you tried to apply. Every problem you cracked on your own. That was not easy. And
explaining it to the men implied that you had to show them what you meant and if they s ll did not believe you
then you did what had to be done yourself and showed them that you knew your stuff well and if they had
doubts on themselves then it was just too bad because you would find the right people for the job. And then
they understood you and followed your lead inspired and happier.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Lesson Six: Pulling up your socks.
This I confess I learned beyond Jamalpur. I call it pulling up your socks. Every me I find a colleague who is feeling
demo vated and nega ve I do this li le exercise with him or her. I ask them to rake a piece of paper and a pen
and think about all the thoughts they have about their job. They have to do this without stopping to think or
li ing their pen. They should write automa cally about the first things that come into their minds. And when
they are done I ask them to read the first five lessons I men oned above. Next I ask that they circle the points in
their wri ng that support the five lessons and put a box around the ones that don't but are completely nega ve.
Then I ask that they rephrase all the nega ves in posi ve terms. And they repeat that exercise ll they stop
thinking nega vely all together. There is only one sin. Or so says The Gita. And that is "being nega ve." If you
have recently become very nega ve just don't be so down. Read this ar cle again and do the exercise in Lesson
Six. Keep going un l you find the belief in yourself that Jamalpur ins lled in you.
And then, my friends, you will stay blessed.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Lambs to the Slaughter
- Deepak Sapra '92
Parth – the current editor of SAM, made an impassioned plea on a Whatsapp chat. It's his swansong as SAM
editor, and he would get into proba on before the next issue of SAM comes out. So he wanted me to write for
this issue.
th
So, here is to you, Parth, and to everyone ge ng into proba on. It's from my diary of the 5 of October, 1998 –
the day our batch a ended the CME interview for pos ng, at the culmina on of our proba onary training. It will
give you an idea of how great proba on is.
It's a drama zed version, and I hope it will leave the readers with a smile.
And before I start, the disclaimer – this is not a work of fic on.
*
th
5 October, 1998, Eastern Railway, Calcu a
“All the best,” said Shivendra.
“Thanks,” I replied, nervously. I just wanted it to get over. I was unsure and apprehensive.
It was one-and-a-half years from the day we had commenced our proba onary training as IRSME officers. It was
one-and-half years from the day I had taken the Rajdhani Express from Baroda to Ratlam for the sole purpose of
ge ng away from the Railway Staff College (now NAIR) food, in order to have dinner on the train.
From those heady days, here we were, the SCRA 1992 batch. On the last day of proba on. Now seated outside
the Chief Mechanical Engineer's office at the Eastern Railway Headquarters in Calcu a.
I was awai ng my turn for the CME interview. This interview was a final assessment of the one-and-half years of
training, and was believed to be tough and grueling. To make ma ers more complex, I was allo ed Eastern
Railway. The fear of pos ng was just as big as the fear of failing the interview.
Eastern railway (then undivided, had divisions of what is now East Central Railway) had several weird places
where an Assistant Mechanical Engineer could get posted to. Some of these places were such that even on the
railways, no one had heard of them.
Barkakhana, Barwadih and Patratu were three such.
Some of my seniors had warned- “Ge ng posted to these places is like being banished to a jungle”. In some of
these areas, naxalites were very ac ve. They had even kidnapped a railway officer some years ago.
Today, a er one-and-half years of flying on Indian railways, flaun ng my Duty card pass which said, “Anywhere
to Anywhere”, I was ge ng the feeling that my wings were about to be cut. No ma er where the pos ng, it
would be ONE PLACE. Flying as a free bird in proba on had been full of the thrills of travelling and the joys of
exploring. Now, banishment to one place was staring me in the face. The most glorious period of railway life was
about to come to an end, sacrificed at the altar of a place like Barwadih or Barkakhana.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
In addi on to the fear of being posted to a wild locale, I was also convinced that my life would be hell if I were to
be posted on a diesel locomo ve shed, as I had very li le idea about what they were all about. I rarely liked the
sight, smells and greasy environs of diesel locomo ves. That I knew very li le of the technical aspects of the
loco was a ma er of minor detail.
It is said no one knows a person's fallings more than himself, and I knew it would get very difficult to cover up my
technical incompetence with smart talk, something that I believed could s ll have been possible in the other
sub-func ons like Power, Coaches and Wagons. This interview was a far cry from the one I had taken in Delhi
which had got me selected for the SCRA scheme, way back in 1992. Then, I was over confident, cocky and
bustling with op mism. Here I was under-confident, nervous and staring with deep pessimism at the prospect
of life in a non-descript place.
“You can go in now”, said the CME's secretary a er a while.
I composed myself for a few seconds, adjusted my shirt and took a sip of water. I walked in to the CME's office,
my swi stride belying my shaky interior. Call it the Jamalpur Gymkhana confidence.
It was a huge room. The CME sat behind a large table. His chair was big and imposing, almost like that of a
Maharajah.
“Good Morning, Sir”, I said, almost like a foot soldier would call out to the general.
He did not reply. He did not even look at me.
A few seconds later, he signaled at the wooden chair, asking me to sit.
The power equa ons were apparent from the sea ng arrangement. He on that huge throne, I on that puny
chair. The two of us separated by a massive table.
“I hope you are not zero at Diesel locos”, was the CME's opening remark. “How could you know”, I thought to
myself. I did not have the courage to tell him that I was indeed quite close to zero. Instead, I, told him with a
straight face, “No. No, sir. Not at all. I am NOT zero at Diesel locos”.
“Good, very good” said the CME.
“You know, some of your seniors in these kinds of interviews did not even know the number of wheels in a
diesel loco”, he con nued. “Ha, ha, ha” He laughed.
“Just imagine, eighteen months of training as an IRSME officer, and not even knowing how many wheels in a
loco. A couple of year ago, a guy first said eight, then corrected to 12, I asked him whether we could average it
out and agree on a number of ten”. I did not know how to react; I let out a hint of a wry smile, almost like Gabbar
Singh's minions in the Bollywood blockbuster Sholay.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Simultaneously, I began to calculate the number of wheels in a WDM2. 'Three by 2, six on each bogie, makes it
twelve in all', I kept the number in my pocket, in case it came to it.
“I hope you are be er than that, you know the number of wheels in a WDM2, don't you?” the CME asked in a
tone that was hugely disconcer ng.
I nodded. “Of course I do, sir.” I decided against saying the number unless he really pressed for an answer.
The rest of the interview was nondescript, interrupted by the several phone calls that he received.
Next, he picked up the record sheet which had my training records. The sheet had all details, including the
allocated zone, and a column for the CME's comments.
“Oh, you are going to be on Eastern Railway”, he exclaimed, in a tone nged with a minor degree of excitement
as he started filling in the assessment sheet. “So I have to post you somewhere”, he said.
“Not that I would want you to”, I told myself. ”It would also be great if you could send a salary cheque every
month to my home, I could con nue without being posted. You could also keep me as a proba oner for some
more years”.
He pulled out a file which had a bunch of papers with 'Eastern Railway Cadre posi on' wri en on top. He
glanced through the papers and thought for a few seconds.
He picked up a pen from the table, undid its cap and thought for a few seconds. “Okay, let me post you
to…..ummm…”
A pause. Time froze. My prayers were on. God, please God. Not Barwadih, not Barkakhana, not Patratu.
His phone rang again.
The phone conversa on con nued for two minutes and he seemed to be in a jolly mood at the end of the call.
He looked up towards me. The lamb was ready for the slaughter. “So, where was I…..”
“Ok, so let me post you to…to…...Andal.”
“Andal!” I responded incredulously.
He did not even acknowledge my saying that. “Andal” he told to his Secretary. “Please type his pos ng orders
for Diesel Shed Andal”
While I had been worried all the me about being banished to Barwadih, Barkakhana and Patratu, I wondered
where this googly came from. And it answered to a strange name. Andal. Perhaps it was worse than those
places, which is why I had not even heard of its existence. To rub it in, it was a Diesel shed.
“Your game is up, dear”, I told myself, as I came out. The next thing to do was to look up where Andal was and
whether it was a place or an animal.
Whatever it was, it would be my des ny for the next few years.
81
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
More Equal than Others
- Parth Adhikari '2k11
I realize this while you and I disembark from the train. Having put your luggage on the pla orm at the railway
sta on, I have an epiphany.
How you make that innocent face, how you squint those an mony-lined eyes, how your small, manicured
fingers fidget with the sling of The Heavier Bag – all in an a empt to make the logis cs easier.
I wonder how it is that you demand gender equality in all things and stomp your leg on the ground for
reserva ons to be made based on sex, knowing, but never acknowledging, that equality is as equally
imprac cal as it is illogical.
“The bag is really heavy, you know.” (Yes ma'am, I just helped you li it, without any help from you.)
I wonder how it is that some mes you can call me in the morning to frivolously inform me that you will not be
able to a end the class on that day, and a proxy will be helpful.
“Too bad it doesn't have wheels to roll it.” (I can see that. Even my duffel and holdall don't.) I wonder how it is
that when at mes The Professor calls up the en re class for a endance, you arrive a li le late and usually get
away with an excuse. And later, you catch up with me to say that I should have called you up with the
informa on a li le earlier than some insignificant girlfriend of yours.
“Isn't there a ramp or an escalator here?” (Look around; your guess is as good as mine, even if your height is
not.)
I wonder how it is that on some evenings, you can just sit on the ledge of The Terrace and from afar gently
beckon to me on the tennis court to leave the pleasure of sports and join you there.
When I consent – you talk and I am got to talking about nothing but what He said to Her, She said to Him or She
said to Her. Or if the se ng is fortunate, how in life only one random philosophy is tenable; and how somehow
your present (or past) stand (or conduct) on one random ma er (be it behavioural propriety, social dona ons at
various occasions or educa onal excellence in college laboratories) is somehow concordant with that one
absolute supreme tenet. And to cap the conversa on, you put a decorous - “But why! I had just come up here to
enjoy the weather. There is nothing to obstruct the breeze here, you see.”
When I don't consent - you talk and Mr. XY is got to talking about nothing but what He said to Her, She said
to Him or She said to Her. Or if the se ng is fortunate, how in life only one random philosophy is tenable;
and how somehow your (or past) stand (or conduct) on one random ma er (be it propriety, social
dona ons or educa onal excellence in college
laboratories) is somehow concordant with that one absolute supreme tenet. And oh, the wind is blowing
and there are beaming smiles on The Terrace.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Meanwhile, the score here is five games to nil, forty points to love in the sixth game. Coming into the present
third set (having already lost the two preceding sets), I realize that I might have got irrevocably behind in The
Game. If I don't make up, I will end up losing The Match! No smiles here, just bi er cringing. “The syllabus is
vast. The books are many. Oh, this deadweight!” (Same pinch. Di o!)
I wonder how it is that some mes a er dinner me, you can swoop into my room to talk, ask if I am in
possession of some par cular movie, or, what is the name of the melody which you happened to listen to on my
mobile phone, et al. You shuffle through the day's events and the problems, and slowly slide into our casual
discourse your plan to have a walk on The Other Terrace (that has earned the name of 'The Rendezvous' and
'The Stomping Ground')– something to pass the me. So a tête-à-tête under the moonlit sky, under the Orion,
ensues at the place which, if Rumour is to be believed, is your purlieu for conversa ons like these with anyone
agreeing to lend you a pa ent ear. Once there, you complain about your incumbent responsibili es. You
insinuate. And people (singing, whistling or just quietly passing by) sneak their heads in to see to whom the
close silhoue es on The Other Terrace belong. The people, you say, can't mind their own business. Then, with a
sudden insouciance, you resume your diatribe.
“Why did this godforsaken train have to stop here of all places? If it had halted at Pla orm Number 1, there
wouldn't have been any problems.” (We boarded the train from Pla orm Number 1 on our onward journey. I
remember that even then the infernal bags were a problem!)
I wonder how it is that you need a cortege to escort you on your travel home on leave. And if (God forbid) you
are returning alone, you call me up, at say.... an hour past midnight, and o andedly inform that your train is
arriving within the hour. It is late, you say. There is no one to pick you up at the sta on, you say. “Your bike has
petrol”, you assert or ask (I can't tell). I answer in the affirma ve. I collect the Key from the Inquisi ve Two-
Wheeler-Co-Owner and well, the following day, headlines have spread all over the place - Damsel in distress –
Brought back to The Hostel by Galahad.
“Porter! Porter! Where is a porter?” (Present, ma'am!)
I wonder how it is that I have come to being the bu of the rampant banter. That golden age of being
unencumbered seems like only yesterday. How is it that I am in this snare: this no-man's, yet every-man's land?
“Forty four degrees. Humid. God!” (Yes, it is all God's fault!)
I wonder how, while it is “en rely inappropriate” of us men to walk about in vests, it is “modern and adap ve”
of you to come outside in Those Hot Pants. You enjoy the liberty of picking whatever suits you from amongst our
lot, without such a trace of considera on as I would like. 'Veni Vidi...I chose as I willed'. You compare and
balance pros and cons. Someone's Ability to Swim might be pi ed against someone's Academic Ap tude.
Someone's Musculature and Strength against someone's Sense of Humour. But a sound judgement is not
guaranteed. It might be someone's Nothing against someone's Overall Excellence, and s ll the verdict could
come out against what the sense of any wise jury would see prevail. And then there is The Personal Space - a
panacea for all your problems, and an anathema to us. You can't seem to have enough of it. We can't have any of
it. The very fact that due to all this some men have been led astray to The Guitar, some to The Ghazal, some to
The Smoke and others to The Drink is painful. Isn't it?
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Well, it is. And I will do something about it. Enough of all this indolence on my part and all that insolence on your
part. To hell with acquiescing to any feigned female guilelessness. You seek Equality? Ye seek and ye shall find. I
will place and balance everyone on the same scales. No one is innocent. Naivety is a crime. No more falling for
any sugar-coa ng. To hell with Chivalry. It is an an quated concept, anyway; just some cooked-up balderdash of
The Middle Ages. Ac on, from now on. Goodbye to Ethical Sloth.
“Oh!” You check your watch strapped to the slender, demure wrist that I once silently fell in love with. There is a
whistle from the locomo ve. The train brimming with passengers slowly starts. The train of thought suddenly
stops.
I throw one of my bags over my shoulders. The other, I grasp with one hand. I pretend to be looking with unusual
interest at the train standing at the adjacent pla orm. My peripheral vision is concentrated at the Luggage
Situa on.
Perhaps you have given up any hope you might have had. You secure a ght grip on The Heavy Bag. You try to li
it with both arms. You falter once but finally it is over your shoulders. You sigh, you puff. Then just as you are
bending over The Heavier Bag lying on the pla orm, I hear my own renegade voice -
“Wait, Miss. Let me carry that for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” You turn your head and straighten up. And then you smile. There is a gentle tap on my
elbow. And a li le lustre in your lovely, lucid eyes. Oh, what would I not give? Or li , if that is what is needed.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
The Good Old SL Berths
- Penuboina Bharath Krishna '2k12
I don't remember the last me I made reserva ons in the Sleeper Class but partly because my brother
frequently commutes by it and partly because it had been quite a long me since my last trip, I decided to travel
by it. It was just to know how much it had changed since my last trip. In my school days when I could ill afford to
think of travelling in AC coaches (always considered to be quite a class), I used to travel by the humble SL berths.
We never had an unreserved passenger anywhere near the seats. The coach was kept quite clean by our
standards, a place good enough for a day or two. You never felt stuffy or suffocated and it gave me immense joy
just to sit by the cross-barred window and gaze at the paddy fields cut in squares and rectangles bordered by
trees, ny towers far across, farmhouses do ed amidst vast tracts of agricultural land. There were the
occasional roads and you would be excited to see if the car or bus on the road would overtake your train. If there
were several tall buildings and hoardings, you would know a big sta on was round the corner. More
importantly, it would feel as though the world moved behind rather than we moved forward. In an SL berth, one
could purchase water bo les and chips' packets without necessarily stepping out. You could admire the long
and mighty metal bridges perfectly riveted side to side on sturdy founda ons across vast waters painted in blue,
brown and green interspersed by small sand islands. The momentary temple would evoke a hand-touch-the-
forehead-and-eyes gree ng or humble obeisance to show you weren't an atheist. Then there were the feared
eunuchs when one would pretend to be in deep slumber; all the while, with a cunning eye keeping a watch if
they were gone. Also, the sight of a kid cleaning the floor with his already smudged shirt just for some change
would remind us about the poor in our country about whom we seldom think. You were subjected to all sorts of
smells, from the fragrance of the arriving rains to the odours of a slum or a sugarcane factory. A long tunnel
meant loud shouts and screams. It was amazing just to watch the light go out and then reappear a er a lengthy
period. The SL berths provided an ideal pla orm for discussions ranging from feminine gossip to cricket, movies
and poli cs. We were subjected to the vagaries of the weather, be it the scorching summers or the chilly
winters. One would know that he was actually travelling.
With all due gra tude to the many ameni es provided to me by the railways, I today reflect on the memories of
my childhood when a train journey would excite me to a wholesome experience of the good and the-not-so-
good. It was a world minus mobiles and laptops and many other pas mes. I passed my me coun ng trees and
markings and felt the air brush my face at the door as my home approached beckoning me back into its fold. I
made many friends and wished them well as they disembarked at their respec ve loca ons. I exchanged foods
and ideas, narra ng my anecdotes from school and pestered my parents to have my wishes granted.
Today, not much has changed on the outside. But the reserved also has a significant volume of the unreserved.
And with the increase in passenger traffic, the cockroaches and bugs have not been le behind. They too
compete for their li le space in this moving ecosystem. As the last minutes cked away for me to alight at my
des na on, I was filled with a huge void. Inside me, I realized I was missing the good old SL berths.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
The Real Form of Friendship
- Mishal '2k12
Now that I look down the memory lane, I find that the word ' friend ' is yet to be defined. Who is a friend? Is it
someone who gets you out of any difficulty or someone who dives right into it making it easier to traverse? Does
a friend support you in sadness or become your very reason for your happiness? Does a friend make you feel
safe or prepare you to be fearless towards any incoming danger? Is it the role of a friend to cover all your needs
or shorten your very necessi es? Should a friend force you to take a right path or let you learn from the wrong
path itself travelling alongside?
These ques ons wander all around my confused mind giving me all sorts of no ons of friendship. Some mes I
feel that tagging along with someone makes him a friend, but that's far from true - I think the next day.
Memories are forged when events are associated with strong emo ons. Emo ons surge from our heart when
events have social or personal implica ons. Friendship is something that frees you of all the social and
environmental barriers making you suscep ble to real emo ons. It makes you feel joy, sorrow, terror,
confusion, love and all other registered emo ons.
But the ques on s ll lives on. Whether a friend should stop you from pursuing trouble or let you face it
alongside with you? I hope to find an answer.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
What an Empty Stomach can make you do
- Poonam Kumari Saha'2k13
It was the usual Christmas holiday: cold, foggy and en rely suitable for spending the day in bed, cuddled up
under a blanket without the pressure of having to repor o the ins tute early in the morning.
But who knew that in the next few hours, I would find myself standing above the Ganga river on the Munger
Ganga bridge, which is s ll under construc on?Only your crazy batch-mates know how to change your
reluctant mind!
The spectacular view of the river Ganga dyed golden by the sunlight, along with the ripe yellow mustard in the
fields dancing in the wind,mesmerized us. Equally enthralling was the majes c view of the steel structure on
which we were standing. Considering ourselves as the poten al engineers of the future, we found it very
insigh ul to see how engineering was being put into prac ce.
However, I was unaware of what else was there in store for me ahead.
Some construc on site workers in messy steel-colored overalls were busy making a scaffold. One of them was
expressionlessly pain ng a lo y structure by si ng on its edge, with only a flimsy rope ed round his waist for
support. He seemed quite at home in this precarious posi on! Yet another one was making his way down a
rope, kno ng it as he went to create a ladder.
Some workers were si ng in a group a er a hard day's work.I could hear a popular Bhojpuri song playing on
one of their cell-phones while some indulged in light-hearted banter. I was tempted to strike up a conversa on
with them. So, I asked those si ng for a photograph to break their monotony and bring a smile to their faces by
trying to convey that I valued their work. But I abstained from making even the slightest noise while walking
past those working on the edges of these high structures.
I felt a shiver run down my spine when I realized how dangerous these jobs were. What if someone were to fall
from this lo y structure? What if the scaffold collapses? What if the person making the ladder slips? I was
horrified, and my horror intensified further when I spo ed a large beehive on a roof of the structure. I
wondered what would happen if, when provoked, the bees a acked one of the workers in a swarm, causing him
to lose his concentra on and fall down.
These thoughts made my head reel. Till date, I have never been able to wake up 5 minutes early so that I don't
have to skip my breakfast. But, no ma er how harsh the weather is, these workers are constantly working and
taking such risks to earn li le money so that they could feed their poor families.
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
We remember Shah Jahan as the one who built the Taj Mahal in the memory of his beloved wife Mum Taj
Mahal. But are we not mistaken in our concept? It was Shah Jahan's idea to build the Taj Mahal, but it was the
dedica on and sacrifices of thousands of poor construc on workers which gi ed us with that glorious
monument, which is proudly considered to be one of the Seven Wonders of the World today. But what did they
get in return? They were treated like dirt! We all know the legend about their ugly fate at his hands once their
work was completed.
This lack of recogni on of their sufferings and their poor living and working condi ons seem to tell me
thousands of tales of depriva on, stories of broken promises, stories of charred dreams and stories of empty
stomachs which forced them to take up such jobs for a modest payment. This compelled my mind to think of
this uglier side of the construc on of the glorious bridge, which is least highlighted.Surely, these construc on
workers are big and strong men and the real heroes who build all these wonderful structures.
I know that my realiza on won't upli their condi ons. But, whenever I will see these structures, deep down in
my heart, the respect for their sacrifices will increase. As one day, I would be an engineer and will have men like
these under my command, I hope to be able to, in some form, convey my respect and gra tude for their work
through my ac ons.
P.S. - Munger Ganga Bridge is being constructed over the Ganga river to connect two major trade hubs of Bihar
– Munger and Begusarai. It is a mega rail-road bridge, reportedly the third largest in India with a length of 3190
metres.
88
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
The Travel Travail
- Pushkar Verma '2k14
For those who have been trying to figure out what this weirdo had been onto the whole summer
vaca on...well, here is its simple glimpse.
Travelling, as historians suggest, has been an integral part of human society. It is a well known fact that humans
have travelled widely for many centuries for various reasons, ranging from adventure, health, occupa on, etc.
But 'travelling' cannot be just this much. To begin with, today I shall dig deep into the 'pre-travelling' process;
the real Journey Song (#piku), being played in every middle class family. The real fun begins to take its form by
the very thought.
Step 1:
From day 1, when such an idea strikes the right cord, a simultaneous reflex is developed in our body to secrete
'serotonin' leading us in the medley of emo ons (anxiety, excitement, distrac on, day-dreamy, etc). Next task is
to find the right partner. A er finding the right place and the right partner, a mee ng is scheduled to figure out
the right day, mode of transport, etc.
But, is it just about planning with our “saathi” alone? It simply can't be “Yeh Jawani Hai Diwani” style where
you meet your friends directly at the sta on with his/her backpack.
Step 2:
Clearance of schedule (from your workplace) followed by consulta on with the meteorological department are
the tasks under step 2. Next in the queue are ma ers pertaining to money. This accounts the Finance
Department (be it your parents or boss, who in the beginning of the year gave you “Budget 2016”) to clear our
bill.
Next comes the health issues (especially for trekking, mountaineering, long voyage travels) to be cleared by our
“khaandani doctors”. Besides, there is a special officer: our mothers, who are the hardest nuts to crack; no
bribery in this department is valid. If you are good at emo onally blackmailing your mothers, then, go on
reading. In India, neither of us wants to be a part of another “HOME ALONE” nor do we want to leave our “Home
Alone”. So, another task of hiring a watchman is added in the list!
An exclusive p: get expert advice from your padosi, padosi ka padosi, padosi ke chacha ka dost, doston ka
dost...
Now, I declare that your packing is 'officially' open.
Step 3:
If any of the departments has refused your proposal or sudden appearance of a villain has created a mess, then,
don't get disheartened. There is another route as well. Watch “Desi Kalakar” by Honey Singh and try sneaking
out late at night or fly early bird biding good bye to your family with bed-tea!
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Step 4:
“kripya apni kursi ki pe baandh le... we are about to take off for packing!” When it comes to packing, we
Indians are extremely 'dildaar'. We always choose a modified version of Mr. Obama's quote “Nothing le
behind” (instead of “No Child Le Behind”). Let me give a solid proof. We carry several types of footwears
ranging from slippers, shoes, sandals, floaters, etc. All the digital handies: laptop, camera, i-pad, and iphone.
These stuffs may be mandatory for some, but their load of chargers and intangible cables really make it all count
messy.
The girls actually carry the whole wardrobe, some by choice like shorts, tees, etc. And some girls carry kur s and
dupa a with them out of compulsion because our disgus ng society never rises above shorts.
Anyways, coming back to packing, one really becomes “Ghajini” making notes of all things to be carried
wherever ge ng
Step 5:
Everything is done, Sir! What are you wai ng for?
“jaa jee le apni zindagi...”
90
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
S ll I Love Her
- Prithiwish Halder '2k14
Time has flown by but the thing which I just cannot flush out of my system is her name. Someone has rightly
said, “Love happens only once.”
Teenage years come once in life, and bring with them lots of fun for most boys, but mine was different. My
mo o was to top my class. In trying to achieve this, I gained the tle of a 'nerd'. I preferred not to waste my
valuable me in playing or spending me with my friends. I stayed away from girls and such stuff. And now I feel
that this was perhaps my biggest mistake.
th
I entered class XI and got admission in a coaching ins tute with full scholarship. I was unaware of what was
going to come my way.
Dressed smartly for my first day in the class, I arrived and saw flocks of students se ling around, but there was
someone who caught my a en on in that crowd. I was awestruck! She was the pre est face I had ever seen
(Punjabis are just so pre y): cuteness overloaded. As the class proceeded, I was exploring something more
about her. The shades of pink frame on her eyes showed down upon her face, firm voice, and her smile made
me believe that the concept of “Love at first sight” was more prac cal than the concepts of Newton. No offence
to apples. I love peaches more.
Expectedly, I acted like an immature boy and described my feelings to every other person which ul mately
made it all the more for me to approach her. My goals changed and my solo mo ve was no longer to top my
class, but to grab a chance to talk to her.
Meanwhile, I found two friends (for life me). They were the same breed as me: less hard-working, but caring
and helpful. They felt my sorrow and made many efforts to arrange a tete-a-tete with her. I was in a
predicament. Was she really what I wanted, or was it my craving to have a girlfriend?
When you are 15, being in a rela onship earns you more laurels than being a topper of the batch and it's s ll
valid ll 20.
But to my bad luck, the efforts of one of my friends backfired, and she started showing more interest in him than
me. Alas! All the mental kabaddi showed its a er-effects on my test results, making my aim seem like a distant
dream.
I s ll recall an incident when my friend cha ed with her on Facebook from my account and tried to set me up
with her. She had just recovered from dengue and needed help with her studies. So, she agreed to get help from
me, even though, she saw me as a mediocre student in her eyes. Realizing that we had not fixed up the me for
our mee ng, I decided to wait outside the coaching from 7 am ll noon. I kept thinking about how I would strike
a conversa on. And finally, when she arrived, all I did was stammer. Even when I tried to speak, I asked stupid
ques ons that actually made no sense. Half an hour passed and by then, the tables had turned, and it was the
tutor who was being tutored.S ll, I could not approach her (her brother was a student party leader); she never
91
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
understood, never looked back and off she went. Not having her contact number, I stayed in touch with her
through Facebook and later expressed my feelings; she replied, “Thank You!” (such a compact reply!). I was
heartbroken and sadness sunk into me. Then I thought that I should keep talking to her, loving her,
remembering her because that will always give me another chance to meet her. Oh God please!
Moral of my story: Don't Give up on Your First Love
P.S. - The above story is a work of art and holds no resemblance to me or anyone I know. Hope my parents don't
read this.
I sought help from her friends, for it was the only way to get a chance to talk to her. I enjoyed doing this.
Listening to music and humming songs the whole day became part of my new life. I had started taking more
than an hour to dress myself up for the class, and one day, I even missed the class! Craziness took new heights
when my mother no ced these changes in me. But I somehow managed to convince her that everything was
running normal in my life.
Then came the me of our compe ve exams, and I juggled hard between studies and her constant image in
my mind. Compe ve exams ripped me apart as one of them helped her make it to one of the most pres gious
colleges in the country.
92
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Love in Life
- Anuj Rathor '2k15
Love is more easily experienced than defined. We show love for our parents, partners, children, friends,
country, God; all cons tute to give a broader picture of love. Each has its variants: blind, one-sided, tragic,
steadfast, reciprocated, misguided, etc. But there is something which lies in common to all: The Faith. We show
faith in our spouse, faith in the Almighty, faith in our children. Love is all about having faith in rela onships; no
ma er what the form of love. If there is no faith, there is no love.
Love is free, yet it binds us. It is the essence of life; it is the binding force that unites the world. We all may have
seen “ Ardh-Nareshwar” ( half male and half female ) body of Lord Shiva, but only those can feel the true
meaning of Ardhnareshwar who has felt the completeness, not with his soulmate, but with the soul of his
mate.
Once I was hearing a sermon about rela onships. In that, there is an army officer and his wife; one fine day, two
young men visited the army officer. Si ng in the lawn a er nearly an hour of discussion, the old man asked
them if they cared for tea. They didn't think about tea, it appeared as if he wanted tea for himself, and they were
only the context by which he could ask for it. So, he asked, “Do you care for tea?” They thought and said, “Why
not?” As the man turned towards the bungalow and was about to shout to call for tea, a beau ful lady was
already coming towards them with a tray carrying teapots and cups and saucers in her hands. As she
approached them, the man said, “I was about to ask you for tea.” She said politely that if a er fourteen years of
our marriage, he had to ask her for tea and only then, she would bring it, then, there was no meaning to this
rela onship.
So, her wife knew what her husband wanted without him to ask her explicitly. This is just an example. Almost
everyone has some person in his/her life with whom they can never get bored; they love to share their ups and
downs, achievements or scars; they miss their company if they are not present. So, this life is long, but the
journey gets be er with love in our life. So, give a li le love and you will get a li le love back. “Absence sharpens
love, presence strengthens it.”
Then came the me of our compe ve exams, and I juggled hard between studies and her constant image in
my mind. Compe ve exams ripped me apart as one of them helped her make it to one of the most pres gious
colleges in the country.
93
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SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Lighthouse
(From the poet's blog www.vinspeaks.blogspot.in)
- Vinamra Mishra '98
When you are lost,
Lost somewhere into nowhere.
When the treacherous mes,
Have played tricks with you.
The witches of circumstances,
Have pricked you, frightened you.
When the blaze of misfortune,
Has blinded your vision.
Raise your head and look at me,
I will be your Lighthouse.
When the grey of life,
Has painted your fate black.
The fluke of des ny,
Has duped you, deceived you.
When the darkness of providence
Has shaded your path gloomy.
Raise your head and look at me,
I will be your Lighthouse.
I may be far away,
I may be s ff, stoic,
I may seem powerless,
A li le ragged, bruised.
But I have a light,
And so, I will be your Lighthouse.
95
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
A Girl in another City
(From the poet's blog www.thepoe cmeanders.blogspot.in)
- Parth Adhikari '2k11
In another city, a girl,
Whose hair caress her pre y face
When the breeze trespasses gently
Her soul, then in a so embrace,
Nestles her in its en rety;
She must be si ng at the bay
Now, in that another city
Which - what a pity, is far away.
In another city, a girl,
Whose fingers fidget with the hemline
Of her coat, awaits her flight home.
She's melancholy, but is “Fine”
When someone asks her how she's doing;
Her suitcase hates the delay,
It lies morbid in the lobby
Which - what a pity, is far away.
In another city, a girl,
Whose coffee has gone from strong to stale
Is pondering at the spectrum
Up in the sky, thinking it'll fail
To persist like the one she saw
Ages ago that rainy day,
In that valley - her second home
Which - what a pity, is far away.
In another city, a girl,
Whose mind is currently confused
Between two voices and choices
She's to make, that she has refused
To make up un l now, but me
Has held her prisoner this day
Inside tenuous walls in a world,
Which - what a pity - is far away.
96
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
When We Will Be Happy
(From the poet's blog www.thepoe cmeanders.blogspot.in)
- Parth Adhikari '2k11
When there was a mud trail through the verdure
Which caressed the painted sky on each end,
We rode fast on our bicycles and dreams;
It was then that we were happy, my friend.
When there was a casserole to be shared
Si ng aloof where the river danced a bend,
We whiled away me looking at wavelets;
It was then that we were happy, my friend.
When there was a sweet shade under the bough
Without contrivances to apprehend,
The splay of our palms reached the co on clouds;
It was then that we were happy, my friend.
When there was nothing to no ce missing
And not a care in the world to a end,
Milestones standing on mountains to sit on;
It was then that we were happy, my friend.
Now you are gone: those days bygone. Where -
With all this wisdom I can't comprehend.
But, some day when our souls decide to meet
Is when we will again be happy, my friend.
97
SAM CLUB DAY ‘16
Suddenly
- Ri ka Rashmi '2k11
Suddenly, you came into my world.
Suddenly, I liked you.
Suddenly, you became the greatest gi of all.
Suddenly, I fell in love with you.
Suddenly, seeing you every day became my rou ne.
Suddenly, I need you more and more.
Suddenly, you were my everything.
Suddenly, I have so many memories with you.
Suddenly, you were irreplaceable.
Suddenly, I depended on you.
Suddenly, you meant the world to me.
Suddenly, I can't do anything without you.
Suddenly, you became an important part of my life.
Suddenly, I took you for granted.
Suddenly, you stop trying for me.
Suddenly, my world fell apart.
Suddenly, you gave me despair.
Suddenly, I feel lost without you.
Suddenly, you le me, just like that.
Suddenly, it's over.
Suddenly, I would do anything to get you back.
Suddenly, you gave me hope.
Suddenly, I was forsaken.
Suddenly, you became a memory.
Suddenly, I can't face reality.
Suddenly, you seemed like a stranger.
Suddenly, I cried.
Suddenly, you didn't care.
Suddenly, I lost all hopes.
Suddenly, you are gone...
98
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