Mumbai Musings

We reached Mumbai on 9th Feb to attend the workshop conducted by NSDL on IT preparedness for GST on 10th and 11th. Mr Patra, my senior colleague and immediate boss wanted to have a darshan of Mahalaxmi on 10th evening after the workshop was over. We visited. The next day, on the 11th, he wanted to visit Siddhi Vinayak. While returning from Siddhi Vinayak temple in the evening after the darshan, he exclaimed, “Yesterday we visited Ma’laxmi, incidentally it was Friday, an auspicious day for visiting Maa and today, we visited Baba Vinayak.”
He was visibly pleased and satisfied. He described his feelings as if he were in a trance after the visit.

Last time I had visited Mumbai with my niece. She had to appear interview for Grade-B officer of Reserve Bank of India. On the day, after her interview was over by 3 pm, we went for sight-seeing to India Gate. The next day our train was at 10 in the night, so we had a full day at our hand. We went to Khandala.
During my last visit to Mumbai it did not strike me to visit Mahalaxmi or Siddhi Vinayak. I was even not conscious of the God and Goddess.

I am not a religious man, the names of Gods and Goddesses do not evoke devotion or the kind of religious feeling in me as they do to Mr Patra. During my school days I was under the influence of my teacher Kalindi Charan Jena, who was a professed communist. I had an overdose of Marxist clichés such as religion is opium to the masses, Religion and Gods are creation of the ruling class to exploit the proletariat, etc. The impact it had is still with me and perhaps, will remain till I die. I never do puja, do not relish going to a temple. If my wife and children are not at home and I am left alone, they request my neighbour’s wife or daughter to light at least an incense stick in our puja room; my wife never trusts me in the matters of Gods, Goddesses and worship.

On our way to India Gate I came across an Art Exhibition on the road side in the open space. We got down and saw the exhibition. It was theme based (I have posted a picture); I wished I would have spent some more time. I would have loved to see the exhibition, studied the arts, but my boss did not seem interested in such things and we did not have also much time for it.
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Security arrangements were made elaborately, the devotees/darshan seekers had to pass through security check and metal detector test. There was a long queue for the darshan of Siddhi Vinayak when we reached the temple around 5.20 pm. We stood in the queue. One person approached us and told if we paid Rs 150 each, he would take us inside avoiding the security,and enable our darshan without the travails of standing in the queue and wasting time in waiting. He warned darshan would be stopped at 6 pm and we might not be able to have our darshan. We did not agree to his proposal.

A few years back I had gone to Agra with my family. After we booked tickets to visit Taj Mahal, we had to stand in the queue for security check. The queue was more than a kilometre long and I reckoned it would take at least an hour to pass through the check. One person approached and suggested if we paid Rs 100 each he would take us inside avoiding the security check. I did not heed to his offer. He lowered the price and said Rs 70 would do. Still I did not listen. He further lowered the price to Rs 50. The person standing near me bargained and said, twenty. The person said, “The police shall take Rs 20 each, what shall I get? Make it thirty.” The person standing beside me agreed, paid Rs 30 for him and for each of his family members and went out of the queue.

The security arrangement is for ensuring terrorists not to sneak into and create mischief that would not only damage the shrines/monuments but also result in communal catastrophes. If a person of my kind can avoid security by bribing Rs 30 or 50, can’t a terrorist do the same?
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Among the friends working in Mumbai, I had close friendship with Sailendra, Radharaman and Ranjan during my college and university days. On reaching Mumbai on 9th, first I rang up Sailendra. He was in his office and seemed busy. He talked and suggested if I could drop in his home and told me how to go. I was put up in Odisha Bhavan in Navi Mumbai and his residence was somewhere in Dadar. I could go by taxi or catch the local train at Vasi. I told, I would try, but considering my schedule it was not possible. I stayed till 12th, but he did not remind me, perhaps, did not find time to talk to me till I left Mumbai.

I talked to Radharaman. He was also in his office and obviously busy. First he could not recognise me; he had not saved my number in his cell phone. While talking, he recognised aafter I self introduced, the phone went off and neither I nor he thought of reconnecting. On 11th he called me up. I was in a meeting. I told I would ring back during lunch. I rang up at 2 pm. His office was within two kms from Lower Parel where we had our meeting. He told that he would leave his office for home within ten minutes. It was Saturday, perhaps, he had half day off. I said we would meet next time I visit Mumbai, and switched off the phone.

I rang up Ranjan on 12th, the day I was to leave Mumbai for Cuttack. He responded to the call and seemed to have been peeved. I asked what he was doing. He replied he was sleeping. It was 8.45 am. I had already taken my breakfast. He invited me for lunch. But I was sorry for I had disturbed his Sunday morning sleep. I said, “Next time.” He switched off his cell phone and, perhaps, continued his interrupted sleep.

All the three friends are sincere and hard working. They work for banks and are successful in their profession and have also moved high in ranks in their respective banks. They have tight work schedule. They leave for office around seven or seven-thirty in the morning and reach home after nine in the night on the working days.
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A few days back, poet Rajendra Kishore Panda had posted in Facebook the most common dying regrets, as recorded by Bronnie Ware in her book titled The Top Five Regrets of the Dying-A Life Transformed by the Dearly Departing. She was an Austrian nurse who had worked in palliative care, and had to spend with the patients during the last three to twelve weeks of their lives. The most common five dying regrets of her patients are
1.I wish I’d the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me
2.I wish I didn’t work so hard
3.I wish I’d the courage to express my feelings
4.I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends
5.I wish that I had let myself be happier

She concludes, “Life is a choice. It is your life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness”

I know I do not have choice; I shall have the same regrets at the time of my death. What’s about yours?
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A Cup of Tea on Puri Beach

Sakhigopal is historically famous and religiously important, but a small semi- urban place. There were a few offices when I was there Sub Treasury Officer during 1992 to 1996. I did not have much work after first week of the month, after pensioners were paid and pay bills were passed. During the rest of the month I had on an average hardly thirty minutes’ work in a day. I spent the time reading daily newspapers, magazines and books. Sometimes I would start a book of two hundred to three hundred pages in the morning and finished reading before I went to bed in the night.

Somehow or other, I learnt to pass the working days, but Sundays and holidays were problem for me. I ate good hearty meals and slept. I added fat. One day in 1993 I found I weighed eighty two kilos. (Now after nearly twenty years I weigh seventy eight.) To pass time and avoid boredom, on holidays, mostly after lunch I went either to Bhubaneswar or to Puri. I participated in the old bus stand’s writers’ Khatti. (That Khatti still continues, some old participants continue to attend, many new members have joined.) The day I went to Puri, I would get down at the bus stand, walk to the sea beach, wander on the beach aimlessly and come back by the evening bus. Sometimes Prafulla Mohanty or Anup Dwivedi or both joined me. Prafull was then on study leave, doing his research for his Ph.D. Anup was an officer of State Bank India, Sakhigopal. He had rented a house in Puri, was staying with his family and daily commuting to his Branch. But most of the times I was alone strolling on the beach till evening.

One day while rambling on the beach we went up to Pentkata. Pentakat is a fisherman’s village, a large cluster of huts on the beach. Prafulla was with me. We found two foreign ladies sitting on sand and enjoying the soft afternoon sun, cool sea breeze and watching Pentakata urchins playing on the sand. One lady came to us and asked pointing to a couple fisherwomen doing some chores near their huts at a distance, “Do you speak English? Can you interpret them for us?”

We readily agreed. They were from Sweden.

The ladies queried the women on matters like how they felt like living on huts at the sea, how much they earned a day, whether they feared when their husbands went into the sea on the boat for fishing, what they wanted to see their children to be in future…. A few more women and children gathered. They asked questions to the children and the other women. They also took photographs and they paid ten rupees to each of the children present there. We worked as interpreters for both the ladies and the women and children.

They spent almost two hours with the fisherwomen and children of Pentkata. After they finished their interview, one of the two ladies, who I came to learn taught anthropology in a college, asked me, “How much would you take?”
“What for?” I asked
“You have worked as interpreter and spent almost two hours with us …” She replied.
“We don’t want; we have enjoyed your company. Thanks.” I said.
She looked surprised, and proposed, “If you don’t mind, have dinner with us. We are staying in a nearby hotel.” She could not relish that we should go unpaid for the time we had spent interpreting for them.
We were walking back towards Puri hotel. Last bus to Sakhigopal was at 8 PM. It was 5.30. I said, “No, thanks. I have to catch the bus to go to my place of work where I also reside.”
Then the lady said, “Let’s have tea. Actually we have enjoyed your company as well as your talk. We can spend some time more before you leave for your place of work.”
We could not decline. We saw a tea vendor walking and selling tea in the beach. Prafulla called him. The vendor served us tea. When asked the price, he said, “Forty rupees.”
“What?” Prafulla exclaimed. Then he turned to Odia and with typical Puri style of speaking and accent charged him for the exorbitant price of the tea.
The vendor, aged about twenty, smiled and said in Odia, “Sir, the cost of tea is rupees two for an Odia, rupees five for a Bengli or non Odias and rupees ten for white skinned foreigners. I could not conceive you two could be Odias. I thought you might be from South India accompanying the white skinned ladies.”

He mistook us, often it happens with me, because of my dark skin, and our speaking in English with the ladies.
“Is there any difference in quality?” I asked.
“No, the quality remains the same.”

“Take eight.” Prafulla commanded. But the vendor entreated, “Please, make it to twenty.”

The Swedish ladies could not understand what we were discussing. She asked,“What happened? How much I have to pay?”
“Twenty.” The vendor now said.
The lady could not believe how the price was reduced to half so suddenly and asked again, “How much?”
“Twenty.” Prafulla pitied the vendor.

The ladies looked Prafulla with admiring eyes and paid the vendor.
The vendor left the place with a look full of gratitude for Prafulla.
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Where God Comes As Witness

I was elated when I was transferred to Satyabadi as Sub Treasury Officer in 1992.

Satyabadi that is Sakhigopal is a historically famous and religiously important place. It is believed that pilgrimage to Puri, the abode of Lord Jagannath is not complete without a visit to Sakhigopal. The name Sakhigopal is derived from a legend in which it is told Lord Gopal has come to be a sakhi (witness) for a poor Brahmin. The story runs like this:

Two Brahmins went on a pilgrimage. At Brundaban the old Brahmin fell seriously ill. The young Brahmin nursed him. The Brahmin recovered, and pleased with the service of the young Brahmin, promised to give his daughter in marriage with him on their return to village. After their return, the old Brahmin changed his mind as the young man was of a lower caste Brahmin. He denied to have made any promise. The young Brahmin went to Lord Gopal who obliged him and came from Brundaban to be a witness.

At Satyabadi, Utkalmani Gopabandhu had started his famous school in 1909. When the house of the school was burnt, the classes were run in the nearby grove of chhuriana and bakul. That is why the school was known as Satyabadi Bana Vidyalaya (Satyabadi Garden School). The school was set up with a noble intention of inculcating national spirit and humanitarianism in the students. The school was justifiably called a ‘man manufacturing factory’. The teachers of the school included Neelkanth Dash, MA in Philosophy, Krupasindhu Misra, MA in History and Godavarish Misra, M A in Economics. They had forsaken allurement of government or any kind of high salaried jobs for an ascetic life of teachers. All the teachers were dedicated and learned. Neelakanth along with Acharya Harihar, another teacher of the School had taken a vow with Gopabandhu on the bank of river Bhargavi that they would work to see a better world at the time of their death than what they had seen at the time of their birth. They were not only great teachers, but also social reformers, litterateurs and freedom fighters.

My euphoria gave way to disappointment soon after I joined.

I had a notion that the place would be nice; the people would be sophisticated and progressive in outlook. But contrary to my belief, I found the place just like any other place, nothing special or different, the people rather proud, orthodox, and caste conscious. On the first day in the office, three-four persons who came to give me curtsey call asked my caste. Disgusted, I replied to one, “How does my caste relate to my official functions?”

In the hotels you had to wash your own dishes if you took tiffin or meals. I could not find a hospitable house to take on rent to stay with my family. All of my predecessors were either commuting from Bhubaneswar or Puri or from Cuttack. (My successors till today, what I learn also do the same). But I decided to stay there. I managed to get a house; it was of mud wall and asbestos roofed. There was no piped water supply. We had to drag water from a well that was inside a small courtyard of the house I lived in. One had to be careful against mosquitoes and snakes. One day, within first week of my stay there, I found a snake, a king cobra, in the office under my table; another day my wife discovered a snake in the kitchen. The climate was humid, and added to it, there were frequent power cuts.

A Brahmin used to meet me in the office. He was normally clad in dhoti. He did not wear a shirt; he used a dhoti chadar to cover the upper part of the body. He would bless me by reciting a Sanskrit sloka, and take one rupee that I offered in return.
One day I was in the office just gossiping with my staff after our day’s work was over. The Brahmin came, blessed me and also took the one rupee I was in the habit of giving. One staff member said, “Why are you offering him money? I was about to tell …he is a retired Sanskrit teacher, taking pension.”
This information surprised me. I had mistaken him to be a poor temple priest, begging by way of reciting slokas. I said, “How could he accept? I was mistaken, but he should have declined, and told me his true identity.”
Another staff member who happened to be incidentally a Brahmin said, “Sir, if a jajaman offers something, a Brahmin cannot decline. If he declines, it would be harmful for the jajaman.”
I did not know about this sort of Brahmin-Jajaman relation. But next time when the Brahmin came and blessed me by reciting a sloka I did not offer him the one rupee. He waited for some moments, but did not ask for the rupee, which he never did, and went away. But after that day he had not come to bless me.

I wanted a transfer, but could not as I was, and still am shy of approaching anyone for anything personal. But as days passed by I got used to the conditions, the mosquitoes and snakes, the people and the place. And after some days I found I had started liking the place. I liked to sit on the veranda of the house where I lived and watched bullock carts carrying loads of coconut to the market. I waited for anla nabami, the day people thronged to have a darshan of Goddess Radha’s feet in the temple. I loved to watch the queue of the devotees snaking in front of my house for the darshan of the feet. I fell in love with the special dishes of dalema, besar or mohura, the way these dishes were prepared in the locality. The pandas (temple priests) loved me and my children. They never forgot to give us special prasad offered to the God on special occasions. I stayed in Sakhigopal for more than four years till August 1996. When I was transferred I was given a teary farewell by the pensioner-friends, and I left the place with a heavy heart.

I lovingly treasure the memory of Sakhigopal and watch avidly even today any news concerning Sakhigopal including Silpa Shetty getting kissed by a priest in the temple precincts.
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