Ravi Verma of Andaman

 

(With Ravi Varma at Port Blair Airport

 

It was nine in the morning when we reached Port Blair. The rain had washed the city. Trees and bushes were on both sides of the road. We were heading towards our hotel from the airport. The city looked fresh and lovely. I asked the driver his name.

“Ravi Verma,” he said

“Ravi Verma is a famous name. There was a great painter by the name Ravi Verma; the hero of the film, ‘Karz’ is also Ravi Verma.”.

“I am also no less,” he said, quoting a popular dialogue of a Hindi film, and smiled at us.

Ravi Verma is a mechanical engineer. He has a manufacturing unit that produces ceramic, porcelain and steel teeth. He has employed three technicians. Besides, he works as a coordinator in a travel agency. He has his own car; if required, he drives the tourists from the airport to the hotel, or from the hotel to any destination.  

Ravi Varma’s grandfather had come to Andaman. The friend of his grandfather was a prisoner in the Cellular jail.  His friend, a freedom fighter, had participated in the non-cooperation movement. In 1922, the freedom fighters set ablaze to the police station in Chouruchoura, that killed twenty-two police. In that case, his friend was awarded life imprisonment, and sent to the Cellular jail of Andaman. India got independence in 1947. The prisoners of Cellular jail were set free. No one of his friend’s family members were alive; his parents, brothers and sisters were all dead by the time he came out of the jail. The government had given him a piece of land in Andaman. He was farming and doing business. In 1970, he brought his friend, Ravi Verma’s grandfather to Andaman.

                                          (At Cellular Jail)

The criminals or the mutineers were imprisoned in Andaman after sepoy mutiny in 1857. There no scope to escape from there. The sea surrounded the Andaman Islands, if someone escaped from the jail, he could not cross the sea water to reach the mainland. The Britishers built the Cellular Jail between 1896-1906. The Cellular jail had 697 cells. The criminals and the political prisoners were put up there. The cells were small, there was one skylight high above on the back wall. There was no window. The door was locked with an iron gate. The jail authorities tortured the political prisoners. They gave water only twice in a day. The prisoners were forced to stay in their cells after six in the evening. They were provided with earthen pots to store urine or excreta, if they had to attend call of nature in the night. The prisoners had to put up with the stinks of their own human waste stored in the room. They were given adulterated food. They had to press the coconuts or mustard to produce oil. They were given targets for the day, to produce oil as much as one bullock could do. Besides, they were given other physical work. 

The criminals who completed ten or twelve years in the jail were given the charge of administering political prisoners. The political prisoners were tortured more than the murder convicts. The Britishers tormented them like the Nazis did to the Jews in concentration camps. The cellular jails were constructed in such a way; the front of one row of cells confronted the back of another row of cells. There was little chance of the prisoners knowing each other, if they were in the cells of different rows. Vir Savarkar and his elder brother, Ganesh Savarkar were suffering jail terms at the same time, but they did not know for two years. They were so cruel and the torture was so severe, the prisoners could not endure. Indubhusan Roy, a freedom fighter committed suicide, Ullashkar Dutta turned mad. Many political prisoners died of torture.

                                           (Moving to another island by a cruise )

The political prisoners were set free after India got independence. The near and dear ones of many prisoners were dead by the time they were free, like that of Ravi Verma’s grandfather’s friend. The government gave them land in Andaman. They settled there. The people of other states had gone there for business.

The original inhabitants of Andaman and Nicobar Islands are Jarwas, Onges, Sentinelese, Shompens, etc. but they are far way from modernity and civilization; they still reside in the jungles, and cannot be brought to the mainstream. 

                           (Reclining on a beach)

The government of India changed the name of Port Blair to Srvijaypuram. In past, during the NDA rule of prime minister, Narendra Modi, the government had also changed the names of Havelock islands and Neil islands to Swaraj Deep and Saheed Deep, respectively. 

 I asked Manjit, the coordinator of the Travel Agency in Swaraj Deep, “The government have recently changed the name of Port Blair to Srvijaypuram. What’s your opinion?” He said, “What will we get in the change of name? We need good roads, other facilities, development so that we can live happily and more tourists would come.” Asked him, “What freebies do you get from the government?” He said, “Rice and wheat. But there is much corruption, the freebies do not reach the needy. But who has time to keep account of that?”

Andaman and Nicobar Islands are union territories, administered by the central government. They get benefit of the central government schemes. They do not have the schemes like mamata yojana a woman gets when she is conceived to the schemes like Harischandra yojana the family gets when a person dies, like in Odisha.

(Published in an Odia Daily, The Prameya on 15.12. 24)

I hired an uber taxi after I landed in Bhubaneswar airport to come home. I was chitchatting with the driver, The driver told he was doing job outside the state. He had to return to the state as his father fell ill. He was getting around thirty thousand after meeting all the incidental expenses. He had already got a job in the state. He would no longer drive an uber vehicle.

“What will be your salary in the new job?” I asked.

“Twenty-thousand,” he said.

“You are now earing thirty thousand per month. There is scope in a business to rise up; in future, you can expand your business. What’s your future, if you do a job in the private sector?”

He said, “Driving a vehicle is a tough business. My waist aches.”

The per capita income of Andaman & Nicobar Islands is two lakh and fifty-eight thousand rupees, more than the national per capita income of rupees two lakh twelve thousand. The per capita income of Odisha stands at rupees one lakh and sixty-one thousand, much less than national per capita income.

Manjit does not have time for free rice and wheat. Ravi Verma says his profit from the dental manufacturing unit is around three to four lakhs per month. His net income per month, after payment of salary to his three employees and other incidental charges would be not less than rupees one lakh. Besides, he works for a travel agency.

Ravi had come to drop us in the airport. He said, “Sir, keep my phone number. You can ring me up anytime, in the day or in the night. Give me prior information, if you again visit Andaman.”

******

 

Reemployment after Retirement

 

(Downloaded from internet)

 After the elections were over and before BJP formed the government, the General Administration (GA) department in Odisha asked all the departments for furnishing details regarding the employees reemployed after retirement; though the policy regarding reemployment of the BJP government was not then known.  The GA department took the step with all sincerity, for the new government might ask to know about the issue

The employees, from fourth class to the top bureaucrats, desire, and strive to get reemployment after retirement. This is more so for the last few years. Most of them become successful. It’s not true that those officers or employees are more efficient, and indispensable. There are no cogent reasons for an employee to increase his efficiency in the last five years before his retirement than what efficiency he has after twenty-five years in government service.

One officer was looking after legal affairs in a department. Since no substitute was found to manage law as efficiently as he did, the government did not transfer him and he stayed there for more than twenty years. He was expecting reemployment after his retirement, but he was not considered. It’s a fact the criteria for reemployment are not only good work or efficiency, but something other. One has to satisfy the higher boss or the authority; and the authority is not satisfied only with your work, but for some other traits and services. The aforesaid officer did not have the other qualities.

Another example: One officer does not stand straight before the secretary or the minister; always stands bending, making at least his torso forty-five-degree angle to his lower part of the body below his waist. He never says no to what the higher officers or the ministers say. On the other hand, he directs his subordinate to do the job saying the secretary or minister desires. If it is not within the purview of law, he does not have scruples to bend the law. He is reemployed after his retirement, has already worked for four years post-retirement, and still working. Examples are galore of such officers getting reemployment.

                                                     (Published in the Prameya)

The officer with propensity to please the boss cannot remain impartial, cannot do justice to the public. One gets promotion in government service after one senior retires on superannuation or if one dies in service, making a post vacant, on the basis of entries by the higher authorities in his confidential conduct record (CCR). It’s natural the flatterer, the officer with an instinct to please the higher ups gets outstanding entries in CCR, irrespective of whether or not he is a worker or a shirker. In the prevailing system, reemployment has adverse impact on the administration. If someone discharging his duty is not rewarded, how can he have the motivation to work?  He will resort to what the officer who stands bending his body before the authority, does.

The Chief Minister, after he was sworn in, told the press sixty-two thousand post of teachers and above two lakh posts in government were lying vacant. An additional secretary’s salary per month, on an average, is one lakh and fifty thousand rupees. If he is reemployed after retirement, he gets pension minus salary which comes to around seventy-five thousand rupees. Besides, he enjoys the facilities of a chauffeur driven car, services of peons, personal assistants, etc. In place of reemployment, a fresh officer can be recruited; an unemployed youth can get employment.

The identity of an officer is the post he holds in government, and the power that goes with the post. The identity, he feels, is lost on his retirement. He does not get the benefits of free use of car, peon or a personal assistant. He cannot afford all those with his pension. He also loses the power of the post. Hence, he needs the job after he is retires. The authority also needs the kind of officers who does not object, but works to satisfy him and to his requirement. The unhealthy honeymoon of the authority and subservient goes on well. The need of the time when there is large unemployment, is to break this tradition.

*****

My Favourite Reader

 

A reader can easily say his favourite writer and also his favourite books, but it is difficult on the part of a writer to select one of his favourite readers. Those who read and appreciate his stories, those who come across a story of the writer in a magazine and buy the magazine to read, those who purchase his books; all are dear to a writer. Before internet or mobile phones came to be used, the readers used to write letters if they liked a story. Now they make phone calls or send messages in the WhatsApp. But all the readers do not make a call or send message.  It has also happened, while travelling in a train or bus, in course of chitchatting, the co-passenger, after introduction, say I have read you. Sometimes, he also cites the story he has read. Once a reader posted in my Facebook time line that after she had read a particular story of mine in a magazine, she buys the magazines where my stories are published. A writer does not know the number of the readers those who read his stories. All the known and unknown readers are dear to his heart. How can I, and for that matter, any writer can choose his one favourite reader?

Recently the editor of the Sunday literary magazine of a newspaper has asked me this question.

                                        (Published in Dhwani Pratidhwani)

I shall tell you about a reader I consider him the most favourite:

The Sunday literary page of Sambad had published in 1994 my story, ‘Chenai Hasara Sansar’ (A Smile Makes Life Lovely). Many readers appreciated the story and wrote letters in praise of it. But a reader had written me a different letter that I still remember. I keep his letter, his advice and remarks in my mind when I write anything, even now.

He liked the Sambad story, but he had reservations on one sentence used in the story. His observations: that the sentence neutralizes the emotions the writer intends to create in the story. The writer should not have written that sentence, he said. The story is complete and a success without the sentence. He suggests a writer should consider the effect and implications of a sentence before he uses it in a story or a drama and even in a novel. He wishes me all the best and cautions me saying it’s not enough to write a good story, but it would be great if I continue to write good stories.

I reread the story ‘Chenai Hasara Sansar’ after I had received his letter and found his views correct. I rewrote the story and published it under the caption ‘Poka’ (Worm).

He had not mentioned his name or address in the letter. He addressed me, ‘Dear Writer’ and ended the letter with ‘Yours, A Reader’. I remember the unknown reader when I sit at the table with the pen and paper to write. Sometimes, a reader or a critic says, your stories do not have a single sentence in excess of what is required to tell the story and at that moment, I remember this unknown reader with love and respect.

Thank You

*****

Story of a Stolen Pen

 

 

I have weakness for two things: books and pens; and this weakness has been with me since my school days. My school was located around sixty kilometers from the nearest town. I would come to the town when I had some money with me, just to buy a few books. In the college and university days, I had, sometimes, skipped my afternoon tiffin for books.

My favourite place to spend my time has been always a book stall. While travelling, I love to visit the book shops in the bus stand or railway station or in the airport. I have purchased many books from these shops and I while away my time with a book while travelling. I buy books almost every month. I may buy three books at a time, might have read two and I would buy another three books. The unread books get piled up. When I retired from government service, I politely declined an offer for extension of my job by the government for two more years, inter alia, to read the unread books.

In my impressionable age, I had dreams of a house with a library. Of course, I have a library in the house; I spend most of the times here.

The other weakness has been pens. I buy different pens, of course, within my affordable limit. I cannot buy costly pens like the PM is rumoured to be using. When I was in class X (1974), I came across a made in China wing-sung pen in the nearest market to my village. The pen then cost Rs. 12/. Twelve rupees was not a small amount then. I would like to give an example to measure the value of Rs.12 in 1974-75: in the hostel of Bhadrak college where I was studying intermediate science in 1975-77, the mess charge was Rs. 60 per month, i.e. for minimum sixty meals. That means, the cost of the pen was equivalent to twelve meals. I was in proud possession of a wing-sung pen. Now while surfing Amazon I chanced upon wing-sung pens; the cost is Rs. 900 for three pens.

                                                        (Wing-sung pens)

One of my friends had presented me a pilot pen of Japan make. It was a lovely pen; black body with golden cap. She got it from her uncle who was working in a ship and travelling foreign countries. Of course, it was understood, she got the pen to present me without the knowledge of her uncle. I lovingly kept the pen, did not use. The pen was in my suitcase under lock and key.

I was staying in West Hostel of Bhadrak College and sharing the room with four students. Of the four, three were my seniors and was my batch mate. He was in the first-year, commerce. Let’s call him Bipra. His classes were in the morning, but ours were in the day. We went to class after ten in the morning. His classes ended by eleven. He was alone in our room the whole day. He had contrived to get the duplicate keys of all of our suitcases.  He was stealing articles and money when we were in the college.

One day he was caught. He admitted stealing. He wrote an undertaking not to steal in future, and promised to return whatever he had stolen from us. He returned the articles and money he had stolen, to others. But he did not return me the pilot pen. He told he would return me later. He told the pen was in his village; he would bring the pen next time he went to his village.

One day he said, “They are our seniors, but you are my friend. Will you be angry, if I tell you something?”

“Ok, tell,” I said.

“I can’t return you the pen.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You are getting angry. You see, your pen was stolen, you never expected to get it back. It’s a different matter you caught me staling and I admitted…”

“So what?”

“In fact, I have presented that pen to my girlfriend. Please try to understand. Can I tell her I have presented the pen that I had stolen from a friend, and ask her to give me back?”

He had a point. I heaved a sigh and had to forget the pen.

Bipra was a kleptomaniac. He started stealing again and was caught stealing. He was expelled from the hostel. I lost the pen and also my kleptomaniac lover friend.

I was surfing Amazon and I came across a similar pilot pen. The cost of the pen now is rupees four thousand plus.

*****

 

 

Morning Walkers

 

(In the park after walk)

 

“Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humour, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I started morning walk religiously after I was diagnosed with diabetes in 2009. I had unitary tract infection (UTI) and was running with high fever. The fever did not remit after taking medicines.  The doctor advised me to go for urine culture and various tests including blood sugar test. My blood sugar level was detected high. He prescribed medicines for UTI after he examined the urine culture report and also medicine for diabetes. I took medicines for UTI, but waited for taking medicines for diabetes.

My doctor friend, writer Dr. Sriprasad Mohanty, was, at that time, working in MKCG medical college and hospital in Berhampur. I rang him up. He advised me to wait till he came to Cuttack at the week end. He examined my test-reports, told me not to take medicine for high sugar level in blood; instead, he advised to regulate my food habits, avoid sweets and starchy foods, and go for morning walk every day, at least, for forty or forty-five minutes a day. After two months of following his advice and restrictions on food, he told me to test blood. His reasoning; if I took medicines and also followed the instructions on food and walk, the effect of the latter we could not know. I followed his instructions and after two months I got tested my blood sugar. It was normal. I continued with morning walk and tested my blood sugar, at least, once in six months. My sugar level was remaining normal.

I did not take medicines till 2014. After that, I had to take medicines since blood sugar level could not be controlled with regulated food habit and morning walk only. Stress and work pressure in the office told on my body and mind.

                                             (Morning walker at a breakfast meet)

Morning walk became for me a habit and later, an addiction. If for some reason, I did not go for a walk in the morning I felt uneasy the whole day. If I had been on tour or travel to other places, I would find time to go for morning walk. Before I came to stay in Bhubanswar, I was in Cuttack. I would wake up early, finish my morning ablution and start for walk by six in the morning. I would cover the Jobra anicut which is a few metres less than two kilometres.

                                            ( After walk, at a tea stall, Cuttack)

In Kalinganagar, Bhubaneswar where I am a resident, I go for walk every day to the Abdul Kalam Park, also known as Baga (crane) park every day.

Most of the morning walkers form into groups. They walk together, discussing and chitchatting, and also sit for a few minutes after the walk. Sometimes, they relax or add to pleasure, by taking tea at the stall behind the park; physical exercise as well as unwinding, if one has any kind of worry.

Our morning walk group consists of engineer, academician, geologist, administrators, bankers and police officers. Of course, all have retired. We are having ample time. Sometimes, we organize picnic. Someone or other of our group host breakfast or evening tea. What calory we loss in the walk, perhaps, we replenish in breakfast or evening tea.

                                          ( morning walker in an evening Khatti)

The topic of discussion in the group depends upon the contemporary events; maybe literature, general election, Russia-Ukraine or Israel- Hamas wars, inflation, love of the young people without fear or live-in relations, corruption in government works and of the political parties, colony politics, in other words, anything on earth. Since the members have come from different background and having varied experience, they contribute to the discussion and make it lively.

The walkers return happy after the walk and wait for the next morning to join the group and walk.

*****

                

Why I Write

 

 

A writer often faces this question; why he writes, by an editor of a magazine or in a panel discussion by the moderator in a literary meet, or even he also sometimes asks this question to himself. The question compels the writer to introspect. Recently, an editor of the Sunday literary page of a newspaper asked me this question.

I used to write stories or poems when I was in school or college; those were published in hostel or college magazines or in regional magazines having little circulation. Then, I was pleased to see my name in print only.  Later, I started writing seriously; writing became part of my life. I continued to write, and if a few days passed without I being able to write something, I felt uncomfortable; even I often fell ill. Now when someone ask, why I write or when I ask this question to myself, I think, I have, perhaps, something to say; and I express what I want to say in writing. I want to share with others my points, I want to incite readers’ feelings, stir their minds. 

I was born in 1959, twelve years after India attained independence, and brought up in a poor surrounding. My teachers in the school were all born before independence. They were directly or indirectly influenced by the ideals of freedom struggle. They had some kind of idealism, imbibed during their childhood, school or college days, and I believe, their idealism had some impact on the students like me.

Influenced by a teacher with leftist leanings, I worked for a leftist party even when I was in the school. I participated actively in the elections held in 1974, and campaigned for a CPI candidate. I wandered in the villages, mingled with common people; the farmers or daily wagers, and persons in penury. I witnessed inequity and injustice that existed in the society. I felt one among them, developed a kind of rebelling attitude. The rebelling attitude, I believe, is still with me, and I cannot accept all that was there in society and I think, that non-conforming streak in me is reflected in my stories and novels.

                                   (Published in an Odia daily, SAKAALA)

In the socio-economic conditions I grew up, I could not think of anything except going for a government job. It may appear childish or irrational now that, then I had a dream; I could influence opinion of the people by my writings, and contribute to bringing in a social revolution. I would do my job and at the same time, I would write, not stories and novels, but serious essays and features in the journals and newspapers, and mould public opinion.

After I joined government service, I learnt, an employee could not write anything critical of government policy. One senior officer of the organization I was working in, told, even if you wrote articles not critical of the government, sometimes anti-establishment views would creep in unconsciously and land you in trouble. Your senior officer, out of jealousy, might nurture a grudge and create problems for you, even for an innocuous piece.

I was disappointed. The job I was supposed to do was not to my liking; that was not giving me self-satisfaction. I was dissatisfied, anger simmering within. One day, my wife and children had been to my village; I was alone in my room. I wrote a story and the next day, I sent to a magazine. The story received readers’ appreciation; I received a good number of letters of praise. I continued to write.

I have received appreciation from the reading public; and also, the officers and employees of the organization I worked for have condemned me. Both appreciation and condemnation amused and have inspired me to continue with my writing.

*****

Tulip Garden, Lal Chowk and Elections

 

Black clouds covered the sky over Srinagar when we landed in Sheikh UL International Airport. It seemed there would be downpour of rain any moment. We rushed to the Tulip Garden. The Garden opened for public view during March-April, almost for a month. The Garden, at this time of the year, was the main attraction for the tourists.

I had seen tulips in the cinemas only. I remembered the song ‘dekha ek khwab to silsile hue, dur ek nigaho mein he gul khile hue’ of the Amitabh-Rekha starrer movie ‘Silsila’, picturized in a tulip garden. It started drizzling when we entered into the garden, and after a few minutes the rain poured. We bought an umbrella and wandered in the garden with the umbrella over our heads.

The next place we were to visit was Lal Chowk. This was a historical and much talked about place in Srinagar. Influenced by the Russian revolution, the leftist leaders fighting against the rule of Raja Hari Singh had named the quadrangle, Lal Chowk. Jawaharlal Nehru unfurled national flag here in 1948, Sheikh Abdulla stood by his side. All the parties, including the separatist leaders, held their political meetings here. Clock tower was set up in the Chowk in 1980.

This was my third visit. First time, I went to Srinigar to attend the GST law drafting committee meeting. PM Narendra Modi was scheduled to visit at this time. The Hurriyat Conference had called for a bandh in protest against the PM’s visit. Curfew was imposed; we were hardly allowed to come out of the hotel. Second time, I had been to attend GST Council meeting held in Srinagar in 2017. The meeting ended before lunch on Friday. I wanted to visit Lal Chowk in the afternoon. The liaison officer, security officer (Every delegate was provided with a security officer) and the driver of the car discussed in Kashmiri language. I could sense from the tone of their discussion, they were reluctant. I said, “If there will be any problem by going there, we shouldn’t.” The liaison officer said, “Sir, today is Friday. There will be speeches after the Namaz and the people may cause trouble after they come out of the mosque.” We did not go to Lal Chowk; instead, I went to see and buy, if I liked, Kashmir hand loom and handicraft goods. The next day, in the morning newspapers, I read there were demonstrations and stone pelting after Namaz in Lal Chowk.

The rain continued. The day before the day we left for Srinagar, the temperature in Bhubaneswar was above 43 degrees Celsius; the temperature in Srinagar was 13. Cold wind along with the rain shivered the body. I had not put on sufficient winter dress to beat the cold; we returned to the hotel. The next day we went to Gulmarg.

We went to Gulmarg, Pahelgam and Sonemarg. We were six families comprising twelve persons in our group. Of the six, two families had wide experience in travelling. Besides important places in India, they had visited Singapore, Dubai, Bali and Europe. In the fourteen-seater bus we were travelling, they dominated the discussion. Their main topics for discussion were on two; food at different places and eulogy for the PM. The rest were in agreement with the second subject. That, only because of Prime Minister Modi, Kashmir remained with India, the people of Kashmir were starving, they got jobs only for Modi; we could move in peace and without any kind of fear only for Modi, etc. Another person in the group remarked, if Modi stayed in power another ten years, Pakistan occupied Kashmir would be part of India also. He saluted every soldier on duty when he came across and said, “We travel in peace only for them.”

              (With friend Paresh Patnaik, enjoying Kahwa)

One sight a traveler from outside J & K could notice was the armed personnel guarding and patrolling the streets and establishments; armed forces were there in every three hundred or five hundred meters, covering almost entire Kashmir.  In the month of April, by the time we left Srinagar, the army had two encounters eliminating a few terrorists and, in the action, a few soldiers and civilians were injured. If all was all in Kashmir, the situation was normal, why armed forces were there in the entire state and the army had to encounter on a regular basis?

The elections in J & K were to be held in five phases. The day we reached Srinagar, on 19^th April, J & K went to polls in its first phase. The second phase elections were scheduled to be held on 26^th. But we were surprised to notice there no sign of an election in the state. No posters on walls, no bike rally, no procession, nothing, not even any political meeting. We never heard anywhere any kind of discussion on election.

I asked two of my friends of Kashmir about the absence of any kind of campaign for election. One, a retired bureaucrat said, “The people of Kashmir are unconcerned about who formed the government in Delhi. They have the least interest whether BJP forms the government or the opposition parties, at the Centre. Elections to the Assembly or local elections generate heat. But no political party of J&K promises any freebie or free schemes. They don’t bribe the voters. It’s a different matter, around ten percent voters go to vote voluntarily, the rest are taken to the booths and forced to vote.”

The other friend said, “Both Hindus and Muslims are dissatisfied with abrogation of Article 370.  They are afraid, they will lose their land. Outsiders will also take away a share of jobs in the government. Previously, J & K students were only eligible to compete for jobs in the state. But after establishment of Ram Mandir, the attitude of the Hindus seems to have changed. They are now inclined towards BJP. It’s true what Marx has said; religion is opium for the mass.”

                     (At Lal Chowk, in the evening)

A friend came to my hotel to meet me the day before we left Srinagar for Bhubaneswar. The rain had stopped; the cloudless sky was clear. I requested him to take me to Lal Chowk. He took me in his own car. The Chowk was crowded; business was going on. Everything seemed normal, though army personnel stood with their rifles, and were alert.  The clock tower renovated and lighted looked marvelous. First time, J & K was going to polls after abrogation of Article 370. I asked my friend, “What’s the impact of Article 370 on the coming elections in Kashmir?”

He did not reply; evaded my question.

(With Majdeed Ul, a friend from Kashmir)

*****

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction: The Judge and the Lawyer

 

                                                           (Downloaded from internet)

Advocate Lalbihari Roy was known as a bail master. He could get bail for any accused arrested and thrown into police or judicial custody. Baina, an active member of Sana pickpocket gang reached Mr. Roy and requested him, “Please get bail for Sana Bhai; we shall see what can be done later. The car festival is nearing; only a week left. As you know, there will be rush in buses and trains. This is our business time. Our business will go astray, if he is not released.”

“What has he done?” asked Mr. Roy

“Pickpocketing…”

“This is nothing. I have obtained bail for persons accused of rape, dacoity, murder. Have you brought money?”

Baina brought rupees five hundred out of his pocket and offered the advocate and said, “Sir, please accept this now. This is not enough, I know. We shall pay you later. I don’t have much money with me now. Sir, you will never lose your fees due to you. Henceforward, our relation will continue and grow up. This is not a kind of one day relationship. Sir, many persons in our profession suggest you are the right person to take up the case; hearing your name from them, I came to you.”

The advocate argued in the court, “Sana Parida is a poor man. A daily wager, he has to work every day to earn his wage; if he misses a day, his family members will starve. There is no evidence he has pickpocketed. This is pure conjecture. Sana Parida was standing behind the person. You know the rush in town buses, people travel as if loaded like potato bags. One cannot stand comfortably in the bus, keeping a distance from one another. Since Sana Parida was standing behind that person, his hand might have touched him, and he has mistaken him to the thief. Once he has told him to be the thief, others travelling in the bus took him to be thief, as pickpocketing is very common in crowded buses. The people beat him and handed over him to the police. Sana Parida is innocent; someone else has committed  the crime, but the police arrested him. He is not well dressed, like an educated well-bred person, and is in a poor attire, hence, looks like a poor fellow, and accused of being a thief. Sana Parida has come from his village to Cuttack for seeking job. The police arrested him since the people mistook him to be the pickpocket. Besides, pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence.”

“What are you saying?” the judge said, “Pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence! So what? They should be hanged. Yesterday, I came from my village; I was travelling by town bus from the bus stand to my res, I was pickpocketed five hundred rupees.”

                                                    (Downloaded from internet)

The judge’s remark caused murmur among the lawyers present in the court room. A few chuckled.  The lawyers’ reaction irked the judge. He said, “You are laughing at me. A small crime in the eyes of law can land a man in disastrous situation. Leave my case; I have a job; I draw a monthly salary. Take the case of a poor man; his son is in hospital; he needs money for a major operation. He went to village, sold his property to arrange money for his son’s treatment. He is coming to the hospital by the town bus. The pickpockets stole away his money. He could not pay for his son’s operation, his son died and besides, he lost his property also. Who should we blame for this kind of eventuality?”

The judge adjourned the court. He went to his chamber. He had heard, but reserved his judgement. He would give the order next day.

Mr. Roy called upon Baina and said, “Idiots, you even don’t spare the judges!”

Baina stroked his hair and, with a smirk on his lips, said, “Sir, how can we know? The judges don’t travel in the town bus in their prescribed attire; black coat and gown. How can we distinguish between a a judge and a commoner? Besides, we don’t look at the persons, but their pockets.”

The advocate laughed. “Yes, you idiots are disciples of the great Arjun of Mahabharat; you aim at the eyes of the bird; never look at the leaves, branches or fruits of the tree!”

Mr. Roy entered into the chamber of the judge. He brought out a five hundred rupee note from his pocket and offered to the judge and said, “Sir, take back your money. Those bastards did not know you were a judge. They have pickpocketed you.”

Annoyed, the judge said, “Go away. What is this? Get out with your money.”

The lawyer argued, “Sir, when any theft occurred in your house, you lodge FIR with the police. The police, when they recover the theft property and return the goods, you accept. I am giving you back your money. Why should you think I am bribing?”

He placed a five hundred rupee note on his table and came out.

The next day, in the forenoon, the judge passed order; Sana Parida was released on bail.

*****

A Student

 

                                                (Downloaded from internet)

I was going to my village. My village was more than one hundred and fifty kms from the place where I was working, and I had to change three buses to reach my village. I started early, reached Cuttack at around 9, in the morning. I entered into a restaurant near the bus stop to have my breakfast. I was eating chhole bhature. I had not yet finished, the restaurant boy served me chhenapod, a sweet dish.

I had not ordered Chhenapod, but I would have. I had a sweet tooth, chhenapod looked fresh and alluring in the morning. I was, perhaps, the first customer they were serving after cutting into pieces the sweet pancake, cooked last night. I thought the boys working in this restaurant, perhaps, could guess the taste of the customers, and to increase the sales of the restaurateur, might be serving before the customer asked for it.

I started chhenapod after chhole bhature.

Before I finished chhenapod, the boy placed sweet curd on my table. I had also not ordered sweet curd, though I liked it also. I asked the boy, “I am not ordering, how do you serve yourself, one dish after another?”

The boy indicated a man sitting two or three tables away from me and said, “The gentleman sitting there is ordering for you.” I looked at the man. He bowed his head to wish me. The man had come to the restaurant before I, and was having his breakfast, enjoying the sweet curd. He finished his breakfast and came to me. He sat on the front chair and asked, “Sir, don’t you recognize me?”

I could not. I was trying to locate where I could have met him. Without giving me much time to think, he said, “I was your student.”

I was teaching in a college for two and half years before I entered into an administrative job. I had already left the college for more than fifteen years. The appearance of the boys changed a lot after they entered into a profession and their worldly life. I was trying to remember, but could not. I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sir, what you once told us we would do, I am doing that. I am a bus conductor.”

I remembered. If the students were doing mischief; irritated, I would scold them by saying, you would become nothing, but bus conductor or amin (land surveyor). I used to say, “When we were students, our parents did not have enough money to spare for our education. With much difficulty we studied with meagre amount our parents could provide. The colleges were in the city, far away from the villages. The number of colleges were also very few. All the students who passed Matriculation could not get seats in the college.  Many good students could not study since the cost of staying in the city and studying in the college were beyond affordability of their parents. Now the colleges have come to the villages. You take your food in your home, walk or ride a cycle from your village to the college. You should take advantage. But your minds are elsewhere, not in studies. You are missing the opportunity. You are destined to be, at best, conductors or amins.”

I said to my former student cum bus conductor, “That was not my purpose. I scolded you since you did not read, but involved in mischief. I wish whatever you may do, you live in peace. One earns to keep living, but one should earn in honest means. Be good human beings, that’s important. You should not have any inferiority complex for the job you are doing.”

I had started sermonizing; a habit I had with me, perhaps, since my teaching days. Old habits had not died.

“No, sir, I don’t mean anything. I was joking. We did not listen to you then, now we realize. Where are you going to?” he asked.

“Going to my village, shall go up to Chandikhole now. From there I shall change a bus.”

 He said, “Then let’s go by my bus. Our bus is going to Balasore.”

My student cum conductor seated me in the conductor’s seat, his seat. He collected fare and issued tickets. He did not accept fare from me. Instead, he presented me with a pack of cigarettes and a match box. He knew I was smoking when I was in the college. Of course, I had not given up the habit.

I had heard this story from a friend. The student of a well-known professor joined Indian Administrative Service (IAS). He was posted as secretary, education department. The professor then was the Director of Public Institutions (DPI). Once, in a meeting, the director who was the former teacher of the secretary, addressed him by his first name. Annoyed, the secretary reprimanded, “You forget, you are speaking to your secretary!” The director immediately corrected himself and said, “Sir…”

The director and the secretary were both well known; two very important persons in the state.

This maybe a rumour. Some persons in the society, out of jealousy, concoct stories about achievers and established personalities; and people, for the same reason, love to believe them. Still, many have this impression; people in administration, particularly in the IAS, are also callous towards love and affection of their subordinates and people below them. They do not understand true feelings.

I believe, had my student been an IAS officer instead of a bus conductor, he would not have behaved as the secretary behaved with his former professor.

I was proud of being a teacher in the college for a few years.

*****

 

 

 

 

A House in Kalinganagar

 

I had a desire to build a house in my village, and settle there after my retirement from government service. I had a plot of land measuring twenty guntha or a little more than three-fourth of an acre in my name by the roadside in my village. I had made a plan of my house in my mind. I would build a small house, there would be garden of flowers in the front. I would plant trees on the backyard, make a small orchard. The orchard would have mango, jackfruit, guava and other trees.  I would dig a pond and do pisciculture. I would eat fish whenever I wished from my pond. There would be banana trees on the ridge of the pond. I might keep some hens and cocks. I would wake up in the morning with birds’ chirping or cock’s crowing.

But, under certain circumstances, I had to part with that plot of land. My father had taken advance from a villager to sell that land to him, and forced me to register the plot in his name. I could not resist. My dreams of a house in my village died.

-2-

I applied for a plot of land meant for middle income group (MIG) people when Bhubaneswar Development Authority advertised to sell plots of land under its Kalinganagar Plotted Development Scheme in 1990-91. I got a plot in the lottery held to allot the applicants. But I did not have the courage to go for building a house. I did not have enough money. I was residing in a rented house in Cuttack. I had already stayed there for fourteen years. We had developed a very friendly family relation with the family of the land owner. My children were small when we rented their house. They grew up, went to the college and completed their education. The house we had rented fourteen years ago became small and inconvenient to accommodate us, with our grown-up children.

I did not want to reside in a government quarter for personal reasons, but when we found difficult to manage in our rented house, I suggested my wife, to shift to the government quarters. A quarter was also lying vacant since the occupant had retired, and gone to his own house at this time. But my wife did not want to shift to the government quarters or to any other house. She told me to build a house in Kalinganagar in our land and we would shift to our house from there. I decided or rather, was compelled to desire to build my own house.

-3-

I wanted a transfer from Cuttack where I was posted, to Bhubaneswar to build my house; but the government did not listen to my request. It was not only painful, but also a costly affair, for a person like me, to stay in Cuttack and build the house in Bhubaneswar. My neighbour, Amerendra Jena and Sandeep came to my rescue. Amerendra Jena belonged to the village, nearby to my uncle’s. I had studied in their village school for six years, till I passed Matriculation. They helped. My son was then residing in Bhubaneswar. He also looked after.  I did not have any savings. I availed government’s house building loan and also withdrew money from my GPF to construct the house. The built-up area of the house was 950 in a plot of 2400 square feet, leaving the remaining 1450 square feet unused.

I came to reside permanently in this house from August 1, 2012. It pained me when I decided to live here. I had a dream of building a house in a land of twenty guntha, amidst garden, orchard and a pond, but here I had to live in a land of less than one and half guntha. The first day, being tired, I went to bed soon. Birds’ chirping woke me up early. I sat on the balcony. I saw two mongooses moving in my front plot. I had kept one mongoose when I was a child, in the primary school. It was with me for some years. It went away after a few years and saw it moving in our backyard in the village; but it did not return to me. It was with another mongoose. My elders told, perhaps, our mongoose met a female partner. The two mongooses I saw reminded me of my childhood.

-4-

Kalinganagar did not have many houses by 2012 when I came to stay here. Many people allotted with plots had not built their houses. The park was there, but it was not opened for the public. Once there a report in the newspaper: a few thieves had looted in Jatni and were distributing the booty inside the unused park. The police, on receipt of information from some sources, raided and caught them. I was going for morning walk on the road. Sometimes, I came across jackals rambling near the nursery of the forest department, behind the park. In 2011, I started constructing the house. My son was looking after the construction. He told me when our house was under construction, he sometimes spent the night in the incomplete house. He used to hear jackals howling in the evening as I used to hear in the village in regular intervals after evening. But I had not heard jackals howling after I stayed in Kalinganagar in 2012. One day I met Col. Rao during morning walk. He told he had once happened to see wild elephants on the same spot I saw the jackals. Col. Rao had been living in Kalinganagar a couple of years earlier than I.

-5-

My house, as stated earlier, stood on the plinth area of 950 square feet in the land of 2400 square feet, leaving 1450 square feet unused. A bel tree (aegle marmelos) sprouted and grew up without our noticing it in the backyard. I wanted to cut if off. But my wife resisted and said, “Not good to cut a bel tree; the tree is auspicious). The tree has grown up big, touching the roof of the house and covering substantial area in the backyard. I planted three mango trees and one jackfruit by the side and also a gold mohur (delonix regia) and three bokul (minusops elengi) trees in the front of the house. The trees grew up. Birds visited; their chirping every day woke me up early in the morning. I sat on the balcony and brushed my teeth. The squirrels were climbing up the tree, a crow was sitting on the electric wire. By the time I retired from government service, I had built a library. When I sat on the chair at the table, I looked at the bel tree, its branches touching my window. Sometims, a haladi basant (golden oriole) came to the bel tree and jumped from one branch to the other in the green foliage of the bel tree.

-6-

Fani, the cyclone devastated coastal Odisha on 3^rd May, 2019. The districts of Puri and Khurda were severely affected. There was heavy rainfall and strong wind, the speed of the wind being more than 150 kms per hour. The cyclone uprooted bokul trees, broke the branches of the gold mohur, shredded completely the leaves and branches of the bel tree. The birds and squirrels disappeared. There was power cut, the electric poles and wire being damaged; the outage continued for almost a fortnight.

 -7-

I again planted trees. The trees grew up. The leaves of the bel tree sprouted up. The birds, mongooses and squirrels reappeared. I don’t know whether the birds and squirrels are the same visiting me before the Fani. I hope they are.

******