E-Log

Mother Teresa came to Jamshedpur in the early 90s to open her MoC. She spent two days in the city and went to quite a few meetings, arranged for her in schools and other institutions- including a dialogue with the officers of the Tata Steel Company. I was her “ Local Manager” by the Company and had the privilege of accompanying her to all the designated locations. She sat on the rear seat of the car with another Sister from MoC and kept the conversation alive ~ from the history of the city to welfare, from education to sports et all. Two eventful days of public meetings and interaction with many social groups. During those conversations I also told her that we shared our birth dates and she wished me though this was months after August! She was small, frail and her wrinkled face established the years of selfless service but a bundle of energy and, I daresay , restive. On the third day I drove with her to the airport where the Company aircraft was waiting to fly her back to Cal

It was the 14th of February 1996.A week had passed since I had moved to Kolkata on transfer. The steel company that I worked for had arranged my accommodation in their transit guest house in Alipore which had residential apartments on its higher floors. I moved in there months later. The food at the guest house was really good and the bearers and their service complemented it. There was a multi cuisine choice with prices so ridiculously low that one often thought that the tip was more than the cost of the dish. In a week I had got used to the place including the loud greeting of “Good Night’ from the receptionist as I walked in from work early n the evenings. I never learnt what he said at the end of the day to the other guests!! The Wills World Cup was being inaugurated on the day. Kolkata wore a deserted look and leaving early from work was not frowned upon. The very lucky made their way to the Eden Gardens to witness the opening – a sound and light laser show that by the

I met Santa last night on the corner of Park Street and Russel Street. He was wearing a red jacket with dirty cotton fluffs on the sleeves. His red flannel cap ,with a white pom-pom at the end, had rolled onto his left shoulder. His cotton beard seemed attached rather precariously and almost coming off at his left temple. He was wearing faded brown jeans with blue hawai chappals. His eyes peered through this enormous 2018 design googles - his arms were shelves for Santa caps , the extra goggles and caps were in a bag slung across his right shoulder. A young customer tugged at his red jacket and demanded a cap which his mother paid for, grudgingly, - the princely amount of ten rupees. A few feet away was another Santa - dressed almost identically. This one was selling battery lit red cloaks and toys. I couldn't see his face which was concealed under a Santa Claus mask. Santa Brajeswar lives in Howrah. He is from Madhubani in Bihar. A short distance away from North Pole

The coolie appeared like a genie as soon as the driver unlocked the boot to take my luggage out at the New Delhi railway station. He assessed my single piece luggage in one swift glance and then looked at me to assess the fare. I asked him about the fare and he cited the railway approved baggage rate but then went onto say that no one either honoured it much less believe it ! He demanded a hundred rupees to carry my small overnighter and he seemed surprised when I said yes. He rolled the white long cloth which was around his neck and positioned it on his almost bald pate .Picking up my suitcase with his gnarled hands he placed it on his head; he then nodded and indicated with his right eyebrow that I should give my laptop backpack across his shoulder. His wrinkled face was unshaven. He had a thin frame with a sparse growth of hair at the back of his head - his nose seemed a trifle large for his small black beady eyes .He was old but his quick movements and sinuous frame belied

Ronodeep sat, in the luxury of a red plastic arm chair, at the entrance of the pandal, almost in an obscure corner, surveying. He was almost a teenager and for a few years now he had been involved with the para puja but more as an errand boy .He was of course part of the chanda collecting team , a job he took on seriously and tried to meet the set target .He watched as a slow stream of visitors filed in to pay their respects to the idol .Many were from the para but there were others who were Pandal Hopping. This was, after all, Naomi and many were expected. Though this Puja was not on anybody’s list for its design and opulence, it was close in proximity to a famous one –thus many detoured a bit to seek blessings from a stoic looking Durga spearing a Mahshasur whose expression suggested that he seemed happy to be impaled. Aman looked up to see his maternal uncle enter, with his new wife- the old now a photo on the wall replete with a sandalwood garland. This was their first Puj

Wali seemed a trifle worried and in a bit of a hurry.He almost bumped into the bearer of the restaurant carrying a tray full of wine glasses .His brows were sweaty and it was not on account of the cream sharkskin dinner jacket that he was wearing for this New Year party. GS had known him enough for the last few years to deduce that something was amiss. Excusing himself from the table ,where his fellow officers and their friends were sitting - ”as a flock of penguins" as one of their lady friends had observed earlier in the evening. \ "GS,let's get out of here now!", said Wali, and moved towards the doors of Firpos. It was New Year's evening in Calcutta in 1943. Pearl Harbour had been attacked a year earlier and some US Forces were now also stationed in Calcutta. GS did not question Wali as they went down the steps and onto Chowringhee Road. The yellow bulbs of the street lamps were clouded by the hint of a mist.Wali walked towards Hoggs Marke

It was about 8.30 pm on the 5th of June 1944 and twenty one year old, 3rd Officer Ghansham Soni was the officer on watch, aboard the SS Helen Moller.She was a 5200 ton merchant ship, en route to Fremantle, Australia from Colombo and was about 500 kilometres south of Ceylon now known as Sri Lanka. The german U Boat 183,patrolling the Indian Ocean, spotted the ship and then her Commander ,Fritz Schneewind, ordered the launch of a torpodeo .It struck amidships,breaking into the Helen Moller which took water and began to list ,destined for the deep,dark waters of the Ocean.She sank n twelve minutes. The impact caught the crew unawares and there was commotion and chaos as the ship began to sink.The Captain F Paull, went around the ship and ordered abandonment.He was helped by the Chief Officer in trying to get the crew into the lifeboats also assisted by Petty Officer Eric Seviers. On the main deck ,Eric spotted G Soni,badly injured and unable to walk but still shouting out in

It was 6am of a cold January morning of 1969. K.Srinivas touched the first step of the entrance to his south indian food restaurant and then touched his forehead to invoke blessings.The gray, twin wooden doors had two padlocks.One at the end of a steel bar across the doors and the other that bound two round rings. Kannan,the trusted aide, put his right hand to pull out the keys that were securely tied to his sacred strings. He unlocked and pushed opened the doors to enter.He switched on a light that illuminated the first portion of the establishment - a L shaped hall with a few pillars.Across the front door was the cash counter.Another large room was at the back. Srinivas entered and walked to the low cash counter that had recently been renovated with a bright red laminate.As a habit he selected the first page of the calendar block of the single sheet ,Lord Tirupati board calendar that hung on the side wall and tore it off to reveal a fresh date.Next to the calendar was a gl

The Bankipore Club, Patna celebrated its sesquicentennial year in 2015. It began as the Europeans Club and is mentioned ,albeit obliquely ,in Forsters "Passage to India" .By the early 1920s ,the Bankipore Club admitted some Indians who held senior government positions .The Club has weathered time and culture since then. I first went to the Club as a child of six in 1959 and spent many a childhood afternoons and memorable adolescence evenings there and have more than pleasant memories of the place. Apart from the few recreational activities the club also offered tennis,swimming and squash. It also had a billiards and snooker room. It was in these facilities that one learnt about the rules of sports ,taught almost lovingly and yet with an unspoken firmness by the Markers. As children,we were not allowed entry into the club unless chaperoned and that too either on Saturday evenings till 7pm or on Sundays.During summer we could use the pool in the late afternoons

I first entered the Beldih Club at Jamshedpur in 1972. We sat in the heat of a June evening watching a movie. The door of the projecjtor room was open for ventilation and a beam from the projector lamp sharply illuminated an old Parsi couple who had opted to sit in the covered area next to the small room. Once a while the night sky would light up as the glow from the Bessemer Convertor which about a mile away in the Works. The few white clouds would adopt a hue of pink for a while. With the movie over my host and brother in law, Krishan Talwar took me to the Bar where he sat with his friends, Nakul and Santu. The Beldih Bar and it's dining hall - then with no name- was a treat. No one in Jamshedpur till date has compared with the cocktail that Polak made and no one club could compete with the toast chicken that the Beldih served. We used to swear by it. Later on we sweared at it! The Bar had two doors. One from an alley from the corridor and the other leading to the la