2007 Oct 1st
VATIKA > DBS
I love the Vatika office. Period.
From DBS Centre, miles ahead.
You’ll talk of the distance? Oh yeah,
But let me assuage your fear.
If you give the rush hour a miss
Your eyebrows will never crease!
I made the distance in 40 minutes flat
Even Indirapuram-colleagues reached at the drop of a hat!
I saw happy faces, though all the way from Noida
Drove merrily along with songs of Anaida
There is so much energy about the entire place
And so much style, so much grace!
The colour schemes are robust and young
The phones are chic, you’ll break into a song
If you sit on these chairs with perfect back rest
DBS, from now, will be referred only in jest.
A wonderful innova came calling
Though 45 minutes late, was galling !
But the ride was a jiffy
Though the co-riders were, a bit if-fy !
They were cold and distant, and a touch snooty
Asked how many years of Accenture service I had in my booty
“Just joined today, the 1st of October”
Hey, that doesn’t take the conversation far!
Snoring replaced the fledgling conversation
I looked out at the Qutub Minar, pride of a nation
If my way to DBS had the purana quila
Way to Vatika had Qutub, to my senses, a shot of tequila.
Offcourse, the sight of Gurgaon is an assault on senses
Dusty and arid, it takes down your defences
It is a concrete and glass jungle out there
Blazing on the eye, you can hardly stare.
But the good thing is, it’ll cut down the smoking
Every time, going out to dust plains is simply choking
I loved the pantry as well, the variety is more
Just next door to us, not at all a chore.
Better still, you’re not restricted to the SIT CD
You brush shoulders with entire Accenture tree
From HR to Facilities, and Project Management
To gel with all, Vatika is a catalytic agent.
By the time it was time to leave
Remember, the rush hour traffic to cleave
We left at 6.00 pm sharp
Or else, my cab-mates might carp
This time, it was much more friendly
Getting over the ice-breaking ungainly
It all started with Mughlai food
What else on earth is any good?
It turned out to my utter glee
All my cab-mates, the he and the she
Were food-fanatics. Does it sound familiar?
I was missing Sandy Khanna. Oh, dear!
Talk veered from Kareems in Jama Masjid or Nijamuddin
Who could whisk up kebabs like the Genie of Aladdin
Secret recipes behind the Afghani roti
Nargisi Kofta? Or Kebabs Boti?
Two Muslims from Aligarh graced the car
Both steeped in Tehzeeb, as khandani muslims are
The conversation moved between Urdu and English
And Bangla sometimes, with traces of Hilsha or ilish
A Delhi-ite Bengali from CR Park
Tall, handsome, and a tad dark
Was the robust progenitor of the conversation
He sounded more like a gastronomic radio station
I took running notes of the food joints
And noted down recipes, their salient points
Uploaded the information on my Central server
The person I serve, my life preserver
My WIFE, silly ! Who else would manage that cuisine?
Of the school of cooking, she was a dean
She gravely asked me the masalas to use
Then grimly did my notes she peruse.
So now, I am in a win-win point
Since Lady Luck did I anoint
To have mughlai at home, and eat out too
Guys have one blessing. I have two!
I reiterate with conviction
I hope from Vatika there’ll be no eviction
Let us at least stay for a year to let the place sink in
Other wise, moving to Infinity in two months, gives me a feeling sinking.
Let us all join hands and clap the day
We moved to Vatika, let us here stay.
There’ll be detractors, but who can refute?
Only for clean toilets, it’s worth the commute.
Friday 5 October 2007
To CHC/WINSERV (A Saga of Togethership)
To CHC/WINSERV
(A Saga of Togethership)
4th Oct, 2005
It was years back, just seems yesterday,
Some memories, you see, always stay,
In a dilapidated building on AJC Bose Road
On me, the blessings of comradeship was bestowed.
Faces rush back, as I travel back in time
We plowed through the traffic, defying the grime,
Just to be with friends, some fantastic mates,
To meet some bright faces, beyond CHC's gates.
Maybe it was WINSERV, maybe CHC,
What matters the name, pray?
It was the best conglomeration of kindred souls,
Who made up a team, denouncing private goals.
Onerous task of making a Start-Up Dot-Com tick,
We laboured long, and we laboured deep
Bodies would be stretched to their utmost limit,
Yet brains were sharp, no work could dim it!
We fed off each other's success
Had high esteem for all, no less,
Hailing from various workplaces, we met and did prosper
About hard work, no complaints, not even a whisper !
The man at helm was redoubtable Mukherjee Arunava
Jolly good fella, temper of a Super-nova !
His fingers would itch unless it played on the buzzer
Face of a teddie bear, temperament of a badger !
He was done in by an evil duo,
With dreams of big money, did stupid Arunava they lure,
The devil's disciple was Chakraborty Subhankar,
Completely sans personality, but soitan bhoyonkor
Then there was the Satan, alias Lucifer
Das was his name, the malignant star !!
Before the evil ones took off their mask,
We had a happy family from dawn to dusk,
Work and play were interwoven with elan
We had adda and panu, jokes and gaan.
Milonda would serve us tea from the gutter
To get any better, him one had to butter !
So a computerized voice went "Milon, Mohamilon"
To the utter delight of amused jonogon !
Then we had Mr. Ghose. Oh gosh !
Couldn't keep him awake, even tea from Tosh !
He often pissed in his pants for fear of his boss,
Which was Arunava, who knew not between Cobol and DOS !
So Arun asked for a box of floppy
Ghosh complied with some unpalatable coffee !
When the buzzer went ringing
He would the register be bringing !
Last heard, he had a heart condition,
With palpitations complicated by Arun's malvision !
How can one forget Mr. T. Dey?
Subhomoy vouched Dey was gay
Not the "happy" kind, you dig?
It means, eh, he had it big !!
A slimy character, at best a perv,
Had a smile that would wreck your nerve,
Last heard, he was seen at golden-tree
Doing what he did best, being pimpish for free !!!
We had, on our floor, A ROOM WITH A VIEW
A balcony (what a luxury!!), in smoke-room's lieu!
There sat the leader Saurav malakar
The king of multi-media, biraat aakar!
A good leader, a natural, great at work,
Though his color-sense raised quite a few smirk.
We also had the artist Amit
Sometimes dabbled in besuro geet.
His masterstroke was the opening scene of CHC CD,
Lauded loud by us, and the entire audience-body.
Where the sun rises over water, and a boat goes sailing,
In art, he delivered, without failing.
Indramitra was there, with his kobita,
Roaming from Nondon to Eden uddyan, with Pinky or Bobbita.
He had a crush on Durga Daju's wife,
And platonic relation with many a tawaif.
There was a man, ganguly by name,
From Kishor Kumar ganguly's family, he did claim !
He was better at classical, but so-so at Flash
Over which with Amit had many a clash.
Then was protyush, with his mischivieous smile,
Warm and helpful, without trace of guile.
Had a couple of speakers with PC, blaring loud,
His sense of music was in great doubt.
If Saurav loved gawdy colors. Pratyush loved cackophonous music,
Often, people were brought out from the room, SICK !!
Subhoda was there, snoring or mp3 downloading,
Why didn't CHC provide him with adequate bedding?
Subhoda would often reminesce about Russia,
But about his stint at the KGB, had total amnesia!
Finally, joyonto was the foot soldier in the rank,
Day or night, always fuel in his tank.
Playing the clown, keeping others alive,
Where did he get all the adrenaline drive?
The room next had the esteemed Sumit,
Respected by all, yes by Dey, too, dammit !!
A good man to core, ferociously workcaholic,
His discipline was British. His food-habits, Gaulic.
Banerjee was always blaring at his best,
A man full of energy, good-looking and well-dressed.
He had a way about him, captivating and ernest
a dynamo on motion, a motivator at his best.
Subhomoy the choto bhai, was deceptively innocent
On pulling down amit's pants, his mind was bent!
His slangs were legend, his stuttering inimitable,
His tongue lashing were epic, his observations are part of fable.
Lahiri was the kid of the gang
But with slur at MohunBagan, he would go "bang!bang!"
A staunch propagandist for the HOWRAH-main-line,
Abhra-Subhoda the Gyne Goopies. Lahiri the Bagha Byne
Kallol was the Travel Database
Him and Abhra, like Lee & Hesh.
A software whiz-kid with a Ph.D. in Physics,
His brain had more data than our server maindisc.
Abhra was the silent scorpio,
The classic greek god profile, scented with foreign deo.
A Karate champ, and a lineage of kings,
Of the famed mukherjees of uttarpara, with royal links.
Dip was the livewire, smiling galore,
With him around, not a moment bore!
Budhdhiman Narayon, amader Naru,
Debug korto software, hathey jhata o gaaru.
Often, he would amaze us with his stock of bangla,
But when it came to tiffins, he was incorrigbly hangla.
In the room next, sat the sizeable Bonny,
He was a freelancer, Shampa was his honey.
He often left the toilet soiled,
To which most of our blood did boil!
Once we asked him, what is the matter?
Why shit at the office? Can't you do any better?
He said, "whole night I was busy in remote-server-upload,
This is the only time I get for download."
Next was Jimut, the database don
Cultured, listened to Suchitra Mitra song.
Rounak was there, with his appetite for parathas,
Smiling Soumitra, fan of Urmila, the queen of marathas.
Let us also recollect Sri Amitava Ghose,
Surprise how he and Banerjee didn't come to blows!
He was an anti-thesis of what Banerjee stood for,
Soft and gentle, mostly, a bore !!
CHC's highest paid employee, our "seer ka taaz"
Whisper was out, he did little kaaj...
Finally, Chomparani, the HR-cum-windfow-dressing
With atrocious English, which needs no stressing.
She strutted around with a spectacular gait,
To make a voice-over a failure, the sure-shot bet!
In a different location down south, we had effeminate Ghatak
To make CHC-Edu a success, the catalyst-onughotok,
Rimki was there, with her fantastic attitude,
And a marketing guy, what's-his-name, a cool dude.
A huge lady joined us, and claimed the voice-over room,
She was the fashion designer, with an NRI groom.
A pair of buffers she got from the Indian Railways
Was the wet dream of many, for many-a-days.
Durga Daju was our caterer par excellence,
With rolls and chowmin, his sales were immense.
Subhodeep was a marketing maestro,
No regular meals, developed problems of gaestro.
Onimesh was the the emperor of hardware,
When troubled with PC, by him did we swear.
Full of verve and never shirking work,
Anti-theisis of subhoda, hair-line of douglas Kirk.
Mr. Nandy, a suave man with french-cut,
Though in networking, looked like Guru-Dutt.
Dipok, slightly out of sorts in an cerebral group,
A knock on his ghutna, made him stoop.
Mitrakshar was the King of Tripura,
Looks of a model, (roktakto) pacha like a Tanpura.
Again, like subhomoy, a saintly face did hide,
The tongue that needed toilet cleaners, but for him the ladies died.
On a Christmas eve at Park Street, in front Tantra,
He shouted aloud the Kali mantra
"Ami Mantra Tantra Kichui Jaani Ney Ma"
Police almost arrested him for breaking the law.
Sunita was the mother of all
Cross her? None of us had the gall.
She cared for all and sundry, even tanmoy dey
Though girls were safe from him, as Dey was gay.
She was our version of Mother Teresa,
But enough of her ! Now for the Rogue of Russia:-
In a room by himself, sat Anirban da
Writing Marketing Manifesto. Spoke Russian, da !!
"da" is "yes" in Russian, you savvy?
Body of a russian wrestler, face of a baby.
Was the head of marketing, yet his own head,
Was shorn of hair, like a summer river-bed.
Good at adda, with faboulous GK,
Wonderful at speeches, though the sales angle was fikey,
Had a voice that would make AB jealous,
Lost money at bye-Pass, by some men who were callous.
He organized the best picnic of all,
Where, jayanta broke a leg, playing ball.
Anirban da could sleep at work, without getting caught,
Many, his argument of "dhyaan korchiam" bought !!
It all seems so far away, yet we are all still so close
Sorry folks, for this nostalgic dose.
I am sure, still, when you have time,
Though CHC owes us all plenty of dime,
Ruminesce about the time we had,
The group was good, though the workplace was bad.
We have woked, all of us, in various other altars,
Naming all of them, even the key-board falters,
But there is one place of work which shines through,
The broth of talent, the cerebral brew,
It was an alcove on Rippon Street-AJC Bose Road crossing,
We were all equals, there was no bossing.
My heart goes out to those days in the Sun,
The cradle of my making, the unlimited fun.
I miss the homely environs of CHC-WINSERV
Though we're all shrouded now in BRAND name's garb
Now I write mails from accenture.com
A good employer, sure, BUT THIS IS NOT HOME !!!
---- Jayanta Ray, the Script-writer
(A Saga of Togethership)
4th Oct, 2005
It was years back, just seems yesterday,
Some memories, you see, always stay,
In a dilapidated building on AJC Bose Road
On me, the blessings of comradeship was bestowed.
Faces rush back, as I travel back in time
We plowed through the traffic, defying the grime,
Just to be with friends, some fantastic mates,
To meet some bright faces, beyond CHC's gates.
Maybe it was WINSERV, maybe CHC,
What matters the name, pray?
It was the best conglomeration of kindred souls,
Who made up a team, denouncing private goals.
Onerous task of making a Start-Up Dot-Com tick,
We laboured long, and we laboured deep
Bodies would be stretched to their utmost limit,
Yet brains were sharp, no work could dim it!
We fed off each other's success
Had high esteem for all, no less,
Hailing from various workplaces, we met and did prosper
About hard work, no complaints, not even a whisper !
The man at helm was redoubtable Mukherjee Arunava
Jolly good fella, temper of a Super-nova !
His fingers would itch unless it played on the buzzer
Face of a teddie bear, temperament of a badger !
He was done in by an evil duo,
With dreams of big money, did stupid Arunava they lure,
The devil's disciple was Chakraborty Subhankar,
Completely sans personality, but soitan bhoyonkor
Then there was the Satan, alias Lucifer
Das was his name, the malignant star !!
Before the evil ones took off their mask,
We had a happy family from dawn to dusk,
Work and play were interwoven with elan
We had adda and panu, jokes and gaan.
Milonda would serve us tea from the gutter
To get any better, him one had to butter !
So a computerized voice went "Milon, Mohamilon"
To the utter delight of amused jonogon !
Then we had Mr. Ghose. Oh gosh !
Couldn't keep him awake, even tea from Tosh !
He often pissed in his pants for fear of his boss,
Which was Arunava, who knew not between Cobol and DOS !
So Arun asked for a box of floppy
Ghosh complied with some unpalatable coffee !
When the buzzer went ringing
He would the register be bringing !
Last heard, he had a heart condition,
With palpitations complicated by Arun's malvision !
How can one forget Mr. T. Dey?
Subhomoy vouched Dey was gay
Not the "happy" kind, you dig?
It means, eh, he had it big !!
A slimy character, at best a perv,
Had a smile that would wreck your nerve,
Last heard, he was seen at golden-tree
Doing what he did best, being pimpish for free !!!
We had, on our floor, A ROOM WITH A VIEW
A balcony (what a luxury!!), in smoke-room's lieu!
There sat the leader Saurav malakar
The king of multi-media, biraat aakar!
A good leader, a natural, great at work,
Though his color-sense raised quite a few smirk.
We also had the artist Amit
Sometimes dabbled in besuro geet.
His masterstroke was the opening scene of CHC CD,
Lauded loud by us, and the entire audience-body.
Where the sun rises over water, and a boat goes sailing,
In art, he delivered, without failing.
Indramitra was there, with his kobita,
Roaming from Nondon to Eden uddyan, with Pinky or Bobbita.
He had a crush on Durga Daju's wife,
And platonic relation with many a tawaif.
There was a man, ganguly by name,
From Kishor Kumar ganguly's family, he did claim !
He was better at classical, but so-so at Flash
Over which with Amit had many a clash.
Then was protyush, with his mischivieous smile,
Warm and helpful, without trace of guile.
Had a couple of speakers with PC, blaring loud,
His sense of music was in great doubt.
If Saurav loved gawdy colors. Pratyush loved cackophonous music,
Often, people were brought out from the room, SICK !!
Subhoda was there, snoring or mp3 downloading,
Why didn't CHC provide him with adequate bedding?
Subhoda would often reminesce about Russia,
But about his stint at the KGB, had total amnesia!
Finally, joyonto was the foot soldier in the rank,
Day or night, always fuel in his tank.
Playing the clown, keeping others alive,
Where did he get all the adrenaline drive?
The room next had the esteemed Sumit,
Respected by all, yes by Dey, too, dammit !!
A good man to core, ferociously workcaholic,
His discipline was British. His food-habits, Gaulic.
Banerjee was always blaring at his best,
A man full of energy, good-looking and well-dressed.
He had a way about him, captivating and ernest
a dynamo on motion, a motivator at his best.
Subhomoy the choto bhai, was deceptively innocent
On pulling down amit's pants, his mind was bent!
His slangs were legend, his stuttering inimitable,
His tongue lashing were epic, his observations are part of fable.
Lahiri was the kid of the gang
But with slur at MohunBagan, he would go "bang!bang!"
A staunch propagandist for the HOWRAH-main-line,
Abhra-Subhoda the Gyne Goopies. Lahiri the Bagha Byne
Kallol was the Travel Database
Him and Abhra, like Lee & Hesh.
A software whiz-kid with a Ph.D. in Physics,
His brain had more data than our server maindisc.
Abhra was the silent scorpio,
The classic greek god profile, scented with foreign deo.
A Karate champ, and a lineage of kings,
Of the famed mukherjees of uttarpara, with royal links.
Dip was the livewire, smiling galore,
With him around, not a moment bore!
Budhdhiman Narayon, amader Naru,
Debug korto software, hathey jhata o gaaru.
Often, he would amaze us with his stock of bangla,
But when it came to tiffins, he was incorrigbly hangla.
In the room next, sat the sizeable Bonny,
He was a freelancer, Shampa was his honey.
He often left the toilet soiled,
To which most of our blood did boil!
Once we asked him, what is the matter?
Why shit at the office? Can't you do any better?
He said, "whole night I was busy in remote-server-upload,
This is the only time I get for download."
Next was Jimut, the database don
Cultured, listened to Suchitra Mitra song.
Rounak was there, with his appetite for parathas,
Smiling Soumitra, fan of Urmila, the queen of marathas.
Let us also recollect Sri Amitava Ghose,
Surprise how he and Banerjee didn't come to blows!
He was an anti-thesis of what Banerjee stood for,
Soft and gentle, mostly, a bore !!
CHC's highest paid employee, our "seer ka taaz"
Whisper was out, he did little kaaj...
Finally, Chomparani, the HR-cum-windfow-dressing
With atrocious English, which needs no stressing.
She strutted around with a spectacular gait,
To make a voice-over a failure, the sure-shot bet!
In a different location down south, we had effeminate Ghatak
To make CHC-Edu a success, the catalyst-onughotok,
Rimki was there, with her fantastic attitude,
And a marketing guy, what's-his-name, a cool dude.
A huge lady joined us, and claimed the voice-over room,
She was the fashion designer, with an NRI groom.
A pair of buffers she got from the Indian Railways
Was the wet dream of many, for many-a-days.
Durga Daju was our caterer par excellence,
With rolls and chowmin, his sales were immense.
Subhodeep was a marketing maestro,
No regular meals, developed problems of gaestro.
Onimesh was the the emperor of hardware,
When troubled with PC, by him did we swear.
Full of verve and never shirking work,
Anti-theisis of subhoda, hair-line of douglas Kirk.
Mr. Nandy, a suave man with french-cut,
Though in networking, looked like Guru-Dutt.
Dipok, slightly out of sorts in an cerebral group,
A knock on his ghutna, made him stoop.
Mitrakshar was the King of Tripura,
Looks of a model, (roktakto) pacha like a Tanpura.
Again, like subhomoy, a saintly face did hide,
The tongue that needed toilet cleaners, but for him the ladies died.
On a Christmas eve at Park Street, in front Tantra,
He shouted aloud the Kali mantra
"Ami Mantra Tantra Kichui Jaani Ney Ma"
Police almost arrested him for breaking the law.
Sunita was the mother of all
Cross her? None of us had the gall.
She cared for all and sundry, even tanmoy dey
Though girls were safe from him, as Dey was gay.
She was our version of Mother Teresa,
But enough of her ! Now for the Rogue of Russia:-
In a room by himself, sat Anirban da
Writing Marketing Manifesto. Spoke Russian, da !!
"da" is "yes" in Russian, you savvy?
Body of a russian wrestler, face of a baby.
Was the head of marketing, yet his own head,
Was shorn of hair, like a summer river-bed.
Good at adda, with faboulous GK,
Wonderful at speeches, though the sales angle was fikey,
Had a voice that would make AB jealous,
Lost money at bye-Pass, by some men who were callous.
He organized the best picnic of all,
Where, jayanta broke a leg, playing ball.
Anirban da could sleep at work, without getting caught,
Many, his argument of "dhyaan korchiam" bought !!
It all seems so far away, yet we are all still so close
Sorry folks, for this nostalgic dose.
I am sure, still, when you have time,
Though CHC owes us all plenty of dime,
Ruminesce about the time we had,
The group was good, though the workplace was bad.
We have woked, all of us, in various other altars,
Naming all of them, even the key-board falters,
But there is one place of work which shines through,
The broth of talent, the cerebral brew,
It was an alcove on Rippon Street-AJC Bose Road crossing,
We were all equals, there was no bossing.
My heart goes out to those days in the Sun,
The cradle of my making, the unlimited fun.
I miss the homely environs of CHC-WINSERV
Though we're all shrouded now in BRAND name's garb
Now I write mails from accenture.com
A good employer, sure, BUT THIS IS NOT HOME !!!
---- Jayanta Ray, the Script-writer
AMAR PROTYUSH PRITI
AMAR PROTYUSH PRITI
5TH JUNE 2007
Jiboney onekey asey jay,
koto agacha jonmay,
Majhey Majhey kichu botgach
Sikor choray. Ora Obinash.
Amar jiboney Protyush
Obochetoney alomoy-hunsh
Onek govirey sikor tar
Money porey aaj, bar bar.
Protyush maney notun bhor
Pran-mon sob bhoriye mor
Jegey thak ei notun probhat
Obineshshyor, chiro-usha-prat.
Moner modhdhey sohomormita
Hok na, O lekhey na kobita?
Amar biyer ager din
Dilo guney hatey hajar tin.
Bollo, "Jokhon somoy pabey"
"Firiye tokhon neya jabey"
Porer masey mainey nei
2002 May, money achey sei?
Protyush kintu "BOROLOK" noy
Besir bhagi-i omanush hoy
Pratyush asoley "BORO MANUSH"
Ghonibhuto Subho. Noyko Fanush.
Aajkey ei Orkut Space-ey
Jekhaney CHC aatma mesey
Protyush-er proti srodhdha janai
Money porey, jeyi suni biyer sanai.
Nijer biyer nidarun kotha
Notun bou-er kachey kata gelo matha
Hathey neyi ekti kanakori
Money hoto, "taholey, bhikhkha kori"?
Protyush kintu dhar ferot chay ni
Janto, keu mainey pay ni
O sudhu khudharto mukhey bhorsha jogato
Nishikaley Probhater moto.
Porey bohudin, chakri pelam
Protyush-er taka ferot dilam
Kintu dhar ta roibey ajibon
It is an unpayable loan.
5TH JUNE 2007
Jiboney onekey asey jay,
koto agacha jonmay,
Majhey Majhey kichu botgach
Sikor choray. Ora Obinash.
Amar jiboney Protyush
Obochetoney alomoy-hunsh
Onek govirey sikor tar
Money porey aaj, bar bar.
Protyush maney notun bhor
Pran-mon sob bhoriye mor
Jegey thak ei notun probhat
Obineshshyor, chiro-usha-prat.
Moner modhdhey sohomormita
Hok na, O lekhey na kobita?
Amar biyer ager din
Dilo guney hatey hajar tin.
Bollo, "Jokhon somoy pabey"
"Firiye tokhon neya jabey"
Porer masey mainey nei
2002 May, money achey sei?
Protyush kintu "BOROLOK" noy
Besir bhagi-i omanush hoy
Pratyush asoley "BORO MANUSH"
Ghonibhuto Subho. Noyko Fanush.
Aajkey ei Orkut Space-ey
Jekhaney CHC aatma mesey
Protyush-er proti srodhdha janai
Money porey, jeyi suni biyer sanai.
Nijer biyer nidarun kotha
Notun bou-er kachey kata gelo matha
Hathey neyi ekti kanakori
Money hoto, "taholey, bhikhkha kori"?
Protyush kintu dhar ferot chay ni
Janto, keu mainey pay ni
O sudhu khudharto mukhey bhorsha jogato
Nishikaley Probhater moto.
Porey bohudin, chakri pelam
Protyush-er taka ferot dilam
Kintu dhar ta roibey ajibon
It is an unpayable loan.
Varun Goes Mobile
From: Ray, Jayanta
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2007 12:03 PM
To: Sharma, Varun R.; TSI.CD.India
Subject: RE: BREAKING NEWS!
Congrats ! Varun ! Got out of the Cell Phone Jitter?
Now, gird thy loins for that ubiquitous critter
Called “Tele-Callers”, a breed of venomous vice
Thy peace and silence with precision slice
Loans, Credit Cards, all and sundry
Will land thee in a bigger quandary
You’ll look back wistfully at those tranquil days
You were Im-Mobiled, a lotus-eater phase
That Tennyson talks of in his poem
Between Cell-phone and peace, lies unbridgeable chasm.
Riding or driving, sleeping or bathing,
Or fighting at work a deadline scathing
The “call of the wild” can never be predicted
You see, YOU ARE ALWAYS CONNECTED!
---- Jayanta, inmate no 98730-16907, cellular jail
________________________________________
From: Sharma, Varun R.
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2007 10:20 AM
To: TSI.CD.India
Subject: BREAKING NEWS!
Hola Team,
I am glad to inform you all that after 11 days of persistent efforts (read calls) and never say die attitude, I have managed to get the new Hutch number activated...
A very precious number indeed: 9873667733
Please do add it to your cell phones.
Don't forget to wish me!
Varun Sharma
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2007 12:03 PM
To: Sharma, Varun R.; TSI.CD.India
Subject: RE: BREAKING NEWS!
Congrats ! Varun ! Got out of the Cell Phone Jitter?
Now, gird thy loins for that ubiquitous critter
Called “Tele-Callers”, a breed of venomous vice
Thy peace and silence with precision slice
Loans, Credit Cards, all and sundry
Will land thee in a bigger quandary
You’ll look back wistfully at those tranquil days
You were Im-Mobiled, a lotus-eater phase
That Tennyson talks of in his poem
Between Cell-phone and peace, lies unbridgeable chasm.
Riding or driving, sleeping or bathing,
Or fighting at work a deadline scathing
The “call of the wild” can never be predicted
You see, YOU ARE ALWAYS CONNECTED!
---- Jayanta, inmate no 98730-16907, cellular jail
________________________________________
From: Sharma, Varun R.
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2007 10:20 AM
To: TSI.CD.India
Subject: BREAKING NEWS!
Hola Team,
I am glad to inform you all that after 11 days of persistent efforts (read calls) and never say die attitude, I have managed to get the new Hutch number activated...
A very precious number indeed: 9873667733
Please do add it to your cell phones.
Don't forget to wish me!
Varun Sharma
Kanchenjangha in the moonlight
Kanchenjangha in the moonlight
26th. Oct 2005
It was a cool night in October,
Shrouded by droopy conifers
I saw my God.
He was a mass of rocks, frozen over,
Permafrost permeating to his veins
Sublime,. Surrel. Simple.
Kanchenjangha.
He towered above the snowscape
Secure in his majesty
His Divinty effusive
A study in aesthetics.
The full moon celebrated its celestial reign
Short-lived, yet supreme
Bathed the mystic mountains in its glory
The dhoopy trees, the grassed ground,
The dark green and snowy landcape
And, wonder wonder, me!
I rejoiced in the moment stretched
When the same moonlight
Would light up insignificant me
As she would my God, Kanchenjangha.
There was darkness solidified under the tall trees,
You could hold it in your hand
The silence was alive.
Each breath of mine an expiosion of living sound
Except when the silence would be tinkered
By the sound of involuntary weeping.
Mine
26th. Oct 2005
It was a cool night in October,
Shrouded by droopy conifers
I saw my God.
He was a mass of rocks, frozen over,
Permafrost permeating to his veins
Sublime,. Surrel. Simple.
Kanchenjangha.
He towered above the snowscape
Secure in his majesty
His Divinty effusive
A study in aesthetics.
The full moon celebrated its celestial reign
Short-lived, yet supreme
Bathed the mystic mountains in its glory
The dhoopy trees, the grassed ground,
The dark green and snowy landcape
And, wonder wonder, me!
I rejoiced in the moment stretched
When the same moonlight
Would light up insignificant me
As she would my God, Kanchenjangha.
There was darkness solidified under the tall trees,
You could hold it in your hand
The silence was alive.
Each breath of mine an expiosion of living sound
Except when the silence would be tinkered
By the sound of involuntary weeping.
Mine
My Delhi Tenure
12th July 2007
My Delhi Tenure
In this matter I had no say
Boarded the flight on April Fool’s Day
On an overcast day, from Salt Lake City
I bid adieu, with John Denver’s ditty
My little daughter was fast asleep
I kissed her goodbye, in a fast clip
“Leaving on a Jet plane” was on my lip
My heart did sink, my spirit did dip
The flight landed, I joined the job
And cursory did the initial hobnob
New team, new people, new language
For salary’s sake, my sorrow I did assuage
I couldn’t get their humour, bland and loud
Their language I couldn’t get, me, a Bengali proud,
Wouldn’t stoop to learn Hindi, a lesser tongue
They abused me with the acronym, “Bong”
In course of casual talk, they’d abuse so much
Slang to them was no matter such
I came out of a finer culture
Where sophisticated language was in continuous nurture
I longed for the land where women were respected
My state of Bengal, where all are to reading addicted
If you threw a stone, without care about motion dynamics
Chance had, it would hit a Ph.D. in Physics
A land of the learned, mannered and erudite
Where violence meant an intellectual fight
Marooned in a land of boorish men
Hindi-speakers, who didn’t culture ken.
At night, on my cheap terrace-room
To my intellectual life, I smelt doom
I longed for my eastern province
Of Bengal. I had not been happy since.
Listened incessantly to “Homeward Bound”
Waited for the monsoon’s pattering sound
It never rained here, this rough land
Even Paul Simon’s voice sounded gravely, full of sand
I was depressed, longing for my green countryside
Where a milder sun behind clouds did hide
The smell of first rains on a fertile land
And floods were “Great Anarch, Thy Hand”
The fish were fresh out of the water
And mustard was used as the batter
In this arid land of inveterate vegetarians
My non-veg tummy growled in grievance
I longed for home, where the mutton was succulent
And the people were soft, intellectually-bent
And my daughter, mother, wife were waiting
My sun would be blazing, when theirs would be setting
I thought often of the IBM offer, which would have ensured
I stayed in Calcutta, and homesickness cured
Earned more money, stayed in my own house
And enjoyed life with child and spouse
But my love for Accenture knew no bound
Over last three years, I had found
This was a humane corporate
For your professional life, a dream date.
I laboured on, against my grain nonetheless
City was new, weather was merciless
Not enough money to buy me an air conditioner
Fathomless at work, no helpful trainer
No car I had, crammed buses for office
No refrigerator, a plastic bottle would suffice
For cold water, I would switch off my mind
At 47 degrees Celsius, It was a daily grind
My room on the terrace would heat up beyond bearing
The water tap ran dry, and electricity would be stuttering
I had to send money home, so I fought back hard
And read spiritual books, and the Stratford-on-Avon Bard
I believe if you really like books
It’ll get you out of life’s nasty nooks
And those blistering hours on that sauna room
Transcended me, did not spell my doom
At office they were incredulous I was alive
With their car a.c.s, they still found hard to survive
I had no a.c. at home, leave aside a car
I just read and switched off, raised the bar
If your surroundings control your life
You’ll always struggle with strife
I just saved money, though the heat struck me like a knife,
To send money back home each month, to my beleaguered wife.
Would I survive? Or would I give up and go?
It’s in the annals of future to show.
My Delhi Tenure
In this matter I had no say
Boarded the flight on April Fool’s Day
On an overcast day, from Salt Lake City
I bid adieu, with John Denver’s ditty
My little daughter was fast asleep
I kissed her goodbye, in a fast clip
“Leaving on a Jet plane” was on my lip
My heart did sink, my spirit did dip
The flight landed, I joined the job
And cursory did the initial hobnob
New team, new people, new language
For salary’s sake, my sorrow I did assuage
I couldn’t get their humour, bland and loud
Their language I couldn’t get, me, a Bengali proud,
Wouldn’t stoop to learn Hindi, a lesser tongue
They abused me with the acronym, “Bong”
In course of casual talk, they’d abuse so much
Slang to them was no matter such
I came out of a finer culture
Where sophisticated language was in continuous nurture
I longed for the land where women were respected
My state of Bengal, where all are to reading addicted
If you threw a stone, without care about motion dynamics
Chance had, it would hit a Ph.D. in Physics
A land of the learned, mannered and erudite
Where violence meant an intellectual fight
Marooned in a land of boorish men
Hindi-speakers, who didn’t culture ken.
At night, on my cheap terrace-room
To my intellectual life, I smelt doom
I longed for my eastern province
Of Bengal. I had not been happy since.
Listened incessantly to “Homeward Bound”
Waited for the monsoon’s pattering sound
It never rained here, this rough land
Even Paul Simon’s voice sounded gravely, full of sand
I was depressed, longing for my green countryside
Where a milder sun behind clouds did hide
The smell of first rains on a fertile land
And floods were “Great Anarch, Thy Hand”
The fish were fresh out of the water
And mustard was used as the batter
In this arid land of inveterate vegetarians
My non-veg tummy growled in grievance
I longed for home, where the mutton was succulent
And the people were soft, intellectually-bent
And my daughter, mother, wife were waiting
My sun would be blazing, when theirs would be setting
I thought often of the IBM offer, which would have ensured
I stayed in Calcutta, and homesickness cured
Earned more money, stayed in my own house
And enjoyed life with child and spouse
But my love for Accenture knew no bound
Over last three years, I had found
This was a humane corporate
For your professional life, a dream date.
I laboured on, against my grain nonetheless
City was new, weather was merciless
Not enough money to buy me an air conditioner
Fathomless at work, no helpful trainer
No car I had, crammed buses for office
No refrigerator, a plastic bottle would suffice
For cold water, I would switch off my mind
At 47 degrees Celsius, It was a daily grind
My room on the terrace would heat up beyond bearing
The water tap ran dry, and electricity would be stuttering
I had to send money home, so I fought back hard
And read spiritual books, and the Stratford-on-Avon Bard
I believe if you really like books
It’ll get you out of life’s nasty nooks
And those blistering hours on that sauna room
Transcended me, did not spell my doom
At office they were incredulous I was alive
With their car a.c.s, they still found hard to survive
I had no a.c. at home, leave aside a car
I just read and switched off, raised the bar
If your surroundings control your life
You’ll always struggle with strife
I just saved money, though the heat struck me like a knife,
To send money back home each month, to my beleaguered wife.
Would I survive? Or would I give up and go?
It’s in the annals of future to show.
Navya
Navya
26th September 2007
September sixteenth, a day of the Sun
Lo! It augurs a life full of fun
At daybreak on this autumnal morn
Heaven’s resident angel, NAVYA was born.
She came unto the Earth with Heaven’s bounty
With complexion fairer than Yorkshire county
Features as perfect as a princess in bloom
Never again, would a day of gloom!!
Abhishek, the king of Bengal’s clime
Nitika, the queen of Punjab sublime
Met at wonderland and married,
A Match Made in Heaven is never tarried
It pleases God when clean souls meet
So He gifted them with a daughter sweet
Who’ll have Punjab’s beauty and Bengal’s grace
Who, with equal aplomb, will both rich cultures embrace.
She, so young, has perfectly formed features
Seen rarely, only on destiny’s creatures
A forehead so high, grey matter et all
But she has beauty of the soul, best of all.
Navya’s inner incandescence shines through
A light so surreal, it is seen in so few
She is indeed not human, not of this earth
Made of stardust, it is a Holy Birth.
From Koyeli, Jayanta, and little Brishti
We welcome joyously this Divine Srishti
Parents of daughters will only know
How these gifts from God will forever glow.
Navya, the New, will ring out the old
And welcome intrepid the unfettered & bold
Let her lead you in her Angelic ways
Through sleepless parenting nights, and drowsy days!!!
She will sleep when you’re awake, and will rouse you when you sleep
You’ll bones will ache, Your daily rest will be a brief blip
She’ll soil the bed clothing, and she’ll drivel all over
But all this is nothing, it is far from over.
She’ll sneeze and send you two in frightened spin
You’ll forever worry she’ll put in her mouth something unclean
But when she looks at you both with those trusting eyes
Oh My God! Your Time will stop (who says time flies?)
There is no better time, trust me, in a human life-span
Than to witness, out of one’s own, how a life began!!
----- joyously with you,
Jayanta, Brishti and Koyeli
Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi
26th September 2007
September sixteenth, a day of the Sun
Lo! It augurs a life full of fun
At daybreak on this autumnal morn
Heaven’s resident angel, NAVYA was born.
She came unto the Earth with Heaven’s bounty
With complexion fairer than Yorkshire county
Features as perfect as a princess in bloom
Never again, would a day of gloom!!
Abhishek, the king of Bengal’s clime
Nitika, the queen of Punjab sublime
Met at wonderland and married,
A Match Made in Heaven is never tarried
It pleases God when clean souls meet
So He gifted them with a daughter sweet
Who’ll have Punjab’s beauty and Bengal’s grace
Who, with equal aplomb, will both rich cultures embrace.
She, so young, has perfectly formed features
Seen rarely, only on destiny’s creatures
A forehead so high, grey matter et all
But she has beauty of the soul, best of all.
Navya’s inner incandescence shines through
A light so surreal, it is seen in so few
She is indeed not human, not of this earth
Made of stardust, it is a Holy Birth.
From Koyeli, Jayanta, and little Brishti
We welcome joyously this Divine Srishti
Parents of daughters will only know
How these gifts from God will forever glow.
Navya, the New, will ring out the old
And welcome intrepid the unfettered & bold
Let her lead you in her Angelic ways
Through sleepless parenting nights, and drowsy days!!!
She will sleep when you’re awake, and will rouse you when you sleep
You’ll bones will ache, Your daily rest will be a brief blip
She’ll soil the bed clothing, and she’ll drivel all over
But all this is nothing, it is far from over.
She’ll sneeze and send you two in frightened spin
You’ll forever worry she’ll put in her mouth something unclean
But when she looks at you both with those trusting eyes
Oh My God! Your Time will stop (who says time flies?)
There is no better time, trust me, in a human life-span
Than to witness, out of one’s own, how a life began!!
----- joyously with you,
Jayanta, Brishti and Koyeli
Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi
Public Sector -- Making a difference
The public sector demands commitment in the new age that India is quickly marching into. In the post-independence era, the early part saw real leaders among the public sector across all levels. Gradually, we came to a rather unsavory stage of our nation’s life where a government job equated to a work-less, responsibility-less life where the job security was cent percent, performance based appraisals were non-existent and comfortable salaries were guaranteed out of the public coffer. An extremely sad age for a democracy.
But, all that had to change. It needed a catalyst. It came in the form of market forces. India declared itself a free market and truly entered the global marketplace. Soon, changes were everywhere. The license-raj went out of the window, and with it went away the power of the bureaucracy over the businesses, and hence supply chain of bribes was severed.
Extremely high salaries in the new age economy, pushed forward by the MNCs, made government jobs come very low in the aspiring level of the young. So naturally public sector employees were no longer demi gods, but poor cousins. They were no longer envied, but looked upon with contempt.
The free market salary structure was results driven. Appraisals depended solely on annual performance. The new generation, growing up in this competitive environment, started demanding results from public sector employees. They demanded service. For the first time, India woke up to the realization that a public sector job was not a privilege but a commitment to the public. These non performers realized that the public actually pays them salaries, so it is time they worked at the public’s behest.
Competition was in. monopoly was out. A host of service providers from the private sector challenged and bettered the behemoths of the public sector. The government started disowning huge loss making public sector organizations. Thousands lost jobs. The market forces decided that non performers can’t survive. Lakhs of public Thousands lost jobs. The market forces decided that non performers can’t survive. Lakhs of public servants were forced into premature retirement. There was fear in the rank and file of the public sector. Word was out: change or perish.
In this scenario started emerging the next generation of leaders among public servants. They were invariably young people, not relics of the terribly failed Nehruvian socialism. These were enthusiastic, driven, highly skilled and most of all, patriotic young women and men. They have chosen the public sector deliberately, in order to ring in the changes that everybody wanted but no body ventured to do. These young people attained positions of power and used that power for public good. These were the real leaders of an emerging India.
From the power sector to telecommunications, from the armed forces to the police, India was seeing revitalization, an awakening of the public sector to new technologies, result-oriented approach and a gradual erosion of the babu-culture. Employees at all levels realized that each need to own up for a task, the days of passing the buck is long gone.
As Indian corporate houses started gobbling up global giants, and Indian companies held their own or bettered global competitors, a new self-respect dawned on India. That self respect brushed off on the public sector as well, and from diplomats to the chaprashi, the image of the public sector employee became more proactive.
Alas, there was one exception. The bane of india’s existence, its politicians, did not pay heed. Except for an exceptional individual here and there, most politicians remained the non-leaders they are, the sloppy sloths who have one leg in the coffin and both eyes on the chair.
It is time for the Indian vote bank to be more savvy, to demand service from politicians, to seek out true leaders, and to throw out of reckoning any politician who does not deliver.
At this juncture, the forever young best politician-leader India ever produced remains our inspiration.
None other than the fiery Netaji Subash Chandra Bose.
Jai Hind!
Let me illustrate the points I made above with an example which is essentially personal in nature. In my capacity as a public servant myself, I did try to implement my ideals in the best way I could. I understand that the individual can not make much difference. The system has to change. But since my power is limited, I believe I should start the process somewhere. In the history of the world, all major era-changing events happened with a single individual. One person’s example fired the thoughts of millions, in each instance. I call it he snowball effect. You take a pebble, roll it down a snowy hillside, and it starts gathering little bits of snow as it rolls down. On its own, the pebble can change nothing, destroy no object. But as it rolls down, the snow it gathers around itself becomes thicker and thicker and soon you have other pebbles jerked out of their static state and following the first pebble down. More snow gathers around these pebbles. Soon, the first pebble reaches the plains and breaks to a thousand pieces, making no major impact. Ostensibly, its downwards spiral no earth shaking effect. But the movement it created on its way down gathers momentum, and an enormous avalanche of rock and snow comes crashing down on the plains below, destroying everything on its way and shaking up the world.
One person with conviction is a little pebble. His effort is the spiral downwards. And the avalanche is the ripple effect of his positive actions that might create a movement that changes a system. The pebble will die an ungainly death or will not be recognized for its good work, but the avalanche that will follow will be a direct outcome of the efforts the pebble put in.
I am employed as a BDO (block development officer) in a remote district in the hindi heartland of Madhya Pradesh. Sadly for me, the infrastructure I inherited from my predecessor to the post was the same the britishers left us 60 years back. Nothing has happened ever since. Public servants came and went, and retired with fat pensions, but the lost district of Umaria was left untouched by progress. It is as if erstwhile public servants came here as a punishment posting or for a break between more demanding roles in their water-tight hierarchy of administrative service.
First thing I tried to change was the apathy towards the government among the common people. I invested a lot of time on public relations, reaching out to the remotest villages, calling on households, knowing people by name…
I also LISTENED. Hardly anyone does it these days. Especially the politicians and the babu-s of the public service. Being brought up in a liberal and democratic academic system and family, I understood the importance of respecting the other person’s point of view. When I listened, people opened out. Then I set myself to address the problems they drew my attention to. Soon, even when I could not solve a problem, people gave me a benefit of doubt that it is not for lack of trying. The blanket resignation with the government’s functioning was changing to empathy. That was a huge step.
Next, I went around making the image of the administration that of the friendly neighbourhood trouble shooter. People started walking into police stations freely, and FIRs were accepted promptly. The local panchayats were being sidelined, and more people flocked to the APEX courts.
Gradually, things were changing. The health care was being goaded into being effective. Just a few calls from me got things done. Earlier, the doctors almost never visited this remote posting, but got paid salaries nonetheless. With me being here, I made notes of their dates of absence and forwarded notes to the health commissioner. Results started showing. The witch doctors lost their field. Modern medicines made a foray into the hinterlands.
Alas, I was too effective a leader for my own good. For my high performance, I was recognized, by a flash transfer! I was amazed that my tenure was not completed ! I was given no notice, but my replacement for the position, a pot bellied snoring babu variety counting his pensioned days, reached me with the transfer letter. It was an insult AND an injury.
The roads were lined on both sides the day I left. Tears rolled down impoverished cheeks. My whole department was creftsfallen. From their paan-khaini days, they have migrated to self respecting public servants, and they had never known the pleasures of living for the people. They knew they would miss me, but they also were convinced they would not revert back to the set ways. They would demand change from their superiors, and so would the public of the district.
In my little way, I have set the ball rolling. Would the nine pins of non performing public service fall?
But, all that had to change. It needed a catalyst. It came in the form of market forces. India declared itself a free market and truly entered the global marketplace. Soon, changes were everywhere. The license-raj went out of the window, and with it went away the power of the bureaucracy over the businesses, and hence supply chain of bribes was severed.
Extremely high salaries in the new age economy, pushed forward by the MNCs, made government jobs come very low in the aspiring level of the young. So naturally public sector employees were no longer demi gods, but poor cousins. They were no longer envied, but looked upon with contempt.
The free market salary structure was results driven. Appraisals depended solely on annual performance. The new generation, growing up in this competitive environment, started demanding results from public sector employees. They demanded service. For the first time, India woke up to the realization that a public sector job was not a privilege but a commitment to the public. These non performers realized that the public actually pays them salaries, so it is time they worked at the public’s behest.
Competition was in. monopoly was out. A host of service providers from the private sector challenged and bettered the behemoths of the public sector. The government started disowning huge loss making public sector organizations. Thousands lost jobs. The market forces decided that non performers can’t survive. Lakhs of public Thousands lost jobs. The market forces decided that non performers can’t survive. Lakhs of public servants were forced into premature retirement. There was fear in the rank and file of the public sector. Word was out: change or perish.
In this scenario started emerging the next generation of leaders among public servants. They were invariably young people, not relics of the terribly failed Nehruvian socialism. These were enthusiastic, driven, highly skilled and most of all, patriotic young women and men. They have chosen the public sector deliberately, in order to ring in the changes that everybody wanted but no body ventured to do. These young people attained positions of power and used that power for public good. These were the real leaders of an emerging India.
From the power sector to telecommunications, from the armed forces to the police, India was seeing revitalization, an awakening of the public sector to new technologies, result-oriented approach and a gradual erosion of the babu-culture. Employees at all levels realized that each need to own up for a task, the days of passing the buck is long gone.
As Indian corporate houses started gobbling up global giants, and Indian companies held their own or bettered global competitors, a new self-respect dawned on India. That self respect brushed off on the public sector as well, and from diplomats to the chaprashi, the image of the public sector employee became more proactive.
Alas, there was one exception. The bane of india’s existence, its politicians, did not pay heed. Except for an exceptional individual here and there, most politicians remained the non-leaders they are, the sloppy sloths who have one leg in the coffin and both eyes on the chair.
It is time for the Indian vote bank to be more savvy, to demand service from politicians, to seek out true leaders, and to throw out of reckoning any politician who does not deliver.
At this juncture, the forever young best politician-leader India ever produced remains our inspiration.
None other than the fiery Netaji Subash Chandra Bose.
Jai Hind!
Let me illustrate the points I made above with an example which is essentially personal in nature. In my capacity as a public servant myself, I did try to implement my ideals in the best way I could. I understand that the individual can not make much difference. The system has to change. But since my power is limited, I believe I should start the process somewhere. In the history of the world, all major era-changing events happened with a single individual. One person’s example fired the thoughts of millions, in each instance. I call it he snowball effect. You take a pebble, roll it down a snowy hillside, and it starts gathering little bits of snow as it rolls down. On its own, the pebble can change nothing, destroy no object. But as it rolls down, the snow it gathers around itself becomes thicker and thicker and soon you have other pebbles jerked out of their static state and following the first pebble down. More snow gathers around these pebbles. Soon, the first pebble reaches the plains and breaks to a thousand pieces, making no major impact. Ostensibly, its downwards spiral no earth shaking effect. But the movement it created on its way down gathers momentum, and an enormous avalanche of rock and snow comes crashing down on the plains below, destroying everything on its way and shaking up the world.
One person with conviction is a little pebble. His effort is the spiral downwards. And the avalanche is the ripple effect of his positive actions that might create a movement that changes a system. The pebble will die an ungainly death or will not be recognized for its good work, but the avalanche that will follow will be a direct outcome of the efforts the pebble put in.
I am employed as a BDO (block development officer) in a remote district in the hindi heartland of Madhya Pradesh. Sadly for me, the infrastructure I inherited from my predecessor to the post was the same the britishers left us 60 years back. Nothing has happened ever since. Public servants came and went, and retired with fat pensions, but the lost district of Umaria was left untouched by progress. It is as if erstwhile public servants came here as a punishment posting or for a break between more demanding roles in their water-tight hierarchy of administrative service.
First thing I tried to change was the apathy towards the government among the common people. I invested a lot of time on public relations, reaching out to the remotest villages, calling on households, knowing people by name…
I also LISTENED. Hardly anyone does it these days. Especially the politicians and the babu-s of the public service. Being brought up in a liberal and democratic academic system and family, I understood the importance of respecting the other person’s point of view. When I listened, people opened out. Then I set myself to address the problems they drew my attention to. Soon, even when I could not solve a problem, people gave me a benefit of doubt that it is not for lack of trying. The blanket resignation with the government’s functioning was changing to empathy. That was a huge step.
Next, I went around making the image of the administration that of the friendly neighbourhood trouble shooter. People started walking into police stations freely, and FIRs were accepted promptly. The local panchayats were being sidelined, and more people flocked to the APEX courts.
Gradually, things were changing. The health care was being goaded into being effective. Just a few calls from me got things done. Earlier, the doctors almost never visited this remote posting, but got paid salaries nonetheless. With me being here, I made notes of their dates of absence and forwarded notes to the health commissioner. Results started showing. The witch doctors lost their field. Modern medicines made a foray into the hinterlands.
Alas, I was too effective a leader for my own good. For my high performance, I was recognized, by a flash transfer! I was amazed that my tenure was not completed ! I was given no notice, but my replacement for the position, a pot bellied snoring babu variety counting his pensioned days, reached me with the transfer letter. It was an insult AND an injury.
The roads were lined on both sides the day I left. Tears rolled down impoverished cheeks. My whole department was creftsfallen. From their paan-khaini days, they have migrated to self respecting public servants, and they had never known the pleasures of living for the people. They knew they would miss me, but they also were convinced they would not revert back to the set ways. They would demand change from their superiors, and so would the public of the district.
In my little way, I have set the ball rolling. Would the nine pins of non performing public service fall?
Wednesday 13 June 2007
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