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.