While
reading the article written by Bernie Swain in HBR, my mind started racing to
recall incidents that left a deep and indelible impression in my mind about my
father who was my real hero….it is 30 years since we lost him, but memories are
still so fresh…small acts of his that have remained permanently etched in our
memories!
I
was in the last batch of student community in West Bengal state going through 8
+ 3 program at school, which was later changed to 10 + 2. Bengal as a state,
was a laggard when it came to conducting Board Examinations and declaring
results. When I passed out in the year 1976 from a multipurpose school run by
Durgapur Steel Plant, results from all other states in India had already been
declared and admissions were coming to a close. My parents had decided that I
must join a reputed college in South, if I were to make a career and so, the
day results were announced, my father landed at my school to talk to the
principal to get the marks sheet, get copies of it typed out (no photocopy
facility those days…) and get them attested by the Principal. His intention was
for us to catch the Howrah Madras Mail departing from Howrah Station at 9:30
PM, the same day. Durgapur, around 170 KM’s from Howrah was well connected by
trains, but there used to be a lull period between 12 noon and 6:00 PM with no
connections available. The only train we could take was an odd train called
Toofan Express coming from New Delhi heading towards Howrah. Its scheduled
arrival at Durgapur was 12:30. This train was notoriously known to be delayed
on all days between 1 and 3 hours. We were in luck when my sister called the
station to check and was told that it was 2 hours late. It was a race against
time as the school Principal was nowhere around to receive the package
containing all the students marks sheets. By the time we were able to locate
him and request his help to issue the original marks sheet and thereafter sign
the ‘True Copies’, it was 1 PM. After a quick bite and packing some essentials
for our journey into the unknown, we headed for Durgapur station. It was a good
12 KM’s from the place where we lived. While the roads were deserted, it did
take time to negotiate all the junctions and the lorry traffic on the grand
trunk road, part of which we had to take to reach the station. It was 2:30 PM
when we reached the station.
The
train had already arrived and we could see it from the ticket counter. My
memory gets a little fuzzy here. Events happened so swiftly, that we never
realized what we were doing, but went through the sequence on a hunch and both
my dad and myself got into the running train that had just started when we
reached the platform. We didn’t even have time to say our good byes to my
second elder sister, her husband and my mom who had played a major role in
helping us push ourselves into this running train. My brother-in-law had also
managed in the confusion to buy the train tickets to Howrah and slip it into my
pocket.
So
much about the train ride to Howrah, but the real test was getting into Madras
Mail and traveling two nights without reservation in an unreserved compartment!
Howrah station in the mid 70’s used to be extremely chaotic. Announcement over
the public address system would be something, and the reality would be entirely
different. There would be last minute changes in the platform allotment for the
empty rakes of long distance trains. Dependence on the coolies would be very
high; information would somehow reach them much before the traveling public. One
can imagine the mad scramble amongst the passengers if the platform was changed
in the last minute.
In
those good old days, three unreserved compartments would be set aside for the
last minute travellers – ones who had not booked in advance. Windows in these
carriages would not have protective bars, making it easy for agile youngsters
to dive into the compartment as the empty rake was slowly rolled into the
platform. My father made me wait at a particular place and said he would make
arrangements for two seats in the unreserved compartment. Little did I know
that he would, like the youngsters jump in through the window and occupy two
seats for us. Once the train came to a standstill, he informed the other
occupants to take care of the seats he had occupied, while he walked back to
where I was and return with me and luggage. The story doesn’t end here…he was
determined to talk to the traveling ticket examiners (TTE’s) to see if he could
get two berths for us.
The
first stop was Kharagpur after a two hour run – At 3,519 feet, this city has
the distinction of having the third longest platform in the world after
Gorakhpur in UP, and Kollam in Kerala. This is a junction where the track from
Howrah splits in two major arteries – one goes down south to Madras and the
other goes west to Bombay. This is also where the electric loco is swapped for
a diesel loco during a 30 minute halt for south bound trains.
My
dad was confident that he would be able to find a way out with the TTE’s and
get two berths while the train was standing at Kharagpur. The situation was
much more complex in reality! At Kharagpur the TTE’s shift changeover takes
place and in the handing and taking over process, none of them entertain any
discussion on berth availability. My dad then ran back to the unreserved
compartment to inform me that he would ride with the TTE’s in the sleeper coach
until he obtained the berth and come back to fetch me at the next stop.
Although he asked me not to worry and also requested other fellow passengers to
keep an eye on me; this was all new to me as I had always travelled with the
entire family in the past.
However,
I did not have to wait for long…within a couple of hours, when the train had
briefly halted at an outer signal near a lesser known town, I heard him calling
my name from outside. He had been successful in talking his way through the TTE
and got us the much needed berths. There was a rider though…he said it was an
unscheduled stop for want of clear signal and nobody could predict when it
would turn ‘Green’! It was anybody’s guess…He thought for a split second and
then said, let’s take our chance…we grabbed our luggage and ran all the way to
the coach where we had been allotted berths, once again just-in-time before the
signal changed and the train started moving.
Years
later, when I was reconstructing this incident in my mind, after completing his
annual ceremony, what struck was his simplicity, honesty and integrity. He was
pretty high up in the ranks, but consciously avoided use of his powers in his
official capacity for a personal need. It was this quality that earned him
tremendous respect amongst the rank and file of the organization he served till
his last breadth. This was the journey that eventually took me to R E College
at Tiruchirapalli and the person who made this possible against all odds was my
dad…To me, this indeed was a defining start…and I am sure, each and every one
of you will have someone in your life who would have played a very decisive
role in shaping who you are and what successes you have achieved. Take some
time to reflect and give credit to whosoever deserves!
