The Burra Saheb of Railways-1 From the book A Story of Faith and Miracles

The Burra Saheb of Railways It was Ravi finally, not Munna; a clear indication of letting go of the umbilical cord. “Ravi, there are four girls in your batch?” my mother quizzed me the way mothers do. I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “Two, and they’re from Assam.” “But two Meenas also figure in the list of IRTS officers selected,” she added. I had a hearty laugh, “Amma, they are Giriraj Meena and G.C. Meena. Meenas are the Scheduled Tribe candidates from Rajasthan,” I assured my mother. Though several among our batch wished there were more Satras in the batch. But it was not to be. There were some winsome women officers in other services. Some alluring ones were our seniors whom we admired over a few drinks during our probationary period. What is attraction between two individuals? “It has to do with good looks, ambition, and a great sense of humour that people seek out. But there are other factors you're likely unaware of that play an important part in who you're attracted to. Past experiences, proximity, and biology all have a role in determining who catches our attention and who doesn't,” said my inner voice. Well, mothers for no particular reason flummox their children about affairs and sexuality. “Do you have any girlfriends, are you interested in any girl and I hope not in any boy,” questioned my mother. Satra and Pimple-E-Azam were blanked out from my mind and I avoided thinking about them. These were sharp bouncers one had to duck, quite like Sunny Gavaskar negotiating Malcolm Marshal I reckoned. All my replies to her queries lacked conviction while my mother looked at me sternly. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx On the 4th of March, 1989, there was a massive vidai ceremony at New Delhi Railway Station as I boarded Paschim Express to travel to Baroda. I was on my way to undergo training as a probationary officer of the IRTS at the RSC, Baroda. I could not join the IPS on account of enormous pressure from the Valluri clan (my father’s side), while the Vemavarapu menage (my mother’s side) did not oppose my joining the Police Service. I sulked for ages for not opting for the uniformed service. “You were pusillanimous and capitulated. Unfortunately, you were not intrepid enough to join the uniformed service. Bravery lies in surrender to the Almighty and absolute faith in Him and His command. You lacked in self-belief,” my mother was to add. The Big Ben of RSC struck 9.30a.m. and soon the probationers of various railway services assembled in the portals of the palatial complex for an introduction and instructions. I found the training pretty taxing, very technical and boring while attempting to appreciate the intricacies of the signalling systems, haulage power of locomotives, the permanent way manual, financial manuals among others. Soon I engaged myself in playing badminton, resumed writing plays and performing them with course mates, discussing the political situation with friends, smoking and drinking and of course appreciating the womenfolk of Baroda, absolutely bewitching while performing the Dandiya during the Navaratri festival. Incidentally, the quantum of smoking and drinking increased substantially as we were not being monitored by our parents. There were some favourite joints LABA, Copper Chimney, Surya Sofitel and some excellent ice-cream shops which we frequented. Baroda has a remarkable culture and a liberal thought process. We were amazed to see women late at night walking through the dark alleys in their garba outfit without any trepidation. “Boss, yeh agar Delhi hota to riots ho jate,” a batchmate remarked, quite accurately. This was quite a creative period as we wrote and staged Mahabharatiya Rail, a parody on the Indian Railways based on the epic, Chairman Railway Board Election Special, Pigs is Pigs and The Visitor. My writing skills came to be noticed by the faculty and other probationary officers. All the plays drew widespread attention and applause. Soon I was recognised as not being a typical civil servant or a railwayman. “He has something special; the boy is talented,” the professors were to remark. After the initial Foundation Training at Baroda, and then further technical input at Zonal Training School, Chandausi (a bijou railway township near Moradabad) we crisscrossed the nation for two years. This was certainly the best part of our training schedule. During our voyage on the Hasan–Mangalore section the brightest among us batchmates (RG to retain his anonymity) threw tantrums as he was aghast seeing us washing down Sambhar-rice with our hands. He was desperately looking for forks, spoons and knives to eat of a banana leaf, much to our amusement. This ghat section is a tourist’s delight and travelling through the serpentine curves and savouring nature’s bounty was a wonderful experience which we savour to date. The Thakur from UP, a Meena from Rajasthan, our swanky landlord from Telangana and yours truly in a state of stupor were all high after downing several glasses of Rums Up (Old Monk +Coke). We traversed to virtually what we termed as the end of the world at Kirandul (where iron ore is mined) and were ferried by the railways through the dangerous ghats of Kottavilasa–Kirandul section. This journey with steep gradients traversing through one of the most majestic and unchartered rail routes was one of the most memorable journeys we ever encountered. Another memorable visit was the Kalka–Shimla Ghat section. The track has 20 picturesque stations and 103 tunnels. Shortly, all the probationers assembled for coal training at the Dhanbad coal mines. This was our first exposure to the grime, to dusty and dingy coal mines and we bravely narrated the dialogues of Amitabh starrer Kala Pathar. In unison we all imitated the iconic trouper and recited his talismanic dialogues in an attempted baritone voice. From the coal mines of Bihar, we landed up at the cultural capital of India, then known as Calcutta. After a dinner hosted by the General Manager of South Eastern Railway, we were permitted to take a boat ride on the jetty where in unison we crooned Chingari koi Bhadke and imitated the romantic hero, Rajesh Khanna. Several stories are woven around each batch and these nuggets linger throughout our careers and form an integral part of our lives. We live and grow with them. But what is more important is building relationships, friendships and faith in each other. It is this bonding and faith in our interpersonal relationship which eventually perform miracles during working posts. There were two major standouts for me. Listening everyday about a particular Ek Dil station of Allahabad division and the location of an Accident Relief Train (ART for short) ad nauseum from a rather KTP batchmate (an acronym for Keen Type Probationer), till the Professor of Transportation too was sick of it and asked him to wind up the boring practice. The second incident was lime juice being spiked with bhang at Chandausi by a venerable batchmate who once served in the armed forces. I was one of the bakras at the receiving end of this prank. Unfortunately, I was hospitalised in the health unit that night and was given a stomach wash to overcome a severe hangover and toxic substances in my stomach. My batch mates were in an uproarious state, while some concerned as I was in deep pain. The Principal of the Zonal Training Centre admonished me for being reckless, though I was hardly responsible. But it was not just fun and frolic during training. We had to pore over manuals of transportation, commercial working, signalling systems, accident manual, papers on haulage power of locomotives, safety on Indian Railways among others. And there was heavy competition among the probationers to perform well. And this was competitive stuff for as per fresh guidelines from UPSC, training marks were to be added to our marks secured in the Civil Service Examination. And we graded 60% from the marks obtained in the Civil Service Examination and 40% from the internal assessment of the training. Thus, post training my rank fell from No.1 to No.5 as I was only good and not outstanding during the internal examinations. The good times were over all too soon. Before I knew it, I was facing the stentorian Chief Operating Superintendent (COPS) of Northern Railway at Baroda House The COPS, a massive, menacing looking gentleman looked like he was waiting to pounce on hapless probationers. Savouring a cup of mid-morning coffee and smoking imperiously, he offered me a cup too. He was impressive; a towering personality who triggered a panic attack as I avoided his piercing eyes. Some phones were ringing though he paid scant attention to them. His secretary knocked the door and quietly whispered that the Additional Member (Traffic), Railway Board wanted to speak with him. The COPS ignored the message and announced, “Issue his orders for Ambala and connect me to the Divisional Railway Manager (DRM) there.” I almost spilt the cup of coffee and quietly exited the huge room, heaving a sigh of relief. In order overcome a panic attack I chanted the names of all the Gods and held on to the talisman given by Swamiji until my frayed nerves relaxed. “This is what we did not learn at Staff College,” I muttered to myself. This is the real stuff I reckoned. Two minutes at COPS’ office and I unlearned, learned and relearned two years’ worth of training. The overpowering and imposing image of the COPS seemed to have taught me all the codes and manuals of Indian Railways. A glare was enough to send the right signals for me to scorch the track.