Operation Buddha Smiles Again - Read more in A Story of Faith and Miracles

Operation Buddha Smiles Again The year Buddha smiled once again (Pokhran 2); and the celestials which populated the Zions interceded and opened the doors for me. Apart from receiving the Chief of Army Staff Commendation Medal and quite contrary to my expectations (and despite my inherent weakness in mathematics) I managed to pass the Common Admission Test (CAT) and qualified from the quota allotted to the Ministry of Railways along with some other officers for the National Management Programme (Executive MBA) at the well-acclaimed Management Development Institute (MDI), Gurgaon. I had won the Derby and imperiously displayed the COAS medal within the family and to colleagues at the management institute as a convenient shield to overcome my weakness for alcohol. The elite batch consisted of officers from the Civil Services, public sector undertakings and the private sector to hone their skills in public administration and management over a 15-month programme. This was the time my parents, grandmother and wife were hopeful that I would ATLEAST NOW TURN THE CORNER, regain my sobriety, reengineer myself and reorient my thoughts and life. But the very first day at the institute, along with my neighbour who was from a prestigious private sector company, I embarked to have a drink. And with that the quotidian, unabated drinking continued. This inappropriate behaviour began to adversely impact my mother’s health. My hare-brained behaviour was extremely traumatic for her and she became a victim of regular Paroxysmal Atrial Tachycardia (PAT) attacks. I saw my mother suffering from this condition on several occasions and being admitted to the ICU. It was a distressing and disturbing sight. While it is not a life-threatening affliction, it certainly disorients the psychology and attitudes of the patient. During her suffering we saw her clutching on to her rosary as a life saver, while we prayed fervently for her recovery. I had an internal monologue with my inner voice praying for her recovery. She was administered medication but it worked only to an extent. But for her the real help came in the form of a pentagon-shaped talisman which included Siddha Healing, Pranic Healing, the ten-day Vipassana Course and the Part 1 and Part 2 of the Art of Living courses. The unique, amazing and scientific power of the breath revived her and brought back the mojo in her life. But this was much later in life. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon monsoon got converted into autumn and into winter. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Why don’t you join the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings?” my uncle, who regained sobriety through the fellowship of AA suggested when he was in Delhi. I did attend a couple of the meetings organised at YWCA and YMCA, but there was no respite from my drinking bouts. Fifteen months at the Management Development Institute had elapsed. Acquiring esoteric knowledge in management which should have been a game changer in my life did not improve my condition. My addiction only worsened; a once-upon-time social drinker was now a confirmed alcoholic. My bugbear with numbers continued as I could hardly understand probability, financial management and cost accountancy and was to pen a few lines on alcoholism while being in a state of stupor. Needless to mention, it was my wife who coached me in all the numerical papers. And she was the one who used to drive me all the way from Civil Lines to MDI, Gurgaon every Saturday to pick me up and drop me back on Monday mornings so that I could attend the classes in time. When I look back, I am only amazed at her patience and attitude in life which very few can possess. At MDI, Gurgaon the fancy for Satras continued. But this time I was not the only guilty one, even the studious amongst us participated in this favourite pastime as we grappled with the theories of micro and macroeconomics besides marketing and strategic management. So, the know-all Dr Sunny’s well-founded theories on Satras which were postulated way back in late 1980s seemed still relevant. Upon completion of the course, I was back to serve Northern Railway now accoutred with a degree and a prestigious medal conferred by the Ministry of Defence. I was posted in the Commercial branch of headquarters and soon the proverbial five-year period of stay at a place terminated and fresh orders were issued to don the mantle as Senior Divisional Operations Manager (Sr DOM), Bikaner. My parents and grandmother were pinning their hope, with faith and belief that I would perhaps upend the pyramid. While my more practical wife was sceptical about any drastic change but was happy for me that I was to be in charge of freight and passenger operations of a division as she wistfully packed the cassette of Shivoham and my Puja material.