Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 51 :: Retirement and after (Part 2)

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(In continuation of the previous post)

With a desktop things became much easier although it took quite a bit of time for me to get the hang of it. For me the advantage was I didn’t have to mail my letters; they could now be e-mailed and could reach almost instantly. The ones to Central Chronicle would appear the very next day and those to the Statesman would take a little more time.

The Upper Lake of Bhopal was having a rough time and had dried up quite a bit. I was feeling distressed as, it seemed, the apathy of the civic authorities would destroy the Lake. I sat down to write a letter, a kind of a distress call but it turned out to be too lengthy. I took a print out and took it to the office of the Hindustan Times to give it to the editor. As the editor was unavailable I handed it over to one of the correspondents, Ambreesh, who, I believe, is now with India Today. That happened to be a Friday and I thought I would meet the editor on Monday. But before I could do that it was published on Sunday with a photograph of the Lake from the newspaper’s archives.

Quite clearly it was appreciated by the Editor, Mr. Askari Zaidi, who took special interest in the layout of the article and selecting a suitable photograph. I met him the next day and couldn’t thank him enough for his gesture. With that commenced a relationship with Mr Zaidi and the Hindustan Times that lasted for six years during which numerous articles of mine were published making me a known name (not a face) in the town. Mr. Zaidi encouraged people to write. He used to say that thinking people must be given a platform. But in the government such thoughts are considered pernicious.

 Late Mr. Mahesh Buch and Late Mr. Kripal Dhillon, Prof. Zamiruddin and some others used to write in the newspaper very frequently. They were known commodities; I was a stranger and, kind of, a new kid on the block – unknown and faceless. Initially many in Bhopal presumed that it was one of the two brothers whom thet knew was the writer. They had to be told that there was a third Bagchi who was, well, the ‘culprit’. The article made quite a splash and very few friends that I had congratulated me. One of the local editors, whom I did not know, came to congratulate me. By that time many of my articles had been published.

That was in 2001 and since then I have been, so to say, pushing my pen. The Hindustan Times reduced its city supplement to a mangled version of its former self. I was also told that newspapers like HT and Times of India (which started publishing later from Bhopal) were advised that any criticism of the government would entail deprivation of all commercial ads. The papers, to be on the safer side, discontinued accepting unsolicited articles. That shut the doors on my journalistic effort with the HT.

I, however, used to write in The Pioneer which too had started publishing from Bhopal. One Mr. VT Joshi, a very senior journalist who retired, if I remember, from HT used to be a member of our Saturday Club. He also used to run a syndicate which used to distribute features to several English language dailies in different states. Once I was introduced to him he readily accepted my pieces for circulation. This expanded my reach and if I sent a piece independently to Goa or Guwahati it would be published. However, the tie up with Mr. Joshi was short-lived as he expired while on a visit to Bangalore.

In the meantime, I started contributing to citizen journalism sites in India and the US. There still are a number of sites in India which unfortunately have been unable to make themselves secure. The US sites were however very welcoming. I recall the Ground Report of Rachel Stern, a UN intern, took all my pieces and after approval used to publish them. A time came when the site intimated that I did not need any approval and could post straightaway on the site. Unfortunately, she sold the site. Similar fate awaited many to which I used to contribute. For instance, Newsvine – an MS NBC outfit – ran aground after about a dozen years. Here some of my readers had become friends and used to exchange views with me. Likewise, the Third Report of one Mr. Boreli, a man who appreciated well-written pieces, sank when the outfit ran out of money. Another site, viz. “Media With Conscience” (MWCnews) just sank one fine morning without any trace.

It only proves that in a capitalist society independent journalism has no place. Money is a scarce commodity and none would like to place one’s bet on a venture that does not offer much return. Independent journalism hardly ever gave any return to its promoters. The first decade of this century was, nevertheless, the golden period for citizen journalism on the worldwide web. It, however, got caught up too soon in the machinations of the capitalist society for sheer motive of profits. 

Nonetheless, there is one example that defies the above formulation and it is “Ohmynews” of South Korea. It is a site that was launched years ago by one Mr. Oh and still continues to offer citizen journalists its site for mounting photos and texts. I, too, used to contribute to the site before it became a more professional journalistic site. I had a very large audience and one of my pieces was picked up by a researcher in the US who even spoke to me on an international call asking for further details.

 While the citizen journalism sites kept disappearing from the scene I kept writing for it had now become a passion and a manner of spending my days a little more fruitfully. Instead of passively waiting for the inevitable end it provided me a reason for being alive. Despite a repaired heart I am maintaining myself, with tireless efforts of my loving wife, well enough for my 83 years. Even if all the citizen journalism sites collapsed all around me I would still have my Blogger and Facebook accounts to express myself. Hopefully, they are not going to fail me and are likely to outlast me.

(Concluded)

*Photo from internet

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat ::51 :: Retirement and after (Part 1)

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Soon after retirement we had to make a move. I was living in my own flat which I had bought from DDA. Although I was entitled to a Type VII house as Member of the Postal Board they did not allot any. In fact, I was indirectly asked to shell out forty grand for a house which I refused to do. It was strange that a government servant was being made to pay a bribe to get government accommodation of his entitlement. This had happened with a batch-mate of mine, too, who was asked to pay a greater amount, presumably, because he was in the Income Tax Department.

As no house was being allotted, after a few days, maybe a month, of joining as Member, we decided to move into our own flat in Vasant Kunj. We had hardly lived there for a year when (two months before my retirement) an Assistant Director of Estates showed up in my office with an allotment letter of a house in Bapa Nagar. While handing over the allotment letter he said he had a request to make. I exploded as he said that. Just because he had a request to make he had come personally to hand over the allotment letter which was of no use to me at that point in time. The Estate office people thought no end of themselves and acted hard to get. I gave him a mouthful and told him to take away the allotment letter and dump it in a trash bin.

Though of only two bedrooms, the flat in Vasant Kunj was nice and airy. Only problem with it was that it was on the third floor and climbing up and down at least twice a day was proving a little too strenuous for us. We had, therefore, decided to move to Bhopal where the local Chief PMG, a very nice and amiable Sikh, had selected a flat for me on the ground floor. We are still in the same flat even after 25 years. It has a fabulous view of the Bhopal Lake. That apart, I had two of my brothers and the sister living in Bhopal. My wife had her brother with whom her mother too was living here. For about twenty years we had a great time. We would have frequent get-togethers over drinks and dinners. All that is now gone; I lost the two brothers and my wife lost her mother and the brother. Four people passing on from a well-knit family makes a deep dent in it.

We started visiting places as and when it suited us. Soon, however, one morning I felt acute anginal pain in my left arm. The local doctors administered an injection of Streptokinase which reversed the impact of the cardiac attack that I had been a victim of.

It was hunky dory only for sometime as the pain reappeared in a year’s time. This time they referred me to Apollo Hyderabad. I could have chosen Madras but I had a brother in-law in Hyderabad and I thought it would be good for my wife to be near her close relatives. They put a stent and we came back only to find the pain making a re-appearance within a couple of months. After a costly Thallium Test again at Hyderabad the doctor said I should immediately get into the hospital. I refused and I decided to go to AIIMS Delhi. It was true I was in a bad shape as I was increasingly becoming dependent on sorbitrate. A close friend, unfortunately now no more, from my PGI-Chandigarh days arranged my treatment with Prof. Talwar, the HoD Cardiology at the AIIMS. He did the angiography and told me that he did not see any stent in my cardiac region. Stents, I was told, were not visible in X rays but were visible when angiography is done. I was stunned as I was sure Pratap Reddy’s outfit wouldn’t do such a thing. But there it was; Dr. Talwar was a respected physician and his word could not be disbelieved. No wonder the pain had re-appeared so soon. The cardiologist at Apollo Hyderabad had cheated me.

Next day Dr. Venugapal came and checked me out and assured me that I would be alright. Although a very close friend from my school days had died on his recovery table around 20 years ago yet I did not have any apprehensions as since then his reputation had been in an upswing. In 2 days I was back in my room and had no pain anywhere despite having been cut up at several places in the region of my chest. Later I came to know that Dr. Venugopal had done as many as five grafts on me, four of which are still working and the fifth one somehow got blocked but it has developed collateral arteries.

In three months I was fully recovered. In order to keep myself occupied I started writing letters to editors. Initially I used to write only to the editor of the Central Chronicle, the only English language newspaper of the town. I used to write on civic matters and, happily, occasionally they would be taken note of. Then I started writing to the Statesman in Kolkata. I knew that Mr. CR Irani, the Editor, was very tough in so far as the language was concerned. But when my first letter appeared I was overwhelmed. In course of time numerous letters of mine appeared in the Statesman, some as the leading letter with the title as the headline for the “letters” section. I was surprised when a 600 word letter of mine was published without a cut. Those days readers’ responses were given due importance. The post offices would function properly so that a letter from Bhopal to Kolkata would reach generally in 48 hours. There was no e-mail or messenger service then – only physical transmission of messages. With the appearance of the Social Media the importance that was attached to readers’ letters has disappeared.

I used to type out my letters on my portable Silver Reed typewriter that I had bought in Tokyo in 1982. It was a very handsome-looking two-toned machine in Orange and Black. Not only did it make writing less strenuous it also obviated, I suppose, the difficulty in the newspaper offices to decipher the hand-written letters. My brothers advised me to get a computer but I did not know how to work on one. Eventually, I joined an institute run by NIIT to learn to work on a computer. I was certainly the oldest in the class and most of the boys and girls could have been my grandsons or granddaughters. I was reminded of an article I had read in Time Magazine years ago describing how life was changing in America on account of progressive computerization with grandfathers learning the ropes from their grandchildren. Even the teacher Rashida was a slip of a girl. I have lost touch with her whereas the young lady who used to manage the Institute, Farheen Viqas, continues to be a friend on Facebook.

(To be continued)
*Photo from internet

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 50 :: End of the road (Part 2)

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A favourite of the Secretary had been transferred to Chandigarh when the militancy there was ruling high. He had a government house in Delhi which he had not vacated as his family was residing in it. After a specified period the government started charging market rent which was in thousands. A proposal was made out with the approval of the Secretary for the Accommodation Committee of the Parliament to allow retention by him of the house on usual terms as Punjab was highly disturbed and lives of the members of his family would not be safe. I saw the untenability of the proposal as the officer’s boss, the Chief PMG, was residing in Chandigarh with his family and that too in the busy Sector 22.

And, yet a proposal was made out which was to be defended in front of Central ministers one of whom, NKP Salve, was the chairman of the committee. As the matter came up, Mr. Salve asked me whether the officer had been asked to control law and order. As this was not within his purview I half-heartedly explained how he could not move his family. Nobody agreed and Mr. Salve said hundreds of officers were working in Punjab despite the militancy. A prince-ling from Dhenkanal, who too was a minister, came and told me that I did not defend the case properly. I told him I found it like defending the indefensible. But the whole process was very embarrassing.

I had, on the other hand, the good fortune to take part in a meeting with Prime Minister Narsimha Rao on the subject of Mahila Samriddhi Yojna. It was a Yojna that was made out by him for strengthening the women and was run by the Department of Posts. Officewise data was fed to the PMO every month which was monitored by PM himself. Officials from PMO would often visit me and ask for various kinds of information. Once a Jt. Secretary came and asked me to submit figures block-wise which I said was not possible as the departmental structure was not designed keeping in view the blocks.

The same month there was a meeting at the PM’s house and the Jt. Secretary, like a busybody came and warned me about the block-wise information desired by the PM. The Department for Social Justice officers were also there with whom there was quite an ani- mated discussion. During these discussions a man appeared from somewhere and kept an ethnic small stone vessel in front of the PM. Obviously, it was some kind of a potion that the PM rolled it around and took it in one gulp.

When the matter regarding submission of the Yojna figures came up I told the PM the same thing that I had told his Jt. Secretary and said that if he insisted we would supply some data, accuracy of which, however, we would not be able to certify as our departmental structure was not built keeping in view developmental blocks. The PM immediately said that he would not like a change in the system. There the matter ended. The bureaucracy never would say no to a minister, more so to the PM. They must learn to do that for good and proper reasons.

I was asked to attend meetings arranged by the Cabinet Secretary for opening of a school for the children of officers of and above the level of Deputy Secretaries of the All India Services working on deputation. On the first day I had to raise the point if the school was meant to be for the children of the officers of All India Services on deputation to the Centre then why were we asked to attend the meeting. Our officers were not classified as belonging to All India Services and were not on deputation; they were occupying cadre posts. The Cabinet Secretary quickly retracted from his earlier statement and, visibly embarrassed, said that the school would be for children of all officers of the level of Dy. Secy. and above of all services. The school named as Sanskriti School came up later in Chanakyapuri headed by the wife of the Cabinet Secretary. From the look of it, it appeared that it was a kind of a means to provide employment to the wives of bureaucrats. Things, however, may have changed since then. The instance only shows how bureaucrats devise means to benefit them and their families at the cost of the government. For this school a huge area in Chanakyapuri had already reportedly been earmarked.

Around four months before I was to retire I received a call one morning from the Secretary that I from that day onwards was in-charge of Operations and not of Development. I did not get any reply to my questions as to why the change was being made so late in the day when the post could have been given to me in the first instance. No coherent reply was forthcoming. Later I realised it was where computerisation was most intense and the man whom I was to replace was not playing ball with the Secretary. I thought, so be it and why make an issue of it for four months. I thought it was best to go along instead of creating more bitterness.

In fulfillment of my new responsibilities I occasionally went out to the operational offices of Delhi where they were working on computers. The invoices from Bombay to Delhi would take pretty long to reach. It was pre-Windows 95 times and while the carriers were suffered from in adequacy our men also not very adept. The net was painfully slow. And yet there was this tiny hope that all were very keen to learn. I occasionally got a culture shock when I saw Postal officials working the computers.

This is precisely what happened when I was asked to inaugurate the computerized Park Street Post Office in Kolkata in September 1994. On the counters there was an array of desktops which the officials started working on as soon as the inauguration was over. Obviously, they had learnt the ropes and were only awaiting the opportunity. Only the unions were holding them back.

A heads of circles conference came along in 1995. It was to be held in Odisa and a resort on the Puri-Konark road was booked for the officers. It was a two-day affair after which my wife and I moved to Konark. She had not been to Konark and this was a good opportunity.

The curtain came down on my career on 30^th September 1995. In the office, however, it was business as usual; only a farewell Board meeting was scheduled in the evening. I spent 34 years in the department most of which were sweet and happy despite a large number of changes of places. Only the end came with a bitter taste which too I got over in a matter of weeks. I knew there will be some withdrawal symptoms and I had warned my wife about them. I had told her not to take notice if I talked nonsense or lost my temper for small breaches of routine. People sometimes went under depression when official positions and work were withdrawn from them and behaved irrationally. So, on the last day of September 1995 I bid final good bye to the department.

It is now 25 years since I retired and some of the memories are still so fresh. To have memories so vivid of years gone by even after a quarter century is no mean achievement for an old man of 83.

(concluded)

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 50 :: End of the road (Part 1)

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Memories of an ordinary bureatcrat :: 50 :: The end of the road (Part 1)

As we sat cooped up in the plane for almost two hours a train of thoughts passed through my mind. I was going to take over as a Member of the Board which was the most that we could get to. But currently departmental officers were becoming secretaries. Things seemed to have opened up considerably. When I was a probationer the same man who tarried over my transfer back to Delhi from Kolkata had told me at Nagpur in 1962 that there was no future for me and that I was going to retire as a probationer. Obviously, it was a joke but he too, perhaps, saw no future for himself. But, later, there we were: he working as Secretary and I as a Deputy Director General. Even my second brother had told me that I could at best go up to the Junior Administrative Grade – a level that was four levels below the one that I retired from.

Nobody could foresee the changes that came through during those thirty-odd years. Although our growth rate was laughed at as a Hindu Rate of growth of 3.5% yet the government did well in boosting up the economy with all round development. In the field of communication it was planning that was the trick and when I entered the service planning for expansion had just commenced. We harvested the results as we went along. The data that is touted today about the number of post offices – around 150000 – was all the result of planning and when the ground level got spread out the superstructure too got fleshed out. Throwing one’s mind backwards one can imagine how miserable a condition that the British had left us in before they finally said good bye. A man in a village had to walk miles to get to a post office. It must have been a herculean task for our economists and planners to pull the economy up by sheer boot straps.

The day I was to join I was told that Secretary was heading towards Australia and that I should take care nothing untoward happened. He was away for more than a week and nothing untoward happened. During the interregnum I found that I was appointed Member in-charge of planning and development. However, because of shrinkage of allotment of resources there was no scope for any planning or development. The work relating development was that of computerization and that was all being looked after by Secretary. He, obviously, did not wish to shed this item of work for reasons known to only him.

I went and told him that it was becoming very embarrassing for me as in meetings with private sector men I was introduced as Member in-charge of development but when they asked me what developmental work I was doing I could hardly specify any. I asked him either to share developmental work like induction of technology or, in the alternative, change my designation so that I could sit in my room and twiddle my thumbs in peace. I had to put it straight that if there was no resolution of the matter to my satisfaction I would be compelled to approach the minister or the Cabinet Secretary, or both.

He was taken aback and said that he would not part with computerisation of the department. I said, he needn’t give me anything and keep everything with himself but the condition would be that he would have to have my designation changed. I came away and after some time the internal phone rang. It was the Secretary. He said he would pass down the induction of satellite technology. Though it was only a fig leaf I said, fair enough.

I never imagined that I would have to fight some more, though without any gain. Some officers came and told me that the five-yearly Congress of the Universal Postal Union was being held at Seoul, South Korea. The delegation generally includes the Minister, Secretary, a member or two of the Board and the DDG in-charge of international (postal) relations. What the officers conveyed was this year no member was going, i.e. I would not go and instead the Additional Secretary in the Department of Telecom – a Postal officer on deputation – would be going. The Addl. Secretary was known for his skills in maneuvering things in his favour because of which he spent around 20 years on deputation in Delhi. He was a boot-licker of politicians and he would do anything to please them.

Soon the President of our Service association showed up. He narrated the same story and was vehemently opposed to the inclusion in the delegation of the Telecom man. He feared that this would set a wrong precedent as it had never happened that the UPU Congress was attended by a non-postal man. He wanted me to do something. I knew the futility of it all and yet I said I would go and lodge my protest with the Minister.

I first went to the Secretary and asked him whether he knew of the developments regarding the delegation to Seoul. He said he knew and when questioned whether he had advised the minister against including the Telecom man he said he had not done that. I had to give him a mouthful and told him he had failed to uphold the interests of the Department and its officers. I then went to the Minister and asked him when I was sitting in the adjoining building as a Member of the Board how was he taking a Telecom official to Seoul? In reply he said he did not “visualize” me and that next time he would keep me in mind. I had to tell him there was no next time and that he was not properly advised by the Secretary and that what he had done was wrong. He got annoyed and never spoke to me again.

A favourite of the Secretary had been transferred to Chandigarh when the militancy their ruled high. He had a government house in Delhi which he had not vacated as his family was residing in it. After a specified period the government started charging market rent which was in thousands. A proposal was made out for the Accommodation Committee of the Parliament to allow retention by him of the house on usual terms as Punjab was highly disturbed and lives of the members of his family would not be safe. I saw the untenability of the proposal as the officer’s boss, the Chief PMG, was residing in Chandigarh with his family and that too in the busy Sector 22.

And, yet a proposal was made out which was to be defended in front of Central ministers one of whom, NKP Salve, was the chairman of the committee. As the matter came up Mr. Salve asked me whether the officer had been asked to control law and order. As this was not within his purview I half-heartedly explained how he could not move his family. Nobody agreed and Mr. Salve said hundreds of officers were working in Punjab despite the militancy. A prince-ling from Dhenkanal who too was a minister came and told me that I did not defend the case properly. I told him I found it like defending the indefensible. But the whole process was very embarrassing.

(To be continued)

*photo from internet

Memories of an ordinary buraucrat :: 49 :: Back in Kolkata

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Klokata GPO

Having very largely got the hang of more important areas of Bengal I was back in Kolkata for the home stretch. It was time for me to get the orders of my promotion but inexplicably these were being delayed. I knew the Appointments Committee of the Cabinet had cleared my name and the Department of Personnel had issued the orders but it was being held up somewhere in the department. I did not wish to remind anybody, including the Secretary who was only a batch senior but somewhat cantankerous. Obviously someone had organized a game and I thought I, too, would play along. The question of availability of vacancies did not arise as out of the three sanctioned posts all were vacant. In fact, the Postal Board just did not exist. Only the Secretary who was ex-officio Chairman could not have constituted the Board.

There were many instances where the higher officials in the Board were inclined to play games to bring senior officers including Chief PMGs to grief. There was a national strike in the middle of 1993 which happened to last for one whole month. The minister, Sukh Ram, negotiated a settlement and the workers came back to work. Soon after the resumption of work I started getting letters from two senior officers of the Board to cut the salaries of employees who had struck work. I was told that some heads of circles had succumbed to the pressure and brought to heel, some others had been charge sheeted for not obeying orders. These gentlemen who were orchestrating their views that the month-long absence deserved a salary cut had forgotten that after every national strike the Board issued the necessary orders regarding treatment of the period of absence. This time, therefore, it was for the Board to issue the orders but, seemingly, it was trying to fire the guns keeping them on the shoulders of Chief PMGs.

I resolutely refused to issue any order and wrote back every time that it was for the Board to issue the orders as it was a nation-wide strike. As luck would have it, the minister happened to come to Kolkata for a telecom conference accompanied by a member of the Postal Board who was awaiting orders for elevation as Secretary. It was from his wing that the letters referred to above were being issued. As soon as the conversation revolved round to the Postal strike during the conference I butted in asked him whether there should be a pay-cut for the strike. Sukh Ram said in very clear terms that there should not be any pay cut as the issues with the unions were settled in a spirit of goodwill. I looked at the Member, he had nowhere to hide. Here was a matter that was resolved by none other than the minister himself and the Board wanted to punish the employees through the PMGs. The unfairness of it all did not seem to have occurred to any of the worthies.

I was asked to hold Kolkata for around six months. But when a vacancy arose in my own grade at Delhi at the end of six months somebody else who was anchored in Delhi for years was appointed. Such things happen and when I mentioned this to the Secretary at Kolkata his response was “not in this vacancy, I say!”. There was nothing else to do but to cool one’s heels. One couldn’t have picked up a fight with the Secretary although I had known him from the beginning of my career.

So I reconciled myself to a needlessly delayed promotion, not that the promotion would have given me any far greater amount of money. Instead of September I got the orders in February – a clear five months of administrative delay. So we collected our meagre personal effects, said good bye to the office people who had been very nice to us, said the same to many of our relatives and caught a flight for Delhi.

*Photo from internet

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 48 :: Gangtok

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Since I had gone to Kalimpong, I thought it was my business to nip across and see for myself what was happening in Gangtok. I had been here more than twenty years ago but that trip was made on Leave Travel Concession. It was absolutely unofficial. Now

that I was in-charge of the operations in that state too I decided to take a look.

As you travel up from Kalimpong to Gangtok it is a fascinating landscape all through. Up and down and through lush green

forests, occasional gaps revealing only the tips of the Himalayan peaks, the road winds its way along the edges of the countless hills before it hits Rongpo. The most interesting part, however, is the stretch that runs along the somewhat wild Teesta River. They have now an organization that controls rafting on Teesta.

Gangtok was as placid as ever despite the tell-tale signs of

development. The offices were always efficient performing well – better than their brethren across several hills in the North-east. Here officials had a heightened sense of responsibility and they appeared far more sincere than in any other place. It was quite evident that in

the intervening two decades the state had taken long strides towards prosperity. What I saw this time was much different from what I had seen last time – the difference being palpably for the better. Our Postal System appeared to have kept pace with the requirements. Though headed by a Group B

officer the Division was doing fine.

We had an outing towards Nathu La. There was a lot of military traffic. I am somehow unable to tolerate people coming in the way of armymen. And, here I was doing it myself. But there was no going back as the target was Nathu La.

Over the winding roads which were well asphalted we hit Tsango Lake after about a couple of hours. I did not wish to continue further on to Nathu La. This was 12000 ft in elevation and presented lovely sights. The play of cumulus clouds over the Lake dominated by

snow-covered hills was fascinating. It was in fact a tourist site as there were several outfits providing tea and refreshments.

Having “done” Tsango it was our time to leave and get back to Gangtok. The next day we commenced our long trudge to Kolkata. But then it was yet to be decided whether we would drive right through or take the regional flight from Bagdogra.

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat ::47:: Kolkata - Murshidabad

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Hazarduari Palace

Named after Murshid Quli Khan, Murshidabad was the capital of Bengal before Kolkata was made its capital. It was an aggressive act by the British East India Company that deprived the local Nawab the powers to collect taxes. Murshid Quli khan had brought the capital to Murshidabadl from Dhaka where it had been taken by Bangla Sultanate. The region was very affluent and the local Nawab used to provide handsome tributes to the Mughal court in Delhi.

That it was very rich and prosperous was also found by the Anglophile scholar Nirad Choudhury. In his heavily researched book “Clive of India” he had occasion to record that Robert Clive, when he saw Murshidabad, thought that the place was far more prosperous than his (Clive’s) native London. This can be rejected as a misjudgment due to

The Clock Tower

ethnic pride but a similar conclusion arrived at by William Dalrymple in his book “Anarchy” cannot be discarded for any reason.

The place was crawling with European traders and their representatives. The East India Company of England had set their shop there with the French, Dutch and Danish East India Companies who too had parked themselves there for slices of what seems to have been the slices of the huge cake. The Armenians were already there as were the Jagat Seths, the famous money lenders. Murshidabad used to produce a lot of silk and that along with the famed Bengali muslin were favourite items of trade. Murshidabadi silk was a very coveted thing. My mother used to have a Murshidabadi silk sari which was her prized possession.

 Murshidabad was the capital of Bengal Subah that had Bihar and Odisha within its control. It was a very rich province with Murshidabad having the privilege of providing the seat of provincial treasury, revenue office and judiciary. The Murshidabadi prosperity attracted several merchant families from various parts of India and Europe who decided to drop anchor there. The place became a cultural centre as well with development of a native gharana of music and Murshidabad style of painting that looked like Mughal miniatures.

Katra Masjid

The affluence gave rise to some significant constructions and a few structures have been left behind that can be seen even today. The Katra Masjid, Niyamat Imambada and, later, the Hazaarduari Palace were built. The palace is reputed to have more than 900 doors and was built for running offices and for accommodating the Nawab’s and the English Company’s officials.

As was quite evident, the English East India Company gradually acquired enormous powers and the nawabs succeeding Murshid Quli Khan were unable play the games that the Company had come to master. Slowly, while power slipped away from the Nawabs it accreted in the hands of the Company. The nawabs came to survive with the

The Imambada

grace of the Company which had acquired all the power through crookedness ad chicanery. The second Plassey war completely changed the equations with the English coming out victorious. They became more self-willed and deprived the nawabs of the maintenance from the revenues. Slowly taxes came to be collected by the Company. Affairs of the state were increasingly being decided by Company officials in Kolkata. A situation was gradually created in which the capital had to be shifted to Kolkata. When that happened it sounded the death knell of Murshidabad.

The English East India Company had already started nibbling at the  Bengali territory. The second Plassey war made the local hereditary nawabs subservient to the Company. The Crown was also very indulgent in giving the Company sweeping powers to wage war to acquire territory. The Company, thus, grabbed by fair means and foul considerable amount of real estate within a short span of time. But that i

Hazarduari Palace

s another long story.

On our way back from Murshidabad we stopped at Berhampur where my cousin used to live. He had already organized a lavish meal with Bengal’s favourite fish Hilsa in mustard sauce. Not many can really tackle a piece of Hilsa as it has too many bones. We somehow managed it very well, more so because what was awaiting us was far more delectable. Chhena bara is a kind of jalebi of bigger sizes made of cottage cheese and as you sink your teeth in them sweet fragrant syrup oozes out and fills your mouth. They are fried till they are dark brown like kala jamuns and then immersed in the fragrant syrup. It is just heavenly. We took leave of our lovable Dada after heaping on him our thanks for the wonderful meal. That was the last we saw of him as he passed away within a couple of years’ time.Plassey, the place that proved to be the nemesis

  Plassey that proved to be the
 nemesis of the Nabobs

We also visited the village of my father in-law close to the district headquarters at Malda. It was an affluent village with all the houses built of bricks and mortar. As I entered the village post office I found wads of currency notes in the hands of people who had come to deposit them. Obviously the soil was rich and the farmers were diligent that produced the wads of currency. In times of the nawabs it was gold and jewellery, these days it is wads of Rs. 100/- notes

      

                                

memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 46 :: Kolkata - Gour

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Chamkan Mosque

Gour is another city where one finds structures of terracotta. These are different in the sense that they are of the Islamic kind. Gour is located in the eastern part of West Bengal and the ruins straddle both India and Bangladesh, though majority of the ruins fall on the Indian side.

Gour had its heydays during the middle ages when it was the capital of Bengal. Gour or Gauda became synonymous with Bengal. In the 13 Century it was captured by the Delhi Sultanate. I did not know that

Trellis work

there was also a Bengal Sultanate of which Gour was the capital for more than 100-odd years.

 Gour was one of the most densely populated cities of the sub-continent. Portuguese travelers have left detailed accounts of the riches of the place. They even compared the place with Lisbon. In the sixteenth century Gour was occupied by Humayun

Reminds one of Fatehpur Sikri

who desired a name-change for the place to Zanntabad. Apparently, this did not work out and the place continued to be known as Gour or Gauda.

Gour continued to be an opulent place with its trade and business. The Moguls added a large number of public buildings. But soon the city was overtaken by plague and change in the course of the Ganges. The city was thus left as a rubble heap and ruins of what once were fine pieces of architecture.

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 45 :: Kolkata - Santiniketan

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My junior colleagues in Kolkata had always been telling me to take a trip to their city for a visit to Santiniketan during the Poush Mela. Poush is the 9^th month of Bengali Calendar overlapping both December and January of the Gregorian Calendar. It is the season of harvests and farmers have enough money to celebrate. On the last day of Poush the festival of Poush Sankranti is celebrated. In Santiniketan. Poush Mela is a massive celebration with sweets, several

Sculpture by Ramkinker Baij

varieties of delectable Bengali dishes, music, recitations and folk theatre accompanied by folk music and dance.

 I could never make it to Santineketan during the Mela. This time too my wife and I were there but only after the celebrations were over and inmates of the place were back studying for their examinations. But having come to Kolkata and not visiting Santiniketan would be an affront to the Bard of Santiniketan. That is what we thought – a trifle over-estimation of ourselves.

The beginning of Santiniketan dates back to earlier than 1901. Tagore’s

The first building that came up in Santiniketan

father Maharishi Debendra Nath Tagore had bought this piece of land from Rajbari of Raipur for a pittance for his spiritual needs. He used to come here for meditation and, later, others too seemed to have joined him. The building which is reckoned as the original Santiniketan was constructed for his use.

After almost fifty years followed Patha Bhawan in 1901, which came into being as an institution of primary education run by Rabindra Nath Tagore. It was during this time that my maternal uncle was admitted at Patha Bhawan. Initially there were only 5 students. Characterised by its philosophy “of learning by the heart with closeness to nature without any superficial barrier between teachers and students” as opposed to

Uttarayan where Tagore used to reside

the Western method of rote learning, its system of teaching and learning was different. What started as a school grew into the Vishwa Bharati University. It is perhaps the only primary school that is affiliated with an University.

         

 While only a building was earlier known as Santiniketan, today it is the entire complex of numerous structures is known by that name. It comprises intellectual activities, literary and artistic efforts as also crafts like on cloth or leather. Music is another integral part of the education. No wonder one can often find the students go on musical soirees. That Tagore gave birth to a distinctive genre of music universally known as Rabindra Sangit is perhaps a very well known fact. A large number of youngsters flock to the place only to specialize in Rabindra Sangit. They have to make extraordinary effort to master 2000 songs that he had written, each set to a different tune by him.

Path Bhawan (from internet)

Apart from music Santiniketan is known for art – visual art. From our childhood we had seen many practitioners of art who had internalised Santineketan way of painting so much so that a brief look at it would be enough to tell us the provenance of the style.

All in all, it is a great institution. It  produced different kind of men and women who were well educated, well behaved and gentle and cultured to a fault. When they went out in to the wide world they carried Santiniketan along with them. I remember the wife of a faculty member from the up-country of the Indian Institute of Public Administration who had been to Santiniketan and used to speak

Another scupture by Ramkinker

flawless Bengali. She had Santiniketan seemingly imprinted all over her.

As visitors what we can do is only to see the standing structures or gawk at the sculptures of Ramkinker Baij and collages of Nandlal Bose. I find that very frustrating but then I cannot do anything about it. I console myself with the thought that it is enough we have been able to visit the place and pay our silent homage to the great polymath who preceded our generation.

Memories of an ordinary bureaucrat :: 44 :: Kolkata - Bishnupur

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Madanmohan Temple

We were on to Bankura the clay-horse town. It was an interesting journey through the crowds and chaos of Bardhaman and the urban scene of Durgapur. I have never had the occasion to see as many millions of cycle rickshaws as in Bardhaman. They clogged the roads. Worse they were crowding around th entry and exit of the Railway Station. Bardhaman is supposed to be reckoned as the heritage city of West Bengal and, they say, there is much to see but I got upset by the unruly cycle rickshaws.

Jorbangla temple

So we headed further north towards Bankura.

Bankura is just like any mofussil town - dusty and disorganized. Shops are here, there and everywhere. The most visible thing that is on sale is the famed Bankura horse – of terracotta as well of wood – of various dimensions. Some were carefully worked on, some even had semi-precious stones affixed at strategic places to make them look more beautiful. I had two huge terracotta horses of about 6 f

Rasmanch

t. height in my office so I was not really interested. My wife did buy some for gifting away.

We then moved into Bishnupur which is known for its terracotta temples. We have been almost all over India where we had seen temples made of granite, sandstone, marble or slate but we had never come across terracotta temples. Bishnupur has them in quite good numbers. Some of them eve have living deities.

Bishnupur is a municipality in the Bamkura Distt. Ironically there was a

Another of those terracotta temples

time, of course, long back when Bankura used to be within the administrative jurisdiction of Bishnupur. But the times have changed and Bankura got developed leaving Bishnupur behind. The history of Bishnupur stretches back to the Gupta period but for our purposes its recent history is more relevant. For almost a thousand years Bishnupur was the capital of Mallabhum ruled by Mallas of which Bankura was a part. The

details of a panel on a temple

Malla rulers were Vaishnavites and they built here the exquisite terracotta buildings including temples. These have now become objects of tourists’ interest.

Although the place required many more days we could spend only two days as we had to get back to Kolkata. To that extent our experience was poorer.