Eleven years. Looking back, I sometimes wonder whether I worked there or simply enjoyed one long, glorious adventure with a salary attached!
After graduating in Electrical Engineering from IIT Kharagpur in 1965, I joined Indian Oil Corporation's Refinery Division as an Engineer Trainee at Gauhati Refinery. Eighteen months of training later, I was packed off to Barauni.
Little did I know that the refinery would become my real university.
Barauni transformed me from a fresh graduate into a professional engineer. I was entrusted with planning and maintenance of electrical equipment across the refinery.
More importantly, I learnt how to deal with machines—and with the far more complicated creatures called human beings.
My bosses, Mr. Gill, a cheerful Sardarji, and Mr. Hajela, had tremendous faith in me. They practically gave me a free hand.
Those days, IOC believed in empowering young engineers. Once you became an Assistant Engineer, you had the authority to initiate disciplinary action. My desk drawer always contained the Service Conduct Rules and a duplicate charge-sheet book. If someone broke the rules, a charge sheet followed. If the explanation was satisfactory, the matter ended there. Otherwise, an enquiry committee was constituted. Rarely did a case travel upwards.
Imagine a 24-year-old engineer with the power to issue charge sheets. Nowadays, HR departments would probably faint!
Administration was only half the education.
The refinery library contained a treasure of technical documents supplied by our Russian collaborators. Whenever I had time, I buried myself in those manuals. Without realizing it, I was steadily building the technical foundation that served me throughout my career.
Friendship had many layers
My life in Barauni resembled a multi-storey building. Every floor had a different circle of friends.
At work, my closest companions were K. K. Verma, R. C. Bhatia and Ramadhar Singh. During my bachelor days, Saturday evenings almost always ended with one of our legendary parties.
After office hours, however, the Officers' Club became our second home.
I was the refinery's badminton champion for seven consecutive years. I also represented the refinery football team and eventually captained it.
Football introduced me to an entirely different social circle.
There was Chaurasia, an ex-Bihar State Table Tennis champion. Gopal Singh looked like someone you would avoid in a dark alley, but possessed one of the kindest hearts I have ever known. The Das brothers were Bengalis who insisted on speaking Hindi even to each other. To this day I haven't figured out why!
Then there was Rameshwar—our goalkeeper and simultaneously a powerful union leader.
In those days, Barauni carried a reputation for producing more outlaws than scholars. Many workers had rough reputations.
Fortunately, football was a great equaliser. Since I was captain of the refinery team, most workers knew me personally. That made maintaining discipline surprisingly easy.
My unofficial ambassador among the workers was Tarachand, a rigger. Whenever overtime negotiations became necessary, Tarachand would represent me.
I quickly discovered that management wasn't about shouting.
Sometimes you offered a carrot.
Sometimes you displayed the stick.
Breakdowns that mysteriously took three days suddenly got repaired in one day when overtime was linked to performance!
That simple philosophy of reward and discipline eventually became part of my management toolkit for the rest of my career.
The senior brigade
Among senior engineers, my closest friend was P. K. Das.
A lifelong bachelor—or so we thought. He eventually married rather late.
Legend had it that during training in Russia he had fallen in love with a Russian girl. Letters crossed continents for years. We all secretly hoped she would one day land in Barauni wearing a fur coat.
Sadly, she never did.
Our Senior Cambridge-educated civil engineer, B. B. Munshi, never allowed Mr. Das to forget the story.
"So Das," he would ask with a perfectly straight face, "when is Aeroflot bringing your bride?"
Poor Das would simply smile while the rest of us collapsed with laughter.
The last Saturday of every month was Club Night.
Music.
Dance.
Laughter.
Mr. Das and I enthusiastically attempted the Twist. Looking back, I am amazed that our knees survived.
Today, attempting the same dance would probably require an orthopaedic surgeon on standby!
Engineers, technicians and everyone in between
I never believed friendships should stop at hierarchy.
Many evenings I would walk into the workers' quarters where a group of Bengali technicians ran a bachelor mess.
There was Jayanta Das, once associated with the Naxalite movement.
K. L. Sarkar.
Saha.
Rabi with a wicked sense of humour—and Patu an excellent badminton player .
When my younger brother Amu came to visit me, he became an instant fan of this lively crowd.
Midnight adventures
Another favourite group consisted of Raghunathan, Ramachandran Ayyer and Ratnam.
Ratnam was one grade senior and, as Marketing Chief, enjoyed the luxury of an official Ambassador car.
Saturday party over?
"Let's go dhaba hopping!"
Off we drove along NH-10 after midnight, sampling tea, kebabs and conversations at roadside dhabas.
Looking back, I realise we were either exceptionally brave or magnificently foolish.
Thankfully, Providence was watching over us.
Hospitality with conditions
Mr. Barua, the previous badminton champion whom I had dethroned, became a good friend.
His charming wife Sangeeta would greet me with mock indignation.
"So, you are the fellow who stole my husband's championship!"
Their invitation, however, came with one condition.
"Bring half a bottle of Old Tavern whisky. Dinner is on us."
I considered that one of the best hospitality deals ever negotiated.
Beyond the refinery
Mr. Hajela remained not only my boss but also my friend.
Mr. A. P. Chowdhury later became a Director of IOC and subsequently played an important role in the Reliance Jamnagar refinery project.
I participated in badminton tournaments all over the district.
With Raghu and Anil Raj I travelled to Kathmandu.
Rajgir and Nalanda became favourite weekend escapes.
Bachelor life
My childhood friend Sailen from Delhi practically managed my bachelor household.
Another close friend, S. N. Mitra, regularly joined us for meals whenever his mother was away.
When his mother was at home, Sailen and I happily migrated to their dining table instead!
Mrs. Mitra would narrate haunting stories of the Great Calcutta Killings of 1946, which she had witnessed firsthand. History came alive over steaming plates of home-cooked food.
Then came family life
In 1972, Madhuri entered my life.
In 1975, our son Anish arrived.
Our first home was a flat. Later we shifted to a cosy bungalow.
That bungalow had a kitchen garden which became my agricultural laboratory.
Cabbage.
Cauliflower.
Lady's finger.
Potatoes.
Onions.
Bananas.
Even peanuts.
Fresh mangoes came straight from the trees owned by my staff.
Sometimes we walked into cornfields and roasted freshly picked bhutta.
The fertile Gangetic plains spoiled us thoroughly.
The turning point
Everything was running beautifully.
Then I was transferred from Maintenance to Technical Services.
Suddenly I was designing substations, earthing networks, lightning protection for tanks and illumination layouts.
Soon afterwards came my long-awaited promotion—to Shift Charge Engineer of the captive power plant.Those days the promotion used to be vacancy based unlike present when it is time based.
Promotion sounded wonderful.
Shift duty wasn't.
Two mornings.
Two evenings.
Two nights.
One off.
One general shift.
My carefully balanced life collapsed overnight.
Saturday parties vanished.
Club evenings became rare.
Social life practically disappeared.
At the time, I considered it a punishment.
Life, however, had other plans.
I spent two and a half years operating the captive power plant and learnt the ABC of power generation.
There was no proper operating manual because previous shift engineers had thoughtfully carried away the originals!
I was asked to prepare a new manual for the operators.
While writing it, every concept became crystal clear.
Soon, whenever the power plant had a difficult problem, management's response was simple:
"Call Roy."
Without realising it, I had become the in-house troubleshooter.
A blessing in disguise
That transfer, which I initially disliked, eventually changed my entire career.
My power plant experience helped me secure a position in BHEL in April 1978.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Even today, well into my eighties, I remain actively associated with power generation—thermal, wind, solar—you name it.
Looking back, I realise that what seemed like a disruption was actually destiny quietly redirecting me.
Barauni gave me far more than a job.
It taught me leadership without formal management courses.
It taught me negotiation without business school.
It taught me lifelong friendships across every level of the organisation.
It taught me that humour can solve many problems that authority cannot.
And above all, it taught me one simple lesson:
**Sometimes what looks like punishment is actually God's way of preparing you for something much bigger. There really is light at the end of the tunnel—you just don't see it while walking through the darkness.**
I left Indian Oil Corporation for BHEL in April 1978.
But if you ask me where I truly grew up as an engineer—and as a human being—I will still say, with a smile,
**"Barauni Refinery."**
