The Man Who Heard Too Much

A few years ago, I embarked on a short getaway to Ooty, the queen of hill stations in Tamil Nadu. We had rented an SUV from Coimbatore for a two-day trip, eager to escape the sweltering plains and immerse ourselves in the cool, misty highlands. As we wound our way up the ghat roads, the landscape transformed dramatically. Lush tea gardens stretched out like emerald carpets on the rolling hills, their neatly manicured rows dotted with women in colorful saris plucking leaves under the soft morning sun. Tall pine trees stood sentinel along the roadside, their needles whispering in the breeze, while distant meadows bloomed with wildflowers in shades of purple and yellow. The Nilgiri hill range loomed majestically ahead, shrouded in a light fog that promised adventure and serenity.

Our driver, Shrinu, was a character straight out of a comedy sketch—jovial, quick-witted, and always ready with a grin that crinkled his eyes. He navigated the hairpin bends with effortless skill, honking cheerfully at passing trucks while regaling us with local tales. About halfway up, as we paused at a viewpoint overlooking a valley of undulating green, I struck up a conversation to pass the time. "Shrinu, tell me about your family," I said, settling back in my seat.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his mustache twitching with amusement. "Ah, sir, simple life for me. One wife, two children—a boy and a girl. They're my world."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the way he emphasized "one wife," as if it were a rare commodity. "Just one? Sounds like you're missing out on the fun!"

Shrinu let out a hearty laugh, winking slyly. "Oh, sir, you laugh now, but in Tamil Nadu, it's not so unusual for the big shots! Look at Karunanidhi—how many wives did he have? And his son Stalin, following in the footsteps. Then there's the film star Kamal Haasan, with his glamorous life and multiple marriages. Once they get rich or famous, they spot a smarter, more educated woman, and boom—the journey begins! Me? I'm happy with my one. Keeps the drama low and the idlis hot."

We both burst into laughter, the SUV echoing with our banter as we continued climbing. Shrinu shared more anecdotes about celebrity scandals, his naughty twinkle making the drive fly by. By the time we crested the hills and entered Ooty proper, the air had turned crisp and invigorating, carrying the scent of eucalyptus and fresh earth. The town unfolded before us: colonial-era bungalows nestled among pine groves, expansive meadows where horses grazed lazily, and tea estates that seemed to cascade down the slopes like green waterfalls. We checked into our cozy cottage, spent the afternoon wandering the botanical gardens, and as evening fell, the hills glowed in hues of orange and pink under the setting sun.

That night, we decided on a quiet dinner at a local restaurant overlooking the lake—a quaint spot with wooden beams and a menu heavy on steaming soups and masala dosas to ward off the chill. As I navigated the dimly lit room to our table, I accidentally bumped into an elderly man leaning on a cane. "Sorry about that," I muttered, then froze. The face looking up at me was familiar, though weathered by time.

"Ram? Is that you?" he said, his voice steady despite his stooped posture.

It hit me—Reddy, from my old days at the Vizag Steel Plant. We hadn't crossed paths in over 30 years. He looked aged, his back bent like a question mark, silver hair thinning, but his eyes were sharp as ever, piercing through the years. I, on the other hand, prided myself on staying upright—my daily walks and yoga sessions had kept the stoop at bay, though gray had crept into my temples too. "Reddy! What a surprise. You recognized me instantly."

He smiled faintly, gripping his stick. "Some faces stick, even after decades. Join me for a bit?"

We sat at his table, catching up on lost time. He was retired now, living quietly in Ooty. As we talked, something peculiar happened. I'd open my mouth to ask about his health, and before the words formed, he'd reply: "The arthritis is manageable with the cool weather here." Or I'd think of inquiring about old colleagues, and he'd preempt: "Most are scattered now—some in Chennai, others abroad." It wasn't constant, just sporadic, like flashes of insight.

I stared at him, puzzled. "Reddy, how are you doing that? It's like you're—"

"Reading your mind?" He finished my sentence with a sad smile. "Yes, I can. But not always. Only sometimes, and mostly with people I know well. I don't know why or how it works, but it does."

I was flabbergasted, my spoon hovering midway to my mouth. The restaurant's hum faded into the background—the clink of plates, the murmur of diners—as I processed this. "That's... incredible. Or terrifying?"

"More the latter," he admitted, his voice dropping. "It's caused nothing but trouble. My wife left me years ago; the kids barely call. You see, when I read their thoughts—especially the unkind ones, the frustrations they hid—I couldn't help but blurt it out. I'd get blunt, confrontational. 'Why are you thinking that about me?' I'd say. It created rifts that never healed. Same with friends—they'd drift away, calling me eerie or untrustworthy."

A wave of sympathy washed over me. How isolating that must be. I started pondering ways to help—maybe connect him with a specialist, or introduce him to support groups.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You can't help me, Ram. I can see it in your mind right now—you're wondering how to fix this."

I nodded, speechless. He leaned back, gazing out at the darkened lake reflecting the hill silhouettes. "I've rented a small flat here in Ooty. The isolation suits me—no new friends, limited contact with relatives. Keeps the noise down."

"But how did this start?" I finally asked, my curiosity overriding the awkwardness.

Reddy sighed, his eyes distant. "It was back at the plant. An accident in the blast furnace—I got too close during a malfunction and inhaled that poisonous gas. Knocked me unconscious for days. They airlifted me to Hyderabad for emergency treatment. When I woke up, everything was... different. Subtle at first—a hunch here, a premonition there. Then it sharpened into actual thoughts from people around me. Doctors called it a neurological quirk from the toxin exposure, but they couldn't explain it. Neither can I."

We parted ways that night with a promise to stay in touch, though I sensed he preferred his solitude amid Ooty's tranquil beauty—the whispering pines, the fragrant tea gardens, the misty meadows that offered a refuge from the world's unspoken chaos. As I walked back through the fog-shrouded streets, the hill range standing silent guard, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling. What a gift, what a curse—to glimpse the hidden minds of those you love, only to lose them in the process. Ooty's serenity had unveiled a story stranger than any mountain mist.

We often envy those who possess extraordinary powers — to see, to know, to hear more than the rest of us. But sometimes, what looks like a gift is, in truth, a quiet tragedy. Reddy’s story was a reminder that perhaps life is kinder when thoughts remain private, and the heart knows only what the lips choose to speak.

---

Building Bridges Beyond the Table: Lessons on Customer Relationship Management

Customer relationship is not just about contracts, negotiations, and project deadlines. It is about building trust, respect, and sometimes even friendships that last a lifetime. During my long career in Indian Oil Corporation, BHEL, and later in the private sector with Techno Electric Engineering, I experienced firsthand how cultivating deep personal bonds with customers and stakeholders can help overcome the most complex challenges.

In my view, customer relationships are not built in boardrooms or through formal agreements alone. They are forged on the ground, in moments of crisis, in the willingness to go beyond one’s defined role, and in the shared determination to complete a project despite all odds. When both sides align themselves to the common goal of project completion, they transcend the narrow boundaries of “client” and “contractor” and begin to act as true partners.

---

Early Lessons – Panipat (Haryana Electricity Board)

My journey with customer relationship at project sites began at the Panipat Thermal Power Station, where Mr. G. P. Sood, the Chief, became like a mentor to me. He openly admitted that his expertise lay in hydropower, not in thermal plants. This honesty created an instant bond of trust. I acted as his technical advisor and took decisions—even flouting certain BHEL restrictions—to ensure the plant ran during Haryana’s acute power shortage. That experience taught me that customer trust grows when you prioritize their problems over rigid rules.

---

Brotherhood at Singrauli (NTPC)

At Singrauli Superthermal Power Station, I worked with Mr. S. K. Dasgupta, an old colleague from Barauni Refinery. Our shared background as shift-charge engineers of captive power plants created a brotherly bond. Together, NTPC and BHEL worked as a single pool of experts, commissioning five 200 MW units in just two years—a record then. The lesson was clear: when both sides stop drawing boundaries, teamwork achieves extraordinary results.

---

Empowerment at Wanakbori (GEB)

At Wanakbori Thermal Power Station, I worked under the late Mr. K k Dharangdharia, who valued my frankness in admitting weaknesses. He gave me freedom to plan erection and commissioning. GEB contractors even sought my advice directly. This empowerment led us to synchronize to full load within just 24 hours, a record that brought rewards from GEB. The takeaway: empowerment and mutual respect are the cornerstones of customer confidence.

---

Friendship at Vizag Steel Plant

At Vizag Steel Plant, Mr. P. K. Chakraborty, Chief Engineer, became a family friend. We worked shoulder to shoulder during crises, and his support was always strengthened by Mr. B. N. Rath, CMD, who stood by us. Beyond the workplace, badminton became a bridge—Mr. Rath, a passionate player, would often come to my flat to pick me up, and we would proceed together to the CISF court. His closeness with me helped smoothen many inter-departmental issues. This reminded me that personal friendship often paves the way for professional harmony.

---

Memories from Indian Oil Days

This bond through sport reminded me of my Indian Oil days, when Mr. G. S. Harnal, DGM at Gauhati, would pick me up for badminton while I was still a trainee. Later in Barauni, our sporting bond gave me visibility and acceptance in the refinery community. A small reminder that shared passions outside the workplace create lasting professional goodwill.

---

Farakka Superthermal (NTPC) – Overcoming Trade Union Challenges

My last site posting was at Farakka Superthermal Power Station (1991–1994), where Mr. G. S. Sohal, GM NTPC, was already a close friend from our Singrauli days. Bengal was turbulent then—frequent bandhs and aggressive trade unionism tested progress. But our coordination and trust enabled us to commission 2×500 MW successfully. The experience reinforced that personal bonds act as shock absorbers in volatile environments.

---

ER HQ and Kathalgudi (NEEPCO)

Later, at BHEL Eastern Region HQ, my association with Mr. P K Kataki, Chairman of NEEPCO, proved invaluable. He was an IIT Kharagpur alumnus, like me, which gave us an instant connection. With his assurance, we tackled the Kathalgudi combined cycle project despite the looming ULFA menace. His back-channel talks even convinced insurgents that the project would ease Assam’s power woes. This was an extraordinary example of how leaders use trust and credibility to create security for execution teams.

---

Beyond Retirement – Suzlon Experience

After retirement, I applied the same principle while working with Techno Electric Engineering. With Mr. P. P. Gupta the owner and Chairman of TEECL, I forged bonds with late Mr. Tulsi Tanti of Suzlon and his chief marketing strategist Mr. I. C. Mangal initially Mr Gupta forged personal equation with Mr.Tanti. Their personal trust in me helped us overcome hurdles during the execution of our 211 MW wind power project. Once again, it proved that relationship capital is often more valuable than financial capital.

---

Rokhia Plant – Tripura

Another example was the Rokhia Plant in Tripura, where circumstances were especially difficult due to logistical challenges and local sensitivities. The cooperation between the state authorities, project leadership, and our team was not just contractual—it was built on trust and shared commitment. The Chief Engineer on the customer side worked with me almost like a partner, not as a counterpart across the table. Our alignment to the common goal of completing the project for Tripura’s power needs helped us overcome supply delays, terrain issues, and resource constraints. The experience showed once more that relationships built on mutual trust make even remote and complex projects achievable.

---

The Core Principle

Across all these experiences, one dictum consistently stood out:

In each case, the ultimate goal of both sides was the same — successful completion of the project. Once this shared goal was recognized, both sides naturally aligned themselves to it, transcending the narrow confines of contractual terms.

Two persons may sit on opposite sides of the table, but a common bridge can always be built. That bridge—be it technical trust, personal integrity, or even a shared love for badminton—transforms a transactional relationship into a partnership. When that happens, obstacles turn into opportunities, and projects turn into milestones.

Zero mile

Zero mile …………….. The man sitting in front suddenly whipped out his revolver and aimed it on the forehead of the guy sitting in front and asked, “Bol tere sath kya saluk kiya jay , mar diya jay ya chod diya jay?” The popular Hindi song of those days from the film Mera Gaon mera desh "Mar Diya jayey ya chod diya jayey, bol tere sath kya saluk kiya jayey" was playing loudly in another dhaba at a distance. This was the scenario on that night at Zero mile near Mokameh bridge of Bihar. The roads going to Delhi and Assam cross at this Zero mile. This incidence is of late 60s when near Zero miles both sides of the roads were scattered with dhabas for long distance truck drivers. That night two guys unknown to each other were taking dinner in a dhaba sitting opposite to each other. When hearing the song “mar diya jay “one of them who was drunk pulled out his revolver and held on the guy in front. Then another drunk sitting somewhere near by shouted,”Mar diya jay..”’ “Bam “the drunk shot the guy in front. Later on of course, the police came and rounded up the culprit, well that was Begusarai district where in Indian Oil Corporation, Barauni Refinery I spent 11 years. Our refinery township is about 6 or 7 kms away from the zero mile and often during my bachelor days me with my friends would go there late in the night for dinner in those dhabas. But that incidence stunned us, we stopped our adventurous dinner visits. It was like wild wild west. One Kamdeo Singh used to rule the Nepal-Bihar border for illegal ganja (marijuana) trade. He was so daring that during election time his jeep with him and rifle wielding goons would visit the polling booths openly threatening the voters. Then of course, Seshan was yet to appear with his electoral reforms. Kamdeo Singh was described thus in an article in India Today in 2014. .... Quote The man is as elusive as the Yeti. He carries an award of Rs 10,000 on his head. Police has been ordered to shoot him on sight. He maintains an army of gunners, mercenaries, and smugglers. This may sound like a fictional character out of a Zane Grey thriller, but it isn't. The man is Kamdeo Singh, his activities are centered in the Begusarai district of Bihar, and his hobby is to fight communists and 'bless' politicians during elections. Unquote ........... The refinery township was like an oasis in that jungle ruled by ruffians. We were lucky that nothing untoward happened in our township. We too avoided frequenting Begusarai town. As I was captain of Refinery football team, so during football season I had to confront some ruffians during the matches with local outfits. I was lucky to have Gopal Prasad Singh a refinery employee and part time Ganja smuggler as my sidekick in the football team; he acted as my bodyguard. Gopal’s trucks used to carry ganja for Kam Deo Singh. After I left, Indian Oil Gopal’s service was terminated from refinery, as there was police warrant against him. I must admit that Barauni Refinery posting made me a professional engineer from a college student and made me bold to face any kind of challenge, be it physical or mental. I guess rubbing shoulder with toughs transformed me. In 1978 i left Indian Oil Corporation for BHEL. I was offered New Delhi posting but i opted for project posting. My project stint started with Panipat posting in 1978 and then Singrauli Superthermal Power Station of NTPC, Wanakbori Thermal Power Station of Gujrat Electricity board,Vizag steel plant, Farakka Superthermal Power Station of NTPC. From 1978 to 1994 I was posted at project sites and faced adverse conditions day and night. My only son went through 8 different schools as i was moving with my family. The Barauni experience came handy in tackling technical and human issues. Yes i was confrontd by toughs in every site but it hardly deterred me in carrying out my task towards the set goal. It is true that " The tough time does not last but tough people do."

Seagull

Seagull

…………

The verdant sea beach of Pacific Ocean at Gold Coast

Seagulls on the beach at Surfers Paradise, Gold Coast,Australia

The sea was looking blue, the sun was about to set. The seagulls were circling over the sea at a distance from the beach. The surfers were returning, the air was salty; a fishy smell was hanging in the atmosphere. The entire ambiance and the smell of the sea beach at Gold Coast transported me back to Gangavaram sea beach in Vizag

.It was rightly said by Dian Ackerman that nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer besides a lake in the mountain: another moonlit beach. Smell detonates softly in our memory like poignant land mine hidden under weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of undergrowth.

Me with Raja and Bonny at Gangavaram sea beach, the captive sea beach of Vizag steel plant

Yes that particular moment reminded me of a similar sunset time by the side of Bay of Bengal on Gangavaram beach, which is kind of captive sea beach of Vizag Steel plant. I was relaxing on the beach, looking at the endless waves hitting the shore line, my son with his friend Raja swimming in the sea, the ladies were busy at a distance. From the corner of my eyes I could see the temple perched on a hillock, the last scene of the film Ek Duje Ke Liye was shot there.

Bonny with Madhuri in Gangavarm Sea beach temple

 The whole atmosphere was serene and tranquil. From a distance it would appear as though I was talking with the sea. Yes, I was communicating with the sea, I wanted the time to freeze so that I could go on reminiscing about the past. The sea was communicating back to me that it was not possible as the time could not wait and reminded me that I had much work to do before I could think of freezing myself to no work mode. It said, " look at those seagulls, they are relentlessly hunting for fish, look at me I have no time for rest, I have to go on creating waves." Those words of sea jerked me back to the present, I quickly got up and gathered my clothes and shouted to others that it was time to go back home, the sun was about to set.

I started thinking about the project for which I was posted at Vizag.The nightmare of grappling with the pressing problem at the project started staring hard at me.

I was posted there in steel plant from BHEL to construct their power plant. The plant was ready but was not stable. Those recurring problem used to haunt me, those trips to Gangavaram or Ramakrishna beach was to escape from the reality and look at the sea for a mental peace. I still remember my first rendezvous with the sea. It happened in 1963 when I with few of my friends from IIT, Kharagpur straightaway paddled our cycles to the sea before checking in any hotel. We were staggered; the endless water produced a numbing effect. It was beyond our imagination, in our own way we always imagine things in a limited way. Before that day the only unlimited thing with which we were familiar was the sky, since the sky we are seeing from our very birth so it does not create that kind of effect of the unseen. We felt very small and vulnerable on that day.

Whenever I was having any mental trouble I would go to the beach, look at the sea. The vastness of the sea would make my problem look insignificant, my disturbed mind would calm down and I would start thinking rationally. My batteries would get recharged; I would be looking at the problem with a fresh mind.

The next day I would sit with my good friends like P Chakraborty, Jagannathan, Rana, Malhotra, TS etc and would run through the problems and work out a solution.

The Vizag posting of mine was a landmark posting as BHEL gave me bigger responsibility and I could see the South Indian culture from a close quarter. It was learning for my wife as well. She learnt the intricacies of South Indian cooking like Dosa, Idli, Sambar, Lemon rice etc.My son learnt scooter driving, car driving, swimming, playing tennis etc, the list is endless. That posting of mine transformed all of us to a different person and the sea played its role of mentor. We were like sea gulls circling round and round picking up bits and pieces here and there. It was Jagannathan who first introduced me to management books.Mr.Rath forced me to hone my badminton game.

Austin O'Malley said, "The memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food." Similarly I don't want to remember those technical problems and their solutions but I want to store those beautiful moments spent by the side of sea watching our kids playing, ladies laughing and seagulls circling at a distance and that symbolizes Vizag for me.

Shuddy with us in Surfers Paradise, Gold Coast

Shuddy and Bonny

Poonam

Me biking on sea beach at Surfers Paradise, Gold Coast