The trip...an experience

The trip

“Our actions are governed by our expectation. Like the journey you took to Jim Corbett with expectation to sight an uncaged tiger in the wilderness.” Samaranand my alter ego told me smilingly by the bank of river Dat near Kyari Corbett resort. I was on a trek to the dried river where I located him serenely enjoying the sunrise. I sat by his side and was narrating him our previous day experience.

On the second day of our trip we took the safari trip to Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve and came back without sighting a tiger. The safari of 35 kms one way inside the forest was pretty exciting as the official spotter went on spotting enthusiastically dears, pheasants, wild boars etc. The canter in which we were travelling was a rattling contraption, appeared to be an army truck converted for the purpose of safari. The noise, dust and bumpy road sums up the journey. The 35 kms road was winding up through the forest of tall shaal,shagun trees. The ambience was cool, the aroma of moist forest wafting in with chirping birds flying above effected all of us. At times the loud sound of the canter would stop as the driver would have switched off the engine and spotter would be searchingly look for wild animals, we all would be craning our necks for the sight, thus we saw deer, pheasants, wild elephants, wild boars and reached the guest house for lunch. There we found other travelers like us either in canter or in jeeps taking lunch but could hardly hear any discussion about wild animals. To ginger up the mood I shouted at our group and said, “We were lucky to spot tiger!’ I don’t know whether others heard me or not but it was kind of self-satisfying statement of assurance may be in the return we could spot some of those illusive 200 plus rumored tigers. The return journey of 2 and half hours with same sudden stops near the streams to wait for a tiger to stroll out for water which really never happened. The driver went on telling us tiger tales to convince us that somehow that day of March,2018 they were not coming out.

Finally, we could see tiger in the museum near the gate. It was stuffed tiger.

I must be frank that I did not go for the tiger but the name of the park being Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve gave expectation to all of us. When I posted some pictures of our safari then almost all friends had only one question to ask “Did we see the tiger?” Surprisingly while interacting with others after our return it emerged no one has really seen any tiger in that park. I am sure tigers are there but the noise made by all vehicles, tourists kept them stay away from those waterholes by the sides of roads. They too don’t like noise, likewise to avoid noise and crowd we too chose to stay in Kyari Corbett resort which is so deep in a forest that one cannot find it till one looks down on boulders where the direction to the resort is written.

This experience of mine made me think about the village Gosaba in Sunderbans which is known as widow Village, there are 700 odd widows in that village whose husbands were killed by tigers. Recently I contributed some money to an organization which was distributing free sarees to those poor ladies. Here are those people who survive by staying away from tigers and in Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve the tigers stay away from humans for survival.

“I heard about Gosaba village and the widows, it is not only tigers but also crocodiles in those swamps have killed villagers.” Samaranand added.

“Have you ever thought about those wild life photographers who patiently wait for days to take snaps of new or rare species of birds. Patience is the key word. You came with a tight schedule and lot of expectations!”

“True! ‘I admitted.

“What you gained out of this trip is experience! The long arduous bus journey with all of your relatives did not tire you as you were heading for a new experience, the journey itself with the stop in between at Mama Yadav dhaba would have been a never experienced event. Then you reached Kyari Corbett resort which is in wilderness without any road sign but you did not feel bad because it was a kind of adventure journey in the wilds. The bonfire in the night with antakshri by those enthusiastic kids was a kind entertainment which you never expected. Think about those two treks by the side of rivers, wheat fields and forest , you might have felt as though you are a character in Discovery Channel. These experiences are bonus in addition to your safari trip in Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve!’’

Samaranandji’s this explanation made me see the trip from a different angle altogether other than a destination oriented satisfaction like as though sighting a tiger was the goal.

Artificial intelligence

Artificial intelligence

Many of the past happenings are so much deeply etched in my mind that those often appear as though it has happened only yesterday, kind of cached in my memory stick of my subconscious mind..

My walk in Shillong at the dead of the night in December of 1966 when i had just joined  Gauhati Refinery of Indian Oil Corporation is one such incident. Those days during 65 to 66 more or less every alternate month I would be in Shillong with my friend Pranjal Sen, he originally belonged to that place. Sometimes I would stay in his house but most of the time it would be hotel. It was my first job after finishing  engineering degree so hotels would be ordinary budget type, mostly wooden shacks, as a matter of fact those days most of the houses in Shillong were made of wood with slanting roof, typical of hill stations.

During that fateful trip I was staying in a hotel, it was within one kilometer from Pranjal's place. That night I had dinner in his house, it got late as we were having an excellent adda, he started insisting that I stay back but  I said bravely, “Come on! Don’t worry nothing will happen, I will safely walk down to my hotel!’’

It was freezing cold of December, I zipped my jacket up-to the neck, no cap or any scarf, it was the don’t care attitude of youth. The streets were deserted, the light from the incandescent bulb of the street light was throwing a cone of light in the mist ,  the light around was diffused, one side had houses and the other side the usual rise of hills along the  road. After walking for a few meters all my bravado evaporated, heavy fog was descending, the shadowy pine trees were appearing as giants ,I started cursing myself for taking such a foolhardy decision of walking back instead of staying back in the warmth of Pranjal's house. I was in half a mind to turn back but garnered enough courage to trudge the remaining distance.

After sometimes I started having a feeling that as though someone was following me,started getting goose pimple, i could hear a faint footstep behind, I looked back there was no one.I stopped,  the footsteps stopped. I was walking on footpath. A group of noisy Khasi boys and girls appeared from the opposite side, they  waved at me and went the other way, that interlude gave me some relief. I decided to walk on the road, , by walking in the center of the road I would be able to hear the  footsteps  on the bitumen topped road of the guy following me. Those days the heels of my leathers shoes would have metal studs to reduce the wear out, that was the style those days. In the dead of the night my shoes were making “khut, khut..” sound and which was sounding louder and multidimensional because of echo, the sound was bouncing back to me from the rocks of the hills surrounding the road . So it was me alone in that foggy road, diffused light and the echo of my own footsteps scaring me plus a nagging feeling that someone was following me, it was becoming too much for me to bear.  I more or less started running to reach the safety of my hotel. It was an uphill run , finally I saw the light of my hotel, that light acted as a beacon of hope to me, i steered myself towards the hotel and reached the hotel huffing puffing.. The manager was surprised to see me running in and said, “Sir, what happened?''
"I think someone was following me!I heard footsteps behind me."I said by moving towards the fireplace in the lobby to warm myself.
"No sir, you have been hearing your own footsteps, it is very common in hills when there is silence like now in the night, Shillong is a peaceful place , safe for people even in the night."
I thought to myself that he might be right, i was hearing echo of my footstep when it was bouncing on small rocks.

Though nothing untoward happened that night but still that half an hour walk has remained permanently etched in my mind and appears in my dream in various forms.

The other day I dreamt that I was walking on that same road in my that age of 1966, tight pants, jacket and studded shoes. Making that ‘’khut khut..’’ sound and then I heard a song playing at a distance…it was Hemant Kumar singing  ”Jane who kaisey..” I realized that somehow i have to reach the source of that sound for my safety, the sound of the song was becoming louder as i was nearing the source, i started walking faster. I woke up with a start and that song was still playing, it was 12.30 am in the night, my wife was asleep and the song was wafting from the drawing room. I got up , went to the drawing room, switched on the light.Looked around for the source of the song , found that it was the device in which i was playing songs from gana.com via WiFi in the afternoon, though i had stopped it but somehow it got keyed in to gana.com again in the midnight and started playing on its own. I am yet to find a conclusive proof of how it started on its own. I know in the night the cockroaches rule our house no matter how much Hit my wife sprays. I reasoned that those cockroaches might have triggered that device while running over it and which got lighted  to the Gana.com as it was already Wi-Fi enabled.This theory of mine of cockroaches causing the device to play is a far fetched one.  I took the device , stopped the song, disabled the Wifi of the device. After that incidence every night before going for sleep I double check all my devices and lock those down. No doubt that I was invaded by artificial intelligence that night!

Pagli

Pagli

I finished my morning walk around the lake, came out of the gate near CRC, Gopal was fetching the car, I walked towards the lone beggar. Every day I pay some money to that beggar plus a beggar woman. The woman was missing. I asked that beggar about her. He informed, “Both of us got 500 bucks from a gentleman yesterday, she must be boozed out.”

Those words “boozed out’ took me back by about 20 years.

Those days I was posted at Kolkata and would on some evenings stop at the lake for evening walk on the way home. It was one such evening when I was walking around the lake opposite Menoka cinema. Suddenly I felt that a few urchins were following me, those days the lake was not enclosed like what it is now. I sensed that those were snatchers, I was trying to figure out a way to get out of the predicament but suddenly a woman in trousers with a bidi dangling from her mouth, the hair tightly bound in a bun appeared from nowhere. She hissed at those urchins, “Back off

! Leave him alone!”

I stopped, wide eyed I was watching that tableaux. I was mesmerized by that scene unfolding in the semidarkness. The diffused light from the street lamps created an aerie atmosphere! She was poised like a fighter with her weight supported on her left leg and slightly bent forward, she had pulled out her long hair pin and held that in her fist, a desi Modesty Blaise I thought. Her this unexpected appearance stunned those ruffians, I started looking around for police. I don’t remember whether I shouted for police or not but I heard footsteps and whistle. Those rascals fled after cursing her in Bengali, they were calling her Mukhpuri ( in Bengali, it means burnt face). She gave a mock salute to me and vanished in the thin air.

After that day I stopped my evening walk around the lake. I encountered that woman in trousers again when I went for an English movie in Menoka. I found her selling tickets in black, I could make out that she was the ring leader of all those boys selling tickets around that cinema hall. She did not recognize me but I could, the event of that fateful evening was permanently etched in my mind.

I went near her at the teashop by the side of road, she came forward thinking that I was looking for ticket.

-No,no I don’t want any ticket as I have purchased ticket in advance but I want to thank you for saving me on that evening.

She looked closer at me and then carelessly told, “Oh! That’s nothing! Because of those rascals’ people are scared to come even for evening show in this cinema hall and if people don’t come then how do we earn? So me and my gang keep a close watch!”

-That day I could not thank you but I want to reward you for your that act.

I gave her 50 bucks and she accepted that nonchalantly.

I don’t remember the name of the Hindi movie for which one evening on a later date me and my wife thought of going to Menoka, purchase ticket from the counter. The “Houseful "board was hanging in front of the hall. At the tea shop I inquired about her. One of the serving boys said, ‘You are looking for Mukhpuri, she earned some big money yesterday because this movie has become hit, she must be boozed out!”

We could not purchase tickets in black even.

In the meanwhile, I got transferred and then retired, I had no occasion to go to Menoka cinema hall, did not see her again until I started my morning walk around the lake 3 years back.

But when I first saw that beggar woman who has white patches on her face and hands I was taken aback for a moment as I have seen that face somewhere. I asked Gopal, my driver to find out about her.

Later on Gopal informed me that she is the same girl Mukhpuri who is now known as Pagli, twenty years back she was like a don of Menoka cinema hall, controlling the black market of cinema tickets of the theatre.

I of course did not remind her of that day but started giving money to her every day. She is still sharp, she knows my car and when she sees me coming out of the gate of the lake she calls out for Gopal in commanding voice to bring the car. I found her to be in friendly terms with the guards and policeman at the gate. Even in tatters she is always in smiles and keeps commenting on those hawkers, drivers, guards.
In the meanwhile Gopal brought the car and i got in,from the window i looked at the vacant space of Pagli and tried to superimpose that with the vibrant young face of Mukhpuri which i saw 20 years back.

Disclaimer: Partly true and rest a spin.

Lesson of life

Lesson of life

Our learning does not stop , begins from the time we are born, those who are observant they learn more about life.

The above observation was by Samarananad , my alter ego on the ghats of Varanasi.

“Yes” I said and added “After graduating from IIT my real first hand lesson was learnt in Indian Oil Company’s Barauni Refinery from my workers and officers.”

-Is It? Give me some examples, Samaranand smilingly asked.

Ok, here are some which I vividly recall.

Kedar Singh…our jeep driver

He was a ruffian but was the best person around for emergencies. He would not attend his duty regularly, leave the key of the jeep with the officers and he would vanish. I remember it was a club night day, the Last Saturday of the month, I was a bachelor those days. I was tending the bar, it was about 10 in the night, Kedar Singh came laughing to me at the club and said,”There is breakdown of a pump motor in OMS (oil handling station) and no standby so I better rush.”’

There was no choice I got up in the jeep and asked him to start picking up riggers and technicians from their quarters or shanties. Picking up rigger from a slums near the refinery was the toughest. It was summer time and all were sleeping on charpais in the open and to escape from the bites of mosquitoes they were all wrapped in sheets from foot to head. Kedar Singh nonchalantly started lifting the sheets of those sleeping toughs from one end. Abusing us those guys would shout at us but no effect on Kedar he would just say,”Ok,go to sleep yar!”’ then proceed to the next. This way we could ultimately locate Amar Singh and Sucha Singh from those wrapped up bodies which were looking like dead bodies lying in a row.

Yes, we finally managed to drag a spare motor, removed the failed motor by working whole night with Kedar Singh giving hand to the riggers, a total team work.

This taught me that though Kedar Singh appeared to be a wayward fellow but at the time of emergency he got transformed to a work devil.I guess everyone has that good and evil both in them, it all depends on us to churn out that good .

Chaubey…the boiler operator

He was through and through a crook from UP. Those days I was a shift charge engineer of the captive power plant. It was my turn to prepare quarterly shift rota of operators. A complaint came from all the boiler operators that why Chaubey should not be given duty on Sunday, all the operators get their weekly off days by rotation from Monaday to Sunday. On checking I found that by showing a reason that he had to attend some Ayurvedic course on Sunday he wanted off and which was agreed by the rest 3 shift charge engineers. So I told all other operators “ You guys don’t want him to enjoy Sundays, is that the case?”

-No,Sir you have not caught the design of that wily character, by taking off on Sunday he makes sure that he is on duty on declared holidays so that he gets 4 times his normal wage as overtime than 2 times the wage on other days as overtime. There were 10 holidays in a year those days so his getting double overtime was certain, as holidays are declared on working days.

I started scratching my head when I understood the game plan, it was diabolical.
Apparently it looked that he was pursuing higher study but the devil had his ulterior agenda. 

So I learnt, what you see on the surface is not the actual, one has to go  deeper while dealing with human being. I guess that is what human engineering is all about.

AP Sahay….smooth technician

He was a typical smooth guy with ever smiling attitude. He would sell clothes at half the cost to his fellow workers. I asked him how he managed to do that. He told in hushed voice, “That’s a secret Sir, I can’t divulge.”

Later on some other operators told me that he had a relative who worked as a salesman in a cloth store in Patna.He would go to purchase cloth in that shop when his that relative would cut some extra cloth and pack the same with his purchased cloth. A simple stealing. Knowing this I shifted him from a job where he was fleecing the truck drivers to some inocuous  post in a substation. After a few months I got a feedback that there too he was making money. I asked them how it was possible.

-Sir, a new cable is being laid by a contractor and there he threatened them he would cut the supply to the temporary construction switchboard if he was not given money.

So the lesson is simple a crook with greed for money would always find out a way, or a dog’s tail cannot be straightened. So no use wasting time to correct such characters.

Bishwanath Prasad….Electrician grade 3

The most reliable technician I ever had. He was good in tracing fault in control circuits. In his locker he would keep copies of all vital circuit diagrams plus all kind of spare contactors,relays,jumpers etc so that for any minor repair he  would have those handy at odd hours when the store would be closed.

This practice of Bishwanath helped me to solve bigger problems. In my office I would keep copies of all circuits plus in the almirah would store fast moving spares like bearings, sleeves etc. other than electrical items.

Of course i must admit one particular lesson told to us by our GM Mr.R N Bhatnagar still lingers in my mind and which i have practiced maximum. He told, " If you find a man not suitable for his job then find a job for which he is suitable. His not delivering the task is the fault of manager!"

‘’True all those characters you mentioned are specimens in their own genre and roughly get classified for future reference. These observation of human nature are very important while dealing with people.” That was the stoic response of Samaranand.

-I must admit that at Barauni i became a professional before that i was living an extended student life as a Trainee Engineer of the refinery.May be in next meeting I would share more of my people observation, saying this I got up and started walking towards the boat in Dashashwamedh ghat.

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Dead Firangee's overcoat

Dead firangee’s overcoat

…………………………..

The months of December, January ,February would be very cold in Barauni Refinery and on the top of that attending night shift would be an ordeal. This happened sometimes in 1974 or so. I was posted as shift charge engineer for running the captive power plant of the refinery. The shift charge engineer would make round of the power plant starting with turbine hall,boile,water treatment plant, fuel oil station etc. These rounds in morning and partly in evening shift during winter was tolerable but in the night shift when temperature dropped to 4 something then taking round becomes a torture. The shift charge engineer is the lonely guy who makes a few rounds to check that all the equipment are running and operators are not sleeping during duty hours.

During winter I found most of the workers and officers would come wearing overcoat for shift duty. On inquiry found out that there was a guy called Bhagat who arranged those garments from Nepal. On checking I found those were to be second hand. To hell with second hand I too ordered one against all protests from my wife, I reasoned with her that such overcoats were not easily available in India and that too I would be wearing during night shift and keep that in my office almirah.

That guy got one grey colored tweed overcoat for me, it looked new. My operators joked with me saying now I too would be wearing a dead firangee’s overcoat. I should be careful that firangee should not claim his coat. No such thing happened to me, no nightmares or shadowy figure looming by the side of me during night shift.

One day I was on my round and reached the fuel oil pump house which was the farthest then, the operator Prasad got up and said, “Anything wrong?’’

“No ,why you ask?”

“One hour back I saw you going to the tank area.”’

“What nonsense! I have come now only.Have you been taking ganja on duty.’” I was irritated. Frankly one hour back I dosed off while reading a novel which I brought to keep myself awake.

Next night while I was taking round of water treatment plant then the operator came running, “Sir, everything is alright. You can see both cation and anion filters are ready after flushing.”

“Yes I have checked the water quality so what is your worry?”

“No sir I saw you near the tank half an hour back so thought something is wrong.”

“You saw me half an hour back? Are you mad, this is my first round.’

I did not bother much but then next week too the same story was repeated, that is seeing me in the plant when I was actually in my office. They remembered me wearing that overcoat walking around the plant. I discussed this with my operators, they advised me to keep Hanuman Chalisa in my pocket. One of them had a spare copy of chalisa and gave that to me.

Next fortnight there was no sighting of me and I was also using the overcoat sparingly. From the shift charge engineers room to the turbine hall there was á running verandah and it was a short walk I so would not be wearing the overcoat while going to turbine hall. My overcoat would be slung on my chair. During one of the  night shifts I was returning from my round of turbine hall walking towards my room, from the verandah one could see the desk of shift charge engineer through the window of the shift charge engineer’s room. I could see someone wearing the overcoat was hunched on my desk. The sight made me to stop on my track, I was getting shivers. I slowly walked towards my room which was adjacent to the main control room. I called out the name of my A grade operator Ansari from the central control room. Both of us stood at the door of my room. There was no one and my overcoat was hanging at the back of my chair as I had left. I was shaken so I went with Ansari to the control room. Was I hallucinating? I called some of the prominent operators for a discussion on this strange happening of sighting me when I was actually not there and then my seeing someone wearing my overcoat hunched on my desk. S P Singh declared everything was normal in my room who in the meanwhile had gone to my room to check.

The big question was should I get rid of the overcoat. I decided to sell off the overcoat to H P Sahay at half price. Nothing happened after that, I started bringing a woolen wrapper which I would wrap around my jacket during night shift. I spent my 3 years of shift peacefully without any abnormal sighting.

I resigned from refinery to join BHEL, during the farewell H P Sahay came to me with a big smile and said, “Sir I am not wearing that overcoat, we never wanted you to wear an old coat so we all planned to fool you in believing that coat was cursed. So the operators at various points were coached to say that they have seen you. That day when you saw someone sitting at your desk, that was me. By the time you came near the room I hid below the desk, Ansari was waiting for your call. I hope you will pardon us for the prank we pulled on you so that you don’t wear someone’s discarded overcoat. We believe that those foreign tourists give these away to the locals who in turn wash and spray essence to make these attractive.”

I let out a sigh of relief as the happenings of those nights would have still haunted me.

I patted H P, I knew he was a mischievous fellow and I had to upbraid him for his naughty actions against our Chief Engineer Subramanium but that’s another story for another day. 

Faith and belief

Faith and belief

Somehow when we put these two words together then the discussion tends to veer towards religion. Here I am trying to postulate that all of us have some faith and belief based on common observations or scientific facts.

The other day I was having this discussion with Dr.Kamal Chakraborty,the founder of Bhalopahar in Purulia which runs a free of cost education and healthcare for poor tribal children. He pointed out that it is the nature which is God for him. I fully agree with him as we could not have been there without sun, moon,soil,water,air,fire etc. any scientific minded cynic would agree with me on this as our very existence depends on these basic elements. So our ancestors be it in India or Greek or Egypt were not wrong when they were worshiping these. Every civilization worshiped these but they put some symbols or names to these elements.

In Hindu mythology we have Gods for all these or in other words our ancestors understood that these are higher forces on which we don’t have any control,  superior to us mortals. Giving form to each is something like making it available to all. For example Hanumanji is considered as Vayuputra means son of wind God, wind is everywhere practically excepting probably in vacuum chambers or some natural pockets of vacuum formed. Every civilization have worshiped Sun, it was no rocket science for those thousands years old civilization to understand that Sun rises on it’s own and sets on it’s own routine, so it is superior to human beings. Yes superior is the operating concept here which is termed as God.

Our setup is dealing with windmills we found that the intensity of flow of wind varies every year , there is no correct prediction. For example we are still trying to guess what will be the wind pattern next year. The factors effecting the wind pattern comes out after carrying out analysis of the event which had happened in the past but what will be the pattern  next year is any body’s guess. So wind is definitely a superior being than human beings understanding. So what do we do, last year I told my staff to carryout puja of Hanumanji  before the high wind season. Here I am not saying that because of that we got good wind last year  this year even after doing puja at the same period comparatively wind was less. It is my faith in Hanumanji which made me to carryout puja, it does not make me religious as some of my left leaning friends will infer.

We were to do acid cleaning of the first boiler in Singrauli Thermal Power Station of NTPC way back in 80s, the acid cleaning pumps were failing during trial and we could not start the activity. MrS K Dasgupta, the then O&M chief of NTPC came to me and said,” You have started the activity without conducting a ceremonial puja and so it failed!”

His second in command Mr.H P Das who had joined from Renupower said,”In Renusagar we would start any activity by doing a puja of Langtababa who is known to be the popular deity of the place !”

So we carried out complete re erection of the system and started the activity after conducting puja of Langtababa, on the first push itself all the four pumps ran smoothly and we completed our activity without any hitch.It was the result of our effort plus the faith, that puja did the bonding between all the workers , officers etc involved from NTPC,BHEL,Contractors etc c transcending caste,creed and religion. It was not a case of blind faith but bowing ones head to a superior being, all those involved were engineers from all possible reputed colleges. It is an accepted practice in the field to start of any major activity after carrying on a puja .

When I took possession of ED’s bungalow in Bhopal it was suggested by Buniyad Ali that I should do puja. I advised him to bring a priest and also a mauluvi and if possible a Christian priest. It was like all religion fare to drive out any bad spirit lurking around the house. I spent my time peacefully in that house and my father, who  most of the time was with me then, enjoyed his stay.

I have this problem with my big toe nail, I can’t clip it with the nail clipper. When this time I went to Varanasi I searched for the barber in Assighat from whom I had got my toe nail clipped in previous visit. His instruments were there but he was not there, I inquired from the people around and nobody seemed to know about his hereabout. By the way we were in Assighat after visiting Kaal Vairav and Sankat Mochan temples. We took a boat from Assighat to Dashawamedh ghat, after landing in Dashashwamedh ghat I caught hold of a roadside barber and asked him whether he would cut toe nail. He said, ‘’ Now a days we don’t do that!’’ So I returned to Kolkata without getting my toe nail trimmed.

Next Saturday after our return from Varanasi I went for my usual morning walk of 4.5 kms, my driver Gopal informed me that my wife has found out a roadside barber near the market who can cut my toe nail. We went to that barber , he readily agreed. On the footpath I sat on a stone and the barber started cutting my nail. He cut through my flesh and it started bleeding, I looked down and seeing blood I started feeling giddy, I asked the barber to stop cutting, asked Gopal to bring the car, I was feeling like lying down. He brought the car I got up to get in the car and fainted. I must disclose here that I have this phobia of feeling nauseating and fainting at the sight of blood. It had happened many times in the past.I go off for a minute or so and then become normal but for Gopal it was first time. He drove me home fast. At home I hit the bed and took a long rest.

Then I told my wife supposing we would have located that barber in Assighat and same incident would have happened then what would have been her condition alone with me out of senses.I explained to her it was Kal Vairav or the God of time shifted the event which was certain to happen to a more favorable time and place, I don’t have any other explanation than this. Why didn’t I get that barber in Assighat that day or why the barber at Dashwamedh ghat expressed his inability to carry on with the job? A rationalist may say it is one of those coincidences.

For me the Time is the biggest power , Time makes or breaks us. I believe we derive our fate from the good wishes of people whom we help, this trait i got from my parents.I always carry  some 10 rupees note with me to give to poor , practically every day i give those notes  during my morning walk around the lake. The giving gives me mental solace .
So why do i go to Varanasi every year? I don't carry out any ritualistic puja but i make it a point to visit Kaal Vairav and Sankat Mochan temples, i walk by the side of Vishwanath temple, watch people and their devotion. I love walking on Dashashwamedh ghat as i could see people not only from India but from throughout the world, it's amazing experience. I have spoken to some of those foreign tourists about their visit of Varanasi, all of them admitted to enjoy the ambiance of the ghats and temples. Yes i too enjoy the vibration which i feel when i walk on those ghats or those narrow lanes of Varanasi. 

What do i remember?

What do I remember?

Another year has started, not by itself but as declared by calendar. Like any other day there is no change of routine of the sun, it came up as per schedule but we human have the power of thinking so for us 1^st of January is kind of reminder that another year gone or another year has come. Our aging does not depend on calendar, we age by nanoseconds, our DNA,gene etc drive the process which depends directly or indirectly on our life style too.

The above preamble is just hard facts which are undeniable cutting across caste, creed,religion and region. The main operating system is our mind and which is the real driver. I have heard people writing or saying that they are happy, I think it is more of self-assertion for himself. If someone ask me today what has been my happiest moment, then I cannot reply immediately. The problem is that when one gets that happy moment then he does not keep track, it just happens. So looking back the year gone I would remember those physically satisfying things like purchase of latest gadgets, arrival of a new born baby, travelling to exotic places, chilling out with friends, playing a satisfying round of game, reading a book, hearing a new song etc…the list is long. As I was postulating that happiness is the moment and which does not get recorded in conscious mind but subconscious stores it. Somedays I get up feeling happy but I don’t know the reason what triggered it. May be the getting up, the sun light, surrounding silence, fitness of body, looking forward to something etc all put together created that oft mentioned cliche, feel good factor.

The other day while talking to Dr,Kamal Chakraborty I commented that I always find him happy, then I derived that as everyday he is not working for himself but for those poor 200 plus tribal kids in his setup Bhalopahar and that selfless deed of his keeps him perpetually happy. So looking back I can say I too felt happy whenever I was doing something for Bhalopahar or for those poor boys of Tollygaunge slums. Last year I started colour painting and while putting colour I was mentally transported to those places same way as I feel while reading a book, all these feelings again get lodged in subconscious and for which we don’t have a key to push.

It is simple, as they say, happiness is the state of mind. Try enabling that mind to capture more positive thoughts so that those are present predominantly in the subconscious.

A very Happy New Year.

Sadhu on the step

 Sadhu on the step

…………………………..

After visiting Kal Vairav and Sankatmochan we rushed back to hotel for rest. After a while we headed for Assighat by a scooter rickshaw. It was around noon but the sun of December month was not harsh in Banaras. It was one of our yearly visit to this thousand of years old holy city.

The clean India movement was very much visible at the ghat, found it to be cleaner than last year. This time I nudged my wife to climb the stairs leading to Pizzaria restaurant where Pizza baked in wood fire oven is available.

Having taken a seat facing Ganges noticed that most of the customers were foreign tourist, the menu card showed Italian preparations in addition to Indian cuisine. We had pizza and coffee and then headed for the river bank to catch a boat.

“What is the hurry?’ I heard a sound thrown at us. I looked back and found the smiling face of a sadhu perched on the steps. Around him were arrangement for preparation of tea and personal belongings.

‘’Don’t stop, keep walking !” my wife hissed at me. She knows that I have this weakness for sadhus and get into discussion with them, finally land up shelling out money .

I ignored her caution and walked up to the sadhu , he gave a knowing smile with twinkle in his eyes.

“I am in a hurry to keep my programme, so going to catch a boat, that is why I was climbing down the stairs.” I informed him.

“We are all going up and down the stairs of our life, here some go down to take a dip in the holy Ganges thinking that it will wash off all sins.”  he said philosophically. His  these words made me interested in continuing the conversation, my wife started pulling the sleeve of my blazer but I stayed on.

“Yes I know one dip cannot wash away the accumulated sins of years or for that matter any dip at all but it gives a momentary satisfaction !” I said.

“Yes, the dip is significant for cleaning the visible dirt on the body but not the subconscious!” I was impressed by these words, he appeared to be a learned sadhu. I have a theory that all sadhus are not fraud, there are some who have chosen this path to get away from the routine life.I am always in the lookout for such wise sadhu.

‘’How long have you been sadhu?” I took the liberty of asking this personal question.

He laughed out loud and said, “You too are sadhu but that moment comes to you when you are alone, your mind is more or less a vacuum but those moments for family man like you are far and few. The other thoughts related with your day to day chores keep you occupied subconsciously. For us we get into that state of vacuum more frequently. If I give 50 out of hundred to my sadhuness then you will get 10.”

I sat down on the step besides him and my wife went down to fix a boat.

In the meanwhile, the sadhu started pumping the kerosene stove and started boiling water. In that windy winter afternoon by the side of Ganges a cup of tea was welcome. He took lot of care in boiling the water and then put tea leaves, put off the stove, put some tulsi leaves. Allowed the concoction to soak for about 3 minutes, I requested him not to put sugar and milk, I wanted it to be black.

“What you have already consumed your life quota of sweet?’’ he said teasingly while handing over tea in earthen glass, kulhar to me .

I took a sip of the tea, it was not scalding hot but the taste and aroma were out of this world. I complimented him for the tea.

“You might have noticed that to produce that tea I controlled the boiling time of the water and also put tea,tulsi in measured quantity. Our life is like this tea, to enjoy the life one has to go through hardship, like I boiled the tea. I could have boiled the tea leaves along with water and save time but I did not do that. For every good thing you have to wait for your time but that will come only if you have put sincere effort.”

I could know that I was talking to a learned man who has turned himself to a genuine sadhu and his offering tea to me was meant to give some wisdom to me as I gave my time to him. In today’s busy world no one wants to give time but doesn’t mind giving money.

I could make out he was enjoying our discussion, I also started feeling relaxed as he put a break to my rush to catch the boat.
He pulled out an envelope , handed that to me and said, "Open that when you are alone after you leave this place."

He picked up a guitar lying by the side of him, it had only one string. I was surprised as I knew either there are 4 or 6 strings in guitar so I asked curiously about the guitar.

‘’You are pretty observant! My this guitar is having only the last E string, see the grooves of the other five are vacant. I can easily strum this string and chant OM .” He strung the E string, the thickest string of the guitar which was making thung, thung sound rhythmically  and started chanting OM by closing his eyes. I could sense that our conversation has come to an end, Istood up, I wanted to give some money but there was no bowl or box for money anywhere visible. I slowly started walking off to the bank of Ganges where a boatman was waiting for us.

“You had quite a long discussion with ketlibaba!” the boatman said.

“Does he serve tea to everyone?” I asked.

“I have not seen many people talking to him, mostly he sits there and reads books and strums his that odd guitar.I heard that he belongs to a rich family, unlike other sadhus!”

After boarding the boat I looked up at the steps , the sadhu was busy chanting Om and the sound of the E string from a distance was casting a spell , the sun was slowly setting casting long shadows of the edifices on Ganges.

After returning to the hotel i opened the envelope and found a letter. 
Dear Friend,
I don't know your name but the moment you crossed me it appeared as though i know you. I am not a sadhu but i am pretending to be one for 1 month till i pass on this mantle to someone for a month. Let me explain, there is a group of professionals who have formed this exclusive club for professionals who sometimes feel to get out of the rat race for sometime, a kind of sojoun. This spot where i am sitting has been reserved by that group and there are people around who make sure nothing untoward happens. I am top man of a MNC and was disturbed, like you i came to Varanasi and met the Ketlibaba here, he was also a disturbed soul like me. We had conversation and he passed on the letter to me asking me to become sadhu for one month. I went back home, had discussion with my family, came here and have almost finished one month. The group has a guest house where i stay and if you wish to become next Ketlibaba then you too can stay, fooding and lodging are free. Whatever you saw around me will be yours of course not the one string guitar because that's my personal instrument. You don't have to carry these items everyday as there is a guard who looks after these. Yes, you have to get gerua uniform of your size. Before completion of your stint you have to select the next one and give a similar letter to him. I know you are curious to know how it works, who is funding? This organisation is funded by some HNIs ( high net worth individuals) as an experiment which may in future roll to some more sacred places.I have selected you as the next Ketlibaba after scanning a few. You have 10 days time and contact me on the mobile number given at the bottom.
Regards,
Ketlibaba.

I was not ready for this but the offer was unique. I was thinking why not take a chance? After returning to kolkata i have to discuss with my wife and son, then probably i may take the plunge.He carried his guitar, i will carry some of my books and painting set for my newly acquired hobby. What do you say friends?

The genie and me

The genie and me

Abu Sayyd's tent

Me in bottle

I was trapped in the bottle and the bottle was among many such bottles stacked on the crude desk  in a tent. The night was in it’s last lap, the morning comes early in the desert. I was in some kind of tunic fitting to my minuscule body inside the bottle. 
You must be wondering how come i am in a 75ml bottle, well that's'a long story but let me try to cut it short. 
It all started with my visit to Al Maha desert resort in Dubai. 

We were there for a musical soiree, many Mideastern activities like writing one’s name in Arabic script, henna tattooing, writing name on sand in bottle etc were going on side by side.After watching the program for a while i was curious to know more about those other activities of tattooing by henna, writing on sand etc  going on, I asked my wife to wait for me along with other guests . I sauntered to the old fellow with leathery skin in a typical Arabian white dress known as thawb at the corner writing names on sand in bottles. It was late in the evening and in the dim battery powered light he was looking like a character from Arabian nights with his pointed beard bending down and doing his craft on a wooden table. My interest was not in the writing of name on sand but something else.

Seeing me approaching he looked up and smiled. 

“Hello” I said.

He nodded at me. It was not clear to me whether he would understand English.

 As though he read my mind , smiled at me and said,”Yes, I can speak a little bit of English. Without knowing that language how can i run my  business with foreign tourists who come here for desert safari .”

I was relieved. In a conspiratorial tone I asked ,”Do you have any genie in those bottles?”

To my question he winked at me and asked,” Why do you ask that? Are you looking for some unfulfilled wishes?’’

I shook my head vigorously and said, “Just curious!”

“I must admit that you are the first person who asked me such question and I have been waiting for someone to tell my expertise with genies.”

He offered me a chair to sit by his side and we got into animated discussion about genie and the various stories I have heard. He informed that putting genie in a bottle was the practice of many centuries old, it was a kind of punishment given to the soul of a person who crossed path with some influential person. The flip side of the punishment was that whenever the genie could come out from the lamp or bottle he had the power to bestow anything under the sun to the person releasing him. An invisible bond started developing between us, may be the vast shadowy desert was having effect on me.

“I belong to that family which had the expertise of putting genie in a closed space.” He had a melancholy look on his face as though he was missing his ancestral importance of good old days. Now of course in modern age no one gives a fig for such medieval practice. 

I pointed to the bottles and mischievously asked, “Any of those bottles have genie?’’

He looked up at me and said, " just follow me a few meters in the desert to that tent.”

I could see some scattered lights at a distance. He informed me that those tents are meant for people like him who are carrying on ethnic activities around the resort. 

I was a bit reluctant but curiosity and the newly developed bond compelled me to follow Abu Sayyd.

He pulled out a torch and both of us started walking towards those tents. I was following him in that uneven sandy desert with his dancing light of the torch. Nights are pretty cold in desert, i pulled my jacket lapels to save myself from the chilly draft.The distance was not a few meters, we walked for about ten minutes but still could not reach. I kicked a bottle stuck in the sand, Abu Sayyd looked back and warned me to be careful as there could be some bad soul trapped in the bottles. When he said this I started getting goose bumps.

“How long will it take?” I looked back to the resort whose bright light was casting a magical spell in the desert.The mesmeric sufi song of Rahat Fateh Ali Khan who was giving live performance was wafting in the vast empty desert, his song sounded much better at a distance than sitting near one of those super big sound boxes.

“Don’t look back, walk faster.” There was urgency in his voice.

I heard some whispering sound, it appeared as though the sound of wind sliding down on those sand dunes and sounding like banshee, it was aerie . The tracks of Suvs,Quad bike and camel hoofs have left deep impressions on the sand. In the dark I was walking like a drunk on that wobbly track on sand, occasionally stumbling on those deep tracks gauged in the sand when I heard that strange sound. Something swept on us , both of us fell down on , something hard hit me.

When I came back to senses found myself in a bottle and Abu Sayyd too was in another bottler.He was gesturing at me in the dim light of the tent. No one was visible. From the bottle I had a good look of the tent, because of my tiny size the tent was appearing like a cavern, through the glass of the bottle and the refracted refracted light of the dim battery powered overhead lamp i was getting a tunnel vision of each angle. It was a Spartan tent with a bed, a tin box, few clothes hanging from a cloth line, a stove with some boxes at a corner and a pitcher of water. Apart from me and Abu Sayyd there were some more bottles with names written. From the gesture of Abu Sayyd I could make out that it was his tent.

Many questions were racing through my mind but the main issue was getting out and regain my normal size. I could see my pair of trouser, shirt, undergarments lying on the floor. I guess whoever had put me in the bottle could not shrink those garments. Abu Sayyd gestured at me to go for sleep , but how sleep can come to me? As far as I know souls were put in a bottle ,that is per those fables i had heard, but here I was shrunk to a Lilliputian size to fit in that bottle. Abu Sayyd could feel my dilemma , gave beatific smile to me and went to sleep sitting in his bottle. I don’t know when I had fallen asleep.

When I woke up I found myself lying on the cot with my regular clothes on. Abu Sayyd and a teenager leaning over me.

“How did we come out and regain size? My wife will be worried.”

“Don’t worry I am here.” I heard my wife’s voice as she came forward from the shadows.

She explained that she had watched me from a distance  going to the desert with Abu Syyd and she was about to warn but by the time we had melted in the dark desert. She waited for a few hours and then came out in search of me and met that boy Salamuddin who was grandson of Abu Sayyd. Then both came to the tent .

"How did you know we were in the bottles?" I asked
"We saw your cloth strewn on the floor and then Salauddin derived from all the tell tale signs that you must have been put in the bottles by casting spell by some evil soul."
"Yes i remebered to have kicked a bottle in the dark when that evil soul might have escaped."
 Luckily Abu Sayyd has passed on the knowledge of genie to his grandson and who knew the process of reversal.The process was pretty complicated and it took sometime to extract us out. 

I profusely thanked Salamuddin and gave him 100 Durham as bakshish. We came out of the tent , did not forget to take the the bottle on which my name was written, the sun had come out full and 2 camels were waiting to take us back to the resort. The desert was glaring with bright sunlight.





I was clutching the sand bottle with my name written on sand in our hotel room in Palazzo Versace, Dubai, told my wife that i must write a story about this bottle. So i thought of this plot in Dubai and wrote the above story, i have not shown the story yet to my wife. Hope you guys liked the story.
Though the story will appear to be impossible for some but then how today's generation lap up Superman,Batman or Harrypotter? My story is no different from those fantasy things.

Shadow run Connaught Place “I was cursing myself for my predicament during the middle of that winter night in January, 05 when I was stranded on the Delhi Chandigarh highway.” “Why? What really made you to make that journey? “See my son had taken out my car, and then suddenly I got this call from my friend Malhotra at Chandigarh that Gurdeep was critically ill and I must come immediately. After finishing my dinner I started off for Chandigarh.Do you know how? I rode on my son’s motorbike and proceeded towards Chandigarh .It was freezing cold .You know that January nights are foggy in this part of North India, I had worn a top coat over my leather jacket, monkey cap, gloves and driving goggles.” We were lounging in Wimpy’s in Connaught Place when Sid was narrating his latest escapade over a mini meal of chicken nugget, cheese burger and hot coffee. Whenever I am in Delhi, I try to visit Connaught Place as it brings back my childhood memories.Connaught Place of fifties was having a sprawling park at the centre where now Delhi Metro hub is coming up. There was a dais at the centre of the park where army band used to play on Sunday evenings. We used to sit on the lawn and listen to the band, eat peanuts. There were not many cars those days, especially on Sundays, there were hardly any traffic, and popular mode of transport was Tonga. All the shops used to be closed on Sundays. So the army band and the green grass were the attraction for the people to come there. The magnificent sound of the army band used to reverberate along the circular corridor of Connaught place. Like every time, this time also I had gone to Connaught place while I was in Delhi. After purchasing the latest John Grisham novel “The Broker” from Gilgotia I proceeded for lunch to Wimpy’s and there I bumped on Sid after a long time. He had also come for lunch. After some small talk Sid narrated his strange experience. So, there we were taking our lunch when Sid continued with his narration. There was dense fog and that is quite normal in January. I started at about 10.30 pm from my house at Chittaranjan Park. I was driving at a cautious speed of 60km per hour in that foggy night. I had no trouble during the first two hours when I crossed Badarpur, Faidabad, and Panipat stretch but suddenly my motorbike stopped after Karnal.There I was in the middle of nowhere, the dhaba which I crossed was about 20km behind. Due to the fog there was hardly any vehicular movement on the highway. I tried to fiddle with the engine but failed. If it would have been Rajdoot motorbike of olden days then I could have stripped the engine. I have no idea about these Jap collaborated motorbikes. The fog had become denser and the visibility was practically zero. There was no shop or house nearby. Suddenly at a distance I could see a diffused light which was sporadically appearing and then disappearing. I thought my eyes were playing trick but still I walked towards that light. “Was it on the same side of the road where you were stranded? I guess due to the fast changing density of the fog the visibility of the light was changing,” I tried to find a cogent reason. “Yes, it was to the left of the road, when I reached with my motorbike to that place then I found that it was a small tea shop and an old person was dosing by the side of the hot chullah. He looked at me and invited me for tea.” “I have gone many times by that highway but those kind of small shops are no longer there,” I informed him. “I know, I was also surprised, I found there was no electrical connection. The source of light was a hurricane lamp. He informed me that I will not get any thing in that night and so I can as well spend the night in that shop. He had a charpoy; he offered me that to take rest. I had no choice. After a cup of tea I stretched myself on that charpoy.” “Terrible, I can imagine your quandary in that freezing temperature.” “Somehow with those layers of warm cloth and the anxiety of getting stranded there, the cold did not bother me much. After about an hour or so I heard some voices coming from the road. I got up; I noticed that there was a chauffeur driven Chevrolet car. There were two passengers, one in the front and the other one in the back. They were sardars, there turban was wrap around type. They were wearing regular dress like khalsa, lungi, kurta, kirpan with heavy kadas on their right wrist.” “Must be some royalty otherwise who else will maintain those vintage cars?” “Surprisingly the car was new; I approached them with my sob story. The gentleman at the back was sipping tea and he appeared to be the boss. I requested him to give me lift up to Chandigarh, I told him that I would leave the motor bike at the tea shop,” Sid continued with his narration. “He gestured me to come and sit in the back seat with him. I took my brief case and got in the car. After paying for the tea the driver started the car with the other passenger in the front seat with him. I started dosing after sometime, but I could hear them discussing in Punjabi how they had looted the treasury. I pretended as though I was asleep but remained alert. There was no Khalistani movement, and then who were these fellows. Were they terrorist dressed up as Khalistani.I was really scared.” “Oh, my god, you were really in deep shit .How did you escape from there,” I said excitedly. “Let me finish. I could hear the sound of an approaching automobile. They became agitated and decided to stop the car near a temple. They got down and requested me to go with them. I grudgingly got down from the car. I started sweating in that chilly winter night so I took off my top coat and was carrying that in my hand. While walking towards the back of the temple they were making plan to somehow take the looted money to some Joginder Singh of Fasada village near Chandigarh on the way to Shimla.” “I presume Joginder Singh must have been their leader.” “Yes, I could make out that. I guessed from their talk that now they had to change the plan and were trying to hide the loot. They dug a hole at the back of that Durga temple and hid the loot which was in a steel cash box. While digging they borrowed my top coat to kneel on, I had no choice. Then suddenly there were commotion and I could hear footsteps and some command in English. These three persons huddled together and looked at me. Then the boss came forward and told me that if anything happened to them then I must contact Joginder Singh and gave me his address. Then I started having a feeling that those were not terrorists.” “They must have been modern day Robinhoods, looting for noble purpose,” I said jokingly. “Suddenly I found a posse of policemen coming towards us, in panic I ran with them towards the field. There were shooting, I heard some screams ,sounded as though those cohorts of mine were hit .Without looking back I ran like hell towards the road. I stumbled on a boulder and fell, lost my senses. When I regained my senses then I found myself by the side of the road. Someone has parked my motorbike to the other side of the road. I went near my bike; the briefcase was strapped to the backseat. I turned back the bike and tried to start it. To my surprise it started smoothly.” “What about the tea shop?” “In my excitement I forgot about the teashop. The fog had thinned out, I did not see the car also, it was 6am in the morning, I drove off fast. I was in Chandigarh by 8am.I took a hotel room in Sector 5.’ “I contacted Malhotra and came to know that Gurdeep had expired, I narrated my experience to Malhotra.” “Did you search for Joginder Singh? What happened to your top coat?” I asked. “After attending the last rites of Gurdeep I requested Malhotra to help me in searching out Joginder.He was also curious, so he agreed.Oh, the top coat, I left behind when I was running away from that place where the loot was buried.” We took a break and finished the lunch in Wimpy. We ordered another round of coffee; I could guess that his experience was heading for a climax. He lighted a cigarette, I borrowed one from him. We were sitting by the window, could see shoppers walking by. At that time of the day the Connaught Place was bustling with activities. It was crowded with shoppers and tourists.Connaught Place is a magnificent doughnut shaped layout, running colonnades with diverse kinds of shops and establishments. I was getting shivers thinking about his plight that night when there were shooting around him. “Was the incident of killing reported in the news paper?” I asked. “No, I purchased The Tribune and all other news papers next day ,but could not find any mention of the shooting. Even the TV channels did not cover that. I was surprised.” “Might be for some security reason that news was blacked out,” I guessed. Sid continued with his narrative. We hired a cab and went out to locate Joginder Singh of village Fasada on the highway to Shimla from Chandigarh.It took us an hour to reach that villge.We enquired about Joginder Singh from a young man in a shop he could not tell us but he asked us to wait in the shop. He went out and brought his eighty years old uncle Natha Singh. Natha Singh became emotional when we asked about Joginder Singh. “Joginder Singh was most revered man of the village. He had fought against the British rulers. He was a member of the Gaddar party. But finally English caught him and sent him to Andaman’s for life imprisonment.” “That must be long time back, before independence. In that case those people whom you met, they talked as though Joginder Singh was around.” I butted in. “Yes, I was puzzled so I requested him to take us to the next of kin of Joginder Singh so that I can untangle the mystery,” Sid said. “We were taken well within the village. There was a dilapidated house and outside the house there was some commotion. We found a sardarji about sixty years old standing with his wife and scattered luggage around them. They were arguing with another sardarji who was standing at the door of the house.” Sid continued,”what we could make out was that the family outside had come from Andaman, they had lost everything in Tsunami but the cousin brother was not allowing them to come in the house as he had no place for them.” “It was really pathetic,” I said. “Yes, both me and Malhotra were emotionally moved.Natha Singh informed us that the man outside was the son of Joginder Singh .After India became independent Joginder Singh was out of Cellular jail. He settled down in Andaman Islands married a local girl. He started farming.Joginder Singh and his wife had died and his son was carrying on with the farming. But due to Tsunami the son lost all his farm land and decided to come back to Punjab, his ancestral place. The cousin brother has taken hold of the property and did not want to give their share.” “Then your encounter with that group on the way and their directing you to Joginder, everything appears to be a dream sequence or a ghost ride,” I said. Sid took a sip of his coffee and continued. I was totally in loss, there seemed to be a time warp. Those guys in the car indicated to me as though Joginder was still alive so I was witness to a sequence of events which happened in the by gone days, that was before independence of India. That was enacted for some purpose .I told same thing to Malhotra.We decided that we would go back to that place where I had that nightmarish experience so that we could get to the truth. We drove down to that place. It was very difficult to locate that temple as many houses were there around, which I had not seen on that particular night. I had seen only a solitary temple with no locale around. Finally we could locate the temple. It was having a boundary wall now, which was the reason why I took time to trace. The temple was more or less unchanged. We entered the temple compound through the gate. A beautiful garden had come up around the temple. There was a solitary priest in the temple in that winter afternoon. He nodded at us. We went inside the temple and offered puja.We came out and pretended to take round of the garden. While taking round of the garden I found my top coat lying at corner of the boundary wall to the left of the temple. We both rushed there. I was excited that I could find the place and also my top coat. Then we decided that we must now try digging the ground to see whether the cash box which was carried by those ghosts was really there or not. We could find a shovel in the garden. We dug the place where my coat was found. After digging a meter or so we found the cash box. We wrapped it in my coat. We had a choice to hand over the cash box to the temple but ruled that out as we knew that it would be swindled by the trustees. We could have taken it but that was also ruled out as it was shown to me by those people from the past for a special purpose with a specific instruction. On analyzing the situation, we came to the conclusion that those freedom fighters who really looted the cash box from the treasury wanted me to hand over the cash to the family of their leader Joginder Singh as the family was in dire strait after loosing everything to Tsunami. As a matter of fact I was used by them as a messenger to hand over the loot to Joginder’s son so that he could restart his life. This was their offering to their beloved leader. We drove back and gave that cash box to the son and of course with the full explanation. I personally felt very much ecstatic after that noble act. We were profusely thanked by the distressed family. I was totally flummoxed by the strange experience of Sid. I started having goose pimples thinking about his encounter with those ghosts and his taking part in a police encounter which must have actually happened sometimes before 1947.But Sid appeared to be very happy as he could come to some help to a Tsunami ravaged family. SNR