The ICF web chat: 18 July 2021

 18 July 2021

Sunday. After the mandatory walking and breakfast, settled in front of the laptop. Facebook. Not regular in scanning messages but do try to respond to the personal Good Morning messages. Just started responding to such messages when Shivam, my grandson (“I am a big boy now. I am four and half years old”) shows up and directs, “Muthashaa, Chalo (Grandpa, come)!” “Kahan (where)?”, I ask. “Neeche, chalne ke liye (downstairs, for a walk)”. Before I could react, he closes the laptop and catches hold of my hand, “Chalo”. Nobody dares question him. We go downstairs (he sometime prefers to use the stairs rather than the lift) (we are on the second floor). Ruchi, my daughter (in-law) carries his tricycle. He cycles, we walk.

After an hour Ruchi goes back with the tricycle. Shivam stays back, and so do I. We go to the park, he swings for a while, and then just walk around. We come out and walk on the road around the park. Suddenly he asks, “Which way will you take (to go in)?” There are three entrances to the small park. I point at one entry. He says, “I will come in through that (the other) entry”. We both enter the park through different entries and meet in the middle. He triumphantly giggles because he reached first.

I did not see the watch, but thought it should be around 10.30. I ask, “Shivam, shall we return home?” He is disappointed. Not willing to return yet. “Nghoo, nghoo”, he whimpers. I bend down and whispers in his ear, “Muthashan ko shoo shoo karna hai (Grandpa wants to pee)”. That settles the matter. He is immediately ready to return. He again uses the stairs.

Once inside he removes the mask and straightaway goes to the wash basin. Washes both hands with soap, each finger separately, inside the palms, the wrists, and then starts counting slowly while continuing to rub the fingers, “one, two, three, … nineteen, twenty”. Kept washing for twenty seconds. Washes away soap from both hands.

It is 11 o’ clock. I settle down once again in front of the laptop with my second breakfast. This time opens WhatsApp first. Several personal and group messages. Just glance through them casually. ICF Webinars. Vivek’s message, “We are online”. Suddenly a flash of light. Oh! The Sunday webinar, this time the free-for-all one. Am already late. Another three minutes, am in. Switch off audio (don’t want to disturb the group) and video (a little shy to eat in a meeting).

Vivek assures participants that anything can be discussed. “It is not being recorded”, he asserts with a smile. It was all about he/she, you and I. ‘Nothing official about it’. Professional, personal, chats on anything under the sun. It was more of understanding each other. Each participant talked about him/herself. The ups and downs in life, professional and personal, places one liked, and so on. We talked about linked-in, clubhouse and a few other fora. Vivek regretted our inability to meet face-to-face due to the pandemic and hoped the situation would improve soon. I liked Anupam’s suggestion that the term ‘freelance editing’ should be replaced by ‘editing profession’.

Today’s web-chat (won’t call it a webinar) was like a cool breeze in the desert. Such occasional chats will help us to sit back and relax, to unbundle some of our worries, to open our minds, in front of an understanding, empathizing, and extremely helpful group. LET US DO IT MORE OFTEN. Thank you, Murugaraj for the idea and thank you, Vivek, for organizing it and thank you participants, for making it worthwhile two hours.

An unforgettable morning

02 April 2022

 

Last week of March 2022.

Sent a message: “Shall be at Thiruvananthapuram in the first week of April. Would like to meet with you, if your schedule permits.”

“Oh, yes! Come any day other than the 3rd and the 4th.”

Wow! He is at station, and has a little time to spare for me. Felt really elated.

“Shall call you on the evening of the 1st.”

“Okay.” 

So far so good.

On the 1st evening, “Can I come tomorrow?”

“All right, try to make it by 9 in the morning. Come to my residence,” He further asked where I was staying and how would I reach, and so on.

“He” is Dr V.P. Joy (also known as Joy Vazhayil), Chief Secretary of Kerala. Am fortunate to know him at Delhi through various akshara shloka sadases. Last year he had also very kindly released (online) a book that I edited.

Was at the door of his official residence a few minutes behind schedule. His wife Ms Sheeja very kindly spent some time with me, offered tea or coffee, to which I politely and thankfully responded ‘no’. We had seen twice (though not actually met) in Delhi, but she immediately recognized me. She very kindly gave me company; Dr Joy was getting ready for office.

Dr Joy is the same young, smart, polite, loving, always smiling, person. We talked for a few minutes, about ourselves, our families, our works, etc. He very generously offered me help in obtaining necessary cooperation from CMC Vellore, in writing a biography of Dr Ida Scudder that he knew I was planning to. He presented me with copies of two of his latest books of poems.

Time to leave. I discussed in my mind, ‘whether to or not to? To or not to? To or …?’. Well, let me go ahead, and I politely requested Ms Sheeja Joy to click us on my mobile. She very willingly and smilingly (well, she always smiles!) agreed to.

Then it was a little more difficult question that I asked, “Any problem in my taking a selfie of all three of us?”

Again, the same smile and willingness. And she very kindly obliged.

For me it was a morning well spent. Thank you, Joy Sir and Sheeja Madam, for making me feel extremely comfortable, pleasant and proud.

The Bouquet and the Shawl

17 March 2022

Wow! I am indeed elated. I feel I have become a VasEnite (VasEn – short for Vasundhara Enclave!) again 19 years after leaving the place; I lived in Sreeniketan during 1999 to 2003. (Am currently in Noida.) I have also once again become a Delhiite after having participated in a programme organized by Delhi Malayalee Association, VasEn. It was a real home coming on 13 March. Thank you DMA, thank you Unni (not using a Mr, nor using his full name Unnikrishnan, because then it lacks the proximity) and thank you Pradeep, for inviting me to yesterday’s edition of Aksharavedi as well as for the 2020–2021 DMA VasEn Souvenir release function.

Earlier last week Unni invited me to attend the next edition of Aksharavedi, this time physical and offline, unlike the earlier two on line editions, which also I had the opportunity to attend, thanks to Unni. I was glad to receive the invitation to attend this function, though I did not stay in VasEn or even in Delhi. I gratefully told him that I would certainly like to attend the function. And then came the bomb shell. He said that the subject for this edition was Jnjanappana and that I was expected to talk about the book. This was quite unexpected. I told him that I am a nobody and would rather not attempt any such misadventure. But he insisted. And I had to oblige.

I was aware that not many members knew me because I was never, and still am not, a part of VasEN DMA, nor did I know most of them. I expected to see and say hello to somebody from Sreeniketan, but it looked like nobody turned up. I however, was glad to see Aarav from the society receiving an award.

And here I was, talking to a very silent and attentive group of enthusiastic Malayalee devotees and DMA activists on Jnjanappana! That too after a very beautiful and devout rendering of the poem by 18 gorgeous ladies! Wow! I was doing something which I have never dared to attempt before. It was not an appreciation of the poem, which I am not qualified to do. So I explained what I felt about the poem, how it explains our daily life, and so on.

I thank from my heart the lady who offered me a bottle of water when I was having a little trouble in talking, due to a surgery I had to undergo a few years back.

I was honoured to receive a ponnada (shawl) and a bouquet presented by Shri Babu Panicker, who needs no introduction to Delhi Malayalees. Thank you, VasEn DMA and everybody connected with the programme.

A surprise gift was meeting and talking to Smt Surya, who hails from our own little village Veliyannoor, the northern-most part of Kottayam Dist. Thank you, Surya, for the initiative you took in coming and talking to me. We shall meet again, as Veliyannoorwallahs and alumni of the same school.

It was a magnificent function and I enjoyed every bit of it. Thank you Unni, Shri Raghunath, Shri Babu Panicker, Pradeep, and everybody else who made the function a grand one.

Post script: While in Sreeniketan, I was very fortunate to have been able to bring out several issues of Sreeniketan News, a quarterly newsletter on matters of interest to the members of the society. I acknowledge with gratitude the help and cooperation I received from all, especially Shri G.C. Sharma, the then President, in this venture. I remember it was while travelling to meet with an MP (or MLA?) that I presented the idea of a newsletter to Sharmaji and he readily agreed. After having gone through the newsletter while on a visit to Sreeniketan, Dr Pandey, the then President of the Senior Citizens Forum, invited me to join him in bringing out a six-monthly newsletter that he used to bring out then. I helped him with one issue, before shifting out of VasEn. Sweet memories of my association with VasEn still fill me with pride and gratitude.

With You, Forever

8 February 2021

I was wandering aimlessly

Without any specific destination

I stopped confused,

And longed for a direction

 

You then arrived

Like a downpour in the desert

And we offered

Unconditional love to each other

 

Together we visited many places

Met several people

 

Had three off-springs

God took away our daughter

But left us with two sons

Two daughters-in-law,

And an adorable grandson

Who give us everlasting joy.

 

We loved each other

Like sky was the limit

We enjoyed life fully

Season after season

 

During the difficult days

We held our hands together

I am there to allay your sorrows,

To succour you

Forever and ever

 

I won’t claim

There were no quarrels,

But they would vanish

Like a drizzle in the summer

I can’t quarrel with you

For you are my dearest

My love for you won’t diminish

Till I breath my last

 

Today completes four decades

Of two minds becoming one forever

I have a huge wish, hear dear,

Don’t leave me till I merge with soil.

 

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home – Part VI

There were also some solemn moments which I would like to mention here. One day I got a call from Jayasree that CRM Rao has passed away. It was a shock to me. It is true that every soul which comes into this world has to return when the time comes after leaving the body behind. But when you hear such news quite unexpectedly you are taken aback. The only thing that I could do to show my respect to him was to go to the crematorium and pay my homage. It was a similar case when Prof Giri Deshingkar passed away. However, when Bashir Saheb passed away, I came to know only from the newspapers the next day. That was because he had left the Centre some time ago and had been the Vice Chancellor of Jamia Millia Islamia University when he passed away. I silently prayed for the departed soul.

Why does the Centre remain in my mind as fresh as it was when I left it nearly three decades ago? I think the reason is that my wife is still working there. Through her I come to know about important happenings at the Centre. I also used to visit it occasionally and met with old colleagues. Am I nostalgic about the Centre? No. Nostalgia is the feeling about something which is long lost that will never return to one’s life. But CSDS has been very much part of my life and thoughts for more than thirty-six years now, whether I am working there or not. Yes, it is my second home. And I hope it will remain so for many years to come.

(Concluded)

C R M Rao

G D Deshingkar

Prof. Bashiruddin Ahmed

Prof. Rajni Kothari

Sujit Deb

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home – Part V

I was dealing with several files related to China Report. I didn’t have a proper place to keep those. There was a huge table on which I use to spread the files. One day that table too had to be taken away for more important use. The files and registers were transferred onto the floor. I thought some arrangement would be made to keep those. But nothing happened for several days.

I then wrote a note which started with, ‘We are the files and registers lying on the floor and used by Mr Namboodiri.’ The note was signed by the ‘Files and Registers’ and it was ‘submitted through Mr Namboodiri’.

The note was submitted to Mr Rao, who promptly forwarded it (with a smile) to the Secretary, and a new bureau was purchased for my use within a week. Sometimes you need to catch things the curved way.

It was a couple of years after I joined CSDS that I changed my name from PKJ Namboodiri to PK Jayanthan. Right from my school days I had been called Namboodiri, which was my surname and caste name. In Delhi I was staying with my cousins PKS Namboodiri and PKK Namboodiri. Both were known by their surnames. I wanted a change. Also, PKS always introduced me to his friends as Jayanthan (it would have been absurd to introduce me as [yet another] Namboodiri, wouldn’t it?). It was then that I realized how much I liked being addressed by my name and what I have been missing all these years. And I promptly took out the surname. I also informed the office regarding the change.

I have never worked directly under Prof. Rajni Kothari. But Kothari Saheb was a father figure to everybody in the Centre. When I decided to leave CSDS, I wanted to go and meet him in the Lokayan office. He was an extremely busy person, and I didn’t even know if he would recognise me. Though I had met him several times when he used to visit the Centre, I had never talked to him. I couldn’t even muster the courage of wishing him as much as ‘Good Morning, Sir’. He was such a towering figure.  

But as soon as I entered the room he said, ‘Ah, Jayanthan, come.’

I don’t know if he was ‘warned’ of my visit. When I told him that I was leaving CSDS to join TERI, he wished me all the best. For the first time we shook hands.

When I started working in TERI, the institute was located in the members’ flats in the India International Centre.

One day Dr RK Pachauri, Director, told me, ‘Some people from CSDS are coming for discussions. Don’t you want to go and hide somewhere?’ He asked jokingly.

It is true that I was on leave from CSDS, but everyone knew that I was working with TERI. So? No hiding. I was, however, eager to know who were coming. Later Prof. Rajni Kothari and Dr Ashis Nandy arrived. When they saw me, Dr Nandy immediately said, ‘Ah, Jayanthan is here, we had forgotten that. Where is Dr Pachauri?’  And I proudly accompanied them to Dr Pachauri’s office. 

Even now when I visit the Centre, some pricking feelings overwhelm me. I look at the corners where I used to work from, one of which is lying empty and disused and the other used for keeping filing cabinets. Sometimes I go and see the places where Mr Rao or Mr Bhattacharya used to occupy, or where Mr Khajan Singh had his empire from where he used to prepare the journal copies for mailing and prepared the register with paper cuttings. All the places have since been renovated and changed. There were several people with whom I worked and shared very cordial relations. Some of them are still working or are otherwise associated with the Centre. There are several people who were, or still are, my close friends whom I have not mentioned in this note. Some of them are my own colleagues while some others are Jayasree’s colleagues, and some common. It is only due to the fear of this note becoming quite unwieldy that I am restricting myself from mentioning their names.

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home – Part IV

A few days after I joined, I typed a letter for Dr Ashis Nandy. There was a mistake. As I used to do in DPD, I put ‘xxx’ mark over the mistake and typed the correct version in the margin.

When I handed over the letter to Dr Nandy, he said, ‘Hmm … in the Centre we don’t do such things, okay?’

He was not upset (if he was, he didn’t show it), but was telling me the difference between working in a government office and at the Centre. But I remember for several months after that he dared not give me any work. Later on, when I came to know how particular he was even regarding full stops, commas, and spaces, I realized what a stupid thing was it that I did for him.

Dr RK Srivastava used to be the ultimate solution to all our information needs. Ask him anything, he had the answer. Not only that, he used to explain his response in detail with ample examples. There was no topic under which he could not answer any question. I don’t know if he knows this but in our friends’ circle he was referred to as the ‘walking encyclopedia’ then. I have discussed several things with and learned a lot from him.

Sujit Deb, or Sujit da, as we fondly used to call him, passed away in September 2012 in Kolkata. Sujit da was a carefree character, the come-what-may-I-don’t-bother type. He did not care about the cloths he wore, the food he ate, the chair he sat on, nor the bed he slept on. He was a nice and kind human being, thoroughly down-to-earth. Though he was elder to me, we were close friends. We used to discuss several things, though personal matters were normally avoided. Sujit da never acted busy and was always in a relaxed mood.

I think Bhuvan Chandra was the first colleague who started using an electric typewriter in the Centre. It was charming to watch him working on it. This typewriter had several daisy wheels and Bhuvan used to interchange them when he needed italic or bold faces or entirely different fonts. Bhuvan was very enthusiastic about the novel ‘The Godfather’ by Mario Puzo. According to him, that was the only novel worth reading. He was never tired of harping on the qualities of the book. In fact, it was due to these enthusiastic descriptions and near insistence that I read the book for the first time while in the Centre. And yes, you guessed right, Bhuvan arranged the book for me. 

Some of us – Bharat Singh, Khajan Singh, Rudra Singh, Ravi Raghavan, PKK Namboodiri, MK Riyal, I, and a few others – used to take lunch together. For some time a large table used to be kept outside the store room where we all used to assemble and take lunch. We also used to share each others lunch. But some of us, including me, were, however, exempted from sharing since we were vegetarians and some friends brought food that we were not very keen to share. Bharat Singh passed away a few years ago. He used to call me Punditji, not because I am a knowledgeable person, but because I am a Brahmin. Temple priests are generally called punditjis.

I was using an old Remington typewriter and it was extremely difficult working on that. I wanted a change of typewriter. I put my problem before Mr CRM Rao, who agreed to my request and talked to Ms Ava Khullar, Secretary. She asked me to send her a note explaining why I needed a new typewriter. I prepared an elaborate note and sent to her. After a week or two I received a brand new typewriter. I was very happy and proud. To my surprise, within the next week, three or four more new typewriters were purchased for use by other colleagues! It was like push-starting a vehicle. The initial push-start was very difficult, which I had to do all alone, and then it was a smooth drive for others!

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home - Part III

The second incident occurred when my father-in-law had undergone a surgery at the St. Stephens hospital. On the day of his scheduled release we received a bill for more than 5000 rupees. We had been under the impression that St. Stephens was a charity hospital. With a rude shock we realized that it was a paid charity hospital. All of us relatives collected whatever amount we had. We were still short of about 2000 rupees. We didn’t know what to do.

I then went and met Bashir Saheb. It was around noon on a holiday. It was obvious that he had been taking a short nap after lunch when I rang the bell. I started explaining the problem. I had to take a long route, since it was very embarrassing to ask for personal loan from your Director!

But when I was half-way through, he asked me, ‘Do you want money? How much?’

I said, ‘2000 rupees’.

He went inside and brought a bundle of 100 twenty-rupee notes. I was about to tell him how grateful I was and how and by when I plan to return the money, but he would not listen.

He said, ‘Go, clear the bill, and take your father-in-law home’.  

One day I talked to Bashir Saheb about Jayasree to seek a possible position at CSDS. He later told another colleague, ‘We are familiar with the hard and sincere work of Jayanthan and Krishnan (PKK Namboodiri) are putting in. I don’t think there should be any problem.’ And after a test and interview, she was appointed as his PA.

When I wanted to resign from CSDS to join Tata Energy Research Institute (TERI) (now The Energy and Resources Institute), he himself advised me to take leave, and not resign.

He said, ‘Any time you want to come back, do so, and we will take you back. You are always welcome.’

After the initial six months’ leave, I extended it for another six months before finally resigning. After my departure, Jayasree took over the responsibilities of Alternatives. The main attraction was that I could guide her when needed. I also came and worked in the Centre on a few Saturdays to help her, till she was confident.

The late Mr CRM Rao was the mildest and softest person I have ever come across. I consider it a privilege to have worked with him. In fact our association started with a little uneasiness. I had initially agreed to a salary of 625 rupees. When I went home, my cousin reprimanded me for agreeing for a salary which was only slightly more than what I was getting in DPD. So, the next day I went and told Mr Rao that I wanted 650 rupees as salary. He was slightly upset. I offered some excuses and explained why I was seeking an enhanced payment. He then agreed.

When I left CSDS to join TERI, he wrote, ‘I am sad that you are leaving, but glad that you are doing so for better prospects.’

He invited Jayasree and me to his home, but we could not make it which I have regretted ever since his passing away. While working at CSDS, I had gone to Mr Rao’s home once and enjoyed the warm treatment accorded by him and his wife.

The late Prof. Giri Desingkar was outwardly very strict, but a very warm and loveable person. The first time he asked me to type a letter for him (this was during one of the initial days of my joining), I went and complained to Mr Rao! Why should I work for an outsider? At that time Prof. Deshingkar was a Faculty in the Delhi University, but associated with the China Report group.

Mr Rao said, ‘Yes, yes, he is in the China Report group, and you should help him whenever he wants.’

It takes time to come out of the bureaucratic way of the government (doesn’t it?), where I worked for two years before joining the Centre. Slowly I opened up and was ready to assist anybody in the Centre, regardless of their association with China Report.

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home - Part II

Though I had joined as PA to Mr CRM Rao, I worked more with Bijoy Babu (Bijoy Bhattacharya) who managed the production and distribution of China Report. It was a pleasant experience working with him. He was like a real dada (elder brother) to me. He was an expert in publishing. I used to proofread China Report with him. I believe it was due to my close association with him that I got interested in the editing and publishing fields. Bijoy Babu inspired me a lot. He used to tell me stories of his escapades when he had been young. Sometimes he used to drown in nostalgia. He never believed in the institution of library. His used to assert, ‘If you want to read a book, purchase it.’ Once I went to his single room residence in Gole Market and was astonished to find several thousands of books (must be 6000 to 7000) kept in almirahs, cots, and strewn on the floor. He said he had a bigger collection in Calcutta. He also did not read magazines or newspapers. He believed only in books, purchased books.

When we came down to the street, Bijoy Babu asked me, ‘Do you know what is Sandesh?’

I said, ‘Yes, message.’

He said, ‘No, no, not that sandesh. What is a Bengali Sandesh?’

I had no idea.

He said, ‘Come, I will show you.’

He then took me to the nearby Bengali Sweet Shop and treated fabulously with Sandesh, the most popular Bengali sweet.

When CSDS started publishing Alternatives: A Journal of World Policy in collaboration with the Institute for World Order, New York, I got associated with its subscription and distribution. Profs Rajni Kothari and Saul Mendlovitz edited the journal then. Mr MP Sinha was the Managing Editor. Mr MC Gabriel had worked for some time during the initial days, looking after the promotion of the journal. After his departure I looked after the whole affairs with the help of Mr PKK Namboodiri who then independently handled China Report’s subscription. Mr Girdhar Rathi joined later to oversee the promotion and distribution of the journal.

Dr Ramashray Roy was the Director during those days. During one of my initial days at the Centre, he called me to his room for some work. In the midst of the discussions, he wanted to ask something to Mr V Chadha, Accountant. He asked me to call Mr Chadha on the phone. I hadn’t heard the name before. I thought the name ‘Chadha’ was strange. ‘Chanda’ seemed more appropriate to me. And I asked for Mr ‘Chanda’. Dr Roy immediately corrected me, ‘Chadha, not Chanda’. And he made me pronounce the name correctly, which I did after a few attempts! When my father passed away two years later Dr Roy sent me a touching condolence message, which showed his concern for his younger colleagues. I was overwhelmed when I met with Dr Roy a few months ago at the Centre after a gap of several years.

I also served under the Directorship of the late Prof. Bashiruddin Ahmed, a down-to-earth and approachable person. He was always kind to everybody. He did not miss any chance to extend help to anybody, high or low. I am myself a beneficiary of his benevolence twice when I was in distress.

I was building my house in Sainik Nagar, near Uttam Nagar. All the money which I initially had, had been spent and I had started borrowing money from whomever I could. Ravi Raghavan, who worked in CSDS, had by then left the Centre and joined the Oriental Bank of Commerce, in the Connaught Circus branch. Ravi said the bank lent money without security, but at a higher interest rate and on production of a guarantee from the office. I sought Bashir Saheb’s help. He asked me to type out the guarantee on the Centre’s letterhead. He signed without even reading it.

When I handed him the office copy of the guarantee he said, ‘Keep it with you, in your file.’

I was confused, in my file?

He smiled and said, ‘Yes, I trust you’.

After a few months, on clearing the loan, I gave him a copy of the certificate from the Bank.

He said, ‘Yes, I knew there would not be any problem.’

He valued trust and confidence a lot more than written words.

Centre for the Study of Developing Societies: My Virtual Home - Part I

I worked at the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies (CSDS) from 1977 to 1983 with Mr CRM Rao who edited China Report. I also did proofreading for the journal and also looked after the subscription and distribution of it as well as that of Alternatives: A Journal of World Policy when the Centre started co-publishing it.

It was great working at the Centre with a lot of good people. I learned a lot in the process. I grew from a hesitant stenographer to a self-confident professional in a short time. I was sad to leave the Centre. But, is not change the basic law of life? Life should move on and one needs to move in search of greener pastures, which I too had to do.

The Centre is celebrating its Golden Jubilee. If this is not the most appropriate occasion, then what is, for one to recount the past and note down a few things from one’s experiences at the Centre? That is what I have attempted here. This small booklet talks of a few of my experiences at the Centre. Not all of them, though; this was prepared somewhat in a hurry.

I joined Directorate of Publications Division (DPD), Ministry of Information and Broadcasting in 1975. I was posted in the stenographers’ pool.  The pool was a facility from where any official could request typing or stenographic assistance over and above the staff from their own sections. There was normally very little work in the pool and I used to get quite bored. Within a year I had written a departmental test and had been promoted as junior stenographer. I was preparing for the stenographers’ examination.

One day Mr Ram Lal Sharma, the pool in-charge, told me, ‘If you sit here, you will be given work. You take your books and go out. I shall take care of any requirement that might arise.’

I used to study during the week days continuously for several months on the lawns of the Delhi High Court, which was adjacent to DPD. In the examination, I got a rank just above 100 and was expecting a posting soon.

It was around this time that Mr PKS Namboodiri asked me if I was interested in working with the editor of a journal. He warned me that if I agree it meant that I might have to leave the permanent and secure government job and join a private organization, which in those days was very unnatural. He himself was my guide and guru in Delhi. Therefore, I had no hesitation in saying ‘yes’. It had become nearly meaningless to work in DPD and I thought this was a golden opportunity. Mr CRM Rao, Editor, China Report, was in need of a personal assistant. I met Mr Rao, was interviewed and appointed. This was in 1977.

At that time the Centre was smaller in size, staff, infrastructure, and popularity. The Centre consisted of only the main building. The Annexe and the mezzanine floors in the library and other places were built much later. The front lawn included the current parking space and was so huge that I remember attending a couple of wedding receptions there. As for parking, yes, we didn’t need much parking space during those days. The only vehicles that regularly used to come into the Centre were the office car and Prof. Rajni Kothari’s official car when he was ICSSR Chairman. He used to visit the Centre often. We had much bigger lawn on the side too, including the space where the Annexe has been built. The courtyard behind the building was also huge. The store room, staff quarters, and so on were all built several years later.

ICF - The free for all webinar

Sunday, 18 July 2021

 

After the mandatory walking within the flat, and breakfast, settled in front of the laptop. Facebook. Not regular in scanning messages but do try to respond to the personal good morning messages. Just started responding to such messages when Shivam, my grandson (“I am a big boy now. I am four and half years old”) shows up and directs, “Muthashaa, Chalo (Grandpa, come)!” “Kahan (where)?”, I ask. “Neeche, chalne ke liye (downstairs, for a walk)”. Before I could react, he closes the laptop and catches hold of my hand, “Chalo”. Nobody dares question him. We go downstairs (he sometime prefers to use the stairs rather than the lift) (we are on the second floor). Ruchi, my daughter (in-law) carries his tricycle. He cycles, we walk.

After an hour Ruchi goes back with the tricycle. Shivam stays back, and so do I. We go to the park, he swings for a while, and then just walk around. We come out and walk on the road around the park. Suddenly he asks, “Which way will you take (to go in)?” There are three entrances to the small park. I point at one entry. He says, “I will come in through that (the other) entry”. We both enter the park through different entries and meet in the middle. He triumphantly giggles because he reached first.

I did not see the watch, but thought it should be around 10.30. I ask, “Shivam, shall we return home?” He is disappointed. Not willing to return yet. “Nghoo, nghoo”, he whimpers. I bend down and whispers in his ear, “Muthashan ko shoo shoo karna hai (Grandpa wants to pee)”. That settles the matter. He is immediately ready to return. He again uses the stairs.

Once inside he removes the mask and straightaway goes to the wash basin. Washes both hands with soap, each finger separately, inside the palms, the wrists, and then starts counting slowly while continuing to rub the fingers, “one, two, three, … nineteen, twenty”. Kept washing for twenty seconds. Washes away soap from both hands.

It is 11 o’ clock. I settle down once again in front of the laptop with my second breakfast. This time opens WhatsApp first. Several personal and group messages. Just glance through them casually. ICF Webinars. Vivek’s message, “We are online”. Suddenly a flash of light. Oh! The Sunday webinar, this time the free-for-all one. Am already late. Another three minutes, am in. Switch off audio (don’t want to disturb the group) and video (a little shy to eat in a meeting).

Vivek assures participants that anything can be discussed. “It is not being recorded”, he asserts with a smile. It was all about he/she, you and I. ‘Nothing official about it’. Professional, personal, chats on anything under the sun. It was more of understanding each other. Each participant talked about him/herself. The ups and downs in life, professional and personal, places one liked, and so on. We talked about linked-in, clubhouse and a few other fora. Vivek regretted our inability to meet face-to-face due to the pandemic and hoped the situation would improve soon. I liked Anupam’s suggestion that the term ‘freelance editing’ should be replaced by ‘editing profession’.

Today’s web-chat (won’t call it a webinar) was like a cool breeze in the desert. Such occasional chats will help us to sit back and relax, to unbundle some of our worries, to open our minds, in front of an understanding, empathizing, and extremely helpful group. LET US DO IT MORE OFTEN.  Thank you, Murugaraj for the idea and thank you, Vivek, for organizing it and thank you participants, for making it worthwhile two hours. 

To or not to?

13 November 2021

 Saturday, 13 November 2021. An ICF (Indian Copyeditors’ Forum) offline meeting. We have had weekly webinars for more than a year during covid. Have attended only two ICF offline meetings in, maybe, seven years, both before Covid. The first was in a Connaught Place hotel. The next was at YMCA. Couldn’t attend a couple of meetings held after that. So, had to attend this one. Shree Rathnam at Kaushambi metro station. A metro station, I assume, is the mostest (No such word, did you say? Well, you got what I meant, didn’t you? Language is for communicating ideas, right?) convenient location in NCR. Thank you, Vivek.

Got ready by about 10 am. Leaving home by 10.30 would be ideal to reach the venue by 11.30. Walk for five minutes, take the Blue line metro, get down at Yamuna Bank, catch another Blue line to Kushambi. Perfect. Told Archana, daughter (in-law), “Going out for an ICF meeting, a couple of hours.”

She looked at me, went to the balcony, surveyed the surroundings, and asked, “Do you really have to go?”

She, nor my son, does not usually question me if I wanted to go anywhere. Rarely do I step out after the pandemic began. I looked out, too. The polluted air was waiting there to gobble me up. Felt disheartened. Maybe not. Shall send a message to Vivek excusing myself. Opened WhatsApp, ICF Delhi NCR group. Vivek had messaged in response to my ‘Shall try to come’ message, “Please do come”. My fingers froze.

Confusion. To or not to? Responses in the group showed it would be a small gathering. It might amount to cheating Vivek if I didn’t go. He would come, for sure. Told Archana, “Yeah, I should go. Shall take the Metro.”

She said, “No, no. No Metro, shall book a cab.”

I tried to argue how convenient it was to avail of the Metro services. She didn’t budge. I had to agree. It is said, obey parents in childhood, friends during teen age, spouse after marriage, and children in old age!

And so there I was at Shree Rathnam, by around 11.45. Vivek and Jyoti(rmoy Chaudhuri) were already there. After some time Surit (Das) joined, then Saoirse (came and asked, “ICF?” before taking the chair.) and Pawan (Garg) in that order. Six out of 129 (ICF Delhi NCR members)! Was meeting Jyoti, Saoirse and Pawan for the first time. Some very useful discussions on the future course for ICF. Surit started it by referring to his 7-year-old discussions with Vivek. All others joined and enthusiastically took part in the discussions, except yours sincerely, who preferred to listen. Even that was not easy because sounds are scared of my ears and stop a couple of feet away.

During the conversation Pawan referred to a certain office called TERI in India Habitat Centre where he worked for a year. I didn’t want to interrupt him then. Later when he concluded his point, I asked him, “When and in which division, did you work in TERI?”

He worked in TERI Press for a year. Surit worked there for a couple of years, too. And I worked in TERI for more than 25 years. So, half of ICF (members present) were TERI alumni! Wow! What a coincidence!

We did have our food there, but certainly not to the satisfaction of the hotel management. A couple of times they came and asked whether they can give us the bill, indirectly asking, ‘Why don’t you people leave?’ Can’t blame them, though. Occupying a table for more than five hours with only a few snacks in between is certainly not to their taste. They would have wanted us either to eat continuously or to get out.

Surit stays in Greater Noida. He offered to drop me in Sector 62 on the way. He had, however, to divert because the shortest route from Kaushambi to Greater Noida does not touch Sector 62. In the car I talked about my hearing problem, he talked about his sight problem. He said he was ‘nearly blind’. And I was ‘nearly deaf”. Partners in distress!

I offered him a share of the taxi charges which he refused to accept. When I insisted, he said, “Okay, you can offer me a cup of coffee next time we meet.” And we settled at that. So, I should remember (it is likely that he would forget) to treat him to a coffee while I would have a lemon water or so. But when do we meet next?

To conclude, a day spent usefully. Had the pollution not played spoilsport, a few more could have joined and wider discussions could have taken place. Well, something is better than nothing.

Thank you Vivek, Jyoti, Saoirse, Surit, and Pawan for the wonderful day!

Indexing, the art of: Experience of the first webinar presentation

8 November 2020

 

Was it interesting? Intriguing? Enriching?

Initial days of Corona. Vivek (ICF personified) moots the idea of Sunday webinars – Forty 40-minute ones. Several topics are lined up.

He messages, ‘one on indexing?’

‘Okay. But need time. PPT to be reduced from 90 to 40 minutes.’

‘Will June be okay?’

‘Yes.’

A few days later, ‘No need to rework, can be split into two sessions.’

Oh! Wonderful. No amputation of PPT’s hands and legs.

Later, ‘Postponed to July’.

Okay again. In fact, better.

Yet another postponement to November. Even better.

Sometime later the 40-minute restriction vanishes.

Wow! All the time in the world.

Could not attend all the webinars. Tried to do it on phone, didn’t work. The desktop loses consciousness (old age problem). Daughter(in-law)’s laptop rescues me.

Attend a few webinars. Very attentive, very interactive, very informed, very professional audience.

Nervousness begins to set in. Never before was such an audience in (virtual) front of me.

Rehearse a few times, anticipate possible queries, prepare responses, insert a few extra examples, refer to CMos (and yet miss a few points), and invoke Lord Ganesha, the remover of all obstacles.

Vivek reassures, ‘It’ll be fine’.

November 8.

10:30. Switch on the laptop. Try to enter the meeting room, it’s locked. ‘Wait’, says the note. I wait.

10:45. Suddenly the door opens, Murugaraj says, ‘Hello, Mr Jayanthan, come in.’

First webinar presentation. 

Murugaraj instructs how to go about sharing the screen, and other nitty-gritties. Am a very slow learner, and basically lazy. I resort to the easier way. I call my son, who sets the system and the stage right. So far so good.

Vivek joins.

11:00. Murugaraj opens the flood gate and friends rush in.

None has face, only name.

Vivek introduces me: a ‘senior’ editor (yes, indeed, 66 years!) and an indexing ‘wizard’ (Oh! God! Where is my broomstick?)

Anticipatory bail request for unclear pronunciation, etc.

Request to interrupt when needed.

Start presentation.

Murugaraj goes off screen, and so does Vivek.

Are they in the next, or the next screen?

Start presenting to the only face on the screen: mine.

The hope: On the other end people are listening.

When somebody enters, Zoom informs 26, 27 and so on.

That’s good, above expectation.

Rather intriguing: talking to your own image on the screen! No reactions from anybody.

The first interaction by Yateen (Oh! God! Yateen is attending this, too. Am honoured, indeed!) was like a rain in the summer. At last a voice other than my own!

Yateen has nothing to learn from me. He, as always, wants to guide, teach, and help me. And he did just that. (We [he, the teacher and I, the student] worked together in TERI for several years.)

I resume the conversation to myself.

Later a few more voices, of Venkat and others.

Good. Feel better.

12:23. Presentation over.

Stop sharing screen to see some faces. Much better. A few faces, but several choose to stay behind.

Questions and responses for half an hour.

1:00. Thank you.

“Don’t tell him”

 [Dedicated to all working people]

Four O’clock. Time for tea. He got up. The phone rang. Unknown number. Maybe from a call centre. “Car loan? House loan? Credit cards? …”

“Hello.”

“Hello, son, this is O.P. Sharma, your neighbour.”

Sharmaji! Met a few times. Sometimes a smile, very rarely a “good morning”. That’s all. But that is how it is in the busy city life. Don’t know even your next-door neighbour. But why is he calling?

“Yes, Sharmaji, what happened?”

“Son, come immediately.”

A little panic. “What happened, Sharmaji?”

“Son, your mom is not well. We have taken her to hospital.”

Oh! God! What happened? She doesn’t suffer from any serious illness. Was completely okay in the morning.

“Sharmaji, please tell me what happened? What happened to my mother?”

“You know we old people sit in the park in the sun in the afternoons.”

That is a practice for them in the winter season. Most of the retired, old people in the society sit in small groups in the park and enjoy the sun, chat and play cards.

“Suddenly we heard clattering of utensils from your home. My wife went and called your mom to find out if everything was okay. There was no response, and she went inside. Your mother was lying in the kitchen. Some utensils were strewn around. Since we couldn’t revive her, we took her to hospital.”

“Oh! God! Which hospital?”

“Fast Cure hospital. Come immediately.”

“All right, Sharmaji, I am coming.”

He called his wife Molu and told her to come over to the hospital.

Lot of negative thoughts. A cardiac problem? A stroke? A fall? Mom never had any cardiac problem. … Oh! God! He prayed … and prayed … and prayed.

*******

In the hospital casualty.

“Sharmaji, what really happened? What did the doctor say?”

“She is unconscious. That is all we know.”

Just then the doctor came out.

“Nothing to worry. She is all right. A small cut on her head from the fall, which has been dressed. She has regained consciousness. You can go and see her.”

He turned to go when Molu shouted, “What happened to mom?”

She was just reaching and was panicked.

“Nothing serious. She is okay. Come, let’s us go and see her.”

*****

“Mom … mom …”

Mom opened her eyes and smiled. A weak smile, though.

“Mom, what happened? What happened to you?”

She looked at both of them and said tiredly, “I don’t really know. I was cleaning the utensils and suddenly I felt dizzy and fell down.”

After ten minutes.

“Son, can you get me a cup of tea from the canteen?”

“Yes, mom, right away.”

He left the room.

“Moloo …”

“Yes, mom?”

“I have told him and others that I just felt dizzy and lost consciousness.”

“Yes, that is what you just said.”

“Yes, but you must know the real reason for my losing consciousness.”

“What is it?” Molu was confused.

“Well”, she looked around to make sure there was nobody near.

“Today is Wednesday and the maid was absent.”

“Yes, she is, on every alternate Wednesday.”

“Yes. So I started cleaning the utensils. You had put your tiffin in the sink last evening without opening the lid, right?”

“Mmm. That is what I do every day.”

Mom took a minute as if to gather strength to continue.

She looked in the eyes of Molu, took a deep breath, and continued slowly, “As soon I opened the tiffin, in a split second the unbearable stench threw me into the dirtiest of sewages and I lost consciousness. … A tiffin box tightly closed for nearly two days and in this heat! … That is what happened.”

Molu didn’t utter a word. The blow was deep. Very deep indeed. She looked down. She couldn’t face her mom (in-law). She remembered that mom had told her that she herself used to wash the dish in her office. Once she had said, “Well, if you can’t wash them properly, then at least pour some water in the dishes so that at least major part of the remaining vegetable is cleaned off. Or if you can’t, then at least keep the lid open while putting it in the sink so that it doesn’t smell so badly the next morning when the maid opens it for cleaning.”

She did it for a couple of days and then returned to the old habit. Old habits die hard! Mom didn’t repeat the advice.

And now this …

Molu felt devastated. She slowly got up, went to the feet of the bed, sat down on her knees, clutched mom’s feet tightly and started weeping uncontrollably.

“I am sorry, mom, I am the culprit. Please pardon me. I promise I shall never repeat this.” She failed to control her tears.

“Moloo, come. Sit near me.”

“Silly girl, wipe your tears. I know you didn’t do it deliberately. It just slipped out of your mind, that’s all. I am glad you realize what you have done.”

Molu wiped her tears, tried to smile, awkwardly though.

Mom took Molu’s hands in her own and slowly stroked them.

“Molu, will you do me a favour?”

“Yes, mom, tell me.” She was ready to do anything to atone for her carelessness.

“Will you tell your friends and colleagues not to leave tightly-closed tiffin boxes in the sink from now on? Let no other mom-in-law experience what I did.”

A moment of silence.

They looked at each other. Then laughed. A hearty laugh.

After a few minutes Molu said seriously, “Yes, mom, I shall give this message to all my friends: Please don’t leave your tightly-closed tiffin in the sink. if possible, try to wash it while you clean your hands and mouth after lunch.”

Footsteps … They came closer. Mom told her, “Don’t tell him.”