The Travails of a Nonentity: In the Top Boss’s Chamber!

 

First thing in that nondescript morning, sometime in the late 1980s, as I entered my office room there was a letter from home waiting for me on the desk. I tore open the Indian inland letter eagerly. There’d been no news from my village home in more than a fortnight which was not normal, because my mother used to write me a letter every week, unfailingly. I got worried as I read through: my father had taken ill and it was to be decided if he needed to be taken to a hospital in the nearest city depending on the treating doctor’s advice. My mother wrote that she’d inform me at the earliest, and since that didn’t happen, I got restless, fearing the worst, knowing that even if the worst had indeed happened it was going to take days to inform me, because I had no direct telephone number either in office or at home or at any friend’s or at any neighbor’s place, they could possibly ring up from a post office. Apart from the hassles of various office extension numbers to reach me and the language problem it took a one-hour bicycle ride from my home to reach a post office that had those trunk-call lines.

There was a telephone in the village school principal’s home and I always thought of that as an emergency number, my home within a mile of the school and the principal being a good family friend. I desperately wanted to ring up that number immediately, somehow, and get to know what could be happening there with my family people. But that effort required an STD connection! Hell! Those days STD facility was extremely limited; only the most powerful bureaucrats or the most influential of the citizens could have that facility in their landlines. I knew, however, that the top boss of the organization I worked for had that facility in his telephone. But how to access it? I was not that kind of an officer having ways with all the bosses. But I wanted a way out, immediately! I couldn’t afford to wait till late evening for a visit to the post office, hoping to get connected through a trunk-call, always so delicate and so full of statics, testing the power of your vocal chords.

I asked the elderly and experienced office assistant as to what could possibly be done. He advised me to speak to the boss’s PS, telling me that the top boss was a nice person and would never refuse to help. Accordingly, I rang up the PS explaining the emergency. The friendly lady asked me to come in the lunch hour when the top boss was normally relaxed and would not mind letting me use his telephone. I thanked her and as there were still three hours to go for the lunch break, I tried hard to concentrate on the files on my desk and do some work.

Even before the wailing siren, signaling the lunch break, could descend to its lowest octave, I was out of my room heading toward the main admin block. I pushed the revolving glass doors to peep into the PS’s room. The lady officer was just about to open her tiffin box, set up nicely on her table.

“Please go in! Sir is there!” she said the moment she saw me.

I approached the heavy wooden door on my right, tentatively. With the tension of an impending uncertainty I managed to knock on the door, a feeble effort. Then, mastering up all my dare, I pushed the door in, uttering in a shaking tone, “May I come in, Sir?”

The middle-aged man with thick eyebrows who seemed to be sitting miles away from me or the door I opened in a high-back revolving chair housed in a huge rectangular chamber looked up at me, a little uncertainly. That was the first time I ventured entering the chamber of the top boss: not that I never met him, I did attend meetings presided over by him on many occasions held in the office auditorium.  

“Oh! Mr. Saikia! Please do come in!’ he welcomed me in, looking briefly up at me over the bundle of papers he was apparently setting in order. Oh! He knows me or rather recognizes me! I thought, instantly energized with something like a new lease of life, and definitely a lot of courage and hope.

The top boss turned his attention again to the papers as I did not count the steps up to his spacious mahogany desk and finally stood right before him.

His little shrouded eyes, over the rim of his high-powered specs, appraised me that seemed like an eternity to me.

“So, Mr. Saikia! What brings you here?” said he, again back to examining the papers through his glasses.

“Sir! It is an emergency!” I briefly explained my situation. “I really need to call up my village, sir! Sir, if you can allow me too…I’ll take only two minutes!”

“Okay! But why are you standing? Please take a seat!” he finished putting the papers neatly away on his right where a stack of in-files was waiting for his generous signatures, took off his specs, set it on the table and got up. He headed toward the attached restroom just behind his desk, entered and spent a very long time in there. Maybe, freshening up for his lunch! But he could’ve just told me to wait or excused himself for a moment! I thought, this time a bit disapprovingly, if that kind of behavior were permissible at all.

I stared greedily at the black instrument lying innocently there alongside a few white intercom instruments and felt like pulling that toward me, desperately wanting to hear that sweet special dial tone that could connect me instantly to my people.

Finally he came out and resumed his seat.

“See, Mr. Saikia! Such facilities are very expensive and so are given only for the most urgent official matters! You know, we have to account for the monthly bills, justifying every single call made using the facility!” he leaned back on his chair as a peon entered the chamber and began setting plates, spoons, forks and bowls on the glass-top table surrounded by a sofa set at the farthest corner of the chamber.

“But, please sir! It’s for only a minute…!” I mumbled incoherently, not at all expecting such an elaborate discourse on office expenses.

“No! no! Mr. Saikia! Don’t get me wrong! I’m not denying you the favor!” he continued as he started getting up from his chair, “we just have to do it in the right way, right? So, please go to the administrative officer, write out an application explaining your issue and submit it to him. Signed, of course. The application will then come to me, and rest assured, I’ll sanction it immediately! You’ll surely get a call from my PS! Okay?” he started marching to the cozy corner for his lunch.

I stood up like a perfect idiot. But indignation surged inside me as I headed for the heavy wooden door. I began cursing him, all safe and sound within my nondescript soul: to hell with your rules and justifications! Why! Had an officer, maybe just two ranks above me, come into the chamber at that moment for the same favor, s/he would just have picked up the phone, dialed and talked to his/her heart’s content, perhaps without even having to request the top boss for the favor! Damn it all! I maybe a nonentity strictly in the official way, but I’m no throwaway as a person! I can still have what my modest soul wants! Yes! I’ll have it my way!

I stormed out of the block, not at all bothering to report to the PS about what happened, and decided to visit the post office early, hoping for the best.

Mohammed Siraj Powers India to Their 8th Asia Cup Title!

Powered by an incredible surge of the rising Indian fast bowler Mohammed Siraj India have crushed Sri Lanka by 10 wickets in the Asia Cup-2023 Final played in Colombo today, winning their 8^th title of the tournament, followed by Sri Lanka with 5 and Pakistan with 2 title wins. The hosts won the toss and as expected chose to bat first. So far in the tournament, all matches were won by teams batting first; however, in the Final today things took a different turn. The match was also delayed by rainy weather and the Indian pacers smelt some swing in the pitch of which they took full advantage. After Jasprit Bumrah removed Kusal Perera in the very first over of the match, Mohammed Siraj achieved the rarest of rare feats by taking four scalps in just one over or in just six balls—his second and only the fourth over of the match. Four wickets in the Lankan top order reducing the hosts to a sorry 12/5. And the slide did not stop there. Siraj fired on to his fifer in just 16 balls and then to 6/21 overall. Pandya delivered the final blows for his 3/3 figure bundling out the Lankas for just 50 runs—their second lowest total ever in ODI cricket. It was all over for Sri Lanka in 15.2 overs and India looked at the target of 51 runs in 50 overs which they did achieve in style—openers Ishan Kishan and Shubman Gill hauling it up in 6.1 overs.

Mohammed Siraj becomes the first ever Indian bowler to capture 4 wickets in 6 balls and the third in ODI cricket history. Incidentally, the first two cricketers to have achieved this are both from Sri Lanka: Chaminda Vaas against Bangladesh in the 2003 World Cup and Lasith Malinga in the World Cup-2007 against South Africa. But I think Siraj’s feat should be judged as the best ever from two standpoints: first, it was the Final of an international tournament, and second, he initiated the damage in the very top order of the team, never relenting till the finish. We talked about India’s rarest of rare kind of feat in the Super-4 match against Pakistan earlier: whereas it was an incredible display of Indian batting in that match, in the Final today it was an incredible display of fast bowling.

Team India is immensely capable of such feats whenever its immensely talented cricketers play to their true potential, and this point naturally brings up the most crucial point about the constitution of the team: when you do have your best team at any juncture, why don’t you allow it to go on playing and winning! Why, like in numerous other occasions in Indian cricket history, did you need to change the team in the match against Bangladesh? Why your players needed to be given rest in the midst of an important tournament and that too in the run-up to the ODI World Cup-2023? You still experimented just because your team had already reached the Final and thus let your team lose unnecessarily. Why do you have such repeated urges to lose? A win against Bangladesh would perhaps have further pushed India up in the ICC ODI rankings. Was it not better even otherwise to prepare for the World Cup with the maximum possible wins? And, had either Tilak or Prasidh or the perplexingly axed and demoralized Shami and Suryakumar or the enigma Shardul played the matches of their life would you have selected them for the Final? If not, obviously, then why was that experiment necessary? For accomplishing a consistently performing team you must stick to the best team available and you must be ready to drop any player in any position if out of form or just non-performing for which, luckily, you do have plenty of options.

Now, for the Final of an intensely competitive tournament in its two stages the final match was a perfect anti-climax—a real letdown for the thousand of enthusiastic cricket fans. Again, for a tournament that’d been dominated by the spinners all the way the Final was entirely on a different footing with the spinners not getting a chance even to bowl a few overs, forget about taking wickets. Although for the Indian fans the Final proved to be a huge relief of sorts the Sri Lanka fans and genuine cricket lovers were thoroughly frustrated, a 100-over match getting over in only about 22 overs. However, cricket has always been the game of glorious uncertainties and such things do happen and will continue to happen. And star performers like Siraj will also continue to dazzle us. 

The Refueling Conundrum!

 

I don’t really know why they do it. Perhaps they too adhere to the belief or the superstition that when one prepares too well for something, nothing really happens. The autorickshaw or the cab drivers may thus think that when they fill their tanks or cylinders with fuel first thing in the morning and wait for the customers none would come up or that it would take the best part of the day for the first customer. Therefore, they may accede to a ‘Let’s fill up only after I get a customer’ kind of behavioral psychology. I’ve often been the victim of such driver-psychology exploits in the city of Guwahati—called the gateway of the North East region. Let it be the autorickshaws or even the app cabs, the drivers thereof would invariably move the vehicle into a petrol pump on the way thus severely impinging on my allotted time for the ride and then for the possible meetings or appointments to keep. Annoyance pumped up by inconvenience and anger would always take full possession of my hapless state of being. I thought this psychology was limited to the somewhat lazy and laidback city/region as mentioned; but to my consternation I discovered it spreading to other parts of the country, and more worryingly, even in the most professional city of Mumbai. Mind you, I’m not jumping to conclusions or generalizations. I’m more or less certain because it was not a random incident where the driver could’ve genuinely missed the refueling due to technical issues, it happened twice in two successive days, and in both occasions the drivers did not look apologetic at all as if they were used to that by-now-normalized procedure. And they stuck to that stock answer in an expressionless tone, “The pumps were closed!”

In the first incident in Mumbai the driver of an app cab nearly made us miss an important meeting. The young driver looked okay and he was cruising the car nicely through a fairly dense traffic. But suddenly, midway, drove into a petrol pump on his left and joined a queue of around three-four vehicles. Completely taken by surprise as I never remembered a similar incident in the financial capital, I demanded him why. That stock answer came up promptly and I was agonized to find that he’d joined a queue for CNG filling which I know takes a long time. So I couldn’t help firing him right and left, but the young boy perfectly kept his composure, making me feel silly even in the midst of my great temper. My wife, trying to take control of the situation, prodded him softly as to why he didn’t inform at the time of booking. The boy avoided answering by informing that he’d already got his number and that it would not take much time now. After fifteen minutes that seemed to be the longest of waits in my entire life, I could bear it no longer and got out of the car banging the door shut. Pacing up to the road I started dialing the organizers trying to do some damage control as there were a few other participants in the meeting waiting. They agreed to a 30-minute window, and finally we reached around 35 minutes late, 25 of which was caused by the refueling googly.

In the second incident the very next day we got late at the house of a friend we reunited with after long years. When we finished our three-course supper, it was nearly midnight. The app cab drivers were not responding and the aggregators focused on increasing the fares by the second. Our responsible friend tried a new app on his mobile and finally the car he booked arrived. Again, the driver was a young boy, seemed hardly 20. However, he assured our friend that he’d take absolute care of us and would deposit us home safe and sound. We took off.

The streets were not exactly packed at that late hour, but the boy was driving at a snail’s pace. Unable to hide her curiosity my wife asked him why he was not picking up speed. And then only he dropped the bombshell: he was looking for a CNG filling station as his fuel was dwindling fast! Not only that! The car might run out of fuel anytime now and the responsible boy was very worried that his ‘uncle and aunty’ could get stranded in the middle of the night! This time I took a long sigh and just leaned back on the seat, as if surrendering to fate.

The young driver kept on stopping asking one and all, including the Zomato delivery boys, for the way to the nearest CNG filling pump. They all did indeed give very painstaking directions, but our lean and thin young gentleman couldn’t find any. And he constantly kept up our tension by mentioning that ‘getting stranded’ bit. Finally I intervened telling him to consult people of his ilk, that is to say, other drivers of autorickshaws or cabs or taxis. Luckily, he found an autorickshaw by the side of a road and accosted the driver: requesting him for the way in the most urgent manner possible, of course, by mentioning what fate his dearest ‘uncle and aunty’ could be heading for. I did my best to avoid meeting a supposedly sympathetic stare from the autorickshaw driver; but he gave solid directions to a gas station which was still some way off and nearer to our home. Fortunately, the car engine did not go phut and the eager driver found the pump and could finally satiate the urge of his cylinder, if not his.

We found it perplexing that the boy still did neither brighten up nor increase the speed of his vehicle. Again, my wife asked him why. In reply he asked her a very pertinent question, “Do you know your way to your home?” More in store for us! I thought bitterly. “Of course!” she replied. Then he disclosed that he was an absolute stranger in the area and so was driving slow, and particularly avoiding the flyovers, afraid where they’d eject him out.

For the rest of the journey I took absolute command of directing him: the turns to take and which flyovers to avoid and which ones to take. The young driver indeed delivered his ‘uncle and aunty’ home around 2 in the morning, delayed by at least an hour. I wanted to give some sound pieces of advice. But what the heck! I’d not rather have stock digitalized responses! Instead, I took the pledge of asking the driver if he was going to refuel on the way, every time I’d happen to book a transport in future anywhere and everywhere. However, we do fervently hope the refueling virus do not spread far and wide and someone resourceful check its possible progress. Or it still remains a conundrum!