Good morning life
It’s 6:30 in the morning at Sealdah Railway Station. Kanchanjanga Express is about to leave in another 5
minutes and I am stretching out on the foot-board of my compartment trying to get a glimpse of Swamiji.
Already a North Westerly disturbance has sent cold waves in this part of the world, but today at this
moment, anxiety seems to get the better of me and I am sweating profusely.
I try to reach swamiji on his mobile but he is not picking…a flurry of questions pass my mind….have
swamijis’ become more human….did he take me for a jolly good hog wash when he said he was
coming….I hope everything is ok….. and then suddenly lo and behold….out of the hum and melee on the
platform I see a saffron attire moving briskly through the maze of generous sprinkling of lesser mortals.
Yes there he is limping and running with his oversized luggage, stopping occasionally to catch a
breath…poor swamiji…in the days of glory old …so I am told ...the world would come to a stop if the
revered swamiji from Ramakrishna mission was running to catch a train, but then those were different
times, I said to myself.
Swamiji comes and drops his luggage near me, his huge body has given up finally but not at an
inappropriate time I must say, he can go no further, his throat is perched and his breathing is heavy, I
immediately step down to touch his feet, I know it is not the right time for blessings… pick up his luggage
and help him to his seat. Kanchanjanga express gently meanders its way out of the platform…God
Almighty has heard my prayers….Swamiji is home.
Some water ‐‐Swamiji…Some Juice…. Everything for Swamiji….God what if he had missed the train. After
removing his saffron monkey cap and pullover and a few deep breaths he has regained his composure.
He looks at me and gently smiles. I know I am blessed.
By the time we sit down to talk, Kanchanjanga is furiously chugging its way, making the local stations
look like milestones. The Bengal countryside is beautiful....People are starting their day…swirls of wood
smoke are rising and forming a blanket just a few feet above the ground. The sun rays are still soft and
the lush green vegetation is very rejuvenating.
Swamiji is gently sipping tea with puffed rice (Murri), the morning has been particularly harsh on him,
the taxi had taken the wrong road and then his sole retinue had waved him good bye on the wrong
platform.
We are heading for Pakur, it is located in Jharkhand and is more known for its “Pakur Stones”. From
Pakur we will go to Pakuria to inspect the project site. The next day swamiji will sign a land lease
agreement with the owner of the site.
I am getting butterflies in my stomach, 8 months of labour and toil has brought us to this day…I hope the
signing of lease agreement will go off smoothly….much have I heard of the difficulties of getting Adivasi
(aborigins) land…there whimsical and unpredictable nature…vested interests…politicking and what
not…but then hopefully I have God and Swamiji on my side.
Kanchanjanga is slowing down for a breather at Burdwan. The place was once the industrial hub of
Bengal. I get down for some fresh air, cutlets, sandwiches and water. I know swamiji would not mind
some earthly indulgence of hot and freshly made snacks.
My Man‐Friday, Ramesh has reached Pakuria a day before. He is coordinating with the Local MLA for
receiving the Swamiji and taking him for inspection of site and talking to their owners. I am in touch with
him and he is having a real hard time putting things together. The New Year celebrations have got over
elsewhere but in Pakuria time is an endless continuum and calendar was created by human beings...it
was there yesterday…it will be there tomorrow and forever. Nobody really gets bothered about its
coming and going.
The tinsel town is slowly getting out of sleep…and boy O boy!! winds of change are sweeping across
…how long can you sleep.. it’s time to wake up and smell your coffee.
Swamiji is narrating me stories about his work in Orissa and other parts of Bengal. He tells me of times
when the tribal’s had threatened him of dire consequences if he does not leave the place and then after
the completing of the project, and handing it over to them, men and women from the vicinity would cry
and weep, lie down on the road before his jeep, not allowing him to leave. His roving eyes suggesting he
has seen it all.
The landscape is graying. The paddy has got harvested. They lie in heaps on the field and look like
thatched houses from a distance. A good produce would mean bigger indulgence during the Makar
Sankranti (14th January, very auspicious day in India) at Ganga Sagar Mela. The vast landscape of
emptiness is very reassuring to a Mumbaiite where emptiness can only be in the minds and hearts, all
other places seemed to have got occupied.
The train slowly lazes its way into Pakur station. It is half an hour late. I get down and call Ramesh to
find out if our pick up vehicle has arrived. It takes about half an hour of waiting before the Bolero
arrives. The driver tells us that it will take an hour and a half or two to reach Pakuria. The road is good
but is littered with coal on either side. I am told that the truckers carrying the coal from the mines
connive with the local populace and drop a small load each time they pass, for a consideration. The
locals then sell it in the retail market. The administration has tried in the past to arrest the situation, but
no arrest in any form was possible. Our windows are closed lest we turn ourselves into the black faced
monkeys due to the coal dust in the air. The vehicle is moving at a secular speed of 40 kms to an hour.
As the road bends towards Maheshpur, it really gets bad… looks like there has been an earth quake a
day before, which has had a toll on the road. There are huge potholes which seem to notoriously nudge
us from one side to the other, and sometimes willing to devour us but for the dexterity of the driver.
After two hours of gyration, calisthenics and stomach churning journey we finally reach Pakuria.
The Personal Secretary of MLA was waiting for us, and I told him after getting down that it is already 3
O’ Clock and journey has emptied out the last remains in our stomach and therefore may we move to a
hotel for Lunch.
There is only one small hotel in Pakuria called the Jaiswal Line Hotel. The Hotel has a picturesque river
view, but painted a picture of neglect and decadence. Plastic chairs were randomly scattered around
small tables covered with floral plastic sheets. There was a wooden cot on one side on which children
where chopping onions. The hotel prepares the meal after you place the order and therefore take about
an hour’s time. Whatever be the hygiene, it is one of the most sumptuous meals I have had in recent
times. The hotel charged a princely sum of Rs 1000/‐ for 5 people which set me thinking that there must
be quite a few prodigal son of the soil to splurge this kind of money in the Neverland.
It is 4:30 in the evening. The sun is hiding behind the trees. In less than an hour it will be dark.
The MLA Mr. Mistry Soren joins us after our lunch. We head straight for the Project site. The place is
Village: Khejurchuha
Panchayat: Domangariya
Block: Pakuria
District: Pakur
The place is about 10 kms from Pakuria but takes about 30 minutes by Jeep. The owner of the plot is Mr.
Ravi Rai. He welcomes swamiji and Mr. Soren. We go around the site and check the North South
Direction. A 15 degree slope in the land is both interesting and challenging. Ravi Rai has agreed to give
half an acre of land. The other half will be provided by his elder brother. His plot is adjacent and due to
removal of earth for the construction of nearby road, the land is in the shape of a trough. “Double
whammy”, I murmured to myself.
The trough is particularly troublesome. We had envisaged a flat surface and therefore I am wondering
how to use the place without digging deep into my pockets. Well we will cross the bridge when we come
to it… so often have I said this to myself whenever I am left wanting for ideas. This time it is no different.
The die is cast. The agreement will take place at Pakur session court. We will leave for Pakur in the
morning after picking up the two brothers (the owners of the plot). Mr. Soren will join us en route.
In the evening Mr. Soren took us for a Dinner to Jaiswal Line Hotel. Mr. Soren’s presence had galvanized
the place into action. The waiters were bending backwards to cater to our demands which hardly could
have been many. As the time flew, the lines on Mr. Soren’s forehead got deeper. Now he had to arrange
for Swamiji’s stay. The Dak Bungalow which was about 100 metres from the line hotel was the only
choice. From a distance you could see the Bungalow and tell, about how long back the British left India.
He makes a few frantic calls and very soon he is surrounded by his sycophants (synonym for party
workers). Mr. Soren instructs them that the Dak Bungalow has to be done up and time is something that
they do not have. They all disappear in their motorbikes into the maw of darkness.
Swamiji is happy with the food. Mr. Soren is happy that a part of the story has not deviated from the
script.
We now proceed towards the Bungalow. The last time someone stayed here was the leader of
opposition in the State of Jharkhand. A couple of flower vase with a generous display of plastic flowers
were kept in salient places to obfuscate the obvious. The beds were hurriedly done up with bed covers
and pillows hired from the nearby Decoration House. A flurry of activity has unfolded with Mr. Soren’s
retinue of people cleaning up the rooms, preparing the bathrooms, putting the table and chairs in place.
The day has been particularly tiresome for Swamiji. They are used to much gentler ways. But, Swamiji is
not really complaining. He stacks up the pillows and gently reclines on the bed. Mr. Soren leaves
promising to come back in the morning at 8 for the next chapter to begin
It’s 6:30 in the morning at Sealdah Railway Station. Kanchanjanga Express is about to leave in another 5
minutes and I am stretching out on the foot-board of my compartment trying to get a glimpse of Swamiji.
Already a North Westerly disturbance has sent cold waves in this part of the world, but today at this
moment, anxiety seems to get the better of me and I am sweating profusely.
I try to reach swamiji on his mobile but he is not picking…a flurry of questions pass my mind….have
swamijis’ become more human….did he take me for a jolly good hog wash when he said he was
coming….I hope everything is ok….. and then suddenly lo and behold….out of the hum and melee on the
platform I see a saffron attire moving briskly through the maze of generous sprinkling of lesser mortals.
Yes there he is limping and running with his oversized luggage, stopping occasionally to catch a
breath…poor swamiji…in the days of glory old …so I am told ...the world would come to a stop if the
revered swamiji from Ramakrishna mission was running to catch a train, but then those were different
times, I said to myself.
Swamiji comes and drops his luggage near me, his huge body has given up finally but not at an
inappropriate time I must say, he can go no further, his throat is perched and his breathing is heavy, I
immediately step down to touch his feet, I know it is not the right time for blessings… pick up his luggage
and help him to his seat. Kanchanjanga express gently meanders its way out of the platform…God
Almighty has heard my prayers….Swamiji is home.
Some water ‐‐Swamiji…Some Juice…. Everything for Swamiji….God what if he had missed the train. After
removing his saffron monkey cap and pullover and a few deep breaths he has regained his composure.
He looks at me and gently smiles. I know I am blessed.
By the time we sit down to talk, Kanchanjanga is furiously chugging its way, making the local stations
look like milestones. The Bengal countryside is beautiful....People are starting their day…swirls of wood
smoke are rising and forming a blanket just a few feet above the ground. The sun rays are still soft and
the lush green vegetation is very rejuvenating.
Swamiji is gently sipping tea with puffed rice (Murri), the morning has been particularly harsh on him,
the taxi had taken the wrong road and then his sole retinue had waved him good bye on the wrong
platform.
We are heading for Pakur, it is located in Jharkhand and is more known for its “Pakur Stones”. From
Pakur we will go to Pakuria to inspect the project site. The next day swamiji will sign a land lease
agreement with the owner of the site.
I am getting butterflies in my stomach, 8 months of labour and toil has brought us to this day…I hope the
signing of lease agreement will go off smoothly….much have I heard of the difficulties of getting Adivasi
(aborigins) land…there whimsical and unpredictable nature…vested interests…politicking and what
not…but then hopefully I have God and Swamiji on my side.
Kanchanjanga is slowing down for a breather at Burdwan. The place was once the industrial hub of
Bengal. I get down for some fresh air, cutlets, sandwiches and water. I know swamiji would not mind
some earthly indulgence of hot and freshly made snacks.
My Man‐Friday, Ramesh has reached Pakuria a day before. He is coordinating with the Local MLA for
receiving the Swamiji and taking him for inspection of site and talking to their owners. I am in touch with
him and he is having a real hard time putting things together. The New Year celebrations have got over
elsewhere but in Pakuria time is an endless continuum and calendar was created by human beings...it
was there yesterday…it will be there tomorrow and forever. Nobody really gets bothered about its
coming and going.
The tinsel town is slowly getting out of sleep…and boy O boy!! winds of change are sweeping across
…how long can you sleep.. it’s time to wake up and smell your coffee.
Swamiji is narrating me stories about his work in Orissa and other parts of Bengal. He tells me of times
when the tribal’s had threatened him of dire consequences if he does not leave the place and then after
the completing of the project, and handing it over to them, men and women from the vicinity would cry
and weep, lie down on the road before his jeep, not allowing him to leave. His roving eyes suggesting he
has seen it all.
The landscape is graying. The paddy has got harvested. They lie in heaps on the field and look like
thatched houses from a distance. A good produce would mean bigger indulgence during the Makar
Sankranti (14th January, very auspicious day in India) at Ganga Sagar Mela. The vast landscape of
emptiness is very reassuring to a Mumbaiite where emptiness can only be in the minds and hearts, all
other places seemed to have got occupied.
The train slowly lazes its way into Pakur station. It is half an hour late. I get down and call Ramesh to
find out if our pick up vehicle has arrived. It takes about half an hour of waiting before the Bolero
arrives. The driver tells us that it will take an hour and a half or two to reach Pakuria. The road is good
but is littered with coal on either side. I am told that the truckers carrying the coal from the mines
connive with the local populace and drop a small load each time they pass, for a consideration. The
locals then sell it in the retail market. The administration has tried in the past to arrest the situation, but
no arrest in any form was possible. Our windows are closed lest we turn ourselves into the black faced
monkeys due to the coal dust in the air. The vehicle is moving at a secular speed of 40 kms to an hour.
As the road bends towards Maheshpur, it really gets bad… looks like there has been an earth quake a
day before, which has had a toll on the road. There are huge potholes which seem to notoriously nudge
us from one side to the other, and sometimes willing to devour us but for the dexterity of the driver.
After two hours of gyration, calisthenics and stomach churning journey we finally reach Pakuria.
The Personal Secretary of MLA was waiting for us, and I told him after getting down that it is already 3
O’ Clock and journey has emptied out the last remains in our stomach and therefore may we move to a
hotel for Lunch.
There is only one small hotel in Pakuria called the Jaiswal Line Hotel. The Hotel has a picturesque river
view, but painted a picture of neglect and decadence. Plastic chairs were randomly scattered around
small tables covered with floral plastic sheets. There was a wooden cot on one side on which children
where chopping onions. The hotel prepares the meal after you place the order and therefore take about
an hour’s time. Whatever be the hygiene, it is one of the most sumptuous meals I have had in recent
times. The hotel charged a princely sum of Rs 1000/‐ for 5 people which set me thinking that there must
be quite a few prodigal son of the soil to splurge this kind of money in the Neverland.
It is 4:30 in the evening. The sun is hiding behind the trees. In less than an hour it will be dark.
The MLA Mr. Mistry Soren joins us after our lunch. We head straight for the Project site. The place is
Village: Khejurchuha
Panchayat: Domangariya
Block: Pakuria
District: Pakur
The place is about 10 kms from Pakuria but takes about 30 minutes by Jeep. The owner of the plot is Mr.
Ravi Rai. He welcomes swamiji and Mr. Soren. We go around the site and check the North South
Direction. A 15 degree slope in the land is both interesting and challenging. Ravi Rai has agreed to give
half an acre of land. The other half will be provided by his elder brother. His plot is adjacent and due to
removal of earth for the construction of nearby road, the land is in the shape of a trough. “Double
whammy”, I murmured to myself.
The trough is particularly troublesome. We had envisaged a flat surface and therefore I am wondering
how to use the place without digging deep into my pockets. Well we will cross the bridge when we come
to it… so often have I said this to myself whenever I am left wanting for ideas. This time it is no different.
The die is cast. The agreement will take place at Pakur session court. We will leave for Pakur in the
morning after picking up the two brothers (the owners of the plot). Mr. Soren will join us en route.
In the evening Mr. Soren took us for a Dinner to Jaiswal Line Hotel. Mr. Soren’s presence had galvanized
the place into action. The waiters were bending backwards to cater to our demands which hardly could
have been many. As the time flew, the lines on Mr. Soren’s forehead got deeper. Now he had to arrange
for Swamiji’s stay. The Dak Bungalow which was about 100 metres from the line hotel was the only
choice. From a distance you could see the Bungalow and tell, about how long back the British left India.
He makes a few frantic calls and very soon he is surrounded by his sycophants (synonym for party
workers). Mr. Soren instructs them that the Dak Bungalow has to be done up and time is something that
they do not have. They all disappear in their motorbikes into the maw of darkness.
Swamiji is happy with the food. Mr. Soren is happy that a part of the story has not deviated from the
script.
We now proceed towards the Bungalow. The last time someone stayed here was the leader of
opposition in the State of Jharkhand. A couple of flower vase with a generous display of plastic flowers
were kept in salient places to obfuscate the obvious. The beds were hurriedly done up with bed covers
and pillows hired from the nearby Decoration House. A flurry of activity has unfolded with Mr. Soren’s
retinue of people cleaning up the rooms, preparing the bathrooms, putting the table and chairs in place.
The day has been particularly tiresome for Swamiji. They are used to much gentler ways. But, Swamiji is
not really complaining. He stacks up the pillows and gently reclines on the bed. Mr. Soren leaves
promising to come back in the morning at 8 for the next chapter to begin
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