The Crayons

 

The Crayons

 

Tathagata Mukhopadhyay

 

 

I had joined the Oil & Natural Gas Commission, in Bombay (now Mumbai), way back in 1980 after freshly graduating from the Indian School of Mines; my first job. 

 

The major problem those days for people like me in Mumbai was accommodation. In my budget, they were scarce. And there was a long waiting list for the allocation of the Company-sponsored flats.

 

So I, and many guys who had joined with me, did not think twice to opt for field jobs - in the Bombay High Oil Field, which then was in the nascent phase of its developmental activities. A field job, at the start of the career, has its charms. For one, despite the hard work and rigorous hours, it gave me excellent opportunities to learn. Experiment, damage, damage-control, yet learn!

 

 Working offshore, of course, had its perks. We were on 14-day on and off hitches. This meant that after a fortnightly stay at offshore installations - or, sometimes, oil tankers as was the case with me - we were allowed a fortnightly off. So, working offshore did not mandate the necessity of having a home in Mumbai. ONGC also provided second-class train fares to our respective hometowns. So we booked our train tickets for three-four consecutive to-and-fro travels. Unlike today, getting railway reservations those days wasn't so simple. One had to travel to Bombay VT and stand in long queues, combatting pangs of hunger. Sometimes the dodgy stomachs discomforted further with a bladder full of piss, the heat and humidity and the malodourous clammy surroundings caused by the perspiring crowd. And then, as one was about to reach the ticket counter, the clerk would shut the window on your nose and break for lunch, forcing you to wait for another hour before you got your prized possessions - the tickets to your destination! That, sometimes, you had to be detained back for your reliever did not turn up for the hitch, causing major disruptions to your laid-out plans, were, of course, different matters.

 

Working offshore also allowed me to gain some excellent friends. Living in a remote location and spending time with your colleagues was an extension of the hostel life, which people like me had been enjoying. Only more so, for the limited boundaries of the installations limiting one's travels to within the handrails of the decks. Beyond it was the deep blue sea... 

 

This is the story of some such friends – bonds with whom to date, a good four decades down the line - remains unsevered...

 

 Hament, Vikas, Sunil, Praveen and I used to work in the same oil and gas processing installation known as the BHN (The Bombay High North - the major Oil and Gas collection and processing facility - which tragically had burnt down on 27 July 2005 if my memory serves me right). Girish worked on a different installation but had to travel to BHN sometimes as someone's replacement and sometimes due to some other work. Somehow, a special bond developed between the six of us. How? I do not know. It's not that we all were like-minded. We were as different as the different colours in a box of crayons. For example, Praveen was a thorough gentleman - a vice he steadfastly maintains to date. I never heard him swear, drink, smoke, indulge in gluttony, or discuss females. He was nicknamed The Gentleman. One can decorate me with just the opposite traits - in each case, that is. Vikas was the level-headed moderator which every group has. Cool by nature, he indulged in everything but to a moderate limit. Sunil was the enthusiastic type with the mind of a half-entrepreneur. He was the one who first gave me the whiff of making fast cash by dabbling in the stock exchange. I recall I ended up buying stocks of at least two companies - KR Steelunion and Modi Carpets - both of which went bankrupt. I still have the share certificates. Nice trophies, I daresay, to bring back fond memories. Sunil was always buzzing with ideas. In me, he had injected the idea of going on a World Tour Expedition on motorbikes. We wrote to Royal Enfield for sponsoring the bikes - it was going to be a free advertisement for them after all - the Shipping Corporation of India for sponsoring the sea passages from Mumbai to Alexandria (we chose to attack Africa first), and also to our employer, The ONGC. But that is a separate episode altogether - and I shall blog it someday if I have the enthusiasm to find the time... Girish was our Political Mind. Because of his Agra background, he had all the qualities of a Politician that the State of UP is famous for! The balanced diplomatic type, his soft diction combined with the chaste choice of Hindi words, was enough to woo a person out of the opposition camp. And he had a cracking sense of humour. Not those crude Dada-Kondke type, but the subtle ones which often took time to register. He had convinced me to invest in a plot in Agra, which I did, and I recall, made some money by selling it later per his advice... Hament was the second Punjabi - Praveen being the first - in the group and easily the most meticulous and the sincerest of us all. He had a determined mind and the doggedness to see his determination fulfilled. Outwardly calm and gentle, he could be ferociously short-tempered if push came to shove... He was also one of those selfless types - the ones who would, on his own, offer his services to prepare a meal or brew tea as we, the rest of us, enjoyed. He, Vikas and I undertook a tour of J&K later, which, again, I wish to narrate in a separate blog provided I manage to whip up the drive within me...

 

 We were as different as the different crayons in a pack. All crayons but with vastly different colours. The only common thing that we shared - the 'crayon' thing - was that none of us had any girlfriends waiting for us back in our hometowns...

 

 Now, the six of us slowly realized that travelling back after every fourteen days of duty and enduring the stresses of reserving the train tickets are not so enticing as we had initially thought. Particularly when no fair damsel was waiting for us to return. Also, Mumbai had a lot to offer, explore, visit, and enjoy...

 

But who was going to rent us a flat? Back then - I am talking of the early eighties - getting a flat either for rent or purchase within one's budget was always like the elusive carrot tied in front of a donkey. It continues to be so to date. We came to know the ONGC was allotting new 2 BHK apartments in a 'remote' location in Goregaon East called Gokuldham. And very few of them were willing to go and stay there because of the inconveniences. There was only one BEST bus that plied to Gokuldham from Goregaon Railway Station, and the last bus of the day departed at 7 pm! The auto-rickshaws refused to go there on a metered rent - for often they had no passengers back for the station in the evenings. So they charged a fixed fare of ten rupees - a princely amount for an auto ride back then - for a ride to Gokuldham...

 

 S.K Dubla was the mechanical foreman on our shift. He was an ex-army man and possessed the attitude of one; a huge heart and care-a-damn viewpoint towards life. His witty and fluent renditions of the Housie sessions on special occasions at the BHN rec room were extremely praiseworthy. Dubla got an allotment in the Gokuldham premises. He lived somewhere in a nearby town - I forget the name - from Bombay and had no intention of shifting his family to Bombay. He happily agreed to sublet us his flat for a paltry rental. We only had to reimburse the amount that ONGC would deduct from his salary for the flat - which wasn't a big amount by any means. Now, that amount, shared by the six of us, became a highly affordable shelter in the big bad stinkingly costly Bombay. Suddenly, we had shelter and were no longer compelled to travel to our respective hometowns after every 14-day hitch.

 

 Our duty pattern soon got scrambled, and except for Sunil and me, no other guy was travelling in or out to work together. Some were on a week's lag, some on a week's lead during the two-week offshore stay. So, as a result, the total number of occupants at any given point of time never exceeded two or three. So, we devised a simple method to run the household finances. We kept a yellow plastic box in the steel cupboard that came with the flat as a furnishing item, which we called the 'Booty' - named by Sunil - probably after its meaning - the pillage or the loot. And we had a notebook kept beside the box. We were supposed to add money regularly to the booty and withdraw from the same for common expenses like paying the gas, electricity, common utensils, etc. No amount was specified. That I often withdrew cash from the Booty to buy liquor and write it down religiously as a 'common' expense was a different matter. I now wonder why on earth we bother to keep the books for credit debit at all. None of us audited it. Only when the booty ran out of cash, the person using it last added some amount. And believe me, the protocol worked like a well-oiled machine. 

 

 We never had any household help. Hament - the scrupulous hygiene chap that he was - made sure the rooms were swept and the washroom washed and disinfected. Somehow, we always found our place clean. Later, Hament was shifted from offshore to the office at Colaba, and he became our permanent housekeeper and nanny. I recall, while some of us were lazing around during our off days, he used to travel back from his office and make tea! And never did we hear any voice of dissent.

 

 Our flat slowly became the rendezvous and a free inn, bar and recreational centre for our friends, relatives, well-wishers and offshore colleagues who wished to spend a couple of nights in this expensive city or wanted to write an exam or attend an interview. And then we had our colleagues who used this as a hangout joint for a session of drinking and merry-making.

 

 Bakshi was my college mate who, after a stint with the TCS in the US, got a posting in Bombay. Initially, he had no place to live, so he shacked up with us. During his college days, Bakshi was a super athlete with strongly opinionated views towards the things he believed in. But as far as cleanliness was concerned, he was just the opposite of Hament. He was too lazy to clean his undergarments and socks. In no time, the dirty, stinky clothes formed sizable piles on the floor of his hostel room - which acted as a potent repellant for other visitors. This was a habit that had not parted with Bakshi even when he was working in a very prestigious position with TCS.

 

 One can well imagine the combination of Hament and Bakshi in the same flat! While Hament was obsessive about keeping everything squeaky clean, Bakshi cared two hoots about any cleaning habits - that included his undergarments. Then, one day, Hament discovered Bakshi fishing out underwear from a soiled heap of clothes on the kitchen floor for reusing. He had exhausted his stock and had no laundered stuff left! 

 

 After Bakshi found his accommodation and left, we had one more visitor in Doctor Bendre.

 

 Doctor Bendre was a surgeon from Nair Hospital, Bombay. And for some reason, instead of wielding his surgeon's scalpel, he landed up in the BHN platform as the medic treating casual patients for acidity, loose motions and flu! Doc was short, dark, with a neatly developing potbelly and round eyes, magnified by high powered glasses that were almost always bloodshot - not because he was an alcoholic or did drugs, but for his nocturnal sojourns. By habit, he kept late nights when there were few patients and slept in the day when people came to him for treatment. Almost inevitably, the patients had to wake him up. He was blessed with a hirsute body, abundantly covered with dark hair, and he slept with his sleeveless vest and underwear. So he treated many of his patients - who were in a rush and had no time to allow the doctor to wash and change - in that royal attire! The Doc - as we called him - had a perpetual frown, which he claimed to have acquired from the disillusionment of life. He was supposed to have removed tumours from patients and assure his anxious glamorous girl that her Papa was out of danger while casually tossing his surgical gloves and masks - and there he was, treating unshaven, crude, sweaty guys in greasy overalls reeking of oil and grease! Life - for Doc was a bitch! "Do not worry, Doc. Your time would come," we said. But all our assurances fell flat as that would only compound his frown as he would sigh and say, "Sala - sab popat ho gaya"

 

 Doc was very close to me, and somehow, we had developed a mutual respect. We both were huge fans of "Disco" music, which was the rage then. Both of us were smokers, and we both liked to keep late nights. And since we were chess partners too, we used to play chess till early morning.

 

 It was the time when some of us started our families. Vikas was the first to get married, followed by Hament and Sunil. And we, too, were allocated flats in our names in the same locality, Gokuldham. The place was getting busy. Shops and eating joints were mushrooming at an incredible speed. Bus service got extended till late in the evening. Suddenly, the 'remote' Gokuldham did not feel so remote any longer. And with our office shifting from Colaba to Bandra East, right on the Western Express Highway, plying became less complaining. 

 

 I had sublet my flat to Sunil, while Girish, Praveen and I had shifted to Praveen's flat as his sub-tenant. Hament and Vikas had started their families in their own allocated places. The Booty system continued, only the 'loot' became thinner. Girish was next in line for marriage. He did not say anything, but we came to know about this through a very funny yet shocking incident!

 

 Doctor Bendre lived in Panvel, not too far from Goregaon, Bombay. So he too, at my insistence, started spending time with us in our home. I recall once when Doc and I were in a parallel shift, I had asked him to stay back for a couple of days before proceeding for his home in Panvel. We, as usual, played chess till early in the morning before we slept on our folding camp-cots in the living room. Girish was there, too. He was sleeping inside one of the bedrooms. One more art Girish had mastered was the art of sleeping. Boy, the guy could sleep! While Doc Bendre and I had an excuse of keeping awake till 4 am, playing chess, Girish had no such alibi. And all three of us were snoring to glory when we were rudely awakened by the doorbell...

 

 Girish continued to sleep in the bedroom. I heard the bell but feigned sleep lest I have to get up. Poor Doctor Bendre, in his trademark sleeveless vest and long underwear, with bloodshot eyes and uncombed hair, opened the door - only to confront a well-dressed gentleman and his wife...

  

 They were the parents of Girish's proposed suitor, and they had an appointment with Girish at our place, which our man had completely forgotten!

 

 The couple mumbled something which Doc, still half asleep, half registered and trudged to the bedroom to call Girish, who appeared in a while ... the groom to be dressed in a vest and long underwear.

 

 Girish's marriage with that suitor never happened, and I don't think Girish regrets that very much. He got married soon after and remains happily married after all these years with a couple of beautiful children.

 

 Thereafter, our abode fell apart. Praveen got married. Few of us, me included, left our jobs with ONGC and were thrown into different corners of the world. Doc fulfilled his dream by clinching a surgeon's job in Oman before returning to India as the HOD of Surgery in a prestigious college in Navi Mumbai (now Bombay is a cuss-word). I, like a true Bengali, was the last to marry and, as a legacy, got the few leftover treasures of our flat - a few blackened pots and pans…

 

The lockdown today brought us back together. We connect every Saturday through video chats for a good one hour to say hello. Sunil continues to give his funda on the stock market (only now, I do not fall prey to that). Hament, as clean and silently appreciative as ever. Girish fills us up with the innuendos of the current Political scene while tending his Bagel, the 'Bolt'. Vikas now wears a stylish hat to cover his baldness, and over the years, he has honed his talent for singing. He is in the US now, so he takes full advantage of the time difference and sips on his single malts as he sings, while we are mostly with our teacups. Praveen, neatly shaved and suave as he was four decades ago, presents himself from the urbane workstation that he created at his home in Sidney. So, from different corners of the world, we connect. We chat. We swear. We have the antakshari sessions. So what if it's only virtual?

 

The crayons have aged, shortened, shrivelled - but they still possess the power of colours...

 

31 July 2020

Mumbai.