My blog

About sixty-three years ago, I was posted in Bhopal as an Executive Engineer. I had been transferred from Raipur and was looking after construction work through three subdivisions. At that time, the Chief Engineer, dissatisfied with the working of the Mechanical Division, decided to give me additional charge of that division as well.

One of the subdivisions had a very large store containing various materials, including a substantial stock of steel bars.

The steel arrived by rail in BFR wagons and was transported from the railway yard to our store. It was properly entered in the records and placed in a large open storage area.

The yard was fenced, although “fenced” may be too generous a word. It was protected mainly by barbed wire and optimism.

There were chowkidars at night, a storekeeper responsible for the stock, a Subdivisional Officer responsible for the store, and ultimately, of course, an Executive Engineer who would be asked to explain everything if anything went wrong.

That last person was me.

A Small Habit That Suddenly Became Very Useful

I had introduced one practice that, at the time, some people thought was unnecessary.

Every consignment of steel was given its own color code. A batch might have yellow paint at the ends and blue in the middle. Another might use red and green. We used combinations of yellow, green, red, blue, pink and other colors, and the corresponding code was entered in the store records.

People objected.

“Sir, इसमें खर्च होगा. बहुत महंगा खर्च।”

It will cost money.

My answer was simple: “Do it. Add it to the issue price.”

It was a trivial cost.

Nobody else seemed particularly interested in copying the idea. Perhaps painting steel was considered beneath the dignity of engineering.

Then one morning, I visited the store.

A section of the fence had been broken.

A very large quantity of steel had disappeared.

Apparently, somebody had arrived during the night with trucks and helped themselves.

Suddenly, my “unnecessary” colored paint became extremely interesting.

We knew exactly which batch had been stolen.

The Search Begins

We immediately lodged an FIR at TT Nagar Police Station.

Then I called all three Subdivisional Officers.

I told them to stop what they were doing, take their staff and jeeps, and form search squads. The city was divided into sectors and each team was sent out to inspect places where construction work was going on.

The instructions were simple:

Look for recently delivered steel.

Then look at the paint marks.

One person was left in the office to answer telephone calls and deal with communications. Everyone else went hunting for steel.

This was apparently not regarded by everyone as proper administrative procedure.

Some helpful colleagues began observing that I had practically stopped the work of three subdivisions without permission.

“This fellow is taking the law into his own hands.”

“He has not taken approval from the Chief Engineer.”

“He is running the department in his own fashion.”

All of this was probably true.

But I had one small problem with following the normal sequence of government correspondence:

The thieves were unlikely to wait for our file to complete its circulation.

At Four O’Clock, the Telephone Rang

There were no mobile phones then. If somebody wanted to contact you from the field, they first had to find a telephone.

At about four o’clock, one of the search teams called.

“Sir, we have seen it. Please come.”

I went immediately.

They had found a large house under construction near Lakshmi Talkies.

There was our steel.

But the situation was even more urgent than we had expected.

The house was ready for concreting of an entire roof slab. The stolen steel bars had already been cut to size, bent, tied with binding wire, and placed in position as reinforcement.

Everything was ready for the concrete to be poured.

Once that slab had been concreted, almost all visible evidence would have disappeared inside the structure. We could hardly have expected to break open an entire reinforced concrete roof later merely to prove where the steel had come from.

We had reached the site just in time.

The work was stopped immediately.

And there, still visible on the bars, were our color markings.

For once, paint had become forensic evidence.

Following the Trail

We called the police.

The owner of the house was questioned about where he had bought the steel. From him, we obtained the address of the supplier’s godown.

So the police, our staff and I went there.

The godown was locked.

The man there explained that unfortunately he did not have the key.

The person who had the key was apparently not available.

There were several explanations.

None improved with repetition.

Eventually, the lock ceased to be an obstacle.

Inside was the balance of our stolen steel.

A very large quantity of it.

Color-coded and waiting for us.

The Police Inspector decided that the supplier should be arrested, and the owner of the house who had bought the stolen material was also taken into custody.

At the construction site, the reinforcement that had already been cut, bent, tied and placed for the roof slab had to be dismantled.

All of it was recovered.

Now We Had Another Problem: Where Do You Put Recovered Stolen Steel?

We naturally wanted to take the recovered steel directly back to the departmental store.

The police said no.

Since it was evidence, it first had to go to the police station.

Fair enough.

The police then asked us to arrange the trucks.

Naturally.

So the department whose steel had been stolen arranged the trucks and labor to recover its own stolen steel and transport it to the police station.

We loaded it.

We drove it there.

We unloaded it.

After the necessary police formalities, the steel was then shifted back into safe custody at the departmental store.

Within approximately 24 hours, the theft had been reported, the stolen batch identified, the city searched, the steel located at the construction site, the remaining stock traced to the godown, the material recovered, brought to the police station, and ultimately returned to the departmental store.

That was quite a day’s work.

Then Came the Explanation

By now, news had naturally reached the higher authorities.

A strict note arrived.

How had I stopped the work of three subdivisions?

Who had authorized me to deploy everybody across the city?

Why had I acted without first taking approval?

My response was essentially this:

Yes, I had done all those things.

And within 24 hours, we had recovered the entire stolen property.

There was not much more to discuss.

The government apparently came to the same conclusion. The matter against me went no further.

I was later transferred, so I did not follow every detail of the court proceedings. But the important part, from my point of view, had already happened.

We had got the steel back.

The Lesson I Took Away

There are occasions when procedures are essential.

And there are occasions when the first requirements are judgment and speed of action.

Had we spent that day writing letters, asking for approval, constituting a committee and determining the appropriate jurisdiction, the concrete roof would probably have been poured.

Once that happened, the most important physical evidence would literally have been buried in concrete.

Instead, we acted immediately.

And one small system that had seemed almost silly—painting colored marks on steel bars—made the entire recovery possible.

So perhaps there are three lessons.

Good controls often look unnecessary until the day they are needed.

In an emergency, somebody has to make a decision.

And never underestimate the investigative power of a tin of paint.

I must admit, when the last of that steel came back into the store, I felt rather like a hero.

At least until the next government note arrived.

In 1956, about a month before the formation of the new state of Madhya Pradesh, I was transferred from Hinganghat to Bhopal to work on the Bhopal Capital Project.

Bhopal at that time was a very different place from what it later became. The new capital was still taking shape. Housing for officers had not yet been built, since we were the builders. So, we stayed in tents. In a way, we were not merely working on the new capital—we were camping inside it while it was being created.

I was put in charge of a new subdivision and was also asked to take over a large government store from the former Bhopal administration as the departments were being reorganized.

Among the more important items in the store was a very large quantity of Narmada sand. With so many government buildings under construction, sand was in constant demand.

My storekeeper was a Punjabi gentleman who, like me, had only recently arrived on transfer from the Nagpur side. So both of us were newcomers to Bhopal and still learning its ways. He was thoroughly honest, very decent, and exceptionally mild-mannered. He was so polite that he was the sort of man who would probably apologize if somebody stepped on his foot.

Soon after I took charge, I went to Nagpur for four days of casual leave to visit my parents.

That apparently was enough time for a problem to develop in my sand store.

While I was away, the Executive Engineer, Mr. G, came to the store and instructed the storekeeper to issue sand to several contractors. The transactions themselves were official. The contractors paid the prescribed price, receipts were issued, and the quantities were entered in the records.

The difficulty was that the quantities actually loaded onto the trucks were sometimes greater than the quantities paid for.

A contractor who paid for 100 cubic feet might leave with considerably more, being liberal with his takings. My poor storekeeper, still new to the Bhopal working style, found himself faced with a senior officer giving instructions and contractors loading material quickly without me on duty.

He did not have the confidence to stop them.

When I returned from Nagpur, I found him in a miserable condition. He was almost in tears.

“Sir, what could I do?” was his explanation.

I could understand his predicament, but the shortage still had to be accounted for.

So I told him, “First, let us establish exactly where we stand. Stack the remaining sand properly, take the measurements, and tell me how much we are short.”

He did so.

The shortage was substantial.

I then went to the Superintending Engineer, Mr. Y, and explained the situation. I pointed out that the store was under my charge and that the issues had taken place while I was away.

He listened and then gave me a very practical answer. The material had already been issued, receipts had been given, and the storekeeper had allowed the excess quantities to leave.

In effect, his message was: “It has happened. Now you have to manage it.”

That was the end of my appeal.

I had not taken the sand. I had not authorized the excess issue. I had not even been in Bhopal when it happened.

But the shortage was now my responsibility.

Fortunately, at that time there had been heavy flooding in the Narmada, which had made sand difficult to obtain. Private contractors were therefore eager to buy sand from the government stock.

So I devised a solution.

I told the storekeeper, “If somebody pays for 100 cubic feet, issue the receipt for 100 cubic feet—but give him actually 95.”

He looked at me rather uncertainly.

“Only 95, sir?”

“Yes. Ninety-five.”

Naturally, the contractors asked why.

“How can you charge us for 100 and give us only 95?”

My answer was simple: “You do not have to buy it.”

That was usually enough.

The reason was straightforward. Even at 95 cubic feet for the price of 100, our sand was still cheaper than what they could obtain in the open market. So after some discussion, most of them accepted the arrangement and took the sand.

Some came directly to me.

“Sir, your storekeeper is giving only 95!”

“Yes,” I said. “That is my instruction.”

“But we are paying for 100.”

“Yes.”

“Then why only 95?”

“Because that is the quantity I am prepared to issue.”

There was not much more to discuss after that.

No money was being diverted. Every rupee went through the official system and every buyer received the appropriate receipt. The difference remained in the store, and gradually the physical stock began catching up with the stock register.

For a few days, the system continued.

Then one morning the storekeeper came to me looking much happier.

“Sir, I checked again.”

“And?”

“The shortage is gone.”

He paused.

“In fact, sir, I think we may now have a little extra.”

That was the point to stop.

I immediately told him, “Fine. Stop selling to private contractors. From now onward, the sand is only for government work.”

And that was the end of the Bhopal sand problem.

It was one of the first difficult situations I encountered as an Assistant Engineer, and it taught me something that stayed with me throughout my career.

In management, it is quite possible to be completely innocent and still be held responsible.

You may be away. Your subordinate may be inexperienced in the local working style. A senior officer may have made a decision in your absence. None of those facts changes the need to solve the problem once it reaches you.

That is when management actually begins.

It also taught me something about people. My storekeeper was honest and hardworking. His problem was not honesty or ability; he was simply new to the environment and not naturally forceful. Once I gave him clear instructions and made it clear that I would stand behind him, however, he had no difficulty telling the contractors:

“Assistant Engineer’s orders.”

Sometimes a person does not need to become tougher. He simply needs clear authority and the confidence that his superior will support him.

Looking back, I remember many larger projects from those years. But I still remember the tents, the unfinished capital, the piles of Narmada sand, and one very worried storekeeper who, like me, was still getting used to Bhopal.

The buildings of Bhopal taught me engineering.

The missing sand taught me management.

Speaker 1 (Introduction): Small introduction is only meant for comparatively newcomers to our colony. We can always see him around in his motorized wheelchair inside our colonies. He is the favorite of all of us.

Born to Tamil parents in Nagpur, where he had his initial education, he passed out with an Honors degree in Civil Engineering in 1951. He joined the MP Engineering Services as an Assistant Engineer in November 1952, and rose to the position of Engineer-in-Chief, and retired from active government service finally as the Chief Technical Examiner, Vigilance.

During his service, he ably executed several highways and building projects—special mention of the Civil Secretariat building known as Vallabh Bhavan. As Managing Director of MP Bridges Construction Corporation, he has several bridges to his credit. Post-retirement, he gave his voluntary services to the Royal Commonwealth Society for the Blind, whose chairperson was Princess Diana, for the construction of an eye hospital for Bhopal gas tragedy victims and a similar hospital at Indore.

He was a regular arbitrator for several engineering disputes and claims. After 1997, he stopped his remunerative services and solely devoted to social work and regular visits to his children and grandchildren in USA.

He now mostly restricts himself to his books, back in his bachelor armchair after the passing away of his wife eight months ago. I now hand over the mic to Srinivasan mama, Srinivasan uncle, Srinivasan tata, as he is known here. And we are very eagerly waiting for his 70 years of experience, to listen to some of the stories which we had not witnessed. Thank you.

Speaker 2 (Shri Srinivasan):

Plural/correct form:

देवियों एवं सज्जनों

एवं उपस्थित महानुभावों

एवं मेरे प्यारे बच्चों—

स्वतंत्रता दिवस की अस्सीवीं वर्षगांठ पर आप सबको हार्दिक शुभकामनाएं।

Greetings to all on this 80th Independence Day.

I have been fortunate to have been born before 1930 at Nagpur in central India, where people could congregate from all directions into huge congregations for all types of freedom fights in those days. Our house was fortunately facing the biggest maidan of Nagpur, where I was privileged at a young age to hear lectures of distinguished leaders like Mahatma Gandhi ji, Sardar Patel, Bhimrao Ambedkar, and several others on the independence movements.

Then came, of course, the 14th August 1947. The Constituent Assembly was summoned to meet on the night of 14th August 1947 in the then Parliament House, and the Prime Minister, Nehru, delivered his iconic lifetime address to the Parliament and the nation. And I quote a few sentences from his emotional speech:

“Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny, and the time comes now to redeem our pledge. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance…”

—and so on and so forth was the reading.

I was in my engineering college at Jabalpur during the declaration of independence. It was thrilling to see and feel a sense of great pride and a sudden sense of freedom when our national flag went for the first time raised by a freedom fighter of Jabalpur, Seth Govind Das. I have been fortunate to attend each Swatantrata Diwas ever since till now.

But freedom did not arrive with happiness alone. Already there was a general gloom in the atmosphere because of the cruel massacres of innocent Hindus and Muslims which were taking place daily, shamelessly, when they were moving from one country to the other. People on foot, on bullock carts, vans, trains, and a huge population was on the move—unimaginable. The Radcliffe Award was announced, but two days late. So again there was heavy—the biggest killing took place when the Radcliffe Award was announced on 17th August, two days later. And the maximum killing took place. Because suddenly they found—while the previous day they thought they were within India, next day they found they were, it is demarcated, we have still to go five miles further. There was again a huge killing.

Refugees from Delhi, refugees were all rehabilitated gradually in the various states by the Rehabilitation Ministry, which was a tremendous task. Even in our engineering college, after a month and a half, one student was admitted from the Karachi Engineering College. More than 565 princely states were given the option to stay separately or accede to one of the countries. And if they had been allowed to separately stay, what would have been the condition today? Condition in India would have been in tatters, in torn condition. Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, assisted by the able V. P. Menon, using a policy of carrot and stick and the four principles of Sāma, Dāna, Bheda and finally Daṇḍa (साम, दान, भेद, दण्ड), brought round all, including the Hyderabad Nizam and the Nawab of Junagadh. The French peacefully transferred Pondicherry and Karaikal, but the Portuguese Goan area had to be brought under force.

All these took four years. And I would recommend you to read Narayani Basu’s book on V. P. Menon, The Unsung Architect of Modern India.

The nation had its biggest shock later, five months later, when the Mahatma was assassinated. Gandhiji personally led the country to freedom through his peaceful non-cooperation and civil disobedience movements which he taught to us. Everyone in the country felt that the patriarch of their own family has been suddenly taken away. I had the satisfaction of attending his asthi visarjan (अस्थि विसर्जन).

Few memories have stayed with me all my life. Our middle school headmaster, a perfect Gandhian, who was a nationalist, used to take us by bus every year to Sevagram, Wardha—50 miles away from Nagpur—to have a darshan (दर्शन) of Gandhiji. I went to Sevagram for three successive years when I finally went to my high school. The aura of his presence, very near as he passed by you, and the effect it has on one is indescribable. It had to be felt, and the effect it has on your life for long.

The second thing in my memory is that of Frontier Gandhi, the non-violent apostle of peace, gigantic leader of North-West Frontier Province. He was 6 feet 4 inches tall and always stood out in any crowd; above the crowd he was jutting out like that. It was a very nice sight. Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, leader of the Khudai Khidmatgar, also known as the Red Shirts. Because of his same ideology and close friendship with Mahatma Gandhi, he always attended the annual Congress meetings and opposed the division of the country. On division being agreed to, he wanted the North-West Frontier Province of the Pathans to be integrated with India. The Congress did not agree for several reasons. The Frontier Gandhi felt that they had been betrayed. He openly said, “We are being thrown to the wolves.” We couldn’t help it. We awarded him the Bharat Ratna in 1987.

The third is that of Subhas Chandra Bose, who felt freedom can only be achieved by force. He escaped to Germany via Gomoh railway station—Gomoh railway station is now renamed as Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Junction. He escaped then to Germany in 1941, then went to Japan and formed the Indian National Army from Indian POWs with the Japanese and Indian expatriates staying in Burma, and had even planned to invade and capture Aizawl and Imphal in India. Sadly, he died in a plane crash while flying from Taipei to Tokyo.

Protecting our freedom and sovereignty is a heavy responsibility. Millions were rehabilitated commendably, and everyone has since prospered responsibly as Indian citizens. All sectors of the country have developed into a modern state. Institutions were created: steel plants, labs, irrigation projects, and what not. In my lifetime, I have seen India move from being a huge importer of grains, milk, and other necessities. We have now become big exporters of milk and grains. Once a country struggling for food and milk with huge shortages, Dr. Verghese Kurien revolutionized milk production with unimaginably mammoth-sized cooperatives in the world, and now our milk is being exported and sold in American store shelves. Scientists like Dr. M. S. Swaminathan helped transform agriculture, establishing rice research institutes in rice-growing areas, and with this introduction of high-yielding dwarf varieties of wheat and paddy made India an exporter. Dr. Homi Bhabha, father of the Indian nuclear program, and various hundreds of unsung heroes have made India what it is today.

But we are still spending trillions in importing pulses, vegetable oils, fertilizers, and fuels. Still a big job for our agriculture scientists to do. We have built satellites, software companies, and much more—dams, universities, research laboratories. Big firms, corporations, universities, research establishments have to work in unison to innovate commercially viable technologies to make India a Vishwa Guru (विश्वगुरु). We have to invest tremendously in research and development.

And the search and improvement continues and will continue. Every generation has its own tests. Our generation saw colonial rule, freedom, partition, suffering, building of a new nation. Now the present generation sees artificial intelligence, climate changes, new kinds of war, new kinds of inequality, and a world where knowledge moves faster than ever before.

A Viksit Bharat (विकसित भारत) will not be created by mere speeches alone. It can only be created with schools and institutions of excellence, with researchers, talented teachers, etc. It will be created when our children are not mere holders of diplomas and degrees on paper, but problem solvers and skilled workers. It will be created when technology is used not for comfort and luxury, but for courage and service.

Our population also has exploded from 30 crores in the undivided India of yore to 140 crores of divided India. So there is enough work for the next generation. We wish the Generation Z and the further, the Generation Alpha coming up, and they surely will tackle all problems with determination, skill, and diplomacy.

Thank you all for the patient hearing you gave me.

सबको सहन-शक्ति के लिए मैं आभारी हूँ।

सर्वे जनाः सुखिनो भवन्तु।

जय हिन्द!