The Charm of Badey Sharmaji and Chhotey Sharmaji

The Charm of Badey Sharmaji and Chhotey Sharmaji

The year, 1992. After finishing engineering, my friend Sanjay decided to move to Delhi from Tripura in search of job. Job was scarce those days and more was so in the northeastern States if the branch wasn't civil or electrical. He booked an air ticket to Calcutta, as was Kolkata known those days, and then by railroad to New Delhi. Air tickets to Calcutta from Agartala was difficult to get as it served as a lifeline with only one operator flying twice a day at subsidised government rates. Getting a reserved seat in trains was difficult too in those days of manual system that prevailed. But then, his accommodation was ready and available with confirmation that was arranged through a common friend.

For someone from the Northeast, the metros were places where it simply didn't suit the lifestyle and more the so, the people out there. Alienation was more than the desired levels of acceptance. It was his grit and determination that made him move out of the cushy comforts of his home to a foreign land where life was fast and busy. Geek he was and to be, buoyant were his spirits. As fate would have in store, the flight was delayed due to inclement weather. That made his anxiety levels shoot up and cross limits as further delay this side would mean missing the train from Howrah for the day. It was a relief when the announcement came to board the flight. Drinking water by gulps only increased the frequency of visit to the urinals. Madly calculating the residual time left to board the train, he was a bit nervous as from the airport through the city to Howrah was roughly 16 kilometres. Hurriedly he went towards the aircraft acknowledging little that no amount of hurry could take him to Kolkata faster.

An hour's flight was all it was from Agartala to Calcutta but the nervousness of reaching Howrah Station from the Airport made it stretch longer with heightened levels of anxiety. The arrival of luggage and the queue for a taxi was killing him. No request to fellow passengers yielded to improve his prospects of getting onto a taxi soon. All the time he was looking at the watch as it lessened the time between his probability and chances to hop onto the train. By the time he reached Howrah, platform no 11, all he could see was the tail of the train fade into the horizon. The next train was 8 hours later. From enquiry to the ticket window, he ran helter skelter to get a berth in the next train. All efforts failed. Even getting a refund was difficult those days for missing a train what they say in railway's technical terms as 'no show'.

Somehow, he squeezed himself into the general compartment of the train and was lucky enough to find a seat on paying ` 100 as bribe to a tout. The wooden seat would be his companion for the next 26 or more hours of ride. Being in the general compartment of a train was and is still a misery that none dare to fare.

Upon landing at New Delhi Railway Station, he scanned for a telephone booth or a PCO within vicinity only to hear a brutal honest confession of the gentleman at the other end of the telephone line that the accommodation assured and confirmed wasn't available anymore. The overnight journey by train in an unreserved compartment coupled with the news of accommodation was shattering. But he held strong despite the initial jolt that shook him by the roots. In those days of limited communicability through fixed line telephone from a government operator, he dialed the number of a batch mate Dwivesh who hailed from Faridabad (NCT region) explaining what had happened.

PCOs, a thing of the past lest someone call them prehistoric, were much in business from where he could make calls on payment.

Hope bloomed in the tired mind and he promptly followed Dwivesh's instructions to reach his house where he could stay till a room on rent could be arranged. Dwivesh's magnanimous offer bolstered his faith and the purpose of coming to a far off land in search of a job. That was his camping intent for the time. Dwivesh was already employed for a month and carried fair knowledge about the locations of firms that he passed on to Sanjay. Again, being a burden was a thought that made him restless and suffocate despite the open and bigheartedness of his Punju host.

His knowledge on his branch of engineering was somewhat like being analogue at birth and digital by design! Everything was theoretical with meagre practicality, albeit he was a bright student while in college. Without experience, he was just like an inexperienced surgeon who had his own tools!

Each of his days then would be riddled with nerve wrecking experience of the unknown. The offices weren't close by but the NCT region had an enviable communication infrastructure even in those days. Money was limited and the arduous thought of searching for a job and an accommodation was prime. The morning began with Dwivesh'e mother preparing aloo paranthas served with butter and curd that they used to devour like hungry demons. This acted as energy boosters for the entire day. The whole world "admires" you...even though they don't "understand" a "word" of what you say... ! That was Dwiveh's one advice. Sanjay was an Einstein within with ideas waiting for their chance to flow out of the engineered brain. But he needed the much awaited opening that was tough to come by.

Pouring over the advertisements for vacancies in the newspapers was a regular pastime apart from approaching firms with neatly typed CV, dressed in the smartest of attire that one could afford after commuting by public transport. The present addresses in all applications were that of Dwivesh's residence and his father made it a point to communicate him about any response or offer of appointment quite generously.

Relying on word of mouth from various sources, he would present himself at the doors of firms without much success. Language wasn't a barrier despite all efforts to make a correct delivery. But the CV had to reach the right person. How could that be achieved? It used to be discussed in length, the strategy, when he would return home from the daunting task of going after firms that either turn away such aspirants or ask to submit the CV only to be lost in oblivion. Then there was the task of finding him an accommodation too.

Within a span of 3 to 4 days he found a mess where job seekers like him or those preparing for competitive examinations stayed. He couldn't thank Dwivesh's family enough for the support that they had rendered in his hapless situation. It wasn't quite far off and they would meet after dinner for discussions on the day's proceedings and the next move.

It was during one such nocturnal meetings that Dwivesh asked him to say this at the gates: “Badey Sharmaji ne bulaya hai” if this backfired or that he wasn't available, he was told to say: “Chhotey Sharmaji ne bulaya hai” else, “Sharmaji ne bulaya hai”. In that region, in almost all offices, they had a Sharmaji, singular or multiple. So it wasn't supposed to be that difficult. Anyway, he had nothing to lose. The guard would have been rather happy to shoo such job seekers away; as was his job. Courage to say that was all he had to garner at the gates that weren't so pearly to get the heavenly job.

Job was distant but not that far away. That was all he could console himself. After all, he was an engineer from an institute of repute in the country. But at the back of his mind there was a constant clash with reality that no one really cared about graduate engineers. The demand was low and supply high due to poor utilisation and limited industrialisation. Every passing day was a war that he fought within to keep pace with the environs.

One one such foray, he was told that there was no Sharmaji in that office. The guard was furious that he faked his claim of Sharmaji having called him, but then cooled down and ushered him in to the DGM's cabin that had a plaque bearing his name Sikka Harbi, AGM. This was a catch! Now he could tell other job seekers from the batch that there was a certain Mr. Sikka in that office and that too of the the rank of a AGM so that the mention of Sharmaji could be avoided. His excitement from this discovery wasn't a thing that would subside soon.

The security guard opened the door to the cabin saying “badey saab ne bheja hai”. Sanjay tip toed into the cabin when the AGM asked why was he there and how he knew Sharmaji. Sanjay calmly apologised and told the truth that Sikkaji liked very much for the candid confession. Asking him to sit down, he browsed over the CV. Sanjay could see a sign of brightening in his eyes and face. He said, “So Mr. Sanjay, you have passed out from the same college that I have. When would you like to join?”. He thanked him saying it was the biggest joy that humanity could offer to a technically qualified jobless person. The fear of being judged or rejected slowly gave away to an elated confidence But then, the trick that clicked, was killing him and, without caring much about the vulnerabilities, asked Sikka who Sharmaji was if he didn't mind. With a big laugh he said, “He's the owner of the firm”.

So, that added Sanjay to the list of likes of Sharmaji whose reference would bring charms and joy to the empty coffers of a jobless.

Quirky Legends:

AGM	Assistant General Manager
aloo	Potato in Hindi
aloo paranthas	Fried chapatis stuffed with a layer of mashed potatoes and spices
Badey	Elder in Hindi
bheja	Sent in Hindi for example, he's sent me. Bheja can also mean brain
Chhotey	Younger in Hindi
PCO	Public Call Office – a place from where telephone calls could be made on payment operated either by the telephone company or a private player
paranthas	Fried chapatis
Punju	A Punjabee commonly referred to as
saab	High official or respectful reference to an official