Due to Jamshedpur blog moderation issue, the due credit for actual content submitter is not getting flashed and hence I am writing this prelude to give due acknowledgment to actual writer of content Mr. Santosh Ojha for the same. Here goes his views on how he learnt some bengali in Jamshedpur.

I had no choice but to learn Bengali. I grew up in a suburb of Jamshedpur- Sonari West- where nearly 85% of our neighbors on our street were Bengalis. So I grew up listening to the language, from the domestic help to the shopkeepers, street vendors and all the odd-job men. Despite Jamshedpur being in Bihar then (Jharkhand came into being decades later) we, the Hindi/ Bhojpuri speaking family were considered a bit of a curiosity in the area! The neighboring Jetha Moshai, Kaku, Pishi, Boudi and everyone else would speak to us in Bengali assuming that we were all fluent in the language. Thinking back now, I suspect, despite knowing that we were not fluent in the language they would speak to us in their language anyway. The best concession they would make is the addition of some token Hindi to their Bangla. Like: “Ai chheley, tum amaar janno bazaar sey dim kinega?” (will you buy some eggs from the market for me?). “Nishchoi, Jetha Moshai”. (of course, Uncle).

So, did I have a choice but not to learn the basics of Bangla?

Not that I minded learning the language. In fact, I took it rather seriously and decided to learn how to read and write in Bengali as well. I obtained for myself the basic kindergarten equivalent text book and practiced writing the rounded, sensuously shaped characters. I would also occasionally borrow from our neighbours a kiddies magazine called “Shuktara” and would read up the comic strip “Handa Bhonda” is nothing else. Does the magazine (and the strip) still exist?

Sometimes my Hindi upbringing would get the better of me and I would read Bengali the Hindi way! One example which I still remember was the name of a house close to ours. It was called “Usha Tara”, and I would read it as “Ddesha Tara”, the “oo” in Bengali having a close resemblance to the Hindi D! Also the complicated “juktakshars” (conjugated alphabet) spook me even now despite my valiant attempts to master them!

There were opportunities to read Bengali aplenty. Starting from the political graffiti on the walls of the houses (Kangres ke bhot din- vote for Congress), to the shop signages (Joi Ma Tara Stationery Shop), to the wedding reception (bou bhaat) cards which would be received pretty frequently. One quaint line which found an invariable mention in these cards I still remember is “potrer dwaara trutir marjjina koriben”. Sometimes even the annaprashan (mukhey bhaat) cards would find their way to our household. I remember a mukhey bhaat invite from a neighbour which was actually a B&W picture of the poor cereal-starved kid with his face smeared in kajol. And the bold headline, which was actually an invite from the kid, saying, “Ami bhaat khabo”.

Talking about Bengali wedding receptions, these were something I looked forward to. The reason: the gorgeous food. Right from the slice of lemon (lemu) to the loochi, thick and sweetish chholar daal, maachh (fish) and mangsho (mutton). Climaxing with mishti doi and rosogollas. That was the era prior to the perfunctory buffets now so much in vogue. One actually sat down on sheet metal chairs while the food was served on leaf plates (pattals) hot from the kitchen. One would enter pandal and signages saying amish and niramish would welcome you. I would naturally head to the amish (non-vegetarian) section salivating at the thought of the heavenly mutton cooked in mustard oil!

Living where we were it was but natural that we would whole-heartedly participate in the Durga Puja celebrations. The excitement of waking up pre-dawn on the Mahalaya day and listening to Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s sonorous Chandi Path crackling through our Murphy radio set. The joy of buying new clothes, one set for each of the three main days of the Puja (that was also the annual shopping for clothes for us). Going around the Pujo pandals with friends. The gorgeous Khichudi Moha Prosad served for lunch (you had to buy “tokens” in advance for these). The booming dhaak and the evening arati dance competitions. And then came Bijoya (Dashmi) when we would visit our Bengali neighbours, touch the elders’ feet (the elders between themselves would do kola-koli) and have lots of mehidanaa and sondesh. And yes, ghugni too along with some loochi)!

And the jatras! For those uninitiated, Jatra is an open-air theater derived from folk traditions. It does not employ any props and relies solely on melodramatic story lines enacted even more melodramatically. Actors enter the stage through the audience seated all around the stage. The musicians sit around the periphery of the stage albeit at a level below the stage playing loud music, tabla, harmonium etc; the music reaching a crescendo when some heightened action happened on the stage. Jatra, in short, was theatre at its most theatrical. And I would love it. The anticipation would start building up well before the Pujas with cycle rikshwas going around the locality announcing the name, date and the timing of the Jatra which climaxed into the final reminder on the day of the Jatra. “Bhulben na bodhu gon, aaj rat, dash ghatikay…..” etc. etc. The Jatra would be held in an enclosure next to the Puja pandal and we would go there equipped with a sweater or a shawl in case it got chilly late in the night. I have spent many a Puja weeping along with the plight the tragic hero would get into and the woes of the wronged heroine. Sapan Kumar and Sapna Kumari were a popular pair those days!

My knowledge of Bangla (if I may call my frugal repertoire Bangla words “knowledge”) these days surfaces at some very unexpected places. Like the time when I had an animated chat with the owner of an “Indian” restaurant in North Holland. (“Indian” is a descriptor of convenience for restaurants serving South Asian cuisine outside India. These are typically run by Pakistanis and mostly by Bangaldeshis.) After more than a week hearing Dutch, it was such joy to be able to speak with someone in a language so familiar. Besides, of course, the joy of eating roti and sabzi and daal.

I will end this piece with a little story about how my knowledge of Bangla earned me an eternally grateful acquaintance. Many years ago, when I was first began living in Bangalore in the early period of my career, I would visit the panwallah next to where I stayed to get my day’s quota of cigarettes. One morning, I saw from afar a gentleman in an animated discussion with my friend, the panwallah. Obviously the customer was not able to get his point across much to the chagrin of the pan-wallah who had many other customers to attend to. When I reached close I realized that the customer was a Bengali -a tourist from Kolkata. He was gesticulating wildly and nearly shouting, “Mouri hai? Mouri hai? Sheer desperation then, “Mouri, MOURI!” The poor panwallah had no clue what Mouri was. I decided to intervene and clarified that the out-of-towner was asking for some saunf, as simple as that!

I still remember the joy on the customers face on getting his request across! And the hug he nearly gave me for saving the day for him!

From opportunistic sleeping escapades to admonishing overtures to get what he was initially promised with; Guruji is running from pillar to post to don the political captaincy of Jharkhand just like an insecure lover’s last ditch to marry his princess. After all, in the unforgiving uncertainties of growing age and politics, one doesn’t dare to wait till tomorrow. But, why is Guruji being singled out? Jharkhand has been a breeding ground for politically ambitious souls. The contenders from Bollywood, Bureaucracy, Corporate and Underworld may look like daydreamers, but all their hopes to make it big, surely count on the successful logics from the Jharkhandi past. Great things happen here by fluke and, the Jharkhandi fluke repeats itself.
It is not only the ‘ignited minds’ of JMM which aim to bite more than they can chew; the so called disciplined political outfit BJP hosts many Gurujis. The race has begun to find a star that will cut Suman Mahato’s dream run short. And, Jamshedpur is again the laboratory, which initiated the real apolitical mix into Jharkhandi political arena through examples of Nitish Bharadwaj (the Sri Krishna of the Mahabharata fame) and Rushi Modi (Ex. MD Tata Steel).

For the BJP ticket, the names which are making the rounds include Amitabh Chaudhary, Prabhat Sinha and Sadhu Mahato. With aspirations to make an entry to the highest podium of democracy, do these gentlemen really profess any credentials to support their candidature in terms of understanding the plight of the masses, political pedigree and knowledge of ground realities? So, it is imperative to examine their own raison d’être to envisage a candidature for themselves. Mr. Chaudhary banks on his self-declared outstanding tenure as SP of Jamshedpur. Mr. Sinha assumes that he was the only General Manager of Tata Steel with a difference, and Mr. Mahato thinks he earns enough credits because of his surname and the ideological shift he made from Congress to BJP in the eleventh hour to grab the party ticket.

A low down on their activities in the recent past offers the reality bites. The last professional achievement for Mr. Chaudhari was Surendra Bangaali- the dreaded criminal around 11 years back. After that, it has been allegations of blackmailing of tickets in the ODI between India and England, and falling out with his own Chief Secretary not for issues related to the welfare of the state, but for the impending threat Mr. P.P. Sharma was becoming to his duty free run with the JCA (Jharkhand Cricket Association) crown. The inordinate delay in his allegations against the Chief Secretary and the timing, do smell rat. The manhandling of a senior judge by his wife’s bodyguards only added value to his dubious portfolio. Discussing Prabhat Sinha makes one argue his claim to fame. People know him as the man who engineered an otherwise unknown Parimal Nathwani’s election to Rajya Sabha. He enjoys a far too superior track record as power broker for Nathwani and for the Reliance Empire than his performance as General Manager with Tata Steel and for the people of Jamshedpur. For Mr. Mahato, scores of criminal charges against him make him another of those politicians who think, only a judicial conviction can question their morality. Inner voices and public opinion are all Greek to them.

For any Jharkhandi, who is not living on either Mars or Venus for the last one year; this self promoted group of ‘A few good men’ reminds one of unadulterated opportunism to cash in on the awfully underperforming Suman Mahato to build their own political castle. So, after decades of toiling and crisscrossing through the geographies of the tribal land; Guruji’s gestures are nowhere farfetched by the traditional stretch of political imagination. Unlike his other apolitical counterparts he has decades of hardship, humiliations, and methodical fights through ground zero to his credit. If this troika can dream of Delhi, Guruji deserves to aim high. We may ridicule him, but let’s not ridicule his ambitions. Yeh dil maange more!

XLRI alumnus Abhijit Bhaduri is ready with his second book that will hit the stores sometime in September.

Abhijit’s first book Mediocre But Arrogant (2005) was a bestseller and he may hit the jackpot again with Married But Available (2008).

The book is a sequel to the first one, that ended with the main protagonist, Abbey, and his mates in management studies getting placements. Abbey gets through the firm, Balwanpur Industries.

The sequel starts with an alumni meet of students of a premier management school, where Abbey talks of his life at Balwanpur Industries.

Married But Available deals with the trails and tribulations of the first 10 years of Abbey’s corporate life, where he is left struggling between his personal agendas and professional issues. Abbey’s situation is doubly hard as he is the first MBA from a premier institute to work in the fictitous Balwanpur Industries.

A graduate in economics from Delhi University, Abhijit came to XLRI to study personnel management in industrial relations in 1984.

“Lately, there have been many books published by B-school pass outs. Most deal with campus experiences. I thought of taking it a step further and writing about the corporate world beyond the classroom. Writing and sharing experiences is my hobby and I love doing it,” said the Gurgaon-based author to The Telegraph over the phone.

Bhaduri’s books also prove that you can take the student out of the course, but not course out of the student. The abbreviation of both his books happen to be “MBA”, proving that he has not forgotten his “cherished days” in Jamshedpur.

“Jamshedpur has its own charm. Apart from my institution, I like Jubilee Park, Dalma lake where I used to hang out a lot,” he signs off.

She sings Bhojpuri folk songs in Akashvani, Jamshedpur. Her efforts to bring poor children to the social mainstream have won kudos from several quarters. She also teaches.

Meet 54-year-old Jyotsna Asthana, a teacher of Jhanda Singh Middle School (JSMS) in Mango, who will be felicitated at a function in New Delhi on September 5 for her contribution to education.

Asthana, who is currently on deputation at Sakchi sub-divisional jail for teaching undertrials and convicts, received the award confirmation letter today. “I am really glad. I thank those who encouraged me in the field of education,” Asthana told The Telegraph.

Asthana is satisfied with what she’s doing at the jail. “I started teaching in jail in 2003. Initially, the inmates wondered how a middle school teacher would prepare them for school finals. But my patience has paid off. Now, they take their studies seriously.”

Asthana came to Jamshedpur from Bihar after marrying S.K. Asthana, now a retired government officer. Asthana said she was indebted to her father, N.B. Verma, an advocate, who inspired her to become a social worker.

Imtiaz Ali, the long-haired, dreamy-eyed director who rocked audiences with his Jab We Met last year, has something in common with Madhavan, Simone Singh, Priyanka Chopra and Tanushree Dutta. Yeah, they’re all serious eye-candy. But that apart, they all come from a city where Bollywood is considered more than a little infra dig.

Jamshedpur, a gleaming engineering oasis in the jungle of Bihar (now Jharkand), is a place where youngsters are traditionally bred to be managers and engineers courtesy leading institutes like NIT and XLRI. This is the town that Jamshetji Tata built, whose spotless roads denizens claim you can eat off (we’d take that with a pinch of salt). Most people here work for Tata affiliates TISCO and TELCO, and everyone knows everyone else. Jamshedpur has the highest per capita income in the country and is the only town whose municipality is governed by a corporate house. And then with all this, it has a serious flaw: it nurtures excellence and creativity and then presses the eject button.

The strange imbalance between an excellent school education and the absence of good colleges forces Jamshedpur’s denizens to sever the umbilical cord with their birthplace in their late teens. Imtiaz Ali’s passion for theatre drove him to Delhi; Madhavan walked the beaten path by taking a degree in engineering but veered to cinema. Simone Singh flew the nest early because her parents moved. “It was an idyllic existence that allowed you the leisure to look out the window and dream a lot,” she smiles. “My husband laughs because I still recall the flavour of the meatballs and hamburgers I ate at Beldih Club in my childhood.”

Imtiaz points out that Jamshedpur is a small place that offers an enriched lifestyle (three golf courses, six swimming pools, billiards centres) and spawns talent but is walled in by a culture that does not allow for much interaction with the outside world. Summer Of 2007’s screenwriter Bijesh Jayarajan, the newest Bollywoodian to emerge from Jamshedpur, feels the Tatas have taken care of everything except perhaps ambition. “There are few opportunities for progress,” he says.

Madhavan explains the indifference to films here: though the “imperial culture” of the city is “in a class of its own”, this translates into few cinema halls “so a career in films is not a highly rated option”. Simone recalls that Beldih screened only English films; Tanushree remembers watching just four films during her growing years—Henna, Hum Aapke Hain Koun,Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Virasat. “Seeing films was not encouraged at all,” she says. “Only when my parents were away was I able to watch English films on TV. Later, once we moved to Pune, I mustered the courage to tell them that I wanted to join the glamour industry.” Having bred their parenting skills in a place like Jamshedpur, they were “shell-shocked”. Little wonder then that Tanushree is a rare Miss India contestant to emerge from this town. Imtiaz believes he is the first Hindi film director from Jamshedpur.
In Mumbai, the tribe comprising former schoolmates and basketball rivals meet occasionally, carrying forward a childhood bond forged over inter-school basketball games and “bird-watching”. They appreciate one another’s achievements whole-heartedly—the pitched rivalry between the highbrow Loyola students and the down-to-earth DBMS (Dabba Bartan Manjhnewala School, as the uncharitable joke goes) has evidently blurred in the struggle to make it outside Jamshedpur.

For a town that has no natives, for they all migrate after retirement, its once-denizens harbour a fierce loyalty, talking of ‘Jampot’ with much warmth and affection. Interestingly, Imtiaz, Madhavan, Tanushree, Simone and Bijesh are all polite to a fault, even in their phone messages. Tanushree laughs and describes it as an effect of the “hellishly strict” schools in the town.

This upbringing has inspired confidence in Imtiaz who says he holds no prejudice in life save one. “If two equally qualified people came to work for me and one was from Jamshedpur, I would choose him over the other,” he says. “Simply because I know he will be hard-working and will know how to talk to people.”

If Supratim Dutta’s family is to be believed, it was only the 23-year-old’s incredible will power and trust in the almighty that helped him survive the ordeal of being impaled with a five-feet-long iron angle. But the young IT specialist’s troubles are not fully over yet, say doctors.

Seven of his vital organs suffered serious damage in the accident and it will be a few months before he can lead a normal life again. “He is a fighter. Right after the accident, with the angle still inside him, he called his friends and us for help. He did not lose consciousness even once. It was all because of his strong will and urge to live. Tolerating such severe pain for almost two hours is extraordinary. Though the doctors are doing everything to ensure his full recovery, he is still under observation. They are not clear how much time it will take for him to get back to normal,” said Supratim’s father, Sukumar Dutta.

After his surgery, despite being in acute pain, Supratim tried to cheer his family by cracking jokes and inquiring about the media coverage of his accident. “Even when we were all crying, he was laughing. The way he is recovering is commendable. He is a young guy who always worked towards his goals but never forgot to enjoy himself. After the surgery when a doctor asked him how he was feeling, he said, ‘I just have a sore throat,’” said Supratim’s cousin Sandeep Kumar.

Sukumar recalled the time he moved to Delhi from Jamshedpur with his son in 2002. “We came to Delhi in 2002. My wife and daughter joined us in 2004. Though I always knew that my son was brilliant, confident and courageous, his maturity and iron-will is unbelievable,” said the proud father.

Added Sandeep: “For the last few days he has been smiling despite his agony. He is the most loved among his friends, family and colleagues. Recently, while talking to me, he told me about his plans to change jobs and further his career. Though he had resigned from HCL, the company has been very supportive and is paying for his treatment.” But money is not the only thing Supratim needs right now. “We are trying not to remind him about the accident. We all are now waiting for him to recover and cherish the new life he has got,” said Sukumar.

jamshedpur. tatanagar, jampot. my residence this summer has been given various names but the asian birthplace of iron is only done justice by the title “city of steel”.

ranchi & jamshedpur are 80 km apart as the crow flies, 131 km by road and miles and miles of mazy motion as the river subarnarekha flows. even though i’m biased as a ranchiite, it’s hard not to like jamshedpur at first glance. the two major towns of the state make for an interesting comparison, and a national parallel can be drawn with new delhi & mumbai.

ranchi is the seat of power in all forms: political, religious, cultural. jamshedpur, on the other hand, excels commercially as the industrial heart of a minerally gifted state. take the rail connectivity for instance: while ranchi has better connectivity through rajdhanis and shatabdis, tatanagar station is ultimately superior in size and maintenance.

the best part about jamshedpur is the charming surroundings. as a walk in the telco colony will show, this place seems to be stuck in a 70s time warp: broad leafy avenues, snow white padminis, company clubs and kaiser bungalows. against the usual steel & glass structures, the town is representative of an urban vision that’s years old yet refreshingly original. its continued existence is proof enough of its success.

talking about infrastructure, it’s probably the largest such town in india operating without a municipality. yet the roads are butter smooth, power in uninterrupted and water can be drunk straight off the tap. i don’t know of any other indian city that has an industry right smack in the middle and residential areas in the suburbs; it’s usually the other way around. the verdant greenery foresting the entire city makes you forget the presence of heavily polluting industries. this high quality of life comes despite, and not because, of the government. there’s a lesson here somewhere.

it’s not only the commerce and the infrastructure which rival the best metros. the cosmopolitan character of the town comes as jamshedpur’s biggest surprise. people from all over india have flocked to work at this mecca over the past hundred years and this reflects in the daily encounters with the residents. for example, the local version of breakfast is idli-dosa and the dialect in office is an intriguing blend of bhojpuri and bengali. with tata steel and tata motors swallowing corus and daewoo trucks respectively, how much time till the civic makeup turns international?

in a town where the electricity, water, buses and even salt comes from the tatas, it’s no surprise that i’m currently undergoing training in a tata group company. short of living with the graduate engineer trainees (which i was prevented from), i don’t see how closer my life can imitate that of a tata motors employee: i do the same jobs, eat at the same hostel and work the same hours.

like all of my bitian classmates, the similarity of the menu in their hostel mess came as a shocker. it’s almost as if the cooks read our minds when they heated the dinner’s custard to precisely the same temperature. atleast i now know why tata motors is designated a dream company for campus placements at bit mesra: it’s the feeling of homecoming.