A Different Honeymoon

“Honey!” she said tenderly as she entwined her slender fingers into mine. “Tell me, no, where are we going for the honey moon?” Like many other young, dreamy-eyed couples waiting desperately to tie the knot, we were at the sea beach locked in each other’s arms, while eagerly counting days to the big event and the honeymoon to follow.  Naturally, we wanted to plan it all very carefully in every detail--- especially, in view of my finances not being exactly encouraging, I had to make all my lavish plans very cautiously.  “Tell me, Dear, where would YOU like to go for the honeymoon?” I countered benignly while keeping my fingers crossed and heaved a big sigh of relief when she opted, thank God, for Gulmarg in Kashmir and not some exotic place like Rome or Honolulu! However, all the same I was in real hot soup. For, with my wallet nearly empty, I knew I’d have to either rob the nearest bank or shock my future wife on the eve of her marriage by revealing the truth about my current financial status.

                In such difficult situations, I usually turned to my friend, philosopher and guide, Simon D’Souza, a very resourceful soul, who always had ready solutions for all sticky problems in life. But, when I asked him for a small loan, the guy gave me a big sermon. “First of all” he said “Remember all girls are little starry-eyed and have their own lofty, romantic ideas about honeymoon and if you spoil them for her, then you had it for the rest of your life. So, be considerate to your wife’s wishes; it’s better to have a short and cheap honeymoon than no honeymoon at all, though a very long one runs the risk of being too boring. Honeymoon is like the anesthesia that a surgeon uses to protect you from pain and fear during a basically scary and risky operation that, we know, in the long run is for your own good. It does not have to be a grand seven day package tour of Europe or the Orient. One can enjoy it even if it’s just a weekend in a small, seaside cottage in Alibag! These days, you can rent a shabby, little room or cottage at a cheap rate with bed, breakfast and a sumptuous Malwani meal with spicy, fish curry. After all, what else does one need for a decent honeymoon but a little privacy and solitude to get to know each other better and enjoy some much needed togetherness? You will be surprised how much love you can pack into a weekend, not far from your home! ”   

  

      So, finally, we decided on the two cities of Bangalore and Mysore as our honeymoon destinations. With cash gifts we were certain to get at the wedding, I thought, we might just as well manage to ‘break-even’ in this enterprise. Now, all that remained was to convince my much disheartened fiancée that this was a small compromise one would have to make for the sake of some quality time to share alone with your beloved; moreover, Kashmir was not cancelled for good, but only postponed to brighter times in the future. Besides, was it not true that our entire life was going to be just one, big, prolonged honeymoon! Though reluctant at first, Kumud finally gave in to my entreaties. The next part of the battle was to make my father-in-law agree to delete the “No-Gifts-Please” notification from the invitation cards!!  While making the hotel reservations, I was particular to let them know that we were a newly married couple on our honeymoon, hoping against hope that they might just as well offer some promotional concession like “a free, extra night  for the cost of two”!    

***************** x ******************

              After the Wedding Reception was over, we returned late in the night to Kumud’s parent’s place in Dadar. While everyone was keen on unwrapping and seeing the various gifts we had received, I for one was eagerly waiting to savor the ‘best wedding gift from God’! However, I was given to understand that there would be no filmy style ‘Suhag Raat’ with the bashful bride walking in with a glass of milk and the groom gently raising the ‘Ghungat’ to reveal the beautiful face that would launch a thousand ship etc.  For one thing, they don’t make brides bashful anymore and for another, my mother-in-law had already decreed that a proper ‘safe distance’ had to be maintained at all costs between the main protagonists until some Puja or some such thing was performed the next morning. In any case, with half a dozen guests floating around in the house, what possibly can a newly married couple accomplish within the confines of a 1-BHK flat in Mumbai, except stealing some meaningful glances at each other? But, my father-in-law, Capt. Rao must have been a real romantic in his own younger days, else he wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths as to make arrangements for us in the neighbor’s vacant flat. Before we had returned from the marriage hall, one enterprising brother-in-law of mine had already got the flat done up and the bed decked up with flowers and spray of an exotic perfume! Somewhere deep down in my mind, I felt very happy at the prospect of what was going to be a very memorable night. As we bid goodnight to everyone and were about to leave, Kumud asked her brother for the keys to the flat and suddenly, he turned pale like a ghost! In his excitement, it seems, he had pulled the doors shut behind him leaving the keys inside. The way of man is not in his own hands. For, man proposes but, God disposes.      

                                           ********** x **********

            We were about to take off on our honeymoon completely oblivious of what was in store for us during the next ten happiest days of our life. Ajit, the youngest of my four brother-in-laws, who was only eleven years old then, had fetched the taxi for us and had firmly settled himself in the back-seat waiting for his dear ‘Babyakka’ in the happy misconception that he too was coming with us to Bangalore. My father-in-law was already in the front-seat and as Kumud got into the back of the car, her grandmother, entered through the other door with a small airbag in her hand and sat smugly next to her favorite granddaughter. In a slightly hushed tone, I asked my wife, “Don’t tell me, your grandmother is also coming with us to Mysore!”  “Don’t be silly!” said Kumud, a little amused. “We are just dropping her home on our way at Grant Road.”

“Oh, I see! I thought your mother was sending her as your chaperone.”

The taxi was full and Sardarji, the driver started the ignition. I was still standing on the footpath with a bag in my hand and when they were about to embark, I shouted almost in panic, “Hey! Wait a minute. How can you go on this trip without me? It takes two to make a honeymoon, you know.”

                When we landed at Victoria Terminus, our train was about to leave. In the hurly burly of loading the luggage, locating our seats, saying ‘good bye’ and so on, no one had noticed that Kumud’s youngest brother, Ajit had gone missing. Lo, there was panic again and everyone started looking around for him and found him sitting calmly next to a smiling young man who, I thought, I had met somewhere very recently. Ajit, however, was refusing to budge from his seat as he was firm in his resolve to accompany us all the way to Bangaluru! But, Kumud somehow managed to convince him and succeeded in cajoling him to go home “like a good boy” but only after he had elicited a promise from her that we would definitely take him along the next time. God, I thought, the lady was making promises for the next honeymoon when even the first one was still nowhere in sight! 

              The young man in front of me was still smiling sheepishly at me. “Don’t you remember me?” he said at last. “I am Raja Ketkar, Sheelu Srinivasan’s fiancé. We had met other day at your Wedding, remember? ….. So, going for honeymoon, are you? Where’re you going by the way, Mysore or Ooty?  These days, every Tom, Dick and Harry goes to Mysore. Can’t blame them, you know. It’s the only place middle-class people like us can afford. I am also getting married next month and both of you must surely come, please.” Then, after a slight pause, as if he had remembered something important he winked at me and added, “One more thing. Please don’t forget what you promised me the other day. We will keep in touch, okay? ” Luckily, the train soon picked up speed and the guy started dozing in his seat. Kumud, who was waiting impatiently for just such an opportunity asked me what it, was that I had promised him. I told her I had no idea, but, whatever it was it was I was not going to oblige.

************ x ***********

                It was just early dawn when our train chugged into the sleepy town of Bangalore, with birds chirping and cocks crowing somewhere in the far distance; only a few horse-driven carts, called Tongas and milk vendors riding on bicycles could be seen on the roads. After coming out of the railway station, we hired a Tonga to go to Hotel Woodlands. At the check-in counter, we had a surprise waiting for us; someone had already booked one room for us two days earlier! Just as I was wondering who could be this mysterious man who had done the favor, a puny little man, probably in his late thirties, came forward with folded hands and a broad grin on his face and said, “I’m Murlidhar Joshi working in your father’s office, National Pharmacies Limited ----I’m working as the manager in their Mysore branch. When I got the letter from ‘boss’ that his son is coming here with wife, I did not wait even one minute and came down here straight to book a room in the best hotel for you. Today, I am what I am only because of your father, Sir. Err …hope you’ll like the room, Sir. I took great care to select the best room for you with a nice view -- you can actually see the backside of Lalit Mahal from your window.” So saying, he picked up our suitcases himself and escorted us to our room with the ‘best view’ which turned out to be the royal cowshed behind the palace, with its all-pervasive aroma of animal poop filling the air! But, the room itself was neat and tidy and esthetically done up with a classic painting of Radha-Krishna in erotic pose hanging on the wall!!

So, some thirty six hours after the wedding, we had found at last some free time and solitude for ourselves. I suddenly felt a whiff of inspiration in the air and I thought it was high time we should at least open and have a cursory look at God’s gift, but, before I could even think of it, there was a light knock on the door and standing there in the doorway was this smart looking bell-boy with an impish smile. “Room Service, Sir” he said and handed us our ‘welcome drink with compliments of Woodland Hotel, “Where would you like your breakfast served, Sir, here or downstairs in the common Dining Hall?”

   After the breakfast, Kumud wanted to take a stroll in the beautiful garden and look at the roses whereas I was of the opinion that we should return to our room and attend to more important things like most honeymooners generally do. But the crux of the problem was that I didn’t know how to broach the subject and where to begin. I took a deep breath and told Kumud, “Let’s go back to our room. There’s something interesting I want to show you”. When we reached the room, Kumud said, “I know what you’re going to show me!  Well, it must be God’s Gift, isn’t it? What is it, anyway?”

       

           “Come, sit here by my side and I will show you, Dear.” I said as I gently pulled her by my side and she slowly sank into the cozy, velvety double-bed. “No, not now --not in broad daylight!” said Kumud in feigned anger rising quickly to her feet. “Well, I only wanted to read a book together with you and for that, we will need some good light, I think.” I said coolly. “What book? You don’t mean that ancient porn, written by Vatsyayana or someone, do you?” she asked me quite seriously and I felt happy that, at least, our conversation was going in the right direction. “Well, it’s a book for newlyweds, ‘How to Be Happy Though Married”. It gives many practical tips for leading a happy married life. Well, you know someone has said that a beautiful girl is also like a good book – once you start reading it, you can’t put it down till you reach the end, when though you may feel bit exhausted, you don’t want to stop because it’s such an exhilarating experience.” Just then, there was a thud on the door and cursing under my breath for this most untimely and not-so-welcome an interruption, I got up and opened the door. 

        It was our ever-smiling friend, Mr. Murlidhar Joshi accompanied this time by his family. “Oh! It’s our great Murli Manohar Joshi! But, what’re you doing here, Mr. Joshi, instead of campaigning for Jan Sangh in Rai Bareilly?” I said welcoming him inside. “No, no!  Not Murli Manohar, it’s just Murlidhar Joshi. Ha, ha! I liked your humorous nature, though. By the way, Sir, this is my wife, Sunita and two children, Rohan and Shakuntala. But, we call her by her pet name, Chingi. Well, we thought you might like to do some sight-seeing today. I can take you round the city, Sir and show you some of the important places of historic interest. My wife said she has also not seen them as yet and so, I thought I will bring them along too. I hope you won’t mind, Sir”

        

       We then roamed in the city seeing Vishwesharaya Technological Museum, Cubbin Park, Lal Baug etc and returned very tired to the hotel late in the evening. We requested Mr. Joshi and his family to join us for dinner, which he readily agreed. After dinner, when we were just enjoying our dessert in the lounge, a short, well-dressed man walked in and started making polite enquiries about food, our well-being and other arrangements in the hotel etc. From his pleasing, sophisticated manners and polite way of speaking, I could rightly guess that he was the hotel manager, Mr. Namboodri. Just as he was leaving, however, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned back and asked me what then seemed like an innocent question: “Mr. Hattangadi, have we not met somewhere before? Yes, I remember now. I think you were here three years back for our hotel’s Silver Jubilee. Right? ” I looked at my wife who was smiling good-naturedly with a slightly amused look on her face, as I coolly replied: “No, not right at all, Mr. Namboodri. I think you’re making a mistake. It must be someone else. This is my first visit to Bangalore, you know.” “No, Mr. Hattanagdi.  I’m sure you were the one. If I am not mistaken, I think, only the madam who was then with you was probably a different person! Because, I think, she was slightly taller and fairer in complexion.” said the manager. A warning bell rang deafeningly in my ears and I realized that I just couldn’t afford to allow this nonsense to continue any longer. I sprang to my feet shouting, “Just, what the hell, are you talking about, Mister? We’re a three-day-old, married couple and we are here in this hotel for our honeymoon and you have the temerity to suggest I was here before with another woman.”  “Yes, Sir. I am quite certain about it. Yes, I remember now. You had with you even your three year old son and one more was expected!”

   Kumud, who was a mute witness to all these goings-on, suddenly got up fuming with rage and walked out in a huff without even a single word. Oh, there goes my Honeymoon, I thought, even before it had started thanks to Mr. Namboodri! “See what you’ve done, Mister? --- Oh, No! Kumud, please wait for me. Please don’t go away leaving me like this.” In a desperate attempt to save my marriage, I ran after her pleading my innocence. I told her that I was shocked myself at the sudden turn of events. “Don’t believe a word of what he’s saying, dear. This guy is either drunk or has gone nuts! I swear I have never seen this man before, nor I have ever been married to any other woman. I have never come to Bangalore before, let alone stay in this hotel. Look, why are you packing your suitcases?  Look, Kumud -----”

            “Stop there, you cheat and double-cross! Don’t you dare even touch me.” shouted Kumud now almost in tears. “I never imagined you being a married man and also a father of two kids! Tomorrow, take me back to Mumbai. I will tell Papa everything. He will teach you a good lesson. He will take you to court for cheating and bigamy and see that you’re punished, neat and proper.” “Please Honey! Why don’t you understand? Obviously, this man, Namboodri is mistaking me for somebody else who, believe me, was not me. Toh mee navhech! ”

                Naturally, I had to spend the whole night shivering on a sofa out there in the lounge. I had no other alternative, until and unless I could furnish some tangible proof about my innocence and bona fides! But, for that, I would have to wait until the next day to meet the root cause of this problem, Mr. Namboodri and sort out the mess with him, once and for all. However, when I met him early next morning, at first he stuck to his story and kept insisting that he had met me in the very same hotel in 1957 and then, as if he had suddenly remembered something, he rushed into his office and returned immediately with a thick album of photographs, taken during the ‘Silver Jubilee’ celebrations. He said he was certain to find at least one photo in there that would prove his stand and indeed after some searching he did produce a photograph, with a victorious smirk on his face. I almost snatched the photograph from his hand, saw it and then ran upstairs straight to show it to my doubting wife. “Just as I told you, Kumud! See, I have been cleared of all the charges. I was telling you it was not me but some other bloke. It was my elder brother, Dada who had stayed here in Woodlands for four days in 1957, along with Vahini and their son, Arun. You see, they had come here to attend our cousin, Medha’s marriage and afterwards, before returning to Mumbai, they had taken a four day break! ”

            

            Having placated my wife and all her doubts about my fidelity allayed, I could breathe a sigh of relief. I even thought the way was now clear for the long pending, Opening of God’s Gift. But, you must have it in your destiny first, else it’s either a flop or postponed again. Presently, someone started banging on the door repeatedly as if the building was on fire! Making a mental note not to forget asking the Manager to provide us with a “Please Do Not Disturb” sign to be hung on the door, I went and opened it. It was Mr. Murlidhar Joshi again who had come with his wife and three year old daughter, Chingi who was crying inconsolably. It seems, she had been throwing tantrums all evening as she wanted to sleep with her favorite Kumudaunty in spite of her parent’s entreaties and all out efforts to the contrary. When she saw Kumud, she calmed down a little and leaped into her open arms. She clung to Kumud like a child clings to her mother and refused to go back with her own parents. We told Joshi’s that it was perfectly alright with us if they let the child sleep with us for the night and soon, Chingi was dancing with joy all over our bed. We had no other go but to give in to the child’s wishes and let her sleep in our bed, comfortably ensconced between the two of us.                   

              

                On the eve of our departure from Mysore, I was just sitting in the balcony turning over in my mind events of the last few days. Right since our wedding, I found that some or other stumbling block kept us away from the unveiling of ‘God’s Wedding Gift’ but, we had not even succeeded in as much as untying the ribbons. The very first night had turned out to be a damp squib because it was ‘No-Go’ till we had official clearance from Lord Satya Narayana (read ‘mother-in-law’).  Next night was a fiasco for want of a latchkey! The third evening, we were travelling in the train to Bangalore in a Three Tier Sleeper coach, comforting myself that, not to worry, we would make up for the lost time during the honeymoon in Bangalore. But, thanks to Mr. Namboodri, on the very first day I got busy extricating myself from an embarrassing situation that resulted in ‘walk-out’ by Kumud and consequent ‘adjournment motion’. I had to spend the night out crouching on a sofa while my better-half slept peacefully inside in a soft, cozy bed! To add injury to the insult, that spoilt little brat, Miss Chingi landed herself next night in our bed literally kicking me out of my rightful place in the process! Next, we were travelling again in a so-called Luxury Bus to our next destination in Mysore. What possibly can one do in the most uncomfortable, reclining seats of an ancient luxury bus except hold hands? Especially, when snoring right behind you there is none other than our ever helping, worthy friend, Mr. Murlidhar Joshi, along with his family! It seems, though posted in Mysore, the poor fellow had come all the way to Bangalore only to ensure personally that we had the most comfortable and enjoyable a stay in Hotel Woodlands. Needless to add, contrary to our great expectations and hopes that we might just yet be left alone to fend for ourselves, Messers Joshi graciously kept us company all through our three day stay in Mysore. They were there with us when we went to see the Mysore Palace and Mysore zoo and when we visited Chamundi Hills, Jaganmohan Palace, Krishnarajsagar Dam and Brindavan Gardens and besides, in the evenings, our little friend, Chingi was there to keep us company, the whole night, in our bed.  Then, to add to my misery, during the last two days Kumud had suddenly gone silent and sullen leaving me wondering if it was due to something I had unintentionally said or done that had caused it or if she was feeling really unwell. After much coaxing and persuasion, she finally came out with the truth; she was feeling terribly homesick and missing her siblings and mother. Naturally, I had to drop all my plans to take a break on our way back home, for two days at Lonavala or Matheran, where we could have one last ‘go’ with God’s Gift. For some, the honeymoon phase ends with that first trip, for some others it lasts for a couple of years and for people like us, it is still on after so many years ---- still sweet like honey though waxes and wanes like moon, sometimes.       

              ************ x ************

“Hello, this is Raja Ketkar. So, how did it go, Vasant?  I mean your   honeymoon.”

“Well, it was fine while it lasted. When is yours, by the way? ”

“Very soon, I think. We're getting married next week. Both of you

must come, okay?  Now, it’s time for you to keep your promise.”

“What promise did I make? I don’t remember”

“Well, you had told me you will give me some practical tips and  notes after returning from your honeymoon.”

“Oh, did I promise that? But, I don’t know, if my notes will be of    any help.”

“Why? “

“ Our honeymoon was different! ”

-------- ooooooo --------

Three Close Shaves

               Laboratories are dangerous places and accidents, big or small, are common in most of them all over the world. More often than not, they store dangerous chemicals, strong acids, toxins, highly inflammable materials, high voltage devices, radiation sources or powerful lasers etc. With constant use and familiarity, one tends to become careless about their dangerous potential and hazards with the result that accidents sometimes occur in the lab as if they were just waiting to happen. Many a time, these are mostly minor accidents resulting in only the burning of an eyebrow, scalding of the skin or a broken limb, but, occasionally they may also prove to be catastrophic with lifelong injuries or sometimes even fatal with loss of life. Anyone who has worked in a scientific laboratory has, sometime or the other, either himself fallen a victim in an accident or met someone who has, this author being no exception to the rule. During the initial years of my long carrier in BARC there was a time when I was involved in a spate of accidents in the lab and in spite of my taking utmost care and precautions, there have been at least three occasions on which I have had very close calls in serious accidents but, by Grace of God, I have always managed to scrape through without much serious consequences. All the same, these incidents have left an indelible mark on my mind and now, as I reminisce about them in my twilight days, each time I have relived the harrowing experience as if it had happened only yesterday!  

             Sometime after joining BARC (then known as AEET), I was assigned as technical assistant to a young Englishman, Mr. C.B.G Taylor, who was a visiting technical expert from England come to help us develop indigenously BF-3 filled, proportional counters for slow neutrons. I remember how I had felt very elated when I was selected for the job as I thought that it was a great opportunity for me to work directly under a foreign expert from whom I could learn such a lot. In fact, I found Mr. Taylor to be a very energetic, knowledgeable person with technical knowhow in many fields such as high vacuum and other techniques; in the course of one or two years, I learnt from him several practical skills ranging from brazing, welding, glass blowing to even operating a lathe machine. Soon, I had come to be regarded as somewhat of a technical expert in vacuum technology with “more vacuum than Physics in his brains”!

              The boron tri-fluoride gas(BF-3) used in our counters is known to be a highly corrosive gas, reacting with almost everything in its wake causing serious damage to various materials it comes in contact with; so, we had to constantly face many technical problems in our work. We had built the gas-filling system for these counters using ‘Pyrex’ or borosilicate glass tubes and stopcocks, which were lubricated with special, “Apiezon-T” grease, as it was known to be free from ill-effects of reaction with BF3 gas. We also had to maintain a high degree of cleanliness in the counters as well as its gas filling system. For this purpose, we would first dip the counter and its parts in a “magic” mixture of strong acids to clean them chemically and then remove all traces of acids and chemicals used by flushing it with plenty of water. Finally, it was followed up by a thorough rinse in ethyl alcohol and ether, which was removed in turn by just allowing it to evaporate in the atmosphere, warming it up, if necessary, to accelerate the process.

          The BF-3 gas required for filling the counters was generated ‘on-line’ in a closed evacuated system, by heating a substance called ‘CaF2-BF3 complex’ to  250-⁰C and freezing the gas so released in a glass ‘thimble’ cooled to sub-zero temperatures with dry ice. I don’t remember all the details; however, the gas produced thus was 97-98 percents pure and adequately suitable for use in our counters. We stored the BF-3 gas produced in a large, spherical glass flask attached to the system.  One day, Mr. Taylor asked me to replace present 3-litre, gas storage flask by a larger one as he felt the storage capacity of our system should be increased.  I was just waiting for such an opportunity to try my newly acquired skills in glass blowing. So, instead of calling a professional glassblower from the Glass Blowing Section, which was what we normally did, I was only too happy to carry out the job myself.

               So, I proceeded to get a new 5-litre, spherical, glass bulb from the Stores, which I cleaned  thoroughly using our standard cleaning procedure for glass by giving a dip in chromic-acid, followed by washes in water, alcohol and ether. I knew very well that the latter two solvents were highly inflammable and so, I took all necessary precautions to get rid of all traces of the perilous vapors from the bulb – or, at least, so I thought at the time -- by warming the glass bulb all over its surface using a broad ‘brush-flame’, while allowing a tiny, little flame to burn merrily at the end of the nozzle. When the tiny flame refused to light up anymore, I guessed, all the dangerous vapors inside had been completely expelled from the bulb.  However, I was wrong and soon discovered to my horror that my plans had failed miserably! For, as soon as I applied the torch flame to the nozzle tube to cut it to required length and started pulling out the molten glass, it got ‘sealed-off’ momentarily and the lingering vapors inside suddenly burst into a narrow jet of a flame and like a space rocket leaving its launching pad, the huge bulb took off with a loud, shrill roar hurtling itself straight upwards into the empty space above my head.  I stood there like a dumb dunce gaping in awe at the rising bulb and the live demonstration of the principle of Jet Propulsion at work!  As the bulb hit the ceiling, it must have got deflected a little on the return path, because it did not land bang on my vulnerable head as expected, but, luckily, it had missed the target and landed a few inches from me!!  Naturally, the gas filling system, made mostly of glass, was partly damaged and it took several weeks of repairs and reconstruction before we could get back into business.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

            I did not have to wait for more than even two months for my next nerve shattering, near-death experience.  As already mentioned, we were using lots of strong acids and other highly inflammable solvents like ethyl alcohol and ether etc. for chemical cleaning of glass and other components and so, mainly for reasons of safety, we stored all our major stock of hazardous materials in large drums in a small store room at the backside of our lab, while for daily use, we kept some of the oft-needed solvents in smaller, one-liter bottles kept on a wooden shelf above the wash basin. When I found one day our ether bottles nearly empty, I immediately got down to the business of getting them re-filled. So, I went to our backroom to get some ether in a large glass beaker and started pouring it out straight into smaller bottles. Now, it so happened, that morning I had done some glass blowing work on our filling system to carry out some minor repairs. During the repair work, I would often leave the gas torch on the table, when not needed, with its flame reduced to a safe, smallest size. This was our normal practice, but, we would put off the flame in the end after finishing all the work in hand. But, that particular day, I had forgotten to put off the flame, as it had completely escaped my mind until after it was too late! I remembered about it only after the ether vapors hanging around in the airtight, AC room had suddenly caught fire and a bright flare of fire had leaped across the room through a distance of about eight feet! Before I knew what was happening, the flare had whizzed past me through under my right arm straight into the glass beaker held in my left hand! The inflammable liquid in the beaker had instantly turned into a huge “ball of fire” and I instinctively let go of both, the beaker and the bottle. They dropped down to the ground and were shattered into small pieces with the burning liquid spreading all over the floor! I was standing near the entrance door, which was just next to the wash basin and I realized to my utter dismay that I had got myself trapped in the small room with a deadly fire raging all around me! I shouted for help, but no one came as it was lunch time and the lab was almost deserted.

             I noticed then that the burning liquid on the floor was spreading out, slowly but surely, towards the back room, where we had kept our entire stock of inflammables! I knew at once that if I didn’t take some drastic steps, I was heading for a great disaster!! Again, I shouted for help; the help did arrive this time, though it was of little avail. Someone tried to push open the door, but, when trying to enter he was accosted by raging flames and had to retreat immediately. I knew then that I was on my own! I had to do something or whatever it took to quench the fire myself or at least, keep it from spreading further into the backroom. The only source of water in the room was a set of taps located near the wash basin, which was itself immersed in fire. What a pity, we didn’t even have a fire extinguisher in the room, the only ones available being kept at the security desk, near the main entrance! I looked hopelessly at the flames, which were now reaching out to almost the height of the false ceiling, which I hoped was made of some fire-proof material. Therefore, without giving it a second thought, I removed my lab-coat and began thrashing out the flames with it like a mad man. Within minutes, thank God, the fire was brought under control and before long it had simmered down to naught!    

* * * * * * * * * * * *

          The last but not the least shocking of my three “narrow escapes” occurred within six months of my marriage. My wife was already in the family way and expecting our first child. In those early days of marriage, my place of work was at TIFR in Colaba though there were occasions when I had to visit Trombay for some work or the other.  It was during one such regular visit that I found myself quite free early in the day having finished my work in Trombay and so, having nothing else to do, I decided to return to work in Colaba taking some public transport rather than wait for our office bus, which was scheduled to leave not before noon. It was raining fairly heavily since morning and I was just debating in my mind whether to proceed to Colaba or just call it a day and go home to give wife a pleasant surprise. As I was waiting at the bus-stop, there suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, a Bombay Telephones van which came to a halt right in front of me. The driver asked if anyone wanted a ‘lift’ to Colaba and immediately several men from the queue scrambled into the back of the van while I hopped into the front-seat, next to the driver. With the rains lashing out since morning, the roads had become quite wet and slippery. Soon after, when not even two minutes had passed since boarding, the driver tried to negotiate a sharp turn in the road, when our speeding vehicle skidded with a loud screech, jumped the road divider and landed straight into a three feet deep ditch on the other side of the road, all this in a jiffy!  Everyone in the van screamed out in unison as the vehicle suddenly turned turtle and came to a dead halt three feet below the ground level!                  
                   One by one, we crawled out of the overturned vehicle as it stood majestically, like a true yogi standing on his head, in the middle of filthy mire and dirty water! By now, a crowd had gathered around us to witness our sorry plight while some among them came forward to help us clamber out of the ditch. Thank God, we all had such a miraculous escape with only some minor bruises to show. I had a small scratch myself on my left leg that was bleeding slightly. A good Samaritan in the crowd came forward to give me ‘first aid’. He took out a match box from his pocket and taking a pinch of the Phospherous on its striking face, rubbed it vigorously on my leg and the bleeding stopped instantly. I took the next bus and went home happily as if nothing untoward had ever happened. On reaching home, it was my wife who first noticed that my brand new umbrella had changed its shape into a veritable, inverted ‘U’ when it dawned upon me that the poor umbrella, which had silently borne the brunt of the impact, had been my real savior! The latent, internal injuries made their presence felt the next day. For the next fifteen days, I was confined to bed with a badly swollen left leg!!  

        Two days later, my boss sent his P.A to my residence to make anxious, if discreet, inquiries regarding my unfortunate accident because, to his utter confusion, he had learnt from our Transport Officer that no official vehicle, whether bus, car or of any other form, had ever been involved in any major or minor road accident in the recent past! Naturally!!                                                                           

Old Man and the Tea

                     I  looked at my watch as I alighted from the auto rickshaw and realized that I had just about twenty minutes left before the banks closed down for the day.  As everyone knows, the banks work only for ‘half-day’ on Saturdays and so, close all transactions by 11:00 a.m. and today, of all the days, I was short of money and wanted urgently to draw some cash before the bank pulled its shutters down. So, I was almost sprinting along the footpath wending my way through Virar’s Weekly Bazaar crowds, when suddenly I bumped into this grand old man, who was standing there at the curb looking like a forlorn, lost kid. I had never seen him before in all my life. With his frail, outstretched hands he seemed to be desperately trying to catch attention of some passer-by. He was probably in his early eighties and perhaps, all he was asking for was some help in crossing the road and hence looking for a Good Samaritan like me to escort him through the busy traffic. Dressed in an old, tattered pair of dark blue jeans with a light blue shirt, tucked-in haphazardly, a ruffled scarf around the neck and a rumpled pea cap on the head he looked every inch like a rugged, old seaman, but it was the blank look in his deep, blue eyes that betrayed the inner sadness in his heart. When I was just a few feet from him, I could make out what he was muttering in his soft, deep voice: “Can someone help me, please? God will bless you if you help this poor, old man.” When I was very near him, I stopped in my tracks and asked him how I could help him. However, before he could reply, thinking that all he wanted was to safely cross the street, I took his right hand in mine and started to lead him by his arm; his palm was soft to the touch like silk, quite warm and affectionate. No sooner than I had offered my hand, he had gripped it like a small, insecure child afraid that his dad may just go away leaving him alone, bereft of his usual, protective cover. The two senior citizens then stepped out in glory, literally, hand-in-hand.

                   The old man’s face was suddenly lit up brightly. “Oh, thank you so much, son and God Bless you!  You see, I just want to go to Vithal Mandir on the other side of the road. I go there regularly every morning, you know, to listen to Vazebuva’s kirtan, they say it absolves you from all sins you committed in life in your younger days; but, as for me it’s a good old-age pastime, you see? ” he said winking with a mischievous smile on his wrinkled face.  “Can you guess my age?  I’ve crossed seventy five already and I can hardly see because of this wretched cataract in my eyes. In my father’s time, a cataract operation would cost no more than two thousand rupees, but, My God, everything is so expensive these days; now, it costs a fortune --- thirty thousand rupees for each eye! Which fellow like me will ever afford it? ”

              I was just a silly clerk in the post office, but, I have managed to give the best of education to my two sons. They’re now both well settled in the U.S. --- one is a computer engineer working for Microsoft and the other teaching Applied Physics or something like that in M.I.T. Both are married and have children, who think Virar is a very dirty, old, shanty place. Well, can’t blame them. But, they’re all happy and that’s what matters. What more can you ask for? …………. It’s almost two years now since my wife went “off”. Poor girl, all through her life she suffered trying to make the two ends meet. But, she was always in a hurry, way ahead of others and I was exact opposite: always slow and unsteady! She’s gone now and I’m still here, fending for myself! Ha, ha, ha!! ” Then, for one full minute he was silent and I could see a lonely tear welling up in his deep, sunken eyes.

                “Oh, where are we now, near Eskay’s?  Ah, well, there’s a small wayside tea-shop here somewhere; I think it’s called Shankar Vilas Café. Have you ever gone in there and tried their Elaichi Chai. No? Then, it’s time you did. I tell you, if you try it once, you will never be the same man again. It is so good and stimulating -- simply out of this world! I can promise you that, like me, you’ll also come back again every day! Just try one cup and see for yourself, No? ”.  So saying, he stopped at the tea stall and before I could even ask to be excused as it was really getting late, he had placed an order for two “cuttings” (or half-full cups, in local lingo) of their special, ‘Elaichi’ tea.  I glanced at my watch through the corner of my eyes and found to my horror that there were just seven minutes left for the bank to close.                                            .

               I think you should also try their ‘Jumbo Vadapao’ once. It’s so delicious and filling. I am going to order one for myself. How about you? Just have one. No? Okay. Okay, as you please! You seem to be in particular hurry today. What’s the matter, a date with a girl friend or what?  Hey, don’t you worry; I am not coming in your way ---- One Jumbo Vadapao, please.” I was too worried about the bank closing time to bother about the old man’s silly chatter. I asked for the bill and as I took out my wallet to pay, he said “Oh, you have paid already! I would have paid, no? Anyway, never mind, there’s always a next time. All the same, thank you very much, son and God bless you! ”.

              After making the payment, I looked around for the old man, but, he was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity. “Oh, where did that old man go all of a sudden?” I asked no one in particular “He was saying he wanted to go to Vithal Mandir. It is still some distance from here and how will go there? He was saying he is visually impaired because of his cataract.”

               “Don’t worry, Uncle. He will manage to find his own way. He always does.” said the tea vendor knowingly and smiled benignly!  

Story of a Polonium Spill

          When I read the Headlines in Times of India this morning, “Plot thickens, Sunanda Murdered, say cops” my mind went back to my early days in AEET (or Atomic Energy Establishment, Trombay, as BARC was then known by its maiden name). For, the news item clearly said that the police suspected Sunanda Pushkar to be killed and in a rare case of Polonium poisoning, the only two known cases in recent history being that of the Soviet spy, Alexander Litvienko, who was given the lethal dose mixed with his tea and the Palestanian leader, Yasser Arafat, whose personal effects were found showing high levels of radioactivity.  First of all, I wondered, how could the murderer, whoever it was, could ever lay his hands on even a few micrograms of Polonium, as it was a highly ‘classified’ material accessible to only a privileged few in research laboratories, not only because it is a deadly poison worse than cyanides, but also, because it is highly radioactive. Hence, it would be the last choice of a potential murderer as it would leave behind an unmistakable trail of high ‘activity’ leading easily to the culprit. Even in a nuclear research lab like ours, we did not have easy access to Polonium; for calibrating our charged particle detectors, we were told to use Americium-241 or Uranium-235 as  the alpha particle source because they were considered to be more “safe” than the deadly Polonium.  

         Suddenly, old memories surfaced in my mind of an old incident of a Polonium spill that had occurred in our lab, way back in 1965, when I was working in the BF-3 Counters section, then situated in the new TIFR building at Colaba.  I had hardly reached the office that morning and was walking towards my lab, when I was suddenly accosted on the way by an unusually irate, Dr. Ramanna, to whom I was reporting in those days. He seemed to be very much upset about something and in a very unusual angry mood.  “Just what is going on here, I say?” he thundered on seeing me. For a moment, I was too stunned to react; for, I had absolutely no idea of what I had done to deserve such a pleasant welcome by the boss. “What happened, Sir?” I ventured at last albeit a bit nervously. “You are asking me! Go up there and see for yourself --- your whole area has been cordoned off as a HIGH RADIATION zone!  If there’s been any mishap in the lab involving radioactive material, why wasn’t I informed about it?” said Dr. Ramanna as we both entered the lab. It was true; the whole area did appear as if it was ransacked by someone with tools and other things scattered helter-skelter all over the place. Standing upright everywhere were those typical, red barrier-posts with the yellow, striped streamers hanging in-between them and the usual, red ‘skull and crossed bones’ signs displaying the warning message: ‘DANGER! KEEP OFF’. The entire scene really looked so ghastly and scaring that, no wonder, Dr. Ramanna was so shocked and upset.

“Sorry, Sir.  I really don’t know anything about this, I swear!” I said rather timidly “When we left this place last evening, everything seemed so normal and okay. Something must have happened later on.  Oh, here comes Dande! If you like, you can ask him, Sir.” By then, my colleague, Mr. Dande had also arrived and he confirmed that the place was indeed immaculately “clean and clear” the previous day and he too had no idea as to what could have happened during the night that would explain the obvious, radioactive contamination in the area. “Well, then go to the Health Physicists and ask them; they will know for sure.” so said our still exasperated, but by now a bit calmed-down boss.  

            It was only after we had a talk with Mr. Jumboonathan, the local Health Physicist at TIFR, that we came to know of what had actually happened the previous night. Well, there was this fair, tall and handsome Punjabi boy who had joined the Radiochemistry Lab. only about a year back. He was one Dev Anand (obviously not his real name, but, a close look-alike of the celebrity) a jolly,  nice, amiable fellow constantly wearing a friendly smile on his face, who would invariably stop to greet and shake hands with you every time you crossed his path. In his work, he was sincere and hard-working, often working late into the night. No one really knew the nature of his work, but apparently, he was handling Polonium, because on the previous night he had accidentally tripped a vial containing the Polonium solution on his work-table. Naturally, he had panicked at first, but he had tried to salvage the situation by immediately trying to put the spilt solution back into its container, as best as he could. He had then proceeded to clean the table by scrubbing it thoroughly with a piece of cloth and some tissue papers, all of which he had carefully put in a large plastic bag for proper later disposal and sealed it neatly with a ‘sticky’ tape. Having thus cleaned the place to his utmost satisfaction, he had washed his hands for some five minutes with a detergent soap and water. Then, he looked at his watch and rushed towards the canteen lest he miss his dinner before it closed for the day.  After the food, he remembered that he had to return the multi-meter, which he had earlier borrowed from Mr. Dande. So, he went to his lab to fetch the meter and went to our room to carefully place it back in our tools cupboard in exactly the same place from where had taken it before. Then, later on, while he was just recollecting in his mind all the ‘horrible’ events of the day, it just occurred to him that although he did wash both his hands before very thoroughly, he should check them just once in the ‘Hands’ Monitor to confirm that they had no residual “activity” left on them. However, the moment he inserted both his palms into the Monitor, to his horror it just went beserk, chattering away like a mini-machine gun telling him that he was “hot” like a radium source!

           Naturally panicked and scared stiff, he ran next door to the Health Physicist who pulled him up at first for not reporting to him immediately after the event and then after a while, coolly asked him to take him around the building to all those places he had visited after the spill. With his portable monitor, he had then meticulously scanned all over the area and collected the various items he had handled. For, like King Midas, Mr. Anand had now been blessed with a magic touch that turned everything he touched into a radioactive source. Thus, he had found that some ‘used’ dishes, plates and glasses in the canteen, a water faucet in the washing room, some small screwdrivers and a pair of pliers, the door handle of the tools-cupboard and our multi-meter had all become radioactive and now, they were all lying majestically on the table-top below a sheet of polyethylene, awaiting their turn for getting ‘decontaminated’. Next, Mr. Anand himself was ‘quarantined’ and kept under observation for about a week in a special room in the J.J. Hospital. Luckily for him, Anand had not shown any signs of radiation effects either on his body or in his general health.

            We didn’t hear much about Anand after the above episode. He had now been transferred to Trombay and was working in the Technical Physics Division at the South Site.  Meanwhile, I had also shifted to Trombay and joined the Fission Physics Section in the Apsara Reactor building. Then, one day I saw Mr. Anand having lunch in the canteen with his colleagues. Suddenly in the middle of his lunch a person came running to him and told him something that made him nearly jump in his seat and then immediately, without even finishing his lunch,  he got up and hurriedly left the place with the errand boy in tow and a very worried look on his face. On making concerned inquiries I learnt from his friends, that Mr. Anand was apparently carrying out some experiment before coming for lunch; he was heating some solution on the gas burner, about which he had cleanly forgotten until the man came running to inform him of a small explosion that had just taken place in his lab. Luckily, the fire had been extinguished by someone before much damage was done to the equipment or property. It seems there were some other hazardous chemicals too lying there on the table and it was just fortunate that some passer-by had spotted the fire in time and raised an alarm, or else the results would have been even more disastrous. 

            On hearing about the near-fatal accident, Dr. Phadke, who was Anand’s boss sitting in the Old Yacht Club at Colaba, rushed down to Trombay to make discreet enquiries, first hand.  All along the way to Trombay, Dr. Phadke was thinking about the young, budding scientist from Training School who, he had thought, showed such great promise. However, the young man though he appeared to be so conscientious, sincere and hard-working, had shown an uncanny knack of getting into trouble. Was he really accident prone or just plain clumsy or foolhardy and reckless in his work?  How does one explain this syndrome -- was it due to too much stress, over-anxiety or was it just a bad case of an old habit of doing things carelessly and hurriedly? He was too baffled to find a plausible answer to his own question. When he reached Trombay, however, he lost his cool the moment he saw Mr. Anand and just couldn’t help bursting out: “What’s this, young man?” he said. “ I find you’re always in some kind of soup or other! Enough is enough. These accidents are taking place once too often. Only three months back, you had spread Polonium all over the town and now this! I thought you had learnt your lesson and would be more careful henceforth. But, no, every other day you come up with yet another accident more serious than the previous one. Just imagine, you could have blown up this whole place today!” Poor Mr. Anand just stood there silently, hanging his head down in shame and remorse as the tears welled up in his eyes.  

            Next day, the newspapers carried on the front page the shocking story of a young, thirty year old, Indian scientist who had ended his precious life by jumping down from the third floor balcony. He was staying as a paying guest with an aged Parsee couple who had reported the matter to the police and it seems, the hapless youth, who was married only recently, was leaving behind his young bride of twenty one years. When Dr. Homi Bhabha learnt about the sad news, he postponed his flight to Geneva where he was scheduled to attend an IAEA meeting the next day. When he met Dr. Phadke later that day, he chided him for having scolded Anand over the mishap; while it was right to have cautioned him and ask him to be more responsible henceforth, it was the ‘timing’ of the reprimand that was all wrong. He could have just waited a few days for things to cool down a bit before giving him a piece of mind and elderly advice. “From what you’ve just told me about this young fellow, it appears he was serious, devoted and conscientious about his work and so, in all probability, he was already feeling somewhat guilty and sorry for what had happened. In such a state of mind and extreme dejection, what he needed most from his group leader was perhaps a word reassurance and encouragement. When your man has success you’re ready to share the credits. If one can’t rise to the occasion at such times of dire need for support and show one’s qualities of leadership, then when will one ever do it? ”

            PS:  I must add here that, only two days later, on 24^th January, 1966, Dr. Homi Bhabha met his own tragic end in a plane crash on Mont. Blanc in the French Alps and India lost forever her most illustrious scientist and a great leader of men.