THE GOLDEN DAYS

Onboard The Chancellorsville in 1980. At extreme left. 

The year was 1968 and salary offered to a Trainee Driller was a princely sum of Rs. 600 per month. Accommodation was free and Duliajan was a very cosy and well-planned township.

Friends congratulated me profusely for this dream break. Their reaction was expected as the going rates for fresh engineering graduates those days were around Rs. 400. Moreover with any public sector undertaking, one had to sign a bond to work for at least five years! Oil India Limited or OIL as we fondly referred to the organization was not in the public sector. It was, we proudly pointed out, a joint sector company with a 50:50 partnership between Burmah Oil Company of UK and the Government of India.

Many years later, my son, still in high school asked me what my salary was when I started my career. He was probably trying to analyse what would be in store after he completes the rigorous process of education.  He was disappointed at the figure and made a quick mental calculation, “Well, that was not even fifteen dollars! How did you manage to survive?”

“Well” I hurriedly explained, “Indian rupee was a much stronger currency those days, it was four rupees to a dollar!”

He was still not impressed, “Hundred and fifty dollars, hmm, not enough!”

But it was; I can assure you. Four of us budding executives shared a two-bedroom D + bungalow in the area between the hospital and the road running along the market. Our residence faced the road. We had a kanchha taking care of our daily needs. His name was Ramprasad. The monthly expense for food was around Rs. 75 per head. And, let me remind you, we did not live frugally. Our days started with a hefty breakfast, followed by a three to four course lunch, heavy afternoon snacks and dinner replicating the lunch. We did not eat any leftovers.

Being flush with money, I bought a Philips radio after receiving my first pay cheque. Oh, what an excitement it was. Radio Ceylon and Vivid Bharati were at my fingertips. Looking back, I feel rather dismayed that we had no TV, no mobile phones and no internet and still we survived, and survived rather cheerfully. The only hassle was to queue up in front of the post office once every year to renew the radio licence. Yes, a licence from the government was needed to listen to the radio!

A couple of years later, when we moved out of our shared bungalow to our own little abodes, I bought my first stereo. In fact, it was the first stereo marketed in India as claimed by Philips. It had a simple turn table with a switch on one side to adjust the unit to play 78, 45 and 33-1/3 RPM records. There were two wires extending to two little speakers.  The sound of drums dominating one speaker and the instruments the other was a fascinating experience. I remember arranging an impromptu party to celebrate the possession of such a unique product.  Alas, I soon ran out of steam as the recurring expenses of buying records made a large hole in my pocket. Cassette tape recorders where you can record and erase songs were not easily available unless you had a cousin or an uncle in Singapore or New York!

Among all my friends, Pankaj (Barbora) had the privilege of having a four wheeler in his possession. It was a Mahindra jeep assigned to him by the company. Consequently, he was the most sought after person among all the friends. Without him, the trips outside Duliajan were not feasible.  Come December, the entire region would buzz with the most exciting annual event, the “Club Meet”. Every week, a club in the region mostly run by the tea planters and the two Oil companies would invite the members of the other clubs to a fun-filled weekend. We eagerly waited for these events.  However, a driller’s duty hours were not conducive to having fun all the time. Very often, I found myself on night shifts on a club meet night.  Missing the ones at the home turf i.e. Zaloni Club hurt the most.

In the absence of TV or internet, the source of entertainment was a weekly English movie at Duliajan club or an occasional Hindi movie at Basant, outside the township.  On weekends, we would go out to Zaloni, entertain ourselves, return to someone’s house and have fun. The impact of fun often exploded to a high pitched cacophony, which must have reached the peaceful abodes of some young families in the neighbourhood. However, I must acknowledge gratefully that those young families, very sportingly, treated us with an affectionate indulgence.  A few grumpy ones were brushed aside by the others.

However, it was not fun all the way. The work front was tough and pretty demanding. Drilling operations, in particular entailed a lot of physical effort as well as mental alertness.  The first day we were taken to the rig site, we were given a wire brush each, a can of cleaning oil and some cotton wastes. Our first job in the company was to clean the threads of the drill pipes on the rack.

We were flabbergasted! “Why do we have to clean pipe threads? We are qualified engineers with a degree in engineering”. Our trainer was not impressed, “This is what you have to do”, he boomed, “This will teach you the dignity of labour and appreciate the pain, the agony and the emotions of the crew working for you”. And, he was absolutely right, we realized a few months later.  In course of time, we went through the arduous process of working as roustabouts, roughnecks or floor men, top men and graduated to the status of drillers in charge of a shift.  By the time, we took over as full-fledged drillers; we knew the function of each and every member of the crew and could have replaced any of them in any position on the rig.

In retrospect, I can confidently state that the training programme we were exposed to with OIL has been the best in my experience. Later in life, I interacted with several oil companies including the multinationals but never came across a programme as comprehensive as it was in OIL. I sincerely hope that the tradition continues even today.

The day I was asked to take over as a driller in charge of a shift was one of the most gratifying ones in my long career. Life was not easy. I still remember the dreadful rainy nights in winter at a site surrounded by dense jungle, while trying to get the operations going with the help of an exhausted crew.

However, there were lighter moments as well. There was a man in the engineering maintenance team. His name was Rajani. He was very fond of conversing in English, having worked with “gora sahibs” during his early years. One day, I heard an unusual mechanical noise from the engines and almost simultaneously, I saw Rajani huffing and puffing towards me with his hands waving vigorously. He was urging me to suspend operation immediately.  The reason?  He exclaimed, “Number-1 engine phesphes leaking, hose pipe phaating down”. Well, he did covey the message. On another occasion, there was a major breakdown when the drilling supremo, Mr. Harry Hay came to the rig on a routine visit. It was Rajani’s day! He ignored me completely and stood in front of Mr. Hay and said, “Shaft broke in two tukras”. Mr. Hay’s frown turned into a smile!

Winter months were beautiful in Duliajan. The trees lining the streets used to be in full bloom rendering a multi-colour landscape all around. The drive outside the town was very pleasing to the eyes. The road to Tinsukia had lovely green tea gardens on both sides of the road. I do not remember how many times I stopped my car to capture the breath-taking sights in my camera. Alas, there were no digital cameras those days.

Having spent my school days in Digboi, my off-day trips to this neighbouring town was rather frequent. I had plenty of friends in Digboi including Surajit (Dutta), who was my contemporary  in high school. The road to Digboi had dense forest on both sides as well as smallish habitats of very friendly people, who would willingly extend a helping hand in case of a flat tyre or any other break down. However, one particular night, my wife and I were returning from Digboi rather late. Midway through, we felt there was absolutely no traffic on the road. Perplexed, I drove a bit more and discovered the reason. There was a lone elephant standing across the road in majestic elegance blocking traffic movement completely. There were rows of stranded vehicles on either side as if waiting to pay tribute to the jungle king. Apart from an occasional movement of the trunk, the elephant was completely standstill and indifferent to the line-up of vehicles. Discretion being the better part of valour,I quietly reversed my car within the limited space; the road was rather narrow; and drove back to Digboi. From there I took the long route back to Duliajan via Bogapani, Panitola, Tingrai, Makum and Tinsukia. It was well past midnight when we reached our house in Duliajan. Later, I found out that his royal majesty of the jungle decided to lift the blockade at the crack of dawn next morning. This was one of the events my wife and I narrate even today while reminiscing about the good old days!

There are plenty of stories and anecdotes flooding my memory right now. Some of the stories were outright funny when they happened and should normally cheer me up. However, the stern realization that many of the main protagonists of those events are not with us anymore casts a depressing spell on me.  Among them were my close friends, colleagues and mentors. Their absence left a permanent void in my life.

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