The Hindu Business Line : Of workplace goodbyes

Early in the morning, as the office crowds drop out from trains on to platforms and push their way to their Nariman Point offices, the railway officials are busy beautifying their office with paper buntings and balloons. A colour board on the wall announces: "Mr Ke Sara Sara, motorman, retires today after 40 years of service. We wish him the best."

A busy travelling public does not care to note the happiness inscribed on the board though motorman Ke Sara Sara would have driven them from Churchgate to Virar and back many times in his long career. One is not sure whether the railway unions and the management jointly wish their retiring staff a final bye but some of his colleagues clap and wave to the sniffling drip of a few tears. Perhaps, this practice is absent in the Central Railway as never did one notice public farewells for the staff over the 18 years one travelled from Dombivili to V.T.

Ke Sara Sara retired last week, having joined the railways in 1960 and now probably will be watching the locals stop and pass the railway station holding his little granddaughter in his arms; when bored he may be watching Sourav Ganguly ruin Indian cricket on Doordarshan.

Over the last few months, some good friends (of my generation) have quit. Some months ago Vidyadhar Date retired and one met him recently at a traffic junction. He still sports an amused smile condemning every piece of economic reform, being a Leftist who does not flag his ism. In his quiet manner he will dismiss "the Indian bourgeoise" (of which he is a part), sipping tea at the Press Club as he gave up smoking and drinking long ago.

As a journalist trainee in 1970, one recollects being treated warmly by Date, who was a senior by many years. Over many reporting years he developed a taste for Marathi drama and literature and the other day complained to me of his children not having a liking for Marathi. But then friends like Date have little space in modern India with its grand desire for wealth and a few TV bytes. Jacob John belongs to the Date gang and a day ago, Jacob called up from Chennai to say he has retired. "I say, I am over 60," he guffawed over the phone lines.

Jacob and Date are good friends. Jacob quit journalism to become a public relations officer but never did he plant or sell a story. To Kurup and oneself, he is one of the finest in the PR profession. For this writer Jacob has always been something special, with our common base being Kottarakara in Kerala.

In the mood, Jacob turns classical Malayali (pacchha Malayalam) abuse into poetry and there has to be an exchange of insult when we talk as otherwise the conversation is not complete. "So what are you doing in Nungambakkam," one asked and Jacob, prefacing his reply with an abuse, said, "A chotta (small) PR firm. I have some three clients and will be coming to Mumbai. Spare some time for me."

Date, Jacob and this writer belong to the 70s when we also were young. Growing old we are dated, like some antique without much of antique value. It brings alive the lines of Pablo Neruda in Isla Negra: "A man was born/among many/who were born./He lived among many men/who also lived,/and that alone is not so much history/as earth itself,/the central part of Chile, where/vines unwind their green tresses, grapes feed on the light, wine is born from the feet of the people."

Then there is Desai a banker who became a friend travelling in the 5.42 p.m. local to Borivili from Churchgate. About four months ago he made his exit. "From tomorrow I will not have to sign the muster on time. There will be no muster in my life," he told me on the last day. Now one sees him in Borivili in the evenings as he goes around collecting funds from friends for an orphanage in Navi Mumbai. He is one banker who has quit the profession forever.

Retiring is a normal process when one day you drop out sans a salary slip. In the case of my friend Guha, he just walked away. One knew him well working at Chennai. He is well-read and has the rare taste and feel for the English language. He has joined the Ramakrishna Ashram. "Nothing moves without God," he told me over the phone when one asked him on the choice. "For long I have been interested in the Ashram and now it is final," he said. "Will you be writing," I asked. "I will relish good thoughts. Its enough for me to taste a line," he added. Today he does not have a phone at home.

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