The Green In-land letter

This is the story of a sheer coincidence that made sure that I would continue in IRHS ( Indian railways health services) till today. it is worth recounting now, as I think the context of sensitiveness of information is lost after 30 long years.

It is said that ”A man’s destination is not his destiny.”

• Destination is the place for which you buy a ticket before your journey.
• Destiny is the place you arrive ultimately. They may not be the same.

" Take the example of that tragic train accident that had happened in 2023 at the Bahanaga train station of East Coast Railway.

That day a man had bought an AC ticket for Howrah to Chennai and boarded the ill fated train. His destination was a business engagement at Chennai. He never reached that convention hall. Even 4 months after, he still sleeps inside the body bag no 101 kept in an AC morgue at the campus of AIIMS, Bhubaneswar.

His destination was Chennai. His destiny led him to Bhubaneswar.
A man’s destination is not his destiny."

It has happened with each one of us.

After all, A man’s destination is not his destiny.

Exactly 30 years back, on a pleasant February Morning of 1990, I had reported to Dr BAM Railway Hospital at Byculla, Bombay for duty. ( It was still Bombay on those days.)

Only 40 hours before that, I had completed my 3 years Pediatric PG program and had boarded the Konark express. I had cleared the UPSC exams 2 years back. A job was waiting for me. In a youthful frenzy, without any afterthought, I had boarded the train. Just like that. I had only one silly reason for joining the railways. “A free AC pass” to travel all over India. Till that day of my life, I hardly had one or two train journeys. All of them were in the hot and dusty second class. I had never entered a first class coach till that day. I was also super excited of staying in Bombay, the dream city while Railways would foot the bills.

Some times life changing decisions are taken on such petty ideas.

( 1990 had been an extremely good year for me. I had completed my Pediatrics. I had been selected to join the state government of Odisha as well as Indian railways. But most importantly, I had an option to go to US to join my brother at Texas. My elder brother had just joined the Texas University and was feeling extremely lonely. In desperation, he had collected the brochure of Texas Medical School and had offered to sponsor my stay there. I had thought a posting in Bombay will help my passage to US and a career there. But, Railways had a different idea. They promptly turned down my request for a NOC for acquiring an Indian passport. Those were the 90s. Brain drain was big issue. Doctors are not allowed to leave the country easily. )

As I said, 1990 had been an extremely good year for me. That was I thought. But I never knew how wrong was I ? From that February onwards, nothing turned in my favor.

..
In the 90s, Konark Express was the ONLY direct train connecting Bhubaneshwar to Mumbai. It would leave Bhubaneshwar in the afternoon and took almost 40 hours to cover the total distance. That suited me fine as I had my final viva of PG exam in the morning and gave me enough time to pack a back pack for the city of my dreams.

In those days, Fresh MD Pediatric was a rarity in IRMS ( Present IRHS.) And I was probably one of the very few in that hospital on that day ( DCH were plenty though) So I was promptly put in the charge of the Pediatric ward of the zonal hospital. No Baroda, No training, Nothing. I was happy. February is always the best month to be in Mumbai if someone else pays for your stay.

Dr Desai, an Ex-professor of Pediatric, Grant Medical collage was my consultant. Every Wednesday, he would visit us. Every time, after the grand round, we will sit down for a cup of his favorite Tea and we would talk for half an hour. He had fond memories of my eccentric Professor Dr Gopal Das. Dr Gopal Das my teacher was also an alumni of JJ hospital and was renowned as the walking encyclopedia of that campus.

My CMO in central railway ( CMD and PCMDs are yet to appear in railway health services.) was an enthusiastic surgeon who always remained in touch with the OT of the Byculla hospital. No compromise in clinicals. Twice in a week, he would drop in our OT to keep his operating fingers sharp and steady.

One evening, we traveled together in the fast local from Byculla to VT. Both CMO and Admo( on probation) with our hands dangling from the railings overhead and torso swinging rhythmically. We had a heart to heart conversation.
“What is your plan, Mahapatra ?” He asked.
( ?? are you staying or catching the next Konark back to BBS.)
“I’m quite satisfied with the working here. Except that we don’t have a NICU. I would like to establish one.”

“Tch ?” He clicked his tongue.
“It will be much cheaper if we can outsource the newborn services to Bombay Hospital than build a full fledged NICU here. Isn’t it ? Numbers do not make a NICU in Byculla hospital financially viable. What do you think ?” asked he. of course he did not wait for my opinion. He had passed the final judgement on the topic. It suddenly killed the fire of youth that was burning inside my belly then and there.

And I had my first lesson on finances of Railway health care on that day.

..

In spite of all his sympathy and concern, I was transferred by him to Solapur within six months. Because someone at the verge of Retirement and with family obligation had to be accommodated in Mumbai.

I was disillusioned. They didn’t need a NICU in the Paediatric wards of railway hospitals. My passport and Visa applications had been stalled for ever. To add salt to the injury, I had absolutely no work in Solapur divisional hospital in 1990. I had plenty of free time to ruminate over my future. An empty mind is a devil’s workshop.

I absconded.

Yes, within six months of joining the Railway job, I sent a resignation letter to the Railway Board with a condition that I would come back only if I am transferred to my home zone and absconded. This last condition in my resignation letter was an after thought. it certainly was not my idea. I was not mature enough. in fact it was the brain child of one of my colleagues who was two year senior to me and working in the same hospital. He was also alone and pretty depressed like me and was probably contemplating of throwing in a resignation letter for long but did not have the courage to post it.

I could still remember that sultry afternoon when my senior colleague casually dropped the remark,”If you are resigning from Railways anyway, why not attach a condition to it.”

” But I’m not coming back any way. And Why do you think that the mighty railway board should bother to consider my request ? Is it not going against their national integration policy. Any way, it does not matter to me.” I had said vehemently. lately both of us who were accidental victim of this national integration policy had come closer to each other.

“Exactly. If you are not interested, nobody can force you to join. So what is the harm in putting a request for a transfer to your home state in your application?” He had said so casually. Later he went on to became one of the PCMDs.

“Anyway, I am not coming back to join Indian Railways.” So saying I had added the last line to my resignation letter and posted it. the outcome of this application did not matter to me at all on that afternoon. But certainly, it did, as we would see later.

…

Surprisingly back in Odisha, I found myself to be an extremely lonely man. All my friends were now engaged and were too busy to carve out some time for me. no one visited me. I was also embarrassed to drop in someone’s place to listen to his cup of woes. The friendly Cuttack of my childhood had suddenly become a foreign land for me. There I was 28, alone and without any friends, philosopher, guide, without any idea about my future.

As I had said man’s destination is not his destiny. my destination was Cuttack, but my destiny had connived to throw me out of the city of my birth. I had told you that in the 90s, it was the policy of the Government of India was to post every newly appointed central government officers to a place as far from his native place as possible. It was supposed to reflect the all India character of these services. How this policy changed for me is beyond my comprehension. For once, the great Railway Board felt pity on me, considered my prayers for a home state without any solicitations from my side and promptly granted me an inter zonal transfer to my home zone. Why and how, I could never know till today.

Even if I my prayer had been granted, it would have been an one in a million chance that I could know about such a turn of event. I had severed all ties with railways and was sitting in my remote village in Odisha. This was the time when the second part of the miracle happened. A hand written green inland letter stating that I had been transferred to my home zone was delivered to that remote home address. How the hell this could happen remains a mystery for me till this date. Good God ! Can you believe that Indian Railway Board searching out and hand delivering an official intimation in a private letter to an absconding officer ? I presume some sympathetic officer in the massive semi circular building of railway board at the 256-A Raisina road, New Delhi, who also happened to know my village address ( that was itself a miracle) took all the trouble of finding my local address and had dropped a green inland letter.

But that is exactly what had happened in my life and had changed the destiny of my career. This letter which was directed and redirected from Delhi to Solapur and back three times found me in my village exactly at a time when I was extremely willing to leave Cuttack at once.

One sympathetic personnel officer in Delhi, who didn’t even know me, had searched out my address and had dropped a Green Envelope. That a letter addressed to Solapur in Maharashtra could reach a remote village in the distant Odisha in time was a mystery. That it had been redirected three times before that is a part of that miracle. That it reached the right person in the right time is the most miraculous thing that has ever happened to me. I have preserved that piece of paper dated 14.3 91 with me till date. (pic) It only ensured that I would continue in Indian Railway Health Services for the next 35 years of my life despite my reluctance. After all, A man’s destination is not his destiny.

But the letter did find me in my most lonely and depressed phase of life. I immediately boarded the next train for Mumbai. here is a copy.

"A sincere personal officer and a dedicated postal service connived to bring me back into the Railway service."

So I boarded the Konark express for the third time in as many months in 1991 to report to my Chief with a false medical certificate covering my period of absence. Of course, I was taken on duty and taken up for action and was promptly transferred to Bhusaval as a punishment.

I thank two great institutions, the Railway Board and India Post, whose extraordinary gestures put me back into the IRMS fold.

IRHS term has not been coined till then.

Even today, after 35 long years of those eventful days, as I have reached the fag end of my career, I could still remember that sultry afternoon when my senior colleague had casually dropped an innocuous line,” If you are leaving Railways anyway, no harm in putting a condition for your resignation.”

” Why should I ? I’m not coming back any way.” I had said vehemently then.

“Exactly. If you are not interested to come back, what is the matter what happens to your request ?” He had said so casually.

Who would believe that one innocuous letter written in the spur of the moment would decide my career for the next 35 years in spite of my best efforts to escape them ? 35 years is one generation.