3. The Buzzer

The shrill cry of the buzzer jolted Arumugam from his seat. The short-lived nap and the exciting dream were snuffed out instantly by the prolonged ring of the buzzer.

The ringing of the buzzer sounded like the simultaneous humming of a million bees. The spectre of  several thousand mosquitoes singing in chorus while whirling around the ear might describe it better, felt Arumugam.

The ringing of the buzzer was unbearable to him. He despised his Manager who frequently activated the demon by pressing  the button of the buzzer and pumped a torrent of noise in his head. Perhaps, the placement of the button was so convenient to make pressing it a favorite pastime for him!

Armugam had no choice except to dance to its tune, if one can call the cacophony a tune. After all, he was a peon in the office who should respond to the ringing of the buzzer and attend to the needs of the person pressing it.

He had a stool for his seat outside the Manager's cabin. And right over his head was the abominable instrument.

He had seen and heard various kinds of buzzers and calling bells in different offices and homes. They were of varied types ranging from the musical types playing pleasing tunes to those spurting out husky and hoarse tones. But the one in his office emitting such a ghastly noise appeared to have been specially ordered for him!

Rrrrrrr......

The damned buzzer again! It was hardly ten seconds since it rang the last time. It was his mistake to have not barged into the Manager's cabin immediately after the buzzer rang. The ruthless Manager won't grant him even a few seconds to respond and struck again with the deadly device.

Perhaps that despicable instrument was deliberately positioned right over his head only to ensure that he (the peon) would respond to its call instantly and rush in, without even a few seconds' delay.

"Yes, sir"

"....Oh...Why did I call you?...Ah....Well.....Where is that KMV file? I have been searching for it for the past half an hour."

"It's here sir. Right on your table." He picked up the file and handed it to the Manager.

"Oh...I see...Ok, ok....You may go now."

Arumugam beat a relieved retreat and was almost out of the room, when the buzzer shrieked again. 

Unable to bear the impact of the noise on his nerves, he instantaneously pulled himself back into his room, almost jumping in. 

He felt a powerless rage surging through his entire body at his Manager's insensitivity in activating the buzzer again even before he could make his exit.

"Sir...?"

"Ah....  What's it? ... Why did I call you?....Wait..Wait....Yes..Send Panchapakesan in."

As he came out, Arumugam was cursing his fate for the umpteenth time. 

'What sort of a job is this? Whenever the Manager wants to call someone in, he summons me by pressing the deadly buzzer and asks me to send that person in. Why couldn't he summon everyone directly by pressing the particular buzzer that could be placed above the individual's head?'

He wondered how it would be if the Manager were to call Panchapakesan, the Accountant, directly by sounding a buzzer situated on the wall behind his desk. 

The thought of Panchapakesan getting jolted out of his seat on hearing the buzzer pounding him from behind with its shrill voice made Arumugam laugh aloud.

After sending Panchapakesan to the Manager's room, Arumugam returned to his seat. Even while being seated on the stool, he was constantly daunted by the prospect of the buzzer giving out an explosive cry any time.

The Manager's stenographer Shakuntala was seated very near Arumugam. She must also be finding the cacophony of the buzzer intensely annoying. He wondered how she seemed to be totally unaffected by this.

Rrrrr.....

Arumugam almost tumbled down from his seat. A revolutionary idea of imposing a ceiling on the number of times the buzzer could be pressed per day germinated in his mind. 

As he turned towards the Manager's cabin,  he looked at Shakuntala. She didn't even move her attention from the typewriter. Why didn't the noise disturb her?

Perhaps the buzzer annoyed only him because it was targeted only at him. Why should others be annoyed when they knew that they were immune to its assault?

By responding to the cries of the buzzer and answering its summons, he had become a slave of that mechanical (or was it electrical?) device, he mused. The buzzer, not the Manager, was his real boss! He had become its errand boy and was being terrorized by its call. Oh, what a life he was living!

A funny thought occurred to him: 

He is sitting inside the Manager's cabin and the Manager is sitting on his stool. 

Arumugam presses the buzzer and rattled by the battle cry of the deadly buzzer, the manager rushes in and says, 'Yes, sir.' 

Arumugam is deeply engrossed in a file and does not notice the Manager coming in and standing before him and pretends to be searching for a paper in the heap of papers accumulated on his table.

With his pen supporting his jaw (another sign of his deep thinking!), he presses the buzzer again. The Manager standing unnoticed before him, unable to stand its cry (though coming from outside the room) jumps like a toy activated by the turning of its key.

Rrrrrr....

Arumugam jumped like a doll activated by the sudden turning of its key.

Arumugam had retired from his job last week. Till his retirement, he remained only a peon. His fantasizing a role reversal had remained just a fantasy. Even on the last day, he danced to the wild tune of the devilish buzzer.

The Manager was still there. Another man had been posted in Arumugam's place to answer the Manager's call. 

But his replacement was lucky. His ear drum seemed to have had a filter to tone down the shrill cries of the buzzer. He was a little deaf.

Perhaps, the buzzer in his office was designed to be effective for people with hearing deficiency as well. No wonder, it had the effect of rattling normal persons like Arumugam.

Though his dreams had remained in the domain of dreams, he enjoyed the pleasure of living with his dreams. 

Perhaps, if there was another birth, he could exchange places with his Manager and relish the sight of the Manger answering the buzzer pressed by him. 

Didn't the Law of Karma say so? He was not sure. In any case, the idea of next birth appeared intangible.

Arumugam reluctantly opened the compound gate of the house and stepped in. He proceeded to the door, looked for the calling bell and pressed it.

Oh God! The horrendous shrill released by the calling bell was no less insufferable than the noise delivered by the buzzer he was used to in the office he had worked.

He heard the creaking of a sofa inside and imagined the person who was sitting there. The memories of the innumerable occasions of his jumping from his seat flashed in his mental screen for a while. He could not suppress his smile.

The door was opened and the figure of his ex-Manager appeared in the door-frame. "What Arumugam? What has brought you here?"

"Nothing, sir. I was just passing by this road. Seeing your house, I thought I would just drop in and pay my respects to you. Good bye, sir."

Without waiting for the response of his host, Arumugam turned back and walked with a feeling of immense satisfaction. After all, he didn't have to wait till his next birth!

(Written in the year 1978)

4. Delusions shortlived

2. Stray Incidents

2. Stray Incidents

As he woke up from sleep in the morning, Balakrishnan's eyes involuntarily reached the portrait of 'Ambaal' (the Mother Goddess) that was hung on the opposite wall and then shifted to the clock on the adjoining wall.  

It was exactly 6 am. This 6 o' clock rendezvous had become a routine for the past many years.

As his eyes habitually moved down and sighted the calendar hanging beneath the clock and read the date as the 24th, he sensed an uncomfortable feeling rising from the depth of his mind. Unable to immediately place the source of that feeling, he got up from the bed and walked up to the door to pick up the daily newspaper that would have been slipped under the door by the newspaper boy even before the dawn. But he couldn't find the newspaper there.

He paused to think. 'The boy would always deliver the paper by 5.30 am. What has happened today?' At that moment, his memory came alive and discovered the secret of the uncomfortable feeling that was pricking him. 'My God! Today is the 24th and today, there's a Bandh*!'

Balakrishnan was instantly gripped by a feeling of helplessness. Because of the Bandh, his daily routine would be crippled for the day. Getting food would be a major problem.

He thought of first refreshing himself with a cup of Coffee and then deciding on his plans for the day. Then it occurred to him that no milk would be delivered for the day. The State-owned Milk Supply corporation had already announced that it would be suspending the supply of milk on the day of the Bandh. This was the consequence of some of its delivery vans getting damaged in the violence that erupted during the previous Bandh.

Balakrishnan had not come across any private milk vendor in that area. Whether technology and development had made life more comfortable or not, they had definitely destroyed the systems prevailing since long, he mused.

He lit the stove, boiled the water and prepared coffee decoction. As he drank it raw, having no milk to add and his diabetic state not allowing addition of sugar, he felt refreshed by the friendly aroma of coffee, though tasting bitter.

Having nothing else to do, not even having the newspaper to read, he lay down on the cot. His idle mind started generating many a stray thought.

'It is pathetic to live alone in old age. But I am not living alone. I live with my daughter and her family. Since she has gone on an excursion with her family at the expense of her husband's employer, the Government of India, I have to be alone in this house for a few days.

'The rules of the government don't permit me to enjoy the leave travel facility provided to my son-in-law. Well, the government regulations could have shown some consideration to a retired old man incapable of taking care of himself and living with his only daughter! 

'But even if the rules had permitted, could I have been able to join the tour? The list of diseases with which I am said to have been afflicted runs longer than the list of medicines prescribed by the doctor!'

Then he thought of his grand daughter. 

'My dear Deepti! (What a name? They say this is a modern name. I wanted her to be named Maheswari after 'Ambal.' But they won't settle for such old fashioned names!) What will she be doing now? Where will they be today? Must be in Simla, as per the schedule. Will Deepti be able to withstand the extremely cold climate of that place? Who will tell her bedtime stories and put her to sleep?'

Presently, his thoughts came back to the problem at hand. 

'What will I do for my food today?' Since his daughter's family's departure for the tour, he has been dining at Tirunelveli Mess. 'But will the mess be opened today when there is a Bandh? If it is not open today, then I will have to starve for the day and starve to death, since I can't withstand hunger.'

'How many times did (my wife) Rukmini beseech me to learn to cook some rice at least? I ignored her pleadings due to my complacency and male chauvinism. I thought cooking was entirely a woman's job and it was disgraceful for a man to learn cooking!'

'She has also left me. May be she is standing somewhere in this room mocking at me for having not listened to her. No, she won't. She will only be sympathetic and lamenting my intransigence.'

He decided to take a chance by going to the mess after 10 o' clock and take a nap till then. There was nothing else to do anyway!

It was nine o' clock in the morning when Mathangi alighted from the bus. The bus was stopped somewhere in the outskirts of the city. It was due to the Bandh. 'But should people stop the buses coming from other places from reaching their destinations?' reflected Mathangi indignantly. 

It occurred to her that people who cause troubles and sufferings to other people must be tied to cots infested by bugs. As she relished the feeling that such novel (crazy) ideas occur to her resourceful mind, a smile appeared on her face effortlessly and her agitated feelings were tempered a little.

Since the bus journey was abruptly terminated, she had to walk about two miles to reach her sister's house. There was no other go. Even cycle rickshaws and bullock carts seemed to have gone off the road.

As she observed the plight of her co-passengers who had started walking with great difficulty, carrying their baggage and some their children too, the waves of anger hitting the walls of her mind rose up to a new height. 'People who are responsible for this must be rounded up and...(what punishment would serve them best?)'

Knowing that there was a Bandh, she wouldn't have undertaken the journey at all. Since the bus was to have reached the destination in the early morning, well before 6 am - the time scheduled for the Bandh to begin - she didn't perceive any problem. 

But her assessment had been proved to be wrong. The bus was delayed four hours en route and the poor passengers had to suffer the consequences. She should have known better about the punctuality of the buses run by the State!

But she felt that in a way they were lucky to have been brought so near their destination. The organizers of the Bandh didn't have the heart to allow the bus to complete the remaining couple of miles in the last leg of the journey. But then, if she had been stranded at a far off place, her plight would have been worse.

She started walking, making the mental effort to ignore the increasingly felt effect of the weight of the suitcase she was holding in her hand.

"You know that there is a Bandh today. Don't go out. Your friend's house will not be washed away tonight, especially when there are no rains. You can go there tomorrow."

Ramesh digested the sarcastic exhortaion of his father but looked at him with subdued defiance. 

'How I wish he learns to communicate his views without using his lung power! If he had been a lawyer, he could have achieved success by scoring over his opponent by the sheer power of his stentorian voice. But working in a private firm and forced to submit himself to the whims of his boss without even a murmur of protest driven by the fear of losing his job if he chose to air his opinions, he vents out his pent up feelings on the people in the house!'

"No daddy. I have my Mathematics test tomorrow. We plan to study together."

'I have no alternative to tell a lie. Parents will always fall for the cause of study and only for the cause of study. If I stay home, he will pester me to keep studying throughout the day. If I can't enjoy myself during a day of Bandh when everyone (including my daddy) keeps away from work, I will end up being the most miserable guy in this world!'

"Okay then," relented his father with forced resignation and added, as if to show that he was still in command, "but be careful."

"Can I take the moped along?" asked Ramesh.

The authority that had to be suppressed by the demands of the situation sprang up fiercely and manifested itself in high decibels. 

"I will break your leg if you touch the moped. It is brand new and you are bent upon ruining it!"

"No daady. There are no city buses today and there is no other mode of conveyance..."

"What happened to your bicycle?"

"It got punctured and I left it in the mechanic's shop. The shop won't be open today."

"Why don't you walk, you lazy ass?" shouted his father. And having exhausted all his options, yielded, "Okay, get lost!"

Ramesh didn't lose any time. He vanished with the moped immediately, without even bothering to preen his appearance.

As Balakrishnan was coming closer to the mess, the possibility of the mess being open appeared more and more remote. His apprehension was confirmed when he was able to sight the closed door of the mess. 

The last straw of hope was also blown out into thin air. Yet he walked up to the closed door. 'Is this what called hoping against hope?' he wandered. 

Even as a sense of gloom came over him, he regretted having taken the trouble of walking up such a long distance. Now he had to walk back all the way. If the mess had been opened, walking back after taking food would have been no trouble at all. It could even have been enjoyable with his mind relishing the taste of the just consumed meal.

Resigning to his fate, he turned back and started walking back when he heard the sound of the door opening. Wondering whether he had really heard the sound or it had been only his imagination, he turned his head back. 

He found that the door was opened partially and the face of Narayanan, the Proprietor of the mess appeared like a picture trapped in a frame. He winked at Balakrishnan even as his eyes were cautiously looking around to spot any sign of danger.

"Come in, sir. Quick!" he urged Balakrishnan panickingly. In the next few seconds, Balakrishnan was virtually pulled in and the door was shut.

"What! You are not closed today?" exclaimed Balakrishnan in a voice filled with excitement and relief. His spirits stated rising further as he took in the familiar aroma of Onion Sambar mixed with the signature aroma of other delicious dishes. He was filled with glee when he witnessed a couple of people sitting inside and taking food.

"What if there is a Bandh?" replied Narayanan with a reciprocal feeling of excitement."Shall I let down regular customers like you?" ('Or will he forego a day's income, for that matter?')

Balakrishnan thanked 'Ambal' and Narayanan together and sat down for his lunch.

Mathangi spotted the young man riding the two-wheeler coming towards her. As he came nearer, she realized that he was not a young man but only a boy - a boy of sixteen years.

The burden of her suitcase was pulling her down making it difficult for her to walk. The trick of changing the load from one hand to the other would not work any more, with both hands having been strained to the limit. 

The hands had already sent a notice to her brain threatening to secede from the body if they were not relieved of the load immediately. Her brain was concerned about the situation but was feeling helpless. And hardy half the distance had been covered.

The sight of the boy riding the two-wheeler came as a relief to her, as she considered the prospect of seeking his help. Her highly orthodox upbringing would have normally made the idea of having a ride with a member of the opposite sex totally unacceptable. 

But he was not a man, just a boy, a few years younger to her. So, there was nothing wrong in taking a ride with him, especially when the circumstances would justify it, she thought.

Ramesh was pleasantly surprised when the young lady with a suitcase in her hand stopped him asking for a lift.

"You will drop me at Thandavarayan Street, won't you?" she demanded, rather than asked.

"With pleasure, madam! Please get on the pillion" said Ramesh enthusiastically.

Mathangi would have liked him to have addressed her 'Akka (Elder Sister)' rather than 'madam!'

Balakrishnan found the food much more delicious than usual and helped himself with more, letting go of his self imposed restraint, for once.

As he was sipping the 'Rasam' from the cup, in keeping with his habit, he heard the sound - the sound of the door being pounded impatiently.

Narayanan's reflexes sharpened instantly. Like a cat stiffening its body on sensing danger, his entire body froze for a while. Releasing himself presently, he commanded everyone in a whispering yet authoritative tone. "All of you get up and wash your hands."

He then reluctantly moved towards the door.

Balakrishnan was still weighing the prospect of finishing his cup of 'rasam,' when Narayanan opened the door a little and peeped out.

The door was slammed open from outside and a mob barged in.

"You have the temerity to run your mess stealthily when the entire town is observing a Bandh?"

After hurling this charge at Narayanan, one of  them sought to punish him using his stick.

"Come out you shameless gourmands!" shouted another, at the helpless boarders.

Pandemonium set in amidst a chorus of shouts and attempts to ransack the place, damaging the furniture and interiors in the process.

Balakrishnan started running out in panic. Pointing at him, someone yelled, "There flees the proprietor of this mess. Catch him and teach him a lesson he will remember at the time of the next Bandh."

Balakrishnan cried out, "I am not the proprietor," but his voice was choked by the overwhelming feeling of fear. With panic running high, his blood pressure went up. His cries of protests having got lost in the din and confusion, someone started chasing him and another hurled a stick at him which hit his neck. He tripped at the edge of the pavement outside the mess and fell down on the road.

Emboldened by the lean traffic on the roads and enthused by the pride of carrying a young lady on the pillion of his moped, Ramesh was driving the vehicle faster than usual. 

When he was about to whistle a popular song, he noticed an old man tripping off and falling on the road. The road was narrow and as a disciplined driver, he was driving on the left side of the road. So, he had to steer fast to the right to avoid hitting the old man. 

Turning the steering fast while driving at a high speed, he became nervous and his hands lost their steadiness. The vehicle traced several curves before dashing on a garbage bin and falling down. Mathangi was thrown away due to the impact. With her head hitting on a hard surface, she began to lose her consciousness.

Before Ramesh could recover from the shock, he was encircled by a group of people, most of them part of the gang that ransacked the mess. One of them admonished him. "You have chosen the day of the Bandh to go on a merry round with your girlfriend, you senseless urchin?"

The admonition was followed up with a slap on his face.

Ramesh protested in a choking voice, "Sir, she is my sister."

A smile appeared on Mathangi's face on hearing him referring to her as his sister, even as she was sinking into a deeper state of unconsciousness.

"What is the use of talking to this little boy? Let us set fire to his vehicle!" suggested a man of action. This was enthusiastically endorsed by others.

Gripped by fear, Ramesh started pleading desperately. "Please pardon me, sirs, for coming out on the day of the Bandh. But don't damage my moped. It was bought with the hard earned money of my poor father. For heaven's sake, please show some mercy!"

His pleas became futile.

The fire that engulfed the vehicle seemed to be burning inside him as well. He recalled with agony, his father's words of caution when he asked his permission to take out the vehicle.

Balakrishnan felt like floating on air. His blood driven by rising pressure was hitting his veins forcefully, flooding his heart and making him feel extremely tormented by mixed feelings of pain and dizziness. His thinking became incoherent and it appeared as if all his accumulated memories were being forced out of his mind. The certainty of fast approaching death stunned and totally unnerved him.

'If I am going to die now, there will be no one even to cremate me. How I wish that this happened when my daughter was here! But then, if my daughter had been here, I would not have ventured come to this place in search of food. So, where am I now? Hello, a cup of 'rasam' please!..'

When his last trace of consciousness was leaving him, his grand daughter Deepti appeared on the screen of his mind and asked him, "Tell me Grandpa, how did the prince who was cursed to be a frog become the prince again?"

The lady who appeared on the TV screen to read the evening news was all effervescence in her flamboyant costumes and make up. She began to read the headlines after greeting the listeners with her charming smile, "...Except for a few stray incidents, today's Bandh passed off peacefully..," her smile broadening.

* 'Bandh' meaning 'closure' in the Hindi language refers to a general strike called for by some popular group or political party to force the attention of the people/government on some issue agitating the minds of some people. Though participation in a Bandh is assumed to be voluntary, in practice, closure of establishments and cessation of activities are often imposed by using coercive methods and violence by the organizers and their supporters.

(Written in the year 1989)

3.The Buzzer

1.Men and Machines

1. Men and Machines

The letter received by post looked somewhat unusual. The paper bore a shade of dull white with pale green patches running through the page in stripes of uniform width. The type print was meticulously neat and the get-up was something which I had not seen earlier. (Later on, I came to know that it was a computer print out. No wonder, it appeared unfamiliar for a computer illiterate like me.)

The letter stated:
Dear Sir,
   Re: Your application seeking admission for your son/daughter/ward
On preliminary scrutiny, your application has been rejected for the following reason(s).
................................................................................................................................
Various reasons were listed below in serial order and serial number 7 bore a tick mark made by a pen. The reason cited was:
'The application is incomplete.'

There was no elaboration of this point anywhere below. The letter ended with a rubber stamp of the signature of the principal of the school.

I could not make much of the letter. I decided to meet the principal in person.

There was a long line of visitors outside the principal's room, waiting for an interview with the most important person of the school admission season. 

After an insufferably long wait, my turn came and I was ushered into the Principals room by an assistant. In reality, I was given a not-so-gentle-a push, apparently to deliver a message to me that I was not to take too much of the principal's time, the most precious commodity of the day. 

Silently suffering the humiliation, I entered the room and greeted the principal. While returning the greetings, there was a frown on his face. "Your face looks familiar. Perhaps we have met earlier, not recently though."

"Yes, sir. We have met, in the same room. But it was two years back, in connection with the admission of my elder son. It is good of you to remember meeting me even after two years."

"Well, I remember meeting you all right, but I am unable to recall the meeting itself. Anyway, what can I do for you now?" He turned business-like without wasting further time on pleasantries.

I produced the letter received by me from the school.

He called the peon and got my application taken out.

As he was about to scrutinize it, the phone rang. He handed the application to me and attended to the phone after quickly telling me, "Please check whether any item is left unfilled."

I checked. The form was completely filled in - well, almost completely!

I waited for him to complete his telephone talk.

As he put down the receiver, he asked me "Have you checked?"

"Yes, I have. But I don't think it's incomplete in any manner."

He took back the application from me and after quickly browsing running his finger through the lines, he put his finger on a particular line, turned the application towards me and said in an annoyed tone, "What is this? You have not filled in item number 7."

"Is it essential that I fill it up?"

He looked at me with an expression that showed both surprise and irritation and asked, "What is your problem in filling up that one?"

"There is no problem, of course. But I feel that I needn't answer a question about my caste."

"Well..I  think you have not understood the question correctly. You don't have to mention your caste. It's enough for you to indicate you belong to which category of caste - SC, ST, OBC* or ....    "

"Excuse me, sir!" I interrupted, "My question is why I should answer a question about my caste."

He looked into my eyes for a few seconds. Suddenly, there was a sparkle in his eyes. He said with some excitement, "Now I remember our previous meeting. We have discussed the same issue earlier, haven't we?"

"Yes, sir, you are right. As I told you already, I had met you two years back in connection with the admission of my elder son."

"Now I am able to recall the scene in its entirety. The scene appears in my mind as vividly as a motion picture. At that time also, you had not filled in the information about your caste."

He stopped for a while and closed his eyes, as if replaying the scene on his mind's screen.

My mind also travelled back in time.
*                     *                     *                      *                     *                     *                     *                    *
"Why should I mention my caste?" I protested.

"Well... in case you belong to a caste that is offered some concessions in future, you will be able to claim the benefits only when the caste is specified in the school records." 

The principal sounded more apologetic than convincing.

" But I do not want my son to get any benefit based on his caste. I am fairly well off and I don't see any need for my son to use crutches that may be offered to him by the government, when he is strong enough to stand on his own legs and walk freely. Do you still insist that I mention my caste identity?"

He was not one to give up easily. "Even otherwise, the government may require this information for statistical purposes," he persisted.

I would not yield to him either."The government should be interested in collecting information about people who need concessions. Why should it bother about people who do not want any concessions from the government?"

He gave up ultimately."Ok. I don't think I can convince you on this. I would only like to say that this application was not designed by me. So if you are not happy about this question, don't blame me for posing this question to you!" 

He smiled, attempting to ease the situation.

"I don't intend to blame you, sir. I can understand that you are only playing your role. My grouse is only against the Government. On the one hand, the Government swears by a casteless society and on the other, it does everything to perpetuate the caste system by constantly reminding people of their caste identities, by asking them to spell out their caste in every application whether it is an application for a family card or an explosive license! 

'I am not against the government coming to the help of the oppressed or deprived sections of the society. But everyone who has to fill an application for any service is confronted with the question, 'To which caste do you belong to?' I just don't want to submit myself to this kind of questioning. 

"If I decide that I don't want to seek or avail of any concessions given on the basis of my caste,  I should not be asked to answer questions concerning my caste. Forgive me if I have hurt you. I was just speaking out my mind."

"Not at all," said the principal gracefully." I appreciate your position whether I agree with you or not. Since this is a matter to be disposed of at my level, I will accept the application without insisting on your filling in the information about your caste."

I admired his broad outlook, magnanimous attitude, objective approach and the courage to take a decision using his discretion, and thanked him profusely.
*                     *                       *                      *                      *              It appeared strange and surprising to both of us that we should be discussing the same issue after two years.

"Can I take it that you will maintain the same stand that you took last time?" I asked.

But he looked uncomfortable and even apologetic in his hesitation to respond to my question. When he did, his voice was subdued under the weight of the genuine regret felt by him. " I am sorry but I can't take that stand today."

"Why not?" I asked in a voice that sounded angry, the anger being only a camouflage of disappointment and frustration.

"Did you find anything different about this letter compared to the one you had received last time?"

I looked at the letter once again. Yes, it was different and I had noticed it even at the time of receiving it. But what did that have to do with this issue?

The principal went on to explain. "This time the applications are screened by the computer.The computer will read each and every line and if any line is left blank, it will consider the application incomplete and will refuse to process it. 

"I can take up the application for consideration only after the application passes this scrutiny. As a human being, I can accept your explanation and take it up for consideration. This is what I did last time. But the computer will not accept the application even if there is some insignificant omission. 

"At present, computers don't have the intelligence to use their discretion! So, please understand that I can take up the application for processing only after it is first cleared by the computer. And the computer will not clear your application unless..."

He paused, expecting that I would understand what I should do. I understood what he wanted me to and as I  did, a streak of concern pierced through my mind about the oft-repeated statements by many people about our standing at the threshold of a computer era.

* SC, ST, OBC  etc. are the names of caste groups used by the Government, to denote the different classes to which people belong.

(Written in the year 1988)

2. Stray Incidents