<p>Promotion in government service often entails change of station. Years ago, I had to move from Bombay (as it then was) to Ahmedabad, a virtual exile for a ‘Madrasi’. Tickled by the prospect of a new place, I rejected all ‘advice’ to seek a change. My father had consulted an astrologer for the most auspicious date for me to travel and my railway ticket was booked well in advance. I would go alone, find suitable accommodation and return to take the family.<br /><br />After ‘handing over’ charge at Bombay, I could avail ‘joining time’ before taking over at Ahmedabad. I decided to hand over to a colleague on the afternoon of my departure in order to use the entire joining time at Ahmedabad. My office would complete the paper work by then.<br /><br />The appointed day began ominously. News broke, just before noon, of a national leader’s demise. Announcement of holiday due any moment, pandemonium ensued as people started leaving office in droves. My staff were gone before I realised it, locking the forms store, leaving the paper work to me. Where do I get the requisite forms? I ran to the office next door. Same exodus again! Lucky for once, I found a person with a form. <br /><br />Clasping it gratefully, I returned to my office, but my colleague had just left. Rushing down three floors, I nabbed him at the entrance and handed over the form signed by me, for necessary action.<br /><br />Taking time to collect my personal papers, I stepped out finally, to find bus services in disarray and queues winding through side streets. Running hither and thither, I found my queue, only to stand still the next hour! All passing cabs had been taken. When one stopped at last, the driver demanded double the fare. Pressed for time, I agreed. My wife and a friend who was to drive me to the station were waiting anxiously at home. Downing a quick meal, I was ready to leave, but my wife couldn’t find the train ticket! One hour left for the train’s departure including half an hour to reach the station, I dumped my things hurriedly in the car and left, not knowing what I would do.<br /><br />Hurrying into the station breathless, I cornered the ticket checker. “I had a reservation to Ahmedabad but misplaced the ticket,” I explained. “Would you let me travel please?” “No.”came the reply. Softened by my persistence, he said, “But you have to buy a new ticket.” I did, and sprinted to the train heaving my luggage weighing a ton as haggling with porters would eat up invaluable time. No sooner had I boarded, the train moved, marking the end of an eminently forgettable, yet ‘auspicious’, day! <br /><br />The next morning, I found myself in Ahmedabad. My wife called up to say she had found the ticket. I didn’t ask where. Confronted with the trials I had endured, the astrologer countered, unfazed. ‘You did reach Ahmedabad in one piece, as planned, after all!’</p>
<p>Promotion in government service often entails change of station. Years ago, I had to move from Bombay (as it then was) to Ahmedabad, a virtual exile for a ‘Madrasi’. Tickled by the prospect of a new place, I rejected all ‘advice’ to seek a change. My father had consulted an astrologer for the most auspicious date for me to travel and my railway ticket was booked well in advance. I would go alone, find suitable accommodation and return to take the family.<br /><br />After ‘handing over’ charge at Bombay, I could avail ‘joining time’ before taking over at Ahmedabad. I decided to hand over to a colleague on the afternoon of my departure in order to use the entire joining time at Ahmedabad. My office would complete the paper work by then.<br /><br />The appointed day began ominously. News broke, just before noon, of a national leader’s demise. Announcement of holiday due any moment, pandemonium ensued as people started leaving office in droves. My staff were gone before I realised it, locking the forms store, leaving the paper work to me. Where do I get the requisite forms? I ran to the office next door. Same exodus again! Lucky for once, I found a person with a form. <br /><br />Clasping it gratefully, I returned to my office, but my colleague had just left. Rushing down three floors, I nabbed him at the entrance and handed over the form signed by me, for necessary action.<br /><br />Taking time to collect my personal papers, I stepped out finally, to find bus services in disarray and queues winding through side streets. Running hither and thither, I found my queue, only to stand still the next hour! All passing cabs had been taken. When one stopped at last, the driver demanded double the fare. Pressed for time, I agreed. My wife and a friend who was to drive me to the station were waiting anxiously at home. Downing a quick meal, I was ready to leave, but my wife couldn’t find the train ticket! One hour left for the train’s departure including half an hour to reach the station, I dumped my things hurriedly in the car and left, not knowing what I would do.<br /><br />Hurrying into the station breathless, I cornered the ticket checker. “I had a reservation to Ahmedabad but misplaced the ticket,” I explained. “Would you let me travel please?” “No.”came the reply. Softened by my persistence, he said, “But you have to buy a new ticket.” I did, and sprinted to the train heaving my luggage weighing a ton as haggling with porters would eat up invaluable time. No sooner had I boarded, the train moved, marking the end of an eminently forgettable, yet ‘auspicious’, day! <br /><br />The next morning, I found myself in Ahmedabad. My wife called up to say she had found the ticket. I didn’t ask where. Confronted with the trials I had endured, the astrologer countered, unfazed. ‘You did reach Ahmedabad in one piece, as planned, after all!’</p>
