Steel city and the Soviets

The passing of Ratan Tata sparked a flurry of social media posts about Jamshedpur, also known as Tatanagar. The city, named after the founders of the steel plant, holds a special place in the hearts of many. For me, however, the memories that came flooding back were not of Tatanagar but of its neighbour, Bokaro Steel City, where I spent my childhood.

Bokaro, located in what is now Jharkhand (previously Bihar), along with Bhilai, Durgapur, and Rourkela, were a few cities in Eastern India that emerged around steel plants in the decades following India's Independence. Jawaharlal Nehru aptly described these cities as "temples of modern India," envisioning them as catalysts for the country's transformation into a self-reliant, industrialised, and modern nation.

Bokaro’s raison d’etre was the steel plant. Bokaro's steel plant was a collaborative effort between India and Russia, inspired by the USSR's industrial prowess. The city was a small, cosmopolitan town where Indians and Russians worked together. My father, an engineer from Bangalore, was one of the many engineers from across India who worked at the plant.

Growing up in Bokaro in the 1970s and 1980s was a unique experience. Without the distraction of television, we spent our days playing outdoors and exploring the city's excellent schools and public libraries. The libraries were treasure troves of books in various genres, including Russian literature translated into English and Hindi.

A fascinating part of growing up in Bokaro was going for the rare film at the Russian Club, a symbol of luxury and glamour in small-town India. It was a swanky building, and at the entrance, there was a bust of Lenin, of whom we knew nothing.  To the left of the Lenin statue was another fascinating room with a big table and bright red balls. I learned much later that it was a billiards table. 

The club screened rare films, and its theatre was equipped with red velvet curtains and a balcony where Russian patrons would sit. It was here that I watched Kannada movies, including Tabarana Kathey, organised by the city's Kannada Sangha.

The theatre premises had a tuck shop. As a child, I thought it was the most mysterious and fascinating place. My friends and I were enchanted with the “golden coin chocolates” there. We had to peel the golden aluminium cover to savour the chocolate. From the shop, we could see Russian women strolling with their babies in prams through the gardens of the Russian Colony.

Today, my memories of Bokaro are all that remain, apart from a tattered English-Russian dictionary that my father used. Recently, I stumbled upon a YouTube video of the Russian Club in its current state—a dilapidated ruin overgrown with plants and shrubs. It serves as a poignant reminder of the transience of time and the fading relics of a bygone era.