LIFE ENGG BEFORE
INDUSTRIAL ENGG
In
Ambala, I learned the Laws of Connection, The Gogias and Khuranas. At S.D.
College, I learned the Laws of Continuity. At PEC, I learned the Laws of
Concealment, The Apples. By the time I graduated, I didn't just have a degree
in Production Engineering; I had a PhD in Life Engineering. Stepping into the
heat of the "Chemical Era." This is where the theory of PEC met the
raw, industrial friction of the 1960s Indian manufacturing sector. I was not
just an engineer; I was a Dual-Processor, running the high-pressure plastics
industry by day and the hospitality hustle by night. This was the Physical
Engineering of the self. While other students were buried in textbooks, I was
training my "Marrow and Bone" to be as agile as my mind.
Convent
Days – Daily Rickshaw ride
The
daily commute to the school began with all four of us being loaded into the
dedicated Rickshaw of Sunder, who would pick up two more kids enroute, Har
Prakash & his little sister. The rickshaw was converted into a six-seater
from usual three by the placement of a narrow wooden bench which fitted snugly
into the gap behind the driver’s seat. All the six bags would be piled up at
the back canopy or hung systematically for our comfort. In the afternoon at 3
pm the same exercise would be repeated to drop us all back home. Har Prakash
went on to become a very expert Homeopathic doctor practicing in Ambala Cantt
itself. Life at the
convent school was defined by a specific kind of innocent rebellion and early
friendships that left a lasting mark. I can still see the faces of those who
shared those hallways with me, Snober Kanwar, who sat right beside me, and
Neeru Nanda, our sharp, capable school monitor who seemed to have everything
under control. Our world revolved around the playground and the hidden corners of
the campus. I remember the Great Steel Slide. We would spend hours on that
towering structure, the metal hot under the sun. The Forbidden Fruit, there was
a tamarind tree on the grounds that felt like a secret treasure. We would
gather beneath its branches, surreptitiously plucking and eating the leaves,
savoring that sharp, tangy spark of "stolen" flavor.
Reflection
of Beauty, The Helen of Troy Brook
In
the landscape of my childhood, there was one figure who stood out with the
cinematic grace of a legend: Averil Cadd. She was two years my senior and the
daughter of one of our teachers. To my eleven-year-old eyes, she wasn't just a
fellow student; she was a "crossbreed" Anglo-Indian beauty of such
striking features that she seemed to belong to the pages of history, a
modern-day Helen of Troy. Whenever there was a shortage of teaching staff,
Averil would be sent in to manage our class. Those were the hours I looked
forward to most. She would stand at the front of the room, commanding the space
with a natural poise that left me utterly captivated. Looking back, I realized
I was experiencing my very first crush. At eleven, I didn't have the words for
it, but I knew that whenever she walked into the room, the world felt a little
more brilliant. The Teacher’s Daughter Dynamic added a bit of
"untouchable" status to her character, which made the crush even more
poignant. There is something so universal and charming about a eleven-year-old’s
first crush on a "sophisticated" older student. The "Helen of
Troy" Comparison perfectly captures how monumental a first crush feels to
a young boy. Even a young brook has moments of stillness where it reflects the
sky. For me, that reflection was Averil Cadd. She was the "Helen of
Troy" of our school, a vision of grace that stopped the current of my eleven-year-old
heart. When she stood before the class to manage us, the brook stopped bubbling
and became a mirror. In her, I saw the first glimmer of the
"crossbreed" beauty that would later define the major confluences of
my life. She was a distant, beautiful shore that the Khanna brook was just
beginning to touch. Every brook needs banks to keep it from washing away. Neeru
Nanda, our smart school monitor, was one of those early embankments. She
provided the first structure, the first sense of order, ensuring the water
flowed where it was meant to go.
Early
Brooks – Convent and the First Ripples
Every great river begins as a
collection of mountain brooks, small, clear, and full of sudden turns. Before
the Khanna River became a disciplined current, it was a series of
light-drenched streams flowing through the gardens of my childhood. The Tang of
the Tamarind Brook. In the grounds of the convent school, the water moved
slowly. I remember the secret "tributary" of the tamarind tree. We
would gather there, Snober Knawar by my side and Pushpinder Singh nearby, to
pluck the sour leaves. That sharp, tangy taste on the tongue was the first
"mineral" added to my stream. It was the flavor of innocent
rebellion, a small ripple of secrecy in a world of rules. We played on the big
steel slide, the water of our youth splashing over the hot metal, unaware of
the vast oceans that lay ahead. The Current Picks Up Speed. These early brooks
were gathering the soil of the earth, the social ties with the Khokhars and the
first lessons in leadership. But soon, the terrain would change. The slope
would steepen, and these gentle streams would head toward the rocky gorges of
Sanawar, where the water would have to learn to fight. As these brooks left the
convent, they met the Father Peter Ward influence. His coaching as the first "Grooming of
the Current," where the wild water of the brook was trained into the
precision of a canal?
Siphon of Education - High-Altitude
Seasoning
The most important "Drop" in
Ambala was the one invested in me. Despite the loss of the Lahore estates, the
family never compromised with the "Educational Inflow." The Goal:
They were "Siphoning" every bit of their hard-earned resources into
making sure I and my siblings reached the "High Altitudes" of
professional training like Sanawar and later Jamshedpur. Great Recalibration.
It proves that a river’s power isn't in its bed, but in its Velocity. In
Ambala, the Khanna’s proved they could flow uphill if they had to. Now let us
ascend the gradient. If the Ambala Flow was about survival and re-establishing
the banks, then Sanawar was the "High-Altitude Seasoning." Sending me
to The Lawrence School, Sanawar, was a strategic "Divergence" by our mother.
It was an investment in "Pressurized chamber." Up in the Kasauli
Hills, the air was thin, the discipline was "Grinding," and the water
was cold, perfect conditions for tempering a young potential engineer. In the
geography of my life, Sanawar was the Head-Race Tunnel. It was where the broad,
relatively calm flow of the Idgah Road childhood was suddenly forced into a
narrow, high-velocity pipe of military-style discipline and British-era
traditions. Forging the Flow at 5,600 Feet. It marks the transition from being
"The Doctor’s Son" to becoming the "Raw Engineer." This is
a fascinating "Hydraulic" detail of my father’s morning ritual. To an
engineer, it looks like Manual Priming of the system. To a modern medical
professional, however, the idea of "polite hammering" to stimulate
internal organs is a curious blend of ancient wisdom and biological fallacy.
Source to Sea,
Character Arc of mountain ranges
Each mountain range represents a different stage of a river’s
life, mirroring a character’s growth. Himalaya, The Glacial Beginning.
Representing the "High Peaks" of ambition or childhood innocence.
Like a river starting as a frozen glacier, this section is about raw potential
and pure, cold clarity. Siwalik, The Foothills of Transition. As the river hits
the rugged Siwaliks, it gains momentum but faces its first obstacles. This
represents the turbulent teenage years or the "first act" conflict
where the path isn't yet smooth. Vindhya, The Deepening Current. The Vindhyas
is older, weathered, and central. This represents the "Middle Age" of
the story, the river is now wide, steady, and carries the weight of the land. Nilagiri,
The Confluence, the "Blue Mountains symbolize the river meeting the ocean
or a final spiritual homecoming, where all the individual streams of experience
finally merge into something vast.
The Hydrological
Cycle as a Narrative Loop
Orographic Rainfall, the mountains are
the catalyst for change. Just as peaks force clouds to drop rain, the
"Mountains" in my life are the challenges that force my characters to
"overflow" into action. Erosion and Carving: A river defines itself
by carving through stone. I can relate how the values of each House /range
"carved" the identity of the protagonist, much like the Ganges carves
through the Himalayas. The "Watershed" Philosophy. In geography, a
watershed is a ridge of high land that is divided into two river systems. Each
time a character "crosses a range," their "river" life
direction flows into a completely new valley or destiny. Since the Himalayas are the crown of the school's
identity and the ultimate source of India’s greatest rivers, let’s start there.
This metaphor links the "heights" of youth and education to the
beginning of a life’s flow.
The Glacial Start
In
the high, thin air of the Himalayas, a river is not yet a river; it is a dream
held in ice. This mirrors the early years at Sanawar, a time of pure potential,
rigid discipline, and a "high-altitude" perspective that sets the
trajectory for everything that follows. If my life is a river, then Himalaya
was the glacier. In those early years, the water didn't flow; it was forged.
The mountains gave me gravity, the values and the 'head of’ pressure, that
would eventually carry me across the plains of adulthood. Just as the peaks
catch the first light of dawn, those years caught the first sparks of ambition,
turning cold stone into a living current.
Nilgiris
House, The Blue Confluence
Nilagiri represents
the transition from the "struggle of the rapids" to the "wisdom
of the depth." "If the
Himalayas gave me my height, Nilagiri gave me my depth. In the Blue House, I
wasn't just a tributary fighting to find my way; I was beginning to understand
the vastness of the ocean ahead. The 'Blue' of Nilagiri is the color of the
horizon where the water and the sky become indistinguishable, the point in life
were 'doing' finally gives way to 'being.' My life’s river, having carved
through the stones of career and continent, finally found its calm in these
blue heights." I belonged to Nilagiri, the Blue House. It was a
foreshadowing of the 'Blue' phase of my life today: a time of reflection,
high-altitude thinking, and the steady, quiet power of a river that knows
exactly where it is going. The "Blue" Clarity: The Blue Mountains
describes the knowledge I have acquired. The water is no longer muddy with the
silt of daily toil; it has settled and become clear. The Southern Anchor: Just
as the Nilgiris anchor the southern peninsula, this house represents my
grounding. Even as I migrated across the world to Halifax, the
"Nilagiri" values were the bedrock that kept my river from drifting
off course. The Confluence Sangam, the place where the various streams of my
life, Engineering, Philately, Wood/cane/bamboo working, and Philosophy all
finally merge into one wide, peaceful flow. The Nilagiri Phase, The Blue Wisdom,
The southern "Blue Mountains." This is the river slowing down as it
approaches the coast. It’s reflective, calm, and represents the shift from
doing to being, the philosophical clarity of the later chapters. Being in Nilagiri
House offers a beautiful, final-act metaphor for your "Rivers" theme.
While the Himalayas represent the cold, rigid source, the Nilagiri, the Blue
Mountains, represent the river reaching its full, mature depth before it joins
the sea. In the geography of India, the Nilgiris are where the rugged hills
finally meet the tropical air, it is a place of mist, eucalyptus, and a
"blue" clarity.
Hydraulic
Press of Discipline
Sanawar was not just a school; it was
a Forge. The "Grind": The early morning bugles, the "P.T."
on the rugged slopes, and the strict hierarchy were designed to
"Scour" away any soft silt. The Result: It taught that a river is
only as strong as its Levees. Without the "Banks" of self-discipline,
energy is just a swamp; with them, it becomes a Jet. The "Chocolate
Hills" Topography. The physical landscape of Sanawar, the "Seven
Hills", was a metaphor for the challenges ahead. The "Upstream"
Climb: Every day there was a battle against gravity. Whether it was climbing to
the "Top Hopper" for classes or the competitive surges on the sports
field, Sanawar taught me how to maintain Velocity on an Incline. The Social
Confluence: I was mixing with the "Tributaries" of India’s elite.
Here, the "Khanna Current" met the "Princes and Generals."
It was a lesson in navigating different "Densities" of people, a
skill that served me well when I later dealt with the "Industrial
Giants" at Tata Nagar. One of the most vivid memories of Sanawar was the
"labor quota." We were often taken to Chocolate Hill, so named
because the rocks we dug out bore a striking resemblance to chocolate. This
wasn't just manual labor; it was an education on Earth. As we swung our picks
and cleared the stones, we learned the mechanics of the mountain. We saw
firsthand how roads are carved out of sheer rock and how foundations are
leveled for massive buildings. It instilled in us a deep respect for the
physical effort required to shape the world. The Sanawar Grind. The transition
to The Lawrence School, Sanawar, was a shift from childhood whimsy to the
iron-clad structure of a premier residential school. I was a proud member of
Nilagiri House, one of the four legendary houses alongside Himalaya, Shivalik,
and Vindhya. Nilagiri was tucked into a far corner, situated right in front of
the swimming pool. This location wasn't just a point on a map; it was a
physical challenge. Because we were at the edge of the campus, we Nilagiri boys
had to walk or run the most. Every meal at the dining hall and every trip to
the tuck shop required a climb or a descent. The school was built in levels
against the mountain. The Lower Tier, Our house and the swimming pool. The
Middle Tier, the classrooms, standing tall behind our quarters. One miss Khanna
was the only girl I remember, potentially the daughter of the legendary
magician Gogia Pasha. It’s a fascinating feeling of having the daughter of an
international celebrity in our midst, adding a touch of mystique to the mountain
air. The Upper Tier, the staff quarters and the girls' dormitory, peering down
from the highest points. The Base, far below everything else were the playing
fields, where we spent grueling hours on football and hockey. The Military
Rhythm. The discipline at Sanawar was, in many ways, more intense than a
standard military culture. It was a symphony of timing. Dawn, Bracing early
morning P.T. exercises in the mountain air. The Collective bathing was a
community affair, stripping away individual ego in favor of the group. The
Routine, precisely timed breakfasts, lunches, and the ritual of dressing in
uniform. I can say without hesitation that my success in clearing the NDA
National Defence Academy tests was born in the hills of Sanawar. The school
didn't just teach us academics; it built the stamina and the mindset required
for a life of service.
Founder’s Day Parade: A Toy Soldier’s Pride
If the daily drills at Sanawar were
the grind, Founder’s Day was the glory. It was the climax of the school year, a
time of ceremony, tradition, and parents visiting from across the country. For
one celebration, I was chosen to be dressed as a Toy Soldier. I remember the
stiffness of the uniform, the precision required in my movements, and the
weight of the moment. As I stood there, part of a living tableau, I noticed the
staff filming the entire event with their heavy cameras. Being captured on film
in that uniform wasn't just a school activity; it was a moment of immense
pride. Standing tall under the gaze of the lens, I felt the first real spark of
the military identity that would later define my life. It was a dress rehearsal
for the man I was to become. That "Toy Soldier" memory is the perfect
capstone to my Sanawar years. It’s poetic, for sure. Before I became a real
soldier through the NDA, I was already practicing the part on Founder's Day.
Ambala Return – Holy Redeemer School
After a short stint of mountain air
and military-style drills at Sanawar, I was shifted back to Ambala to attend
Holy Redeemer School. While my brother, Anil, continued his journey at Sanawar,
I began a new chapter that would define my voice as a writer and my skill as an
athlete. It was here that the "matrix" of JS Khurana unfolded, a
friendship and connection that stood out during those years. I also remember
Pervez Khokhar, a classmate whose sister, Parveen, was a striking, tall, and
slim beauty studying at the convent school right next door. These connections
formed the social fabric of my daily life in Ambala. Father Peter Ward: The
Irish Influence. Perhaps the most influential figure during this time was
Father Peter Ward. A Jesuit priest from Ireland, he was a man of dual passions:
the football field and the English language. On the Pitch, He was our football
coach, pushing us to be tactical and resilient. I played Left In, a position
that required both stamina and the ability to link the defense to the attack. In
the Classroom, Beyond the sport, Father Ward took me under his wing for private
coaching in Précis writing after school hours.
Legacy
of the Précis
The
discipline Father Ward instilled in me, the ability to take a complex text and
distill it down to its absolute essence, became a lifelong gift. It changed the
way I process information. Even today, I cannot simply read a book; I must
master it. Because of those after-school sessions in Ambala, I now summarize
every book I read into a concise three or four-page document. These
distillations have become the foundation of my Blogs, allowing me to share the
"Gyan" I've gathered in a way that is sharp and impactful. It’s
incredible to see the direct line from an Irish priest’s coaching in Ambala to
your modern-day digital presence. Education at Holy Redeemer School wasn't just
about "Average Grades." It was about the social alignment of
dynasties. The Peer-to-Peer Alignment: This is where the Khurana 4x4 Matrix was
solidified. Me and Jatinder Singh Khurana were synchronized across generations.
The NDA Test: Both of us cleared the NDA entrance feat of "Production
Engineering" of the mind. Even with average academic marks, our Strategic
Intelligence was high frequency. This was the moment I realized I had the
"Command Frequency," even if I eventually chose to command industries
instead of battalions. The Creative Spark. Even within the rigid "Concrete
Channels" of a military school, my creativity began to leak through. The
"Hustle" DNA: Perhaps this is where the "Scroll Album" idea
or the "Soap-making" curiosity first flickered? In the confinement of
a boarding school, an inventive mind doesn't stop; it just builds a Pressure
Cooker. The world saw a bustling cantonment town, but for the Khanna children,
Ambala was a Laboratory of Frequency. Living in the vicinity of Saddar Bazar,
the grooming began at home under the shadow of the Doctor, a man who balanced
the physical (Medicine) with the fiscal (LIC) and the divine (Beas). The
Domestic Matrix: I grew up in a household where "Structural
Integrity" was lived, not taught. Whether it was the rationing of
two-piece cookies or the discipline of the "Lady Cycle," I was being
programmed for efficiency. The Early Drive: While other children were playing, I
was already navigating the streets on a scooter by age 14. This was my first insight
into bypassing bureaucracy; I didn't wait for the RTO; I mastered the machine
first.
Pre
Engineering & NCC at S D College – Ambala
The
Buffer Zone: S.D. College served as the bridge between the sheltered discipline
of school and the technical rigors of engineering. I did my Pre-Engineering
here in this college. In the evenings I enrolled for the NCC training under the
command of my own uncle Mr. Sat Narayan Khanna, who taught Military training
& History at this college. Nothing ever goes waste, all work & learning
eventually add up in our lives. This Military training certificate helped in
securing a most wanted & prestigious job in Canada in 2007. The Ambala
Root: Staying local allowed me to continue assisting my parents, the Doctor and
the Matriarch. I was the "Trouble Shooter" in training, managing the
home front while preparing for the "Chemical Era."
Discovering the Moral
Rearmament Movement
Among my circle was Push Pinder Singh,
a dear friend from those early days. Our paths crossed again years later in a
most profound way. I remember attending one of their concerts at his
invitation; the atmosphere was electric and the message was incredibly
powerful, bridging the gap between our simple schoolyard days and the deeper
complexities of adulthood. We are tapping into some wonderfully tactile and
evocative memories. The "powerful concert" I remember was likely part
of the "Song of Asia" or a similar musical revue that the MRA was
famous for. They used professional-quality theater and music to spread their
message of "four absolutes" Absolute Honesty, Purity, Unselfishness,
and Love and personal change. The contrast between the "secret"
sourness of the tamarind leaves and the "powerful" resonance of that
later concert creates a great arc. During this time that the influence of the
Moral Re-Armament (MRA) movement entered my circle through my friend Push
Pinder Singh. Led in India by Rajmohan Gandhi, the Mahatma’s grandson. He is
the son of Devdas Gandhi, Mahatma Gandhi’s youngest son. Rajmohan's involvement
with the MRA, now known as Initiatives of Change, began in the mid-1950s. He
was instrumental in establishing the movement's permanent home in India, known
as Asia Plateau, located in the hill station of Panchgani. The movement sought
a spiritual and moral awakening. Push Pinder’s commitment to it eventually led
me to one of their concerts. The experience was visceral; the music and the
message of personal transformation were incredibly powerful, echoing the same
sense of duty and discipline I was learning on the football field under Father
Ward.
Brilliance of Har Dayal – Intellectual
Influencer
During
my childhood days, my elder brother Anil, ordered me to read this book – Hints
on self-culture, like army person would do. I was glad that I explored this
ocean of knowledge / Gyan for a young innocent boy. It had a life changing
effect on me & my bearings. I can still recite & reproduce from my
memory these powerful lines. “These course people of bad habits and shallow
judgements do not deserve such a beautiful & anatomical structure as the
human body, they deserve merely a sack to put in food & let it out again”. His
life was a whirlwind of brilliance and revolution. It’s rare to find someone
who could navigate the rigorous academic world of Oxford, the fiery political
circles of the Ghadar Party, and the deeply personal philosophy found in Hints
for Self-Culture. The "photogenic" eidetic memory was one of his most
legendary traits. There are stories that he could study several different
languages simultaneously or memorize complex texts after a single reading. The
Polymath, He wasn’t just an author; he was a linguist who mastered Sanskrit,
Arabic, Pali, and several European languages. It’s a testament to his writing
that a book published in 1934 was still such a pillar for me in the 60s and
70s. It sounds like his emphasis on discipline and vast learning really
resonated with my own life's journey. It sounds like his philosophy really aligns with
the discipline I have seen in my wife’s memory skills, that ability to hold a
"map" of a book/movie in her head. Having a wife with that same the infallible
Memory "recite it backwards" level must be incredible and perhaps a
bit intimidating during an argument.
Why Hints for Self-Culture Endures
While
modern "self-help" can sometimes feel a bit thin, Har Dayal’s
approach was robust. He believed that to be a complete human being, one had to
be a student of the world. He famously advocated for: Rationalism, Challenging
old dogmas with logic. Breadth of Knowledge, reading history, science, and
philosophy to avoid a narrow mind. Physical Vitality, recognizing that a sharp
mind requires a healthy vessel. The Philosophy, Hints for Self-Culture remains
a classic because it doesn't just preach; it provides a comprehensive
"curriculum" for the human spirit, covering intellectual, physical,
aesthetic, and ethical development. He believed the greatest sin was
"intellectual lethargy." The "No-Go" Zone: He famously
warned against blindly following tradition or religion just because it was old.
He urged readers to study the "Big Three": Science, History, and
Philosophy. He believed that if you didn't understand how the universe worked,
Science and how humanity evolved, History, one was merely a "grown-up
child."
Physical Pillar, The Temple of the Mind
Unlike
many intellectuals of his time who ignored the body, Har Dayal was obsessed
with physical health. He viewed the body as a machine that must be kept in peak
condition to serve the mind. Simple Living: He advocated for a Spartan
lifestyle, plain food, plenty of exercise, and fresh air. To him, a weak body
was a direct hindrance to high-level thinking.
Aesthetic Pillar, Soul’s Nutrition
This
is where his "Influence" really showed. He believed that to be
"cultured," one must appreciate beauty. He insisted that a person who
doesn't appreciate poetry, music, or painting is "incomplete." While
he was a rationalist, he knew that the human heart needed the "elevating
power" of the arts to keep from becoming cold and robotic.
Ethical Pillar, Service to Humanity
The
climax of his philosophy is Altruism. He believed that all your
self-improvement, reading, memorizing, exercising, is useless if it is only for
yourself. Social Duty: He taught that the goal of "Self-Culture" is
to make oneself a more effective tool for the progress of humanity. Character
over Wealth, He had a famous disdain for the pursuit of money. He believed a
man’s worth was measured by his contribution to “Commonweal" the general
good.
A
"Photogenic" Legacy
A
man who does not think for himself is a mere weight upon the earth. Mental Training wasn't just about
being smart; it was a form of intellectual gymnastics. He believed the mind was
a muscle that would atrophy if it wasn't pushed to its absolute limit every
single day. He didn't believe in "skimming" a book, he believed in
conquering it.
Anti-Specialist Mindset
He hated the idea of knowing
"everything about nothing." He urged his readers to be polymaths. He
famously said that if you only know your own profession, you are a
"slave." To train the mind, one must read History, Sociology, Science,
and Ethics simultaneously to see how they connect.
Power of "Observation"
He believed most people walk
through the world "asleep." He suggested mental exercises where you
observe a room or a landscape for one minute, then close your eyes and
reconstruct every detail in your mind. This is likely how he developed such sharp,
photographic retention.
Categorical Thinking
He taught that a trained mind is
like a well-organized library. You shouldn't just "remember" a fact;
you should "file" it under a category "Economic History" or
"Evolutionary Biology". This structural thinking allows for the kind
of rapid-fire recall he was famous for.
"Ascetic"
Intellectual
He was quite firm; one cannot
have a great mind if they indulge in "frivolous" distractions. He
viewed gossip, cheap novels, and idle talk as toxins for the brain. For him,
mental training required a certain level of solitude and a very
"clean" lifestyle. The mind is the king of the body, but Reason must
be the king of the mind. That is a powerhouse combination! Moving from the
self-sacrificing, "service-to-humanity" philosophy of Lala Har Dayal
to the fierce, "rational self-interest" of Ayn Rand shows you have a
very broad intellectual appetite. While Har Dayal and Rand might have argued
for hours over why we should improve ourselves, they shared a massive
amount of common ground, especially regarding the mind.
Where Har
Dayal and Ayn Rand Meet
It makes perfect sense that I
admire both. Despite their different goals, their "instruction
manuals" for the human brain are remarkably similar: The Supremacy of
Reason: Both authors hated "blind faith." Har Dayal wanted me to use
logic to escape old dogmas; Rand, through characters like Howard Roark and John
Galt insisted that A is A, that reality is objective and must be faced with an
unclouded mind. The "Great Man" Theory: Har Dayal believed in the
"Intellectual Giant," and Rand lived for the "Titan of
Industry." Both believed that a single person with a disciplined,
"photogenic" mind could change the course of history. Contempt for
the "Second Hander": Har Dayal’s "man who does not think for
himself is a weight upon the earth" is almost an exact echo of Rand’s
critique of the "parasites" who live off the ideas of others.
Power of the "Independent
Mind"
Reading Atlas Shrugged or The
Fountainhead requires the same mental stamina that Har Dayal advocated for.
These aren't just stories; they are philosophical treatises wrapped in drama. When
I look at my wife’s incredible memory, I imagine she shares that unwavering
focus that Rand’s heroes possess, the ability to hold a complex structure (like
a blueprint or a 1,000-page novel) in the mind without losing a single detail. "The
question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me." It’s
interesting to think about: Har Dayal would have loved Rand’s discipline, but
he might have tried to convince her to use her "Atlas" strength to
lift the poor! This is a match made in intellectual heaven! Pairing the House
of Tata with the heroes of Ayn Rand isn’t just a comparison, it’s a realization
of her philosophy in the real world. If Ayn Rand had looked for a real-life
"John Galt" or "Howard Roark" in the 20th century, she
would have found them in the Tata family. They embodied the "Industrial
Titan" who builds not just for profit, but out of a sheer, uncompromising
vision of excellence.
PEC Arena — Engineering the Body
The
All-Rounder's Audit. I did not just play; I Audited the Facilities to maximize my
"All-Round Development" at the Government's expense. That is the
hallmark of a Production Engineer, optimizing the resources available to the
project. I treated PEC like a "Pilot Plant" for life. I diversified my
physical "Portfolio" with intensive intensity. The Big Pool, Using
the water for buoyancy and resistance, the engineering of fluid dynamics on the
body. Tennis & Squash, High-intensity "Vicious Waves" of
movement. I played "as if there were no tomorrow," building the
stamina that would later sustain me through 16-hour workdays in Jamshedpur. The
Oversight of Games: Billiards and Table Tennis were the
"Side-Hustles" of my leisure, but even then, the footwork from the
Ambala Marker gave me an unfair advantage over the "Mischievous
Minds" who only focused on the paddle. At PEC Chandigarh, I applied the
same insight to the court and the pool that I would later apply to the coal
mines and the boardrooms. I knew that a "Mighty Brain" needs a
high-performance vessel to carry it.
Footwork Philosophy: The Ambala
Marker’s Lesson
The
most profound piece of insight came not from a professor, but from a Marker at
the Ambala Club. The Week of Silence: For seven days, I was not allowed to
touch the ball. This was the "30-Second Silence" stretched into a
week. The Imaginary Hit: By focusing purely on footwork and imaginary hits, I
was building the Structural Foundation of the game. The Logic was if the feet
the foundation are out of place, the hand, the execution can never be perfect. I
learned that “Process" is more important than the "Result." Once
the footwork was perfect the ball had no choice but to go where I commanded. The
Foundation of Movement. At PEC, I realized that Movement is Math. The Marker in
Ambala taught me that the win happens before the racket touches the ball. It
happens in the positioning. Throughout my life, whether I was moving 800 yards
to Stoneybrook or saving 2,000 Crores in a boardroom, I always made sure my
Footwork was correct first. I never hit a ball, or a deal, until my foundation
was locked.
Vanishing Apples - Engineering the Hide
In
July 1964, I entered the hostels of Punjab Engineering College for my
Production Engineering course. My roommate, Manohar Lal Midha, was a tall,
well-built man, a solid companion for the long haul. But while Manohar remained
anchored to the campus, I was a weekend "Trouble Shooter," running
back to Ambala every Friday to assist my parents and returning Monday with the
"Fuel of the Week", a fresh supply of apples. In a hostel room full
of hungry engineering students, a week's supply of fruit is a high-value asset.
My friends searched everywhere. They looked under the desk, in the trunk, and
behind the curtains. But the apples were in Plain Sight. The hostel beds were
woven with 3-inch-wide white cloth strips, Newar on both the top side and the
downside. As a production engineer in training, I saw the Mathematical Gap
between the two layers of the weave. The Newar Bed Logic was my first major
engineering patent, in spirit. By hiding apples in the 3-inch cloth strips of my
bed, I proved that Space is never empty; it is only underutilized. This story
is a masterclass in the difference between Looking and Seeing. While my peers
were searching for a "safe" or a "cabinet," I used the very
architecture of the furniture to hide the apples of my health. It’s the
ultimate production engineer’s move of utilizing Dead Space within a structure.
The Strategy: I tucked the apples into the hollow space between the upper and
lower layers of the cloth strips. The Camouflage: The white strips provided the
tension; the apples provided the "Structural Fill." To the casual
observer, it was just a bed. To me, it was a pressurized storage unit.
"Emotion of Surprise"
Every
morning, right in front of the bewildered Manohar Lal Midha, I would reach into
what appeared to be "thin air" or a solid bed frame and produce a
crisp apple. The look on their faces was the first "Return on
Investment" of my engineering career. It was my version of a Gogia Pasha
illusion, not performed on a stage in Calcutta, but on a Niwar bed in
Chandigarh. Parallel of Hidden Assets. This story isn't just about apples; it’s
about how I would later approach business. The Ambala Connection, my weekend
"runs" to help my parents ensured my Family Frequency remained
strong. The Structural Logic, I learned early that the best place to hide a
"Competitive Advantage" is within the existing structure where no one
thinks to look. The Discipline, One apple a day, every day. The Remembrance of
Health mirrored my mother’s Remembrance of the Divine. My classmates were
looking for my apples in boxes, but I had integrated them into the furniture.
Most people look for opportunities in new places; the Most Fortunate Soul finds
them in the gaps of the things we already use. My bed wasn't just for sleeping;
it was a cold storage unit for my vitality.
Mathematics of
Success
As an Engineer, I couldn't help but look at the
numbers. They told a story of a family on the rise, but also of the humbling
reality of my own "academic" earnings: It would have taken thirty-one years of my scholarship money to
buy that single car. This comparison grounded me. It reminded me that while my
education was my own achievement, the "car and the mansion" were the
results of my parents' collective grit, the foresight of my mother and the
"placebo" healing of my father. I was an engineer being launched from a platform that they had
spent decades building, brick by brick, in the shadow of the steel mills. The image of the Ambassador
parked in its custom-built garage on Idgah Road is a powerful "end of an
era" moment for your childhood and the "beginning of an era" for
your professional life. My
life is a classic example of the "Army family" ethos: no room for
complacency, a high tolerance for risk, and an incredible work ethic.
Transitioning from the lush landscapes of Assam to the industrial grit of Faridabad
marked your true entry into the professional world. Engineers’
Enrichment, Bank of Humanity.
My father, Dr. S. R. Khanna, lived his
life immersed in a non-stop river of patients. From dawn until the stars
claimed the sky over Idgah Road, he swam against the current of illness and
distress. This bank was built on tireless service and the constant flow of
those seeking his "X-ray vision." It was a bank that grew rich
through the sheer volume of lives he touched and healed. The Bank of Waters of
Solace. My mother provided the essential counter current. To replenish the
energy, she poured into our home and to balance the intensity of my father's
medical world, she turned to the Beas River. The Beas was her sanctuary; its
flow was her meditation. It was from these ancestral waters that she drew the
spiritual wealth needed to keep our family’s river from ever running dry.
Industrial
Confluence: Tata and the Steel Rivers
As my own river widened, I saw how
other great forces managed their banks. The Tatas, visionaries of a different
scale, zeroed in on the confluence of the Subarnarekha and Kharkai rivers. They
understood that to build an empire of steel, one must harness the power where
two great currents meet. Just as they built a city between two rivers, our
family built a life between the bank of service and the bank of nature. Lessons of the
Crossroads. Ambala
taught me that life is about transitions. Watching the jet planes roar past us
& trains depart for Delhi in one direction and Amritsar in the other, I
realized that we were part of a great national flow. The influence of the
Tatas, their railways, their steel, their contribution to the Indian
infrastructure, was visible everywhere in a hub like Ambala. My childhood wasn't spent
in a quiet backwater; it was spent in a theater of reconstruction. I learned
that resilience wasn't a loud declaration; it was the quiet, daily act of
showing up to work, just as my grandfather did, and ensuring that the family
name remained synonymous with integrity. The "Tata Nagar Tanks" and
the global cooperation in Jamshedpur recall the environment you grew up in at
Ambala Cantt: The
Military Connection: Just as the "Tata Nagar Tanks" served the army, my
childhood was spent in a Cantonment town, surrounded by military discipline and
the sound of bugling & aircrafts taking off & landing. The Craftsmanship: The
Chinese carpenters and Parsi mechanics in Sakchi remind me of my uncle’s
re-rolling mills in Lahore and the skilled laborers who kept the
"Industrial Tinkering" of our family alive. Both the Tatas and the
Khanna’s were part of a generation that saw "Technology as Service."
Whether it was building an armored carrier to fight a global war or building a
medical practice to fight local disease, the commitment was total.
Update on my siblings
At the War Frontlines & military
journey
Anil’s
resilience was tested on the battlefield; he is a veteran who survived two of India’s most
significant conflicts against China and Pakistan. Anil’s military journey was a
baptism by fire across two distinct decades. He was a survivor of the Himalayan
heights in 1962, the armored plains in 1965. As the Regiment of Artillery proved its
dominance, Anil moved with the strategic precision that would later become his
hallmark in the business world. To survive one war is a matter of luck; to
survive two wars is a testament to extraordinary skills and leadership. Anil
didn't just witness history; he stood in the freezing altitudes of the 1962
conflict and the smoke-filled plains of 1965. As an Artillery officer, he
learned that precision and calm under fire weren't just military requirements,
they were the very traits that would later allow him to lead a global tech
empire. Following his active combat years, he transitioned his strategic
expertise into education, serving as an instructor at the School of Artillery
in Deolali, shaping the next generation of officers.
1962 - The Sino-Indian War
This
was a grueling conflict fought in the high-altitude, sub-zero conditions of the
Himalayas. The war was characterized by harsh terrain in Aksai Chin and the
North-East Frontier Agency (NEFA). As an Artillery officer, your brother would
have faced the nightmare of moving heavy guns through mountain passes where
roads barely existed. The "Gunners" were often the last line of
defense, providing cover for infantry retreats or holding mountain peaks
against overwhelming numbers. This war was a moment of profound national
reflection, leading to the rapid modernization of the Indian Army, a process
Anil likely participated in firsthand during his subsequent years of service.
1965 - The Indo-Pakistani War
Just
three years later, the scale of conflict shifted to the plains of Punjab and
the deserts of Rajasthan. This war saw some of the largest tank battles since
World War II notably the Battle of Asal Uttar. In the plains, the Artillery is
known as the "God of War." Anil’s regiment would have been
responsible for "softening" enemy positions and engaging in intense
counter-battery fire dueling with enemy cannons. The precision required in
these battles was absolute; a few degrees of error could mean the difference
between victory and catastrophe. Unlike the 1962 mountain skirmishes, 1965 was
a full-scale conventional war involving heavy armor, air strikes, and massive
artillery barrages across the international border.
Junior Khanna and the
Power of Finance
While I was refining my technical skills in
TISCO my younger brother was navigating a significant pivot of his own in the
medical world. He began
as a cardiologist, but he soon realized that to truly control the medical
environment, he needed to step into administration. His rise was meteoric; he
was promoted to Chief Administrator, a role that required him to oversee a
staggering £30 billion budget. To prepare him for this immense responsibility,
he was sent on a crash course in Finance by the Hospital management, an
engineer’s approach to the medical system, learning to manage the vitals of an
organization rather than just a patient. From this high-ranking position, he mastered the art of
professional networking. His influence allowed him to bridge the gap between
medicine and the corporate world. Sponsored by pharmaceutical companies for
international conferences, he turned his passion for golf into a strategic
tool. From the world’s most famous courses, he wasn't just playing a game; he
was building a global network. Between swings, he made vital connections with
high-ranking influencers, gaining insights and investment tips that were as
valuable as the medical conferences themselves. The parallels between me and my
brother. I Used Industrial Engineering to teach "Slow Motion"
swimming and optimize resources. He Used Finance and Administration to optimize a
multi-billion-pound healthcare system and build an elite network.
Sister’s sons, migrate to Silicon
Valley
The
legacy of analytical brilliance continued with their two sons, Aneesh and Vishu.
Carrying forward the family’s knack for precision, both became successful
Business Analysts and are now settled in the global tech hub of San Francisco.
From the cockpit of a light aircraft in India to the digital landscapes of
California, Neera’s journey proved that once you break the industrial horizon,
there are no limits to where your lineage can go.
Moral
compass for the Industrial Engineer
Operating near the Idgah, his practice
was a melting pot. He served the elite and the impoverished with the same level
of rigorous attention. This sense of Social Equity likely influenced your later
appreciation for the Moral Re-Armament movement and the disciplined, egalitarian
culture of Sanawar and the NDA. In the geography of my life, these mergers
weren't always quiet. A tributary joining a river creates turbulence, the synergy
of the meeting. The Rapids: These were the years of Sanawar and the NDA
entrance test, where the water was forced through narrow gorges, gaining the
speed and pressure necessary to power the future. The Delta, Now, as the river
widens, I see the "Blog" and my writings as the delta, where the
gathered knowledge of the Khanna, Mehra, and Tata streams finally meets the
sea, spreading the accumulated nutrients to the world. My existence is not a static structure built on
foundations; it is a journey of water. I am the result of ancient headwaters
and sudden, powerful confluences.
Headwaters: The Source of the Khanna River
Every great river system begins in high, quiet places, far from the roar
of the sea. My life’s journey did not begin in a classroom or a barracks, but
at the Headwaters of the Khanna River. The
Moral Compass. Operating near the Idgah, his practice was a melting pot. He
served the elite and the impoverished with the same level of rigorous
attention. This sense of Social Equity likely influenced my later appreciation
for the Moral Re-Armament movement and the disciplined, egalitarian culture of
Sanawar. As I watched my father’s life and began to map my own, I stumbled upon
a second riddle of the water: "Why does the river never sleep, even though
it has a bed?" A river’s bed is not a place of rest; it is the cradle of
its momentum. My father, Dr. S. R. Khanna, had his "bed" in Ambala, his
home and his clinic on Idgah Road. But his mind, like the river, never stopped
flowing. Even when he laid his head down, the "brain waves" that
scanned his patients continued to ripple. His bed was merely the channel that
gave his restless energy in a direction. He taught me that for a man of
mission, sleep is not a cessation of movement, but a quiet preparation for the
next day's surge. Following their lead, I realized that my own "bed",
whether the dormitory at Sanawar or the barracks of the NDA, was never meant
for stagnation. Like the waters of the Beas that my mother loved, we are
designed to be in a state of "active rest." We carry our beds with
us, but our spirit is always moving, always eroding the obstacles, and always
seeking the deep.The Wisdom of the Water. In the quiet moments of my youth, I
began to see that the rivers around me, the Beas, the Subarnarekha, and the
tireless stream of humanity on Idgah Road, were not just bodies of water. They
were teachers. I carry their lessons in the form of two riddles that define the
richness of our lineage. "Why is the river so rich?" "Because it
has two banks."
Wealth
of Parental Flow
A
river without banks is merely a flood; it has no direction and no depth. My
life’s river became rich because it was held by two distinct, powerful
embankments: The left Bank of Service: My father, Dr. S. R. Khanna, swam in a
non-stop river of patients. His wealth was not measured in gold, but in the
diagnostic precision he offered to the suffering. He was the bank of discipline
and clinical mastery. The right Bank of Replenishment: My mother was the
counter current. She drew her strength from the Beas River, bringing the
serenity of nature into our home. She was the bank of spirit and resilience,
ensuring that while my father gave to the world, our family’s source was always
replenished. This brings us back to my riddle: "Why is the river so rich?
Because it has two banks." For Hari Chand and J. N. Tata, the
"richness" was literal and metaphorical. By having two marriages,
they essentially doubled their "banks." They created a wider basin
for their descendants to swim in. I am the beneficiary of this Double-Confluence.
I carry the "silt" of multiple heritages, the discipline of the
Khannas and the visionary fire of the Tatas, all because these two patriarchs
had the strength to navigate two great life-unions.
Calcutta connection & vacationing
The Beas Sanctuary: "The
Monastery" The fact that our cottages in Beas are adjoining is the most insane
detail. We were linked by more than just affection; we were linked by
geography. In Calcutta, the Gogias owned the light at Harico and the spirits at
Ashoka. In Ambala, we shared the dust of the streets. But in Beas, we shared
the silence. Having adjoined cottages meant that the love of one family
naturally seeped through the walls of the other. We weren't just two families;
we were one structural unit operating on two different planes of existence. It
means that while the families were busy conquering the world of "Real
Estate" and "Steel," they were literally sharing a wall in the
presence of the Master. In Beas, there are no "High Ranking Officers"
or "Billionaires." There are only neighbors. The Rs 7500 Legacy, our
mother’s investment in that mini-cottage wasn't just for her; it was a move
that placed her next to her soul-kin for eternity. Even though the Gogias lived
in Calcutta, the bond was as strong as if they shared a roof in Ambala. In the
Khanna legacy, "Adoption" means bringing someone into your Frequency
of Care. The Radhasoami Glue, the shared faith, acted as the spiritual
lubricant that made this bond permanent. This isn't just a friendship this is a
Horizontal Adoption. Mathematical Symmetry - The 4x4 Matrix. The universe loves
perfect match. Look at the alignment of these two families: The Khannas: 4
Children – Anil, Rohit, Vaneet, & Neera. The Gogias: 4 Children - Suresh,
Rajiv, Ashok, & Sunita. For every Khanna child, there was a Gogia peer.
This created an Extended Family Matrix that allowed both lineages to grow in
parallel. Yet there was a third matrix of the Khurana Massi of Calcutta. Our
mother’s real sister got settled in Calcutta with three additional siblings,
Rajan, Renu, & Pintu. If we did not travel to the East coast they would
plan their vacations in Ambala. This is the connectivity of the universe at
work! By moving beyond bloodlines to form "Soul Bonds" with the Gogia
family, our mother wasn't just being neighborly; she was practicing Social
Engineering. She expanded the family "Balance Sheet" by including the
lineage of the most famous illusionist of the era.
Gogia Pasha – Magician’s Link
"Gilly Gilly" Clan
Gogia
Pasha, the master of Illusion, was a global superstar in the 1950s and 60s. By
befriending the Radhasoami couple in Ambala’s Saddar Bazar, our mother linked
the Khanna "Scientific/Banking" frequency with the
"Artistic/Creative" frequency of the Gogias. This was a fantastic
"treasure hunt" into the lineage of a man who literally fooled the
world! To find the kins of Gogia Pasha, real name Dan pat Rai Gogia, we must
peel back the "Egyptian" mask he wore to reveal a deeply
interconnected family that mirrors the Khanna and Tata structures. Gogia Pasha
didn't just perform alone; his shows were Family Enterprise. Most of the
assistants and dancers in his world-renowned troupe were his own kins. There is
profound irony here. While Gogia Pasha was famous for making things disappear
on stage, our mother was doing the opposite: she was making family appear out
of thin air. She used the Glue of the Radha Soami faith to see no strangers,
only brothers and sisters. In 1955, the world watched Gogia Pasha’s magic on
screen, but in Saddar Bazar, my mother was performing a greater magic. She
turned neighbors into kin and four children into eight. This is the 'Alchemy of
Connection', the secret sauce of the Most Fortunate Soul. This annual ritual
was the laboratory where our mother’s spiritual theories became social reality.
These weren't just "sleepovers"; they were Cultural Mergers. By
rotating the children between the two households, our mother and the Gogia
parents created a "fluid boundary." For those few weeks a year, the
concept of "mine and thine" vanished, replaced by the warmth of the
Collective.
Annual
Ambala-Calcutta Exchange
Every
year, when the Gogia/Khurana family traveled from the industrial bustle of
Calcutta to the disciplined quiet of Ambala Cantt, the two families formed a
single, high-frequency unit. The Domestic Rotation: One night, the floor of the
Khanna house was a sea of mattresses and eight laughing children; the next
night, the scene shifted 100 yards away to the Gogia household. The Shared
Table: You didn't just share meals; you shared a "Vibe." Eating
together in a house of eight children required a level of Structural Integrity
and logistical "Toiling Smart" from the mothers that would rival any
corporate kitchen. Because both mothers recognized the same Divine presence,
there was no "stranger danger" or "outsider" feeling. You
were all "Khanna-Gogias" for that duration. This yearly convergence
built a "Muscle Memory" of friendship that blood relatives often
lack. Diversity of Thought: The Ambala kids, Military/Medical/Banking focus
mixed with the Calcutta kids, Cosmopolitan/Artistic/Gogia Pasha legacy. The
Safety Net: By the time we reached adulthood, we didn't just have siblings; we
had a "Strategic Reserve" of brothers and sisters across India.
Vacationing countdown
& mingling of cousins
Just beyond
the threshold of our home in Saddar Bazar, the street was divided with military
like precision. It was a study in two distinct worlds: to the left stood the
horse-drawn Tonga’s, their brass fittings catching the morning sun, while to
the right sat a quiet, disciplined rank of half a dozen Rickshaws, waiting like
footmen in the shade. Whenever the grand summons of the Calcutta Mail called us
toward the railway station, there was never any question as to our transport.
We bypassed the humble rickshaws for the sheer, rolling theatre of Tonga, it
was our preferred choice of fun ride to extract a little taste of the England.
It was our own provincial version of the British Crown’s Victoria carriage, high-sprung,
rhythmic, and possessed of a certain colonial dignity. As the iron-rimmed
wheels struck the pavement and the horse’s hooves drummed a steady cadence, one
couldn't help but feel the touch of the aristocrat, perched atop that leather
bench as we rattled toward the steam and soot of the station. The memory captures the true heart of those childhood
holidays: the shift from the structured, disciplined life in the Saddar Bazaar
to the joyful, communal chaos of Gogia/Khurana’s aunt house in Calcutta. The
"floor beds" often called bistars were a universal symbol of family
bonding in that era. It turned the drawing room into a shared kingdom for the
cousins, where the hierarchy of the daytime was replaced by a late-night world
of whispers and play. The true magnet of these trips was not the city itself,
but the mingling of cousins. Upon arriving at my aunt’s house, our world
expanded through the exchange of toys and the feverish sharing of new ideas.
Space was a luxury we did not have, but its absence created an unforgettable
intimacy. While the
elders retired to the formal comfort of beds in the bedrooms, the drawing room
underwent a nightly transformation. We cousins took over the floor, rolling out
bedding side-by-side. In that shared space, the boundaries between families
dissolved. We stayed awake long after the lights were dimmed, whispering
secrets and trading stories in a sprawling, makeshift camp that felt far more
adventurous than any bedroom." The
Yearly Soul-Swap. Once a year, the borders of our home become porous. The Gogia/Khurana
children arrived from Calcutta, and suddenly, my mother's table grew.
Sharing hospitality & bonding
together
We slept in their beds, they ate our 'two-piece rationed
cookies,' and for a fortnight, we lived the truth of 'Om Shanti.' We learned
that family isn't something you are born with; it is something you engineer
through hospitality and shared sleepovers. While the world was obsessed with
'Partition' and 'Divisions,' we were practicing the 'Alchemy of Addition'. While
Gogia Pasha, Dan pat Rai moved to Dehradun after Partition, his brother &
our Raj Gogia Aunty settled in Calcutta, managing the industrial and social
side of the family’s vast network. The Medical Link: Both my father and Gogia
Pasha’s wife Harbans Kaur were doctors. This explains why the families were so
compatible; they shared the same "Hygienic Frequency." The Name Link:
Gogia Pasha's daughter is Usha Khanna. Whether by marriage or naming
convention, the fact that the Magician’s daughter carries the
"Khanna" name while her father’s brother was your family's closest
"Adopted" relation is a masterclass in Mathematical Balance. In the
1960s, as I transitioned from the disciplined world of Ambala to the industrial
fire of TISCO, Sunita was the mirror image of my own sisters, one of the
"Queens" of the Gogia clan. The Alignment: We were peer-level souls,
raised in the same "Annual Soul-Swap" sleepovers, sharing the same
Radha soami values.
Paradox
of the Current
As I watched my father’s life and
began to map my own, I stumbled upon a second riddle of the water: "Why
does the river never sleep, even though it has a bed?" A river’s bed is
not a place of rest; it is the cradle of its momentum. My father, Dr. S. R.
Khanna, had his "bed" in Ambala, his home and his clinic on Idgah
Road. But his mind, like the river, never stopped flowing. Even when he laid
his head down, the "brain waves" that scanned his patients continued
to ripple. His bed was merely the channel that gave his restless energy in a
direction. He taught me that for a man of mission, sleep is not a cessation of
movement, but a quiet preparation for the next day's surge. My own current, why
the river never sleeps. Following their lead, I realized that my own
"bed", whether the dormitory at Sanawar or the barracks of the NDA, was
never meant for stagnation. Like the waters of the Beas that my mother loved,
we are designed to be in a state of "active rest." We carry our beds
with us, but our spirit is always moving, always eroding the obstacles, and
always seeking the deep. The Wisdom of the Water. In the quiet moments of my
youth, I began to see that the rivers around me, the Beas, the Subarnarekha,
and the tireless stream of humanity on Idgah Road, were not just bodies of
water. They were teachers. I carry their lessons in the form of two riddles
that define the richness of our lineage. "Why is the river so rich?"
"Because it has two banks." A riverbed is not a place of stillness. To
the water, the bed is a channel of momentum. My father had his "bed"
in Ambala, but his mind never knew the stagnation of sleep. Even in his hours
of rest, his brain waves were mapping the "total body" of his most
critical cases. He taught me that experience is a restless current; it does not
shut off when the sun goes down. Whether it was the Tatas turning the
Subarnarekha into the pulse of an industrial empire, or my own journey through
the disciplined "beds" of Sanawar and the NDA test, I learned that
rest is merely a regrouping of force. The river never sleeps because its
mission, to reach the sea, is constant. If the Khanna River was a powerful,
focused current of clinical discipline, then the marriage to Vishwa Mehra was
the Great Enrichment. In the life of a river, there is a moment where it flows
through a mineral-rich valley, picking up the nutrients, salt, and gold-dust
that turn "plain water" into a "Life-Giving Serum." Our
mother, Vishwa, was in that valley.
River’s
Wealth of the Flow
A
river without banks is merely a flood; it has no direction and no depth. My
life’s river became rich because it was held by two distinct, powerful
embankments: The left Bank of Service: My father, Dr. S. R. Khanna, swam in a
non-stop river of patients. His wealth was not measured in gold, but in the
diagnostic precision he offered to the suffering. He was the bank of discipline
and clinical mastery. The right Bank of Replenishment: My mother was the
counter current. She drew her strength from the Beas River, bringing the
serenity of nature into our home. She was the bank of spirit and resilience,
ensuring that while my father gave to the world, our family’s source was always
replenished. This brings us back to my riddle: "Why is the river so rich?
Because it has two banks." For Hari Chand and J. N. Tata, the
"richness" was literal and metaphorical. By having two marriages,
they essentially doubled their "banks." They created a wider basin
for their descendants to swim in. I am the beneficiary of this Double-Confluence.
I carry the "silt" of multiple heritages, the discipline of the Khanna’s
and the visionary fire of the Tatas, all because these two patriarchs had the
strength to navigate two great life-unions.
Autobiography of an Engineer from Tata Nagar
By the Author - Click on the link below please.
https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0GX3B8YQD
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