LOVE LIFE, CREATIVE INDULGENCIES & HOBBY CRAFT GIFTING
Confluence of two
tributaries into the river
This year, 1973, marks a beautiful convergence
of our personal and professional lives. My marriage to Rekha Narang didn't just
bring a "youthful and beautiful" partner into my life; it brought a
creative collaborator who understood the engineer’s soul. Rekha Narang was brought up
in a strict environment under the vigilant & watchful eyes of their
parents. However, she developed a fine taste for Indian movies & was a
walking encyclopedia. She had been gifted with a photographic memory & I got
into trouble when I forgot some important dates & events. Mr. Benarsi Das
Narang, my
father-in-law, belonged to a large joint family of seven siblings, six brothers
& one sisters. Mrs. Shanta Gulati, my mother-in-law, too were seven
siblings, four brothers & three sisters. Engineer’s romance & Salt Lake
sanctuary. The six months between our meeting in January and our wedding on May
24, 1973, are perhaps the most unique in our family history. While others wrote
on stationery, I communicated through the language of my trade. The "Strange"
Letters: Writing on IBM punch cards, teletype scrolls, and engineering paper
wasn't just practical, it was a statement. I was sending her pieces of my world
in Calcutta. Rekha still treasures those 50–60 letters that speak to the depth
of our connection. In an era of "slow mail," those scrolls were the
heartbeat of our long-distance relationship. Our
marriage also bridged a practical gap of financial alliance, in the Khanna
family. The
Income Tax Officer, my father-in-law, provided the financial structure that my,
not finance savvy doctor lacked. It was a perfect union: the Khanna medical
& engineering prestige meeting the Narang administrative & financial
expertise.
Narang Legacy
While my path was carved in steel and
logic, my wife Rekha brought with her the current of the Narang family, a
lineage defined by professional excellence and a deep-rooted sense of duty. As
the eldest of three, Rekha was the anchor. Her sister Rupa found her way to
Toronto, another traveler on the path cleared by our 'Mr. Columbus' in Halifax.
But it was her brother, Rajan, whose legacy would eventually flow most closely
with ours. Rajan was a man of the ledger, a Chartered Accountant who built his
own practice in Ludhiana alongside his wife, a dedicated convent schoolteacher.
When tragedy struck with Rajan’s premature passing, the 'parallel rivers' of
our families pulled closer together. It is quite ironic: I invented a
"Mathematical Balance" for our grandchildren, but in our marriage,
Rekha was the balance. I provided structural engineering, and she provided the
historical record. I do remember many specific times her "walking
encyclopedia" of movies / her photographic memory saved the days. My
friends would argue & then bet on an intricate event in the movies. The bet
was always resolved with a phone call to Rekha, who would confidently clear up
the controversy. The "Strict" Parallel: She was raised under
"vigilant eyes," much like I was under the "Beast from the
East", Uncle Raj Pal. It seems we both were forged in environments of high
discipline!
Power of the "Secretary"
Partnership
The
Art of Digital Silence. In an era of total connectivity, I chose the power of
disconnection. I have never owned a cell phone, nor do I desire one. It
reflects my discipline & humor. While the world vibrates with
notifications, I remain in the silence of the 'Confluence Age.' My wife, Rekha,
serves as my graceful gatekeeper, my 'secretary' to the outside world, carrying
the device so that I may carry the peace. To the world, I may seem unreachable;
to myself, I have never been more in touch. Rekha, my "secretary",
who has a cell phone, was the Mathematical Balance of our marriage. I provide
the vision and the structural "IN-SIGHT," and she manages the
logistical interface with the modern world. It’s a division of labor that allowed
me to remain the IN-DWELLER, focused on the internal world, while she handled
the external "Iron Age" frequencies. The Ultimate "IN-TROVERSION."
Most people use cell phones to avoid being alone with their thoughts. My lack
of a phone proves that I have mastered the Art of In-Looking. I don't need a
screen to distract me because my internal world is far more interesting than
anything on the internet. I am practicing "Applied Spirituality" by
remaining invisible to the digital grid. Engineering of Focus. In a world where
everyone is tethered to a digital leash, my refusal to own a cell phone is
perhaps my most insane act of rebellion and wisdom. As an Industrial Engineer,
I know that every input requires processing power. A cell phone is a constant
stream of unvetted inputs, interruptions, noise, and digital red dust. By
opting out, I have engineered a life of uninterrupted flow. I am not out of
touch; I am simply in charge of who touches your time. I have outsourced the
"mischievous" interruptions to a trusted system.
Short story of our first daughter - Price of a Heart
This is a profoundly moving chapter of our life.
On 16th March 1974 we were blessed with our first daughter, Ruchi.
She was delivered at Ambala in our home under the masterful supervision of my
Father. On day one, he checked her out & gave us a heart-breaking verdict:
She has a hole in her heart & in medical terms it is Fallot’s Tetralogy.
The contrast between the industrial, high-stakes world of Tata Steel in
Jamshedpur and the quiet, intuitive diagnosis back home highlights a very
different kind of "precision", the clinical mastery of a
grandfather’s ears and hands.
The lesson we distilled from her, that quality of life outweighs
its quantity, is a powerful philosophical anchor. It suggests that her seven
and a half years were not "short" in the sense of being incomplete,
but rather concentrated and full.
That
same year, we welcomed our first daughter. Life felt complete, yet it was soon
shadowed by the deepest sorrows. In 1981, we lost our eldest daughter after her
open-heart surgery went wrong. There is no engineering formula for the grief of
a parent. However, this tragedy was the "crack where the light gets
in." It planted a seed of empathy in me that would eventually bloom into
my life as a healer. I learned that while the body is fragile, the spirit must
be resilient. Again in 2008 brought the
passing of my father to the age of 92. Using my Reiki, I found a way to process
this grief as a transition of energy. The pain was immense, but life, in its
mysterious way, brought us hope again. We welcomed our second daughter in 1982
and a son in 1984. Life began to bloom again. Professionally, I was transferred
to the TISCO underground collieries as Head of the Industrial Engineering
Department. We traded the city for the charm of small-town living and spacious,
high-ceilinged bungalows.
1982 September 26,
Soul Returned, Rebirth of Joy
In
the early 1980s, my life moved with a sudden, divine momentum. After the trials
of the past, the universe seemed to conspire to restore what was lost and
expand our world in ways I could only have dreamed of. On this day, we were
blessed with our second daughter, Roshika. To the outside world, she was a
newborn, but to us, she was a miracle of continuity. I felt, with every fiber
of my being, that she was Ruchi in a brand-new body. Roshika’s arrival, not
just as a new life, but as a spiritual return, added a layer of profound Cosmic
connection. Her arrival felt like a spiritual "course correction"
from the universe. The silence that had once lingered in our home was replaced
by her breath and her presence, bridging the gap between our past grief and our
future hope. She wasn't just a daughter; she was a testament to the idea that
love never truly leaves; it only changes form.
1983 October 24, Arrival of the
"Kaku"
The
blessings didn't stop with Roshika. In quick succession, barely thirteen months
later, our third child and only son, Ricky, was born at Jamshedpur Hospital. We
fondly named him Kaku, a name that echoed through the halls of our home and
became synonymous with the energy of a growing family. With his arrival, the
dynamic of our household shifted once more. We were no longer just a couple
recovering from the past; we were a bustling family of five, navigating the
beautiful chaos of raising children in the heart of Tata Nagar. These years in
Jamshedpur were the bedrock of my career and my fatherhood. Between the
hospital runs and the milestones of these two infants, I was balancing the
structural integrity of my professional life with the emotional architecture of
a home finally full of laughter again.
Ideas
that shaped my Life
In
the early days of my career, I was focused like many others on the immediacy of
work, targets, responsibilities, and the steady rhythm of industrial life. But
over time, I noticed something different about the culture around me. There was
a certain restraint in authority, a respect in interaction, and an unspoken
belief that work was not merely about output, but about purpose. Perhaps this
was the true inheritance of Jamshedji Tata, not steel, not buildings, but a way
of thinking. There were days of pressure, of uncertainty, and of quiet personal
struggle. Like everyone else, I carried doubts that I did not always express.
And yet, looking back, I realize that I was part of something larger than my
individual journey. I was, in a small way, a continuation of a vision that had
begun long before me and would continue long after. What strikes me most today
is that Jamshedji Tata built many of his dreams knowing he might never see them
fulfilled. There is a certain humility in that kind of thinking, a willingness
to invest in a future that belongs to others. Standing in Jamshedpur all those
years later, I was one of those “others.” And perhaps, without fully realizing
it at the time, I was also a beneficiary of a man I never met, but whose ideas
quietly shaped the life I lived.
Gopalpur Ghost—The 2,000
Crore Model
In
the mid-90s, the momentum for the Gopalpur Steel Plant was like a runaway
train. 100 Crores had already been "burned" in the red tape of
relocation. The air in the boardroom was thick with the "Mischievous
Minds" of bureaucracy—until the "In-Sane" frequency spoke up. The
30-Second Silence. When you stood up in that meeting and demanded a Scale
Model, you weren't just asking for a toy; you were asking for Truth. * The
Shock: Your boss and the GM were "taken aback" because you had
exposed a "Gaps in the Foundation." In a 2,000 Crore project, they
had forgotten the most basic engineering rule: Visualize before you
Materialize. The Mandate: The GM’s immediate "Go ahead" was the
universe acknowledging your frequency. You were paired with Amit Chatterjee, a
brilliant Metallurgist, providing the "Marrow" to your
"Bone." Alchemy of Foam, Wood & die casts. For three months, I
became the Architect of Reality. I didn't just sit in an office; I visited the
shores of Gopalpur. I studied the "Vicious Sea Waves" and the treacherous
topography. The Construction, using wood, foam sheets, and die cast models I
built the future. As the model took shape, the conclusions became undeniable.
The site was a topographical nightmare. The Moat, I realized that to protect
the "Heart of the Plant" from the salt and the surge, I would need a
1,000 Crore "Moat" and leveling project. I was basically telling the
board they were trying to build a castle on a sinking beach. By spending a few
thousand rupees on foam and wood, I saved a Tier-1 Global Corporation from a
multi-billion crore catastrophe. This wasn't just working snart, this was
"Toiling Divine." I saved the company 1,900 Crores plus the 1,000
Crores of hidden costs I uncovered simply by applying the creativity of the 3D
Picture." While others were looking at flat spreadsheets and legal
relocation papers, I was looking at Physical Reality. They were prepared to
spend 2,000 Crores on a dream, but they couldn't see the 1,000 Crore nightmare
hidden in the sand. I realized that a Billionaire doesn't just count money; he
counts Risks. By building that model, I forced the Empire to look at the
'Vicious Waves' before they drowned in them. That 30-second silence in the
boardroom was the sound of a 2,000 Crore mistake being erased by a single
Production Engineer's creativity
Calcutta Port: The Theatre of
Operations
My
company took me frequently to Calcutta Ports. This was the "Front
Line" where the steel met the sea. The Port Logistics, Managing the
movement of Raw materials & steel at the ports required the "Trouble
Shooter" mentality. I was dealing with shipping ledgers, labor
frequencies, and the "Mischievous Minds" of the dockyards. The
Port-to-Guest House Loop, this is where the Gogia Matrix became my secret
weapon. Instead of staying in cold, corporate hotels, I retreated to Sunita
Gogia’s Guest House. I stayed under the umbrella of our Ambala neighbors. I ate
the food of "home" while negotiating the deals of "empire."
This Home-Base Advantage allowed me to outperform every other executive who was
struggling with the "Friction" of the city. Tata Grooming &
Influence. Jamshedji Tata didn’t just build a steel plant; he built a Social
Blueprint. Insight: He mandated wide streets, shaded trees, and parks in
Jamshedpur before a single ingot of steel was poured. Symmetry: This mirrored
your father’s clinic in Ambala, creating a sanctuary for the people first, and the
business second. JRD Tata was the "Most Fortunate Soul" of the skies.
His obsession with perfection, down to the cleanliness of an Air India cabin or
the alignment of a steel rail, became your personal standard. The Flying
Legacy: When you traveled to the Calcutta ports, you weren't just a passenger;
you were an observer of his "Mathematical Balance." You carried his
spirit of "Beyond the Routine" into every special project. I saw this same tireless spirit
in the Tata lineage. They established their "bed" in the valley of
the Subarnarekha, but the river of their ambition never slept. They turned the
water into steel and the silence of the valley into the hum of a nation. They
proved that a river is most powerful when it remains wide awake within its
banks, constantly pushing toward the sea of the future
Tata Steel - Gogia Synergy
When
you visited the Calcutta ports on Tata Steel business, I was representing the
industrial backbone of India. But by staying at Sunita’s six-room guest house, I
was maintaining my Structural Integrity. By booking myself into Sunita’s guest
house during my Tata Steel business trips, I was not just a corporate traveler;
I was a "Most Fortunate Soul" returning to a home-away-from-home. I
was moving through a world where my "Extended Family Matrix" provided
the infrastructure for my success. The Corporate Efficiency: While other Tata
executives stayed in impersonal hotels, I stayed in the warmth of the Gogias. My
emotions were refreshed because I was surrounded by the same frequency of the
Beas and Ambala summers. The "Toiling Smart" Loop: You were
supporting a "Soul-Sister's" business while executing the business of
an empire. The World is My Guest House. Look at the names again: Ashok, the
restaurant and the brother in the Navy. In Indian history, Ashoka was the
emperor who turned from war to the Idea of Peace. My cousins the Gogias embody
this: the hustle of a restaurant named Ashoka, balanced by the silence of the
Beas cottage. When Tata Steel sent me to the Calcutta ports, I didn't go as a
stranger. I went to the home of the Gogias. While Suresh was in the air, Ashok
was at sea, and Rajiv was at the helm of Ashoka, Sunita was my anchor. She
managed the guest house with the same 'Rani' dignity we learned as children.
This is the secret of the Engineer Exit: I did not build a business; I build a
network of souls that catches me wherever I land." The strength of the
skies in India was built by JRD Tata. By Suresh Gogia working as a Flight
Purser for Air India, he was serving in the very "Air-Empire" that
JRD engineered.
Circle of Industry:
Tata, Gogia, Khanna
The
Architect: JRD Tata finds Air India, bringing the power of global travel to the
nation. The Operator: Suresh Gogia, my childhood "adopted" brother
becomes the face of that airline's hospitality as a Purser. The Client me
representing Tata Steel flying to Calcutta and booking into the Gogia guest
house. The fortune of the Flight Purser. In that era, being an Air India Flight
Purser was the pinnacle of "Global Presence." It required the same
"Trouble Shooting" skills that Deepak uses at Seasia Inc. and that
Darshan Kumar used at the Delhi Airport. Suresh was the "Ambassador of the
Indweller" at 30,000 feet, carrying the Ambala/Beas frequency across
international borders. The world thinks the Tata empire and the common man are
separate. But in my life, they were one. I worked for the Steel giant, and my
'adopted' brother Suresh wore the wings of the Tata-founded airline. We were
the cells of a single body. Every time I flew to Calcutta, I wasn't just a
passenger; I was a part of a mathematical alignment where the wisdom of my
mother met the wisdom of JRD Tata in the clouds.
Parallel of "Single Pillars"
of the Dynasties
Every
great family tree has a "Single Pillar” soul who chooses the path of
service over the path of expansion. In the Tata Tree: There were figures like
Ratan Tata himself, who remained single, dedicating his entire life to the
"Indweller" of the Tata Group. In the Gogia/Khanna Tree: Sunita Gogia
is that pillar. She is the custodian of the memories of those Calcutta-Ambala
summers. The Eternal Sisterhood: Sunita remains, in essence, another
"Rani" in our life, an extended sister whose presence in my life adds
a layer of "Sweet Melancholy" and high-level respect. The Cultural
Graft: Just as the Tatas brought in French influence through Suzanne Brière,
the Khannas brought in the "Worldly Magic" of the Gogias. The
Geographic Expansion: This "adoption" gave the Ambala Khannas a
foothold in Calcutta, the then-industrial heart of India, mirroring how J.N.
Tata expanded from Navsari to Bombay. The Devotion of the Single Queen. The Love
of the Caretaker: Sunita’s decision to remain single to look after her mother
is a high-frequency spiritual choice. It reflects the Radhasoami
"Indweller" philosophy: seeing the Divine service in one’s own
parent. She is practicing the "Perpetual Remembrance" your
grandmother lived by. Sunita Gogia, looking after her mother in that adjoining
cottage, is the bridge between these two worlds. She is the guardian of the
Chowringhee legacy and the Beas silence simultaneously. Sunita Gogia was almost
the woman who would have shared my name, but destiny had a different ledger.
Today, as she sits by her mother's side, she is the living embodiment of the friendship
we learned in those Ambala summers: that the highest magic isn't making things
disappear, but making love stay. She didn't become a Khanna by law, but she
remains a Khanna by spirit. This is the ultimate Balance of our life story, the
fact that the Khanna and Gogia lineages are physically and spiritually
"adjoining" across two worlds: the commercial heart of Calcutta and
the spiritual sanctuary of Beas. By being neighbors in both the
"Market" and the "Monastery," you have created a 360-degree
bond.
Gogia Commercial Empire: "The
Market"
The
Gogias didn't just have a hobby; they owned the piece of the Chowringhee Road
ecosystem. Harico Photo Studio: In the 1950s and 60s, a photo studio on
Chowringhee was the "Visual Ledger" of the city. They were the
custodians of Calcutta’s memories, capturing the light like you captured the
industrial fire at TISCO. Ashoka Restaurant cum Bar: This was the social hub.
While your family was focused on the "Hygienic Cookie" and the
"Medical Trade," the Gogias were mastering the expertise of
hospitality and high-society interaction. In the cockpit of my life, I had JRD
Tata’s vision and my mother’s prayers. In the cabin, I had Suresh Gogia’s
hospitality and Sunita’s sanctuary. I realized that working smart means
building a world where your business trips are family reunions. Whether I was
looking at a shipping ledger at the port or a dinner menu at Ashoka, I was
surrounded by my own frequency.
Sky-Bridge: Flying
the Tata Legacy
The
JRD Frequency, When I flew to Calcutta or Mumbai on business, I was flying the
airline founded by JRD Tata. The Suresh Connection, knowing our
"adopted" brother Suresh Gogia was a Flight Purser for the airline
made the sky feel like an extension of my living room. I was a Tata employee,
flying a Tata legacy, being served by a cousin brother. The Mathematical
Balance was perfect. At TISCO, you realized that Steel is the Bone, but Gyan is
the Marrow. Without the internal "In-Sight," the massive machines of
Jamshedpur were just cold metal. But with the Khanna-Gogia-Tata network, the
industry became a living, breathing organism. At Nuchem, I learned to mold
plastic. At TISCO, I learned to mold an Empire. I realized that the secret to
the Early Exit isn't working for a company; it's becoming an essential node in
a global network of souls. From the blast furnaces of Jamshedpur to the guest
house in Calcutta, my life was a 'Supply Chain of Synchronicity'.
Parallels of adoption
The
parallel between Naval Tata and our family’s Devaki and Deepak reveals a shared
wisdom that a family’s strength is measured by its capacity to elevate those
who serve it. In the architecture of a great dynasty, Adoption is not merely an
act of charity; it is a Strategic Human Investment. It is the process of
identifying a high-frequency soul from outside the immediate "blood
ledger" and grafting them into the family tree to ensure its survival and
expansion. To adopt a child is to save a life. To adopt a soul into our folds is
to save a lineage. Whether it was Lady Navajbai in 1918 or the Colonel in
Ambala, the result was the same, the Most Fortunate Souls are those who create
fortune for others.
Adoption of Devaki
& Deepak: The Soul Elevators
Our
family practiced a "Spiritual Adoption" that mirrored this exactly. We
didn't just hire "help"; we inducted souls into the Khanna Frequency.
Devaki, The Maternal Proxy. Just as Naval was adopted to maintain the Tata
household, Devaki was adopted into the heart of your family. She wasn't just a
worker; she was a pillar of the domestic fabric. Deepak, The Corporate Batman. Deepak’s
journey is the perfect echo of Naval Tata’s rise. The Selection: Sunder, the
"Beautiful" Rickshaw driver provided the raw material, but your
brother, the Colonel, performed the Adoption of Purpose. The Training: By
making him a "Batman" and a "Compounder," you gave him the
Military and Medical the same high-level training Naval received in the Tata
boardrooms. The Outcome: Naval Tata became a Deputy Chairman; Deepak became a
Global Trouble Shooter at Seasia Inc. and a fleet owner. Most families operate
on a Closed Loop they only look out for their own. But the Tatas and the
Khanna’s operate on an Open Source. We recognized that the
"Indweller" in Deepak was the same as the "Indweller" in a
Khanna. By elevating him, we didn't lose resources; we Multiplied them.
Deepak’s 30 rickshaws in Mohali are the modern equivalent of the Tata expansion,
it is the "Alchemy of Waste" the neglected soul, turned into
"Pure Gold" the corporate leader.
Sacred
Diversions: The Trend of Adoption
The Art of the Diversion, Choosing Our
Tributaries. It frames adoption not as a "replacement," but as a
Magnification of the family’s power. In the natural world, rivers sometimes
cross over from one valley to another. These are not mere accidents; they are
the intentional redirection of a life’s flow to ensure a great river never runs
dry. In our lineage, the adoptions of Devaki, Deepak, and Naval Tata were the
masterstrokes that kept the Khanna and Tata currents surging toward the sea. The
Adoption realities are some of the most profound "hydrological"
events in our family’s geography. In the life of a river, an adoption is a
Trans-Basin Diversion, it is the moment a stream from one mountain range is
spiritually and legally redirected to flow into another, forever changing the
volume and destiny of the main current. Closer to the Idgah Road headwaters,
the adoptions of Devaki and Deepak acted as the "Reservoirs" of our
family. Devaki, her entry into the family was a gentle but deep inflow. She
brought a new mineral content to the Khanna River, a softening of the clinical
banks with a different kind of grace. Deepak, His adoption was a strategic
"Canal" that linked the Khanna lineage to new territories. In the
river theme, these two were "Chosen Tributaries." They were not born
of the same glacial melt, but they were Grafted into the Flow. This reinforces
the fact that a family is not just a biological coincidence, but a deliberate
gathering of waters. By adopting these two, the Khanna River ensured its
"Two Banks" would remain strong and its bed would never be empty.
A Bond Sealed by
Fate: Adopting Devaki
The story of Devaki Barrick
begins even before the birth of our own children. She was a familiar face in
our home from the very start, a young child girl who would accompany her mother
while she worked for us on a part-time basis. The course of all our lives changed the day Devaki’s mother died
suddenly. In that moment of grief, there was no question of what to do. We
didn't just see a young girl who had lost her mother; we saw a daughter who
belonged to us. Informal
Adoption: We took her in and adopted her into our hearts and our home. Transition: She didn't just
work for us; she was looked after by us. We raised her with the same love we
would eventually give our own biological children. These adoptions created what I call a Hybrid Current. Just
as the most fertile deltas are those fed by many different types of water, our
family became "In-Sane" with richness because we were not afraid to
merge with other streams. The Tata industrial river and the Khanna medical
river both understood the same secret: To stay powerful, a river must sometimes
reach outside its own banks and invite a new stream to join the journey.
A Lifetime of Care
Because she had been with us since before our
children were born, she held a unique position of seniority and trust. By the
time my children were four or five, she was the ten-year-old “big sister” who
knew the rhythms of our home better than anyone.
Her journey from a grieving child in our house
to a successful grandmother with her own thriving family & farm is perhaps
the most meaningful “restoration project” of our life. It wasn’t wood that
needed standing or a tool that needed forging, it was a life that needed a
foundation of love. Devaki: Growing Up Together.
Adding Devaki's adoption brings a lovely
"rural" texture to our lives, contrasting the industrial history of
Jamshedpur and the suburban setting of Boston. Devaki wasn't just a nanny; she was practically a child herself,
perhaps 14 or 15 years old stepping into a role of immense responsibility. She
grew up alongside our children, navigating the transition from childhood to
adulthood within the walls of our home. When Devaki Barrick first joined our household, she was barely
more than a child herself. Only about ten years older than my own children, who
were then just four or five, she occupied a unique space in our lives. She
wasn't just someone who worked for us; she was a sister-figure, a companion,
and family from day one. A Shared Childhood.
While she carried the responsibility of a nanny,
she was also growing up alongside my son and daughters. They navigated their
formative years under the same roof, creating a bond that transcended the
typical employer-employee relationship. The Early Years: At fourteen or fifteen, she was already learning
the "heavy-duty" nature of caregiving, much like I was learning the
strength of those AGRICO tool handles. The Integration: Because she was so close in age to our children,
she didn't just watch them play; she was part of the fabric of their daily
lives, their secrets, and their growth.
Cycle of the Land,
Devaki’s own Family in Cuttack
The family legacy has now reached a new
milestone as my third daughter, Devaki Barrick, has become a grandmother
herself. Raising a large family of two daughters and two sons, she has
instilled in them a value that mirrors my own work in the woodshop: the value
of being self-reliant. The Harvest of
Self-Sufficiency. On their own piece of land,
Devaki’s family practices a beautiful form of independence. They aren't just
hobby farmers; they are providers. The Staples of Life: They grow their entire annual requirement of
rice and pulses. The
Connection: There is a profound symmetry here. While I spent my years turning
wood and metal to create functional objects, Devaki and her family spend their
seasons turning the soil to provide the very sustenance of life. Whether it is a heavy-duty rolling pin
from my lathe or a harvest of rice from their fields, the theme remains the
same: using one's hands to ensure the family is cared for and the home is
complete. Legacy Expanded. Seeing her now as a
grandmother with her own land and a self-sufficient life is the ultimate
"finished project." The young girl who helped raise our children has
cultivated a flourishing life of her own, proving that the most enduring things
we build aren't made of wood or metal, but of shared time and mutual respect. It transforms the narrative from one of
a "hired nanny" to one of sacred responsibility and adoption. To take
in a young girl after the sudden loss of her mother, who was already part of
our household's daily life, shows that our family’s greatest
"functional" strength was our heart. deep bond and the tragic but
beautiful way she truly became ours.
Adoption of Deepak - Insight of the
State Rickshaw
We
didn't just hire people; we inducted them into our frequency. Deepak’s success
is a testament to the fact that when you salute the Indweller, as my mother
did, you provide the soil for that soul to grow from a rickshaw to a boardroom.
The Tricycle has come full circle, from the State Rickshaw that carried the
Khanna children to a corporate high-flier who has now become the Primary Owner
himself. Deepak hasn’t escaped his origins; he has mastered them, engineered
them, and scaled them. Deepak’s life Cycle - From Passenger to Proprietor. The wisdom
of the Ambala transport system was built on two holy names: Sitaram, the
primary owner-driver who set the standard of service, and Sunder, the “Beautiful”
soul. They were the frontline engineers of our daily commute to the Clinic
& Convent school. The Multiplier Effect: Deepak’s Empire. What is truly
IN-SIGHTFUL is how Deepak took the seeds of his father’s labor and applied the “Billionaire
Logic” he witnessed in the Khanna household. Today, while he serves as a
high-ranking Trouble Shooter at Seasia Inc., he has simultaneously built a
localized “Rickshaw Conglomerate.” He owns a fleet of 30 rickshaws, which he
rents out to migrant workers from Bihar. He transitioned from being the son of
a driver to the manager of a fleet. By providing these tools of trade to people
from Bihar, he is acting as the “Banker of 1840” for a new generation of
toilers, giving them the same vehicle of opportunity that his father once
steered. Deepak is no longer just “the Batman”; he is the investor. He learned
that to be the most fortunate soul, one must own the means of production while
solving the troubles of the world. In the ultimate twist of fate, the boy who
once sat behind the rickshaw driver as a family ward now sits behind a
corporate desk as a leader and owns the very fleet his father once labored for.
Deepak’s 30 rickshaws are moving more than just passengers; they are moving the
karma of a lineage forward. He is the living embodiment of Toiling Smart. The
ultimate legacy of the Khanna frequency. We didn’t just build monuments in
Sakchi; we built people. The Rickshaw was the first gear. Batman was the second
gear. The Compounder was the third gear. The Corporate Officer is the final,
high-speed gear.
Military Transition – From Rickshaw to
Batman
The
connection to Sunder didn’t end at the school gates. In a move of true
Structural Integrity, my elder brother, the Colonel, adopted Sunder’s son,
Deepak, into the military ecosystem. For most of his life, my brother was
sanctioned Batman by the government. Deepak stepped into this role, not just as
an orderly, but as a trusted extension of the family. He traveled with the
Colonel, learning the discipline of Artillery and the precision of military
life. Batman & Compounder, A Journey of Elevation. In the Ambala protocol,
the "State Rickshaw" was more than transport; it was a vessel of
trust. It was owned by Sitaram and driven by Sunder, a man whose name meant
"Beautiful," a quality that radiated from his dark skin and sweet
temperament as he ferried us to the Convent school and back. The geometry of
our life continues to reveal itself! This isn’t just a coincidence; it’s a
Socio-Spiritual Supply Chain. The names Sitaram and Sunder meaning Beautiful
ensure that even the commute to school was bathed in "Holy"
frequencies. But the real wisdom here is the Human Engineering, how a rickshaw
puller’s lineage was elevated through the Khanna family’s "Adoption of
Souls." Medical Apprenticeship, Sparring of the Compounder. When the
Colonel retired and returned to Ambala, Deepak’s "toiling smart"
continued. In his spare time, he assisted our aging father, the Doctor, acting
as his Compounder. In that home clinic, Deepak picked up the tricks of the
medical trade. He learned the alchemy of healing, the discipline of hygiene,
and the knowhow of human care. He was being prepared for a world he hadn't yet
entered. The Modern Outcome: The Trouble Shooter. Today, that rickshaw driver’s
son has completed the 160-year transformation. He is a high-ranking officer at
Seasia Inc. in Mohali & his natural side-hustle is providing First Aid to
the 400 employees of the Company. He is no longer ferrying children or
compounding medicine; he is a Global Trouble Shooter, solving complex corporate
problems.
Evolution of Craft –
Wood/Cane/Bamboo Working
My workshop today is a far cry from where I
began. Now, I have the convenience of modern drills, precision cutting
attachments, and power tools that make the work faster. However, the soul of my
craft was forged in Jamshedpur, where I learned to survive and thrive with the
basics. Resourcefulness in
Jamshedpur. Back
then, there were no power drills. I relied on Augers of all sizes and a
hand-operated bow-powered drill. To get the specific results I wanted on my
woodworking lathe, I had to be inventive: The detail about the bow-powered drill
is a wonderful piece of history, it’s an ancient technique that requires a
great deal of physical rhythm and skill compared to a modern trigger-pull
drill. It makes the strength of the Rocking Giraffe even more impressive,
knowing the "primitive" roots of my training.
Custom Tooling: I sought out a local blacksmith to help me
repurpose old metal shaving files. We modified those hardened files into
specialized chisels and gouges for the lathe. It was a lesson in metallurgy and
patience; if I couldn't buy the tool, I had to imagine it into existence,
manifestation.
A Jamshedpur Evening - Classic
"kid logic" moment
The
humid Jamshedpur air had begun to cool as we ducked into a modest neighborhood
restaurant. It was one of those local staples, plastic chairs, the rhythmic
clack-clack of a spatula against a hot tawa, and the unmistakable, fermented
tang of crisping Dosas. Our children, Roshika (6) and Ricky (5), were at that
age where every outing was an adventure, though for different reasons. For
Ricky, adventure usually meant a quest for sugar. Almost as soon as we sat
down, the familiar refrain began. "I want ice cream," Ricky whined,
his voice rising in that specific, persistent pitch that parents know all too
well. "Can I have ice cream? I want it now!" While we tried to settle
him, Roshika was occupied with a different challenge. It’s a perfect example of
showcasing that sharp transition from being puzzled by words to wielding them
like a pro. An evening in Jamshedpur, fleshed out with a bit of atmosphere and
the internal dialogue of a six-year-old "detective." Her eyes were
narrowed, fixed intensely on a hand-painted sign hanging crookedly on the wall.
At six, the world is a giant jumble of symbols waiting to be unlocked. She was
sounding it out, her lips moving silently as she battled the big words. NOTICE:
WE SERVE ONLY VEGETARIAN HERE. She stared at the first word. To a tired
six-year-old dealing with a noisy younger brother, the brain doesn’t always see
the "Official Notice"; it sees the solution to a problem. She looked
at the word NOTICE. She saw NOT. She saw ICE. With the sudden, soaring
confidence of a child who had just discovered a universal truth, she turned to
her brother and pointed a finger at the wall. "See, Ricky? Look at the
sign!" she commanded, her voice ringing with newfound authority. "It
is written right there: NOT ICE. So, you must stop crying. They aren't allowed
to serve it!" In that moment, she wasn't just reading; she was
legislating. She had brilliantly partitioned the alphabet to suit the peace and
quiet of the table. Ricky, stunned by the "official" nature of the
wall's decree, fell silent, peering at the letters he couldn't yet dispute. We
sat there, hidden behind our menus, trying to suppress our laughter. It was a
masterclass in creative interpretation, and a reminder that Roshika was already
becoming far too clever for all of us.
Rekha's Role - The Living Archive
Was
she the "steady current" that allowed me to take risks at TISCO and
the Shipyard? This is the perfect "human" counterweight to my
engineer’s brain! While I was busy optimizing the physical world, measuring
steel, calculating moments of inertia, and designing contraptions, Rekha was
the custodian of time and culture. As an engineer I relied on blueprints to
remember the past; Rekha relied on her photographic memory. This created a
wonderful dynamic for our partnership where my logic met her vivid, unshakeable
memory. If my mind was a drafting table, Rekha’s was a cinema screen. Brought
up under the vigilant, watchful eyes of strict parents in Ludhiana, she
developed a disciplined exterior, but inside, she cultivated a vast and vibrant
world. She became a walking encyclopedia of Indian cinema, possessing a taste
for film that was as refined as it was deep. But her true 'superpower' was a
photographic memory, an attribute that was both a marvel and, occasionally, my
undoing. As an Industrial Engineer, I was trained to look forward to the next
problem to solve, sometimes at the expense of the dates and events that had
already passed. Rekha, however, forgot nothing. She was the keeper of our
history, the living archive of our milestones. While I managed the 'mechanical
contraptions' of our life, she managed the 'temporal' ones, ensuring that no
detail, no anniversary, and no cinematic masterpiece was ever lost on time. In
our home, she wasn't just my wife; she was the unshakeable memory of the
family.
Side
Hustle of Laundry Soap
This wasn't just about saving money;
it was about controlling the source. Just as my father controlled the
"X-ray" diagnosis and the Tatas controlled the iron ore, I wanted to
control the very "water" I used to clean my hands after a day at the
plant. It was a "Refinery of the Self." Ah, the Laundry Soap, the
heavy-duty "Scouring Force" of the household! This wasn't just about
bubbles; it was about creating a surfactant powerful enough to wash away the
grease of a Tata Nagar engine room. I was essentially performing a
Saponification, the magical "Cold Process" where a caustic base and
an acid slurry meet to create a solid or viscous cleansing current. Private
Refinery, Cold Process Solution. In the "Rivers" theme, this side
hustle represents The Art of the Solution. I was not just waiting for the
current to bring me what I needed; I was creating my own "Chemical
Tributary." While the great furnaces of Tata Steel were forging iron with
white-hot intensity, I was engaged in a quieter, cooler form of creation. In
the corners of my life in Jamshedpur, I became a Master of Solution, running a
side hustle that was part engineering, part chemistry, and entirely creative resourcefulness.
Logistics Sourcing from the Delta. The ingredients didn't just flow into
Jamshedpur; they had to be hunted. I would travel to the wholesale markets of
Calcutta, the great delta where the world’s trade gathered. There, I sourced
the raw essentials: The Acid Slurry: The potent base. The Lye: The catalyst. Oils:
The body of the stream. Bringing these back was like importing the
"mineral wealth" of the Ganges delta back to the rocky terrain of
Tata Nagar.
Cold
Process of Mixing
The
engineering was in the sequence of flow. We couldn't just throw them together. Dilution:
First, the Lye was dissolved in water. This created an exothermic reaction; the
water grew hot with its own internal struggle. The Marriage: Once the Lye
cooled to room temperature the "Cold" in the process, the Acid Slurry
was introduced. The Transformation: You would stir "carefully and
steadily", a laminar rotation. The dark, acidic liquid and the clear,
caustic base would undergo neutralization. Like a river meeting the sea, the
two opposing forces settled into a thick, creamy paste. The Wait: The most
important ingredient was time. You had to let the mixture "Cure."
During this rest, the pH balanced itself, and the "In-Sane" chemicals
became a sane, helpful soap. The Engineer’s Cleanse. I didn't buy soap from the
market; I manufactured it. While others were content with the
"Tributaries" provided by big brands, I went to Delta, Calcutta to
get the raw power. My laundry soap was "Seasoned" just like the wood
at Margherita. It was designed for the heavy lifting of an engineer's life. There
was a profound satisfaction in knowing that the very clothes I wore into the
"Crucible of Tata Steel" were cleaned by a solution of my own
engineering. It was a closed-loop system of creativity. Input: Raw Chemicals +
Precision. Process: Cold Mixing + Patience. Output: Purity. Neutralization:
Just as the Subarnarekha and Kharkai rivers have different mineral contents but
create a stable confluence, your Lye and Slurry created a "Peaceful
Solution." Self-Sufficiency: It proves that a "River" that can
create its own "Cleansing Current" is a river that never runs dirty. In
the "Cold Process," the engineer becomes a chemist. I was not just
mixing liquids; I was managing a molecular "Spate." To create a
year's supply of laundry soap that could tackle the grime of Jamshedpur, the
recipe followed a strict structural integrity: The Acid Slurry (Linear Alkyl
Benzene Sulphonic Acid): The "Dark Current." This was the primary
active agent, the raw energy that breaks the surface tension of the water. The
Caustic Lye (Sodium Hydroxide): The "Catalyst." Sourced from the
heavy markets of Calcutta, this was the fire in the water. It required respect;
it was the "Gorge" that the slurry had to pass through to be
transformed. The Oils/Fats (The Body): Often non-edible oils like Neem or Rice
Bran. These provided the "Banks" of the soap, giving it substance and
ensuring it didn't just wash away too quickly. The Fillers (Sodium Silicate or
Soda Ash): The "Silt." These were added to harden the soap and
enhance its scrubbing power against the stubborn stains of the factory floor. Mixing
the Current. Unlike the violent heat of the steel plant, my process was a
"Cold Flow." It required no external fire, only the internal energy
of the chemical reaction and the steady patience of the maker. Just mix
carefully and wait. This was the ultimate lesson in patience. In engineering,
we often want to force the result, but in the "Cold Process," the
river makes itself. I provided the ingredients, I set the rotation in motion,
and then I allowed the chemistry to settle into its final form. By the time I
was done, I had a year’s supply of liquid soap, a clear, viscous current of
self-sufficiency.
Philately
Current - Collecting the World on a Reel
In the quiet stretches of my teenage
years, the Khanna River found a new way to expand its reach without leaving the
house. I discovered Philately, not just as a hobby, but to "siphon"
the exotic currents of the world into a manageable container. It was a journey
of amassing, processing, and eventually, a radical innovation in how we view
the "flow" of history. Philately, at its heart, is the study of how
information and art flow across the globe. My "Endless Scroll"
invention is the perfect metaphor for a river, a continuous, moving stream of
history and culture that never ends, just keeps "cranking." Looking
at this through the lens of 2026, where digital fatigue is at an all-time high,
my mechanical invention, the Endless Scroll Album, is more relevant than ever.
It’s the "Analog TikTok" of the philately world! Every great
collection starts with a "Catchment Area." I began raiding temples,
churches, and local shops like a prospector looking for gold in the silt. I
would hunt for incoming mail, frantically "eye-spicing" the corners
of envelopes. I learned the delicate art of the "Tear-off", retrieving
the loaded corners without mutating the valuable stamps. These went into a
metal box, my primary reservoir, until the lot was sizeable enough for
processing. In the teenage ecosystem, stamps were currency. We compared notes,
tracked duplicates, and engaged in a "Barter of Possessions." A
kit-kat or a lunch box was a small price to pay to divert a rare current into
my collection. The greatest surges, however, came from "Hand-me-downs."
When seniors grew out of their "stamp-phase" and moved on to the more
"turbulent exploration of the opposite sex," I was there to catch the
flow. Gratis! Within a year, I had amassed three massive collections. I wasn't
just a collector; I was a dam-builder, holding back a vast lake of history.
Watery
Exercise: Retrieving the Virgin Stamps
As an engineer-in-the-making, the
processing was a ritual. The glued-up tear-ups were soaked overnight in a large
container of Hydraulic Bath. The Peeling: Carefully removing the paper backs. Drying:
Placing the stamps between sheets of old newspapers like layers of geological
sediment. The Storage: Once fully dried and "virgin," they were
locked away, waiting for their destination: the Album. The Innovation: The
Endless Scroll Album. Bound albums were a "Stagnant Pool", I always
ran out of pages for India while the smaller countries remained "Blank
Backwaters." My creativity demanded more. I needed the WOW factor. I
envisioned the "Endless Scroll." If a river is a continuous flow, why
shouldn't a stamp collection be the same? I designed a horizontal "Movie
Projector" for stamps: The Mechanism: Two long spools spaced apart,
mounted on ball bearings for a smooth, laminar rotation. The Canvas: 600 feet
of black paper, 15 inches wide, holding ten rows of distinct themes. The Flow:
One country’s theme would gradually "ebb" into the same theme of the
next country, Flowers to Flowers, Spaceships to Spaceships. The viewer didn't
just look at a page; they sat at the bank of a river and watched the world go
past. I could slow down, back-track, or surge forward at will just by turning
the handle. It was the talk of the town designer’s dream that turned a static
hobby into a living, moving current.
Marketing Tagline for the Scroll Album
"Don't just store history. Let it
flow. The Scroll Album: Philately on a Reel, Just Crank It!" For decades,
the stamp collector has been imprisoned by the "Page." We are forced
into a stop-start experience, flipping through bound volumes where the flow of
history is interrupted by the turn of a leaf. The joy is fragmented. The
"WOW" factor is buried. The Solution: The Kinetic Philately Projector.
Imagine a device that treats your collection like a living river. No more
flipping; only flowing. The Horizontal Spool System: High-precision ball
bearings and dual-drive rollers allow the collector to "Crank the
Current." It’s tactile, mechanical, and infinitely satisfying. Theme-Based
Synchronicity: Unlike traditional albums, our 600-foot black paper allows us to
align Themes across Borders. Watch as the "Flying Machines" of India
transition seamlessly into the "Spaceships" of the USSR, creating a
continuous horizon of human achievement. The "Enhanced Span" Roller:
A strategic third roller elevates the scroll at the point of viewing, creating
a natural ergonomic curve that increases the "span of glance." Scalable
Architecture: Available in two models: The "Junior Stream" (8-inch):
Compact and collapsible for the budding teen explorer. Fits in a school bag. The
"Master Current" (15-inch): The adult version for the serious
curator, featuring 10 rows of thematic depth, from a 2D hobby to a 4D movement.
Vineyard
of the Subarnarekha
In river terminology, this is the
Fermentation of the Flow. You were taking the "Seasonal Spates" of
fruit and, through the alchemy of the cellar, turning a fleeting harvest into a
"Vintage Current" that could be stored and savored. In Jamshedpur,
while the sky was often grey with the smoke of the chimneys, my home was
vibrant with the colors of a different kind of production. We didn't just drink
wine; we manufactured it. Any fruit that crossed our path, the gifts of the
seasons, was subjected to the "Test of the Vat." Like a river that
carries the flavor of the mountains it flows through, our wines were a map of
the local landscape. No fruit was safe from our ambition. The Tropical Surge:
Mangoes, pineapples, and guavas were gathered during their peak
"Spate." The Exotic Inflow: Grapes, plums, or even the wild berries
found in the hills of the Chota Nagpur plateau. If it had sugar and soul, it
was destined for the "Khanna Reservoir." The Cold Fermentation:
Managing the Yeast Current Winemaking is the engineering of Biological
Momentum. The Crushing: This was the "Erosion" phase, breaking down
the solid structure of the fruit to release the juice, the "Raw
Water." The Pitching: Introducing the yeast was like adding a
"Catalyst" to the stream. Suddenly, the quiet juice became a
Turbulent Eddy of activity. The power of the Airlock: As an engineer, I
respected the pressure. The airlock allowed the "Gases of the Past"
to escape while keeping the "Oxygen of the Present" from spoiling the
flow. The Settling: The Clarification of the Stream. A great river is often
muddy at its height, but it clears as it slows down. Our wine followed the same
Sedimentation process. Just mix carefully and wait. The mantra of the
soap-maker applied here too. We waited for the "Lees" the silt of the
fruit to drop to the bottom, leaving behind a clear, glowing
"Current" of alcohol. Racking the wine from one carboy to another was
a Laminar Transfer, moving the pure essence forward while leaving the debris
behind.
Catchment
of the Harvest & Vintage bottled in
By the time the process was finished,
we hadn't just made a drink; we had "Seasoned" the fruit into a
Vintage. These bottles were our private "Reservoirs of Joy." In a
city of heavy metal and hard labor, these wines were the "Gentle
Tributaries" that helped us navigate the social rapids of Jamshedpur. We
were mad enough to believe we could improve nature, and often, the results were
proof of our success.
Re-engineering of
under garment Comfort
To the casual observer, an Industrial Engineer
is someone who optimizes factory floors or streamlines supply chains. But for
me, the discipline of optimization doesn’t end when I punch out for the day; it
is a philosophy that dictates how I navigate the world, right down to the very
clothes on my back. Every
morning, I perform a small act of rebellion against standard manufacturing: I
put my undergarments on inside out. It is a simple calculation of ergonomics.
Why should the protruding seams, those rough, structural ridges of the overlock
stitch, be pressed against the skin, creating unnecessary friction and sensory
'noise'? By reversing the garment, I ensure the smooth, finished surface is the
one in contact with the user me. It is a zero-cost upgrade to my daily
efficiency. While the world may see a garment worn 'the wrong way,' I see a
solved problem, a reminder that even the most personal systems can be
re-engineered for a better life.
Innovator at the Pool
- Art of Slow Motion
Life in the TISCO area revolved around the
social clubs, United for the junior officers and Beldih for the seniors. My
routine was a rhythmic blend of discipline and leisure: a game of lawn tennis,
followed by a swim, all leading up to the evening’s climax, the movies screened
at the open-air theater. It was at
these pools that I found myself in high demand. The ladies of the club, perhaps
noticing my efficiency in the water, were constantly after me teaching their
children how to swim. It was a daunting request; swimming is a complex,
full-body regime of multitasking that can easily overwhelm a child. However, looking at the
water through the eyes of an Industrial Engineer, I saw a process that could be
optimized. I realized that the secret to mastering complexity was not speed,
but the opposite. I invented a technique rooted in a singular mantra: Swimming
in slow motion is the fastest way to learn. I broke the "science of the swim" into five digestible
components, designed to be mastered one by one:
The Dead Body Float: The foundation of trust
with the water. I taught them to push off the wall and simply exist,
horizontal, effortless, and still. The Oar Stroke: We focused on the arms in isolation. Cupping the
hands like paddles, approaching the water thumb-first, and completing the
strokes at the thigh, all in slow motion. The Hip-Driven Kick: Eliminating the "bicycle kick" by
imagining plasters on the knees. I used the Law of Buoyancy to show them that
the deeper the head, the higher the body floats.
The Synergistic Glide: Combining one cycle of
hands and legs, allowing the body to rock like a boat from side to side.
Cosmic Breath: Here, I introduced the
"AUM" technique. We practiced "OOO" for a quick mouth
inhalation and a long, vibrating "MMMM" for a forceful nasal
exhalation underwater.
By the time we put these steps together, the
children weren't just struggling to stay afloat; they were moving with
awareness. By teaching them to move slowly, I gave their minds the time to
focus on the nuances. I had turned a "full body regime" into a series
of mastered parts, proving that even in the leisure of the United Club, the
engineer’s mind never stops innovating.
Legacy of the Mantra
The "Slow Motion" technique wasn't
just a relic of my days at the TISCO clubs; its true value was proven years
later in a much more personal setting. My granddaughter, Riya Khanna, was a typical case of a child
paralyzed by fear. My son has a swimming pool in his backyard, but for Riya,
the water was a source of dread rather than joy. She was mortally afraid of
putting her head under, and as she watched others swim, she began to lose her
self-confidence. She felt the weight of her own hesitation.
I knew then that it was time to bring the
"Mantra" back to life. We didn't rush. We didn't splash. Instead, we
sat by the water and, step-by-step, I taught her how to make friends with the
water. We started with the "Dead Body Float," moving into the
slow-motion components of the arms and legs. By treating the water as a partner
rather than an adversary, her fear began to dissolve. In just one week, the
progress was undeniable. The turning point came when she took a deep breath,
dipped her head, and swam the full length of the pool entirely on her own. The look of surprise and
pride on her parents' faces was worth every minute of instruction. Today, Riya
has shed her "floaties" and her fear; she is an expert diver and
swimmer, navigating the deep end with the grace of someone who truly understands
the nuances of the water. It was a proud moment for me, not just as a
grandfather, but as an engineer who saw a complex problem solved through
patience and a bit of "Slow Motion.
First Turn of the
Wood Working Lathe
Once the lathe was commissioned and my custom tools were ready, it
was time for the inaugural project. I didn't start with a decorative ornament
or a complex puzzle. Instead, I chose something essential, sturdy, and
meaningful. A classic
and deeply symbolic first fruit/project. There is something poetic about using
a newly commissioned lathe, built or fitted with tools I had custom-forged from
old metal files, to create a heavy-duty rolling pin, a gift for the kitchen.
It’s the perfect intersection of my mechanical skill and my role as a provider
for the home.
There is a unique satisfaction in that first successful "turn."
Seeing the shavings fly and feeling the vibration of the wood through a tool I
designed myself, all to create something that would serve my family for
decades, was the true commissioning of my life as a craftsman. Engineering Breakdown of Design. My dissatisfaction with inefficient design eventually
followed me into the nursery. I developed a particular aversion to the
conventional rocking horse, a 10 kg behemoth of bulky plastic or wood that
could barely support a 25 kg toddler. It was a spatial nightmare: it occupied
valuable square footage, offered a limited window of use, and provided a poor
return on material investment. To counter this, I applied my engineering principles to create the
'Rocking Giraffe.' I stripped the concept down to its essential geometry: a
slim, sturdy bed about 2 inches in diameter, a graceful long neck, and a
balanced rocking base. It was lightweight, virtually indestructible, and
elegant. Soon, I wasn't just building a toy; I was running a small-scale
production line for friends and relatives who recognized that good design isn't
about how much space an object takes up, but how much joy and utility it
provides." Rocking
Giraffe is a masterclass in minimalist industrial design, functional,
space-saving, and structurally superior. Structural Integrity: Using a
2-inch diameter "bed" the spine provides a high moment of inertia,
allowing it to support much more than the standard 25 kg limit of hollow
plastic horses. Space
Efficiency: By moving toward a "slim-profile" giraffe design, I
reduced the volumetric footprint while maintaining the fun. The "Viral"
Effect, was that it became the "most sought-after gift" proves that my
engineering met a real market need, durability and aesthetics combined with a
compact form.
Master and the
Apprentice
Long before I left for Canada, I spotted a young
man whose talent was as sharp as his tools. He was making a meager living
turning wooden spinning tops, vibrant with lacquer paint, sold with a simple
string. I saw in his steady hands the potential for something much greater. Building a Foundation. My mentorship was as much
about business as it was about craft. I guided him toward financial
independence: The Bank Account. I insisted he open an account at a nearby bank,
depositing his earnings and learning the rhythm of "money in, money
out." The
Workshop: Because of this established history, he was eventually able to secure
a bank loan. With that capital, he moved beyond the street corner and set up
his own formal woodworking workshop.
Revolving Centerpiece
of our dining table
He became my trusted collaborator, the one I
patronized for my most ambitious designs. Together, we created the Center
Revolving Dining Table. A massive five-foot diameter masterpiece. It
featured a central rotating section, a "Lazy Susan" style that became
the talk of every dinner party. It wasn't just furniture; it was an engineering
feat that invited conversation and community. The Ultimate Gift to my collaborator. In 1999,
as I prepared to move to Canada, I knew I couldn't take my heavy industrial tools
with me. I didn't sell them; I gave them to him. Leaving my Augers,
custom-filed chisels, and heavy tools in his hands felt like the only right
conclusion. I wasn't just leaving tools; I was leaving a legacy of
craftsmanship in Jamshedpur that would continue long after I was gone. The philosophy I live by a
mix of iron-clad Will and total Cosmic Surrender. The image of us checking into
the Grand Hotel in Calcutta to give my family a "taste of Royalty"
before embarking on a journey into the unknown is a beautiful touch of class
and fatherly love. The
revolving dining table is such a clever metaphor for my life, always moving,
always centered on family and food, and built with a precision that sparks
"discussion on all occasions."
Mathematical Balance
This "Mathematical Balance" is a
brilliant educational tool. As an Industrial Engineer, I effectively built a
physical analog computer to teach the principles of moments and linear
equations through tactile play.
In terms of physics, I was teaching the children about the
Principle of Moments: It is
pure, elegant logic. This fits
perfectly into a section about "The Engineer as a Teacher." I was
just not giving my grandchildren toys; I gave them a head start on mechanical
intuition. Beyond
the physical joy of the Rocking Giraffe, I wanted to give my grandchildren the
clarity of logic. I designed what I called the 'Mathematical Balance', a 24 cm
wooden beam suspended from a central steel hook on a cantilevered stand. On either side of the
pivot, I bored ten precision holes, numbered 1 through 10. The 'game' was a
hands-on introduction to the laws of physics. If a child dropped a peg into
hole 3 and another into hole 5 on the left, the beam would plunge downward,
unbalanced. To achieve equilibrium, to reach that satisfying 'BINGO' moment
where the beam leveled perfectly horizontal, they had to deduce that the third
peg belonged in hole 8 on the opposite side. Through this simple wooden instrument, the abstract world of
addition and the physical laws of moments became one and the same. I wasn't
just playing with them; I was teaching them that the world has a natural order
that can be calculated, balanced, and understood." Innovation in the Nursery. That same spirit of
problem-solving is evident in Victoria’s Giant Dollhouse. Understanding that
floor space is a premium in any home, I didn't let the house sit on the ground. To save floor space, the
entire structure is wall mounted.
The Hub: Despite being off the floor, the
“central station” remains for her collection, housing all her other toys within
its walls.
ROHIT KHANNA IN-SANE
ALL 10 E-BOOKS BY AUTHOR FOR YOUR BENEFIT
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