Engineer forged in the crucible of Tata Nagar - Finding Grace in the Grind - Part 6
The Evolution of the Craft
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.
The First Turn of the 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 you designed yourself, all to create
something that would serve your family for decades, was the true commissioning
of my life as a craftsman.
Engineering
Breakdown of your 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, you reduced the volumetric footprint
while maintaining the fun. The
"Viral" Effect: The fact that it became the "most sought-after
gift" proves that your engineering met a real market need, durability and
aesthetics combined with a compact form.
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 be
came 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.
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.
The Innovator at the Pool - The 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 Beldih 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.
The 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.
The 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 your 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
your life, always moving, always centered on family and food, and built with a
precision that sparks "discussion on all occasions."
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 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.
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 farm is perhaps the
most meaningful "restoration project" of my 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 the book, 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 your children, navigating the transition
from childhood to adulthood within the walls of your 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.
The Cycle of the Land: Devaki’s Family
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 my 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 your household's daily life, shows
that your family’s greatest "functional" strength was your heart.
deep bond and the tragic but beautiful way she truly became yours.
TISCO’s productivity
enhanced-Cost reduction & VE
To achieve the
above objectives for enhanced profitability of the company, the department of
Industrial Engineering was initiated very early, employing 100 engineers.
Overall productivity of the various departments was achieved through liberal
Incentive Schemes & strategic manpower planning.
Re-Engineering
Allocation of raw
materials in 126 highline bins of Blast Furnaces to facilitate the unloading of
wagons in one placement and one shunt thereby saving one locomotive valued at $300,000.
Suggested merger of similar departments into larger units resulting in
reduction of 6oo men companywide and facilitating in smooth functioning of
operations.
System / Productivity
Optimal replacement policy for mobile equipment
to replace it in 3rd year with a saving potential of $ 5,000,000 by
obviating the standby fleet and maintenance costs. New technologies for low-cost sheds, using old wire ropes
in tension as structural and old conveyor belts for covering, at 1/10th
the cost of conventional sheds. Moisture control
in raw coal was achieved through system approach. Plots at ports were sloped
& graded, mixing of fines with clean coal was discontinued, & covers
were provided at the power houses.
Recycling solid waste was proposed
with an innovative low-cost collection system thus saving $ 1,000,000 / yr.
Water management: Large diameter pipes
were found to be responsible for major leakages/wastages. Innovative pipeline
re-networking based on altitudes was done to eliminate ballcock dependency
totally, thus saving $ 3,000,000 / yr.
Value Engineering,
the all riveted 400-year-old design of coal tubs & mine cars was changed to
all welded ones with savings of $ 200,000/yr. Added value to the single legged raw material conveyor
gantry by converting it into a double legged “A” frame, thereby facilitating
covering of raw materials in future, obviating the additional cost of $
1,500.000. Value analyzed
the boundary wall at Ferro Manganese plant and replaced the conventional brick
wall with double layer laterite blocks wall at half the cost, saving $100,000.
Facilities Planning
A 3D scale model cum planning kit was
fabricated personally to fully comprehend and plan the new proposed 10-million-ton
steel plant at Gopalpur port. The land topography showed that the cost
to level the area would be prohibitive, hence it was ceremoniously abandoned. Ring plant expansion was restudied with future market
demand in view, and one big, one small machine was swapped for two small
machines resulting in savings of $9,000,000. Slag road along
the Subarnarekha River was scaled down by evaluating the culvert requirement
based on the last 40 years rainfall data and catchment areas, saving
$1,000,000.
Material Handling / Logistics, Dispatch of steel billets for export by rail to ports was
changed to road transport to minimize multiple handling thus saving
$500.000/yr.
Manpower Planning, Yearly review and assessment of
manpower for all 60 departments was compiled for cadre positions and trainee
requirements up to the next decade.
Labor Productivity, Monthly labor productivity graphs for
all major production departments and plant – For international Bench marking.
The unveiling game
You transitioned from observing your
father’s unveiling of patients to performing an unveiling of ideas. The
transition from a standard Industrial Engineering role to being the Official
Think Tank in the Value Engineering (VE) section is where your identity as the Engineer
from Tata Nagar truly crystallized. In Value Engineering, the goal is to
provide the same or better function at a lower cost, it is the ultimate
intersection of logic and creativity.
The Chess Grandmaster of Ideas
In the world of steel and fire, most
things are rigid. But in the Value Engineering workshops, the environment was
fluid. We would gather the "technical big shots”, the masters of the blast
furnaces, the heads of rolling mills, and the logistics experts—into a single
room.
During the Brainstorming stage, many
of these brilliant minds would hit a wall. They were experts in how things
are done, which often made it hard to see how they could be done
differently. They would start with 10 or 15 standard ideas and then stall.
That was when I would step in. I didn't sit at a head table; I moved. Like a Chess
Grandmaster playing twenty boards at once, I would navigate from table to
table, group to group. I wasn't just suggesting technical changes; I was
applying a version of my father’s "bedside manner" to the engineering
brain. I knew how to listen to their constraints and then gently nudge the
"unveiling" of a new possibility.
I would watch the tally climb: From 15 ideas to 30… to…50...
I wasn't just an
engineer; I was a Catalyst. I was "engineering" the very thoughts of
the company. In those rooms, I realized that just as my father believed
"Medicine is a placebo" without human touch, Engineering is just
maintenance without the creative spark. Being the "Think Tank" meant
I was responsible for the future of the company’s efficiency.
The Parallel of the "Official
Think Tank"
My Father: Went
from person to person to heal the body. I Went from table to table in a
workshop to heal the process. Both of us were looking for the
"hidden potential”, he in the patient, me in the machine and the mind.
The Noamundi Retreat: Engineering the
Intuition
The most "holistic" part of
my training didn't happen in a classroom, but in the Noamundi ore mines. Amidst
the spectacular landscape of iron-rich earth, the company did something
radical: they sponsored me for courses on Intuition.
Led by a world-renowned
hypnotherapist, we went beyond logic. While other companies were teaching their
engineers better ways to use a slide rule, Tata was teaching me how to tap into
the Subconscious. It was here that
I realized my father’s "bedside manner" and my "Value
Engineering" were the same thing: Intuition in action. Hypnotherapy taught
me to quiet the "Well Frog" noise of data and listen to the "Sea
Frog" instinct of possibility. It gave me the mental "polishing"
to walk into a workshop and see the 4-million-rupee saving in a coal tub before
I had even touched a calculator. I wasn't just an
employee; I was becoming a "Holistic Engineer", a man who could
navigate the hard steel of the industry with the intuitive grace of a healer.
The Mechanics of Manifestation
By the time I was navigating the vast
sectors of the company, from the ports to the underground mines, I realized
that engineering was only half the story. The other half was the Power of Will.
In Noamundi, under the guidance of the hypnotherapist, I learned that
"desire" isn't just a wish; it is a blueprint. If an engineer can
visualize the finished structure, the mind begins to solve the stresses and
strains automatically. I began to apply this to my life and my work. I didn't
just "hope" to become a Sea Frog; I willed it. I saw myself in those
different departments, and the "Great Machine" of the Tata dynasty
seemed to open its doors to match my vision. The Equation of Success: Will + Grace
As an Engineer, I think in equations.
But the most important formula of my life wasn't found in a physics manual:
Success = Focused Will + Divine Grace. The Will: This was my part. It was the
"Chess Grandmaster" intensity, the late-night study, the courage to
suggest welding over riveting, and the foresight to build the garage before the
car. The Grace: This
was the element my father recognized in his clinic. It was the "God Bless
You" factor. It was the sponsorship to Noamundi, the bosses who saw my
potential, and the timing that allowed a boy from the brown dust of Sadar
Bazaar to oversee special projects for a global empire. I realized that even the strongest steel in Tata Nagar would eventually
rust, but a life built on Will and Grace is structurally sound forever. I was
no longer just an "Official Think Tank" for the company; I was a
witness to how a person can manifest their reality. Whether it was my mother
manifesting a mansion from a vacant plot in Machi Mohalla, or me manifesting a
new standard for the mining tubs, the process was the same. We were
"unveiling" the future before it arrived.
The Sea Frog and the Subconscious
In the engineering world, many are
content to be "Well Frogs." They spend forty years understanding one
pump, one furnace, or one conveyor belt. Their world is deep, but narrow. I
knew from the start that I wanted to be a Sea Frog. I wanted to swim in every
current of the empire, from the dark tunnels of the underground mines to the
salt air of the shipping ports.
My bosses recognized this
restlessness. Instead of tethering me to a desk, they gave me a
"passport" to the entire company. I became one of the few to be
rotated through every vital organ of the Tata body. The Main Plant: The heart
where the steel was born. Open Cast & Underground Mines: The raw,
gritty source of our strength. Ports & Special Projects: The limbs that
reached out to the world. Ancillary
Industries: The nerves that connected the small businesses to the giant. The
fact that I was rotated through the entire company is very rare. It suggests
that I was not just being trained; I was being "tempered" like
high-quality steel to handle any pressure. Being the only engineer to see the
mines, the ports, and the ancillary industries gave me a "God's eye
view" of how the whole empire breathed together. That distinction is crucial. "Special Projects"
wasn't just a job description; it was my territory. In a massive organization
like Tata, the "mainline" is where the routine keeps the gears
turning, but the "Special Projects" section is where the anomalies,
the puzzles, and the "miscellaneous stuff" go to be solved. By
heading this section, I was not a cog in the machine, I was the mechanic who
fixed the parts of the machine, no one else understood.
A Well frog destined to be a Sea frog
It explains how I was able to move
from table to table like a Chess Grandmaster. This realization is the ultimate bridge between my
father’s medical practice and my engineering career. It moves beyond
"technical skill" and into the realm of Applied Spirituality. In Tata Nagar, I was not just moving steel or saving
rupees; I was learning that the physical world, the mansions, the Ambassador
cars, the 4-million-rupee welds, is first constructed in the mind through Will
and then brought into reality through Grace.
The Sijua Detour.
My work often took me to the
underground collieries, where the challenges of Industrial Engineering required
swift, decisive solutions. On one such occasion, I had a set of urgent
proposals that needed the Director’s approval. At the time, that man was Mr. Y.
P. Dhawan. He was a titan of
the collieries, a man so dedicated to the steel industry that he eventually
died in office, never reaching the quiet of retirement. His secretary was the
gatekeeper of a daunting schedule: "He is fully booked for the next ten
days," I was told. I knew the
problems at the collieries couldn't wait ten days. Instead of walking away, I
looked for a different opening. I asked when the Director was next scheduled to
visit the Sijua colliery site. "Tomorrow," the secretary replied.
I didn't ask for a meeting; I asked
for a ride. I sent word that
I would accompany him in his car and instructed the driver to pick me up before
Mr. Dhawan’s scheduled departure. I had initially hoped for fifteen minutes of
his undivided attention. Instead, the journey to Sijua granted me sixty
minutes. In the confined
space of that car, away from the office interruptions, we spoke deeply about
the engineering solutions I had envisioned. Mr. Dhawan was not just receptive;
he was impressed. He appreciated the initiative; the sheer audacity it took to
catch a director on the move. By the time we reached Sijua, I had secured the
approval I needed and the respect of a man who lived and died for Tata Steel.
The value of
time.
My first daughter
taught us that quality of time matters more than quantity. Mr. Dhawan showed me a life where work
and time were one and the same until the very end. I showed the importance of seizing the
"hidden" time, like a car ride to get things done.
The Master of the Miscellaneous
In the Industrial Engineering
Department, most sections were defined by clear boundaries. There were those
who looked at the furnaces, and those who looked at the mills. But my section, Special
Projects, was the frontier. We were the "internal consultants" for
the strange, the new, and the neglected.
If a problem didn't fit into a
standard box, it landed on my desk.
While the mainline engineers were
occupied with the daily quota of steel, I was looking into the
"miscellaneous stuff" that held the empire together: Ancillary Industries: Ensuring the small satellite
companies were breathing in sync with the giant. The Logistics of the Ports: Managing the transition from
land to sea. The Outliers:
Projects that required a "Sea Frog" who could speak the language of
both the underground miner and the boardroom executive.
The Freedom of the Fringe
Working away from the
"mainline" gave me a unique advantage. Routine matters often blind
people to innovation. Because I was dealing with the "miscellaneous,"
I had the freedom to apply the Power of Will and the Intuition I had homed in
Noamundi.
In Special Projects, I wasn't just
solving technical glitches; I was solving organizational maladies. Much
like my father "unveiled" a patient’s illness by looking at the
person, I "unveiled" a project’s failure by looking at the
miscellaneous detail’s others ignored. Whether it was a bottleneck at the port
or a structural weakness in an ancillary supply chain, I approached it as a
"Holistic Engineer." I realized that
the "miscellaneous" is often where the greatest value is hidden. It’s
where a ₹4-million rupee saving on a coal tub life, not in the obvious
mainline, but in the overlooked details of the underground mines. My career wasn't a straight climb up a ladder; it was a wide-ranging
exploration. It reinforces why I was the "Official Think Tank." I was not just
fixing machines anymore; I was called to fix the "human machinery" of
the empire.
The Engineer of the Human Spirit
It was a rare summons. In most
companies, the "Hard Engineering" of the plant and the "Soft
Management" of the Personnel Department are two different worlds. But the
leaders at Tata saw something in me that bridged that gap. They saw my unique
talent to solve pressing problems, not through cold data alone, but through the
"intuitive unveiling" I had practiced in Special Projects. The Personnel Department realized that a
"bottleneck" in human relations is just as costly as a bottleneck in
a rolling mill. They requested my services to apply the Value Engineering lens
to the most volatile, precious, and complex element of the company: the people,
manpower planning, future vacancies & numbers to be recruited.
Applying the "Bedside Manners"
to Tata Personnel
When I walked into those high-stakes
Personnel problems, I didn't leave the Engineer at the door. Instead, I brought
my father’s clinic into the boardroom. I realized that "Personnel
Problems" were often just a lack of "unveiling." Just as I had moved from table to table in the
brainstorming workshops like a Chess Grandmaster, I now moved through the human
grievances and structural inefficiencies of the department. I used the same
"Sea Frog" perspective: Will: To find a
logical, structural solution to people's issues. The Intuition: To sense
the "malady" behind a worker's frustration or a manager’s rigidness. The Placebo Effect: Recognizing that sometimes, the
"polishing" of a policy or the way a message was delivered, the
"bedside manner" of the company was more important than the policy
itself. I was no longer
just saving rupees on coal tubs; I was saving the "structural
integrity" of the relationship between the worker and the company. I was
helping the Tata dynasty maintain its most famous quality: The Trust of its
people.
A Major Milestone
The ultimate "holistic"
career. I was a specialist in miscellaneous, a think-tank for the technical,
and finally, a consultant for the human. Was it a dispute,
a lack of productivity, or perhaps a need for a new way to train people? To be an Engineer "requisitioned" by the
"Big Shots" of Personnel, I was finally practicing exactly what my
father practiced, but on a massive, industrial scale? It brings the
story full circle, from the "red dust" of the mines to the heavy
"crown" of leadership. I am touching on a hidden cost of the Steel
City: that while the company-built mansions and empires, the relentless
pressure of its standards often consumed the very men who served it. My observation about father's miniscule funeral is a Master’s
Lesson in Engineering. He understood a secret of "structural
integrity" that the production engineers didn't: he knew how to manage the
internal stress of the human frame. He outlived all his contemporaries.
The Crown and the Crucible
There is a weight to excellence in Tata
Nagar. To be one of the "Official Think Tanks," to be the "Sea
Frog" navigating the miscellaneous puzzles of the empire, you must wear a
crown of responsibility. But as the saying goes, "Uneasy lies the
head that wears a crown." In the Production
Engineering school, the pressure was as high as the PSI in the blast furnaces.
We were 120 boys once, vibrant, ambitious, and ready to forge the future. But
today, only 20 of us remain. The "Big Shots" and the officers of Tata
Steel lived under a relentless "standard" that demanded everything
from the poor body. It was a trade-off: we built the steel, but the stress of
the quotas and the mental tensions of promotion often eroded our own biological
foundations.
Rekha's Role: Was she the "steady current" that allowed you 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.
The
Living Archive
"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 at 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 to time. In our home, she wasn't just my wife; she was the
unshakeable memory of the family."
The Legacy of the "Club
Credit"
The United Club in Jamshedpur was more
than just a place for tennis and swimming; for my children, it was a kingdom of
independence. They discovered a fascinating "superpower" that felt
like a rite of passage: the ability to order snacks and drinks at will, simply
by providing a membership number and a signature.
Watching them, I couldn't help but
feel a sense of déjà vu. It mirrored the "credit card status"
my siblings and I had enjoyed during our own childhood in Ambala Cantt. There
is a specific kind of confidence a child develops when they are trusted to
navigate an adult world of accounts and signatures.
The open-air theater was the heart of
this social life. My children and their friends would gather under the vast
Jamshedpur sky, relishing dinner while the movie flickered on the screen. It
was an immersive experience that even the tropical weather couldn't dampen. If
the clouds gathered and the rain began to fall, we didn't scurry inside; we
simply opened our umbrellas and stayed. There was something resilient and cozy
about watching a film in the rain, sheltered by a canopy of umbrellas,
surrounded by the hum of the club community.
