“Son, you should always have respect for the
ladies ” – my mother one day said.
In those adolescence days, we
were used to innumerable counselling sessions. Dinner was a favourite time for our
parents for delivering those sermons and many a times, it marred the excitement
of relishing the delicious food served on the table. As a rebellious teenager, I was sceptic to my
mother’s advice and thought it was biased with mother herself being a woman. Being at the doorstep of 42nd spring of my life, I know, I was not right. My respect for the women has only grown
over the years.
In 2007, I was part of a Project
team to construct and commission a new Process Unit for production of
environment friendly Petrol at Digboi Refinery. The site we chose for the new
project was majestically occupied by one of the World’s oldest Delayer Coker
Unit built in thirties of the previous century. Building a Oil Refinery in a far
flung area like Digboi in the year 1901
was an arduous task for the British. Steel and every commodity, small and big, had to be imported
from Europe and America through a tortuous journey requiring phenomenal
logistic acumen and perseverance. The equipments were installed over raft foundation
unlike today’s RCC piling. The British Engineers used pipes, torn rail pieces
and anything made of steel for preparing those civil foundation.
After dismantling the over ground
equipments of the old unit, it was time to unearth the civil foundation beneath
the ground. As the first trailer unloaded the dismantled civil structure in the
area earmarked outside the Refinery, commotion broke out amongst the large group of
rag pickers assembled immediately around the rubbles equipped with hammers to crush the
concrete pieces for the prized scrap iron part. All of a sudden, the trailer infused
excitement to the otherwise dullness of the area. A group of truck drivers also
joined the carnival as audience leaving aside their makeshift
kitchens near the trucks. Sitting inside my car, I switched off the Engineer in me and allowed
my mind to drift apart looking at the surrounding with a pack of Mad Angle potato
chips and a Coke.
The initial enthusiasm of the people
soon turned out to despair as the civil structures constructed by the no
nonsense British started returning the banging hammers with equal gusto without
yielding an inch. Soon one after another, the defeated and dejected warriors of young and old
alike started retreating from the scene except one woman. I still remember her fiery eyes. She
was a frail physique and I thought would collapse any moment with every hit on
the structure by the mammoth hammer she was swinging. But with steely resolve, she continued to pound the concrete with the same energy, viciousness and interval.
After few hours, we came back to
the site once more to see whether the soft ground could withstand the wheels of the heavy machineries
of trailers and bulldozers for another day. As dusk had befallen, the area was
deserted and I saw the lone lady was going home with her treasure of few iron
pieces over her head. As she walked past me, I saw the fire in her eyes was doused
by a sense of accomplishment and hope of
a caring mother going home back to her family.
With destiny being kind, I have a
relatively easier life in a country where one third of the population are bereft of the basic necessities. Each day, at office, home or over friendly chit chats,
the ladies I interact, often make me feel awed by their beauty, intelligence
and elegance. But what is common with the women I am familiar with as wife, mothers,
sisters, friends, colleagues and that lady with a bundle of iron pieces over her head
is the compassion, love and sacrifice
for the dear and near ones which put us, the men, in poor
light and far behind.
You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com
