Until recently, my most frequent mode of travel was by air — not because I enjoyed it, but because it was quicker. But if given a choice, I would prefer travelling by train, absorbing the countryside and the urban landscape; the bright, shining lights from highways at night; the echoing silence when the train passes through a tunnel; and the refreshing hues of water when the train crosses over it. Most of all, I enjoy making new friends on the train. One comes across old uncles handing out unasked-for advice. Then there are fellow travellers headed to the same location, with whom it is easy to chalk out new plans. The best people on trains, however, are those from Punjab as they don’t let you go without feeding you delicious aloo paranthas with mango pickle.
On one such journey, I ended up forging an uncanny friendship with a gentleman old enough to be my grandfather. Returning to Hyderabad from a solo trip to Hampi in the pre-COVID days, I was snug and comfortable on my berth with a John Grisham novel, when I was greeted by the TTE from the next coupe at 1 a.m. “Can you help us out,” he asked me. Sitting in the adjacent coupe was a nervous-looking railway official balancing a laptop in one hand and a mountain of official-looking documents in the other.
After hurriedly exchanging pleasantries, he requested my help with a few issues he faced with some spreadsheets on his laptop. Completely unfamiliar with computers, he turned out to be a member of the top brass of South Central Railway and had been tasked with reconciling the reimbursements for the fiscal quarter on a few spreadsheets. With just a few hours left to complete the job at hand before an important presentation, he asked the TTE if the “young man who looks like he works in IT” could help manage the crisis. I worked as an analyst with a consulting firm back then and had gained considerable expertise with spreadsheets, and before long solved their problem. Apparently impressed by my work, the official even asked me for some career advice for his son. I quickly excused myself to get some sleep to be fresh for work the next morning.
In a bid to read some books during the lockdown, I picked up Montek Singh Ahluwalia’s Backstage. Mr. Ahluwalia recollects several incidents from his time with the government in the book, but one particular story reminded me of my friendship with the railway official.
Back in the 1980s, very few government officials were familiar with computers, and most Ministers had never seen one. Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, however, was well-versed with computers. At a meeting with Madhavrao Scindia, the Railway Minister of the day, to discuss freight charges on goods trains, the PM suggested certain alternatives. The railway officials from Mr. Scindia’s team quickly punched the numbers on their electronic calculators and presented the updated figures. Taken aback at the repeated use of calculators and appalled by the reliance on this inefficient technology, the PM asked Mr. Scindia to return the next day with a spreadsheet containing all the scenarios they had discussed. But much to the PM’s surprise, the Railway Minister walked in the next day with extensive calculations “spread out” on a large “sheet” of paper! The “spread sheet” lost out to the “spreadsheet” that the Prime Minister had in mind.
Decades later, I happened to be in a somewhat similar position as our former Prime Minister. I remember teaching my parents, both government employees, how to use a computer, but never expected I would get a chance to help the government on a train at 1 a.m. I have remained in good contact with my unexpected friend from the Railways Department and Mr. Ahluwalia’s book brought back some fond and unexpected memories from what was the icing on top of a memorable trip to Hampi.
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