E-Paper
Lost and found: Slide rule, peace of mind after war
SPICE OF LIFE: All schools had been closed but ours remained open because there was no headmaster to order closure
The 1965 war had not started, yet, but was expected any time since the army was visible in the countryside everywhere and the people were eager to see action. USAID and UNESCO organised 10-week Summer Institutes at Chandigarh in collaboration with Panjab University under the munificent PL 480 funds. Two accomplished professors from America, Dr Metzner and Father Dressel, had been appointed to conduct the physics programme of daily lectures, demonstrations, practical and weekly tests. About 80 of us had been selected after a rigorous test.
The institute was a picture of highly organised lectures well supported by slides and demonstrations. The 10 weeks flew like a long cruise and we were awarded certificates of participation, sets of books summarising each lecture, expensive slide rules and the summer school ended. The schools reopened in late August. We were brimming with the curiosity to lace our lessons with snippets from America’s Physical Science Study Committee (PSSC) course.
In the last week of August 1965, I got myself deputed to buy some much-needed new equipment and minor apparatuses from Ambala Cantt. I remember I bought like an eager student but taking care to select only quality items, all made in England. I bought even a 3-ft teaching model of slide rule (a calculating device used by engineers then) because it had been introduced in the new school curriculum. Perhaps, I bought more than I could handle personally. However, I reached Ambala Cantt railway station in a rickshaw.
It was almost evening and there were few passengers amid a complete blackout. Trains steamed in slowly and quietly. My train, a slow, Amritsar-bound Dehradun passenger, arrived, pulled by a steam locomotive like other trains but its head light was kept at faint low beam. Even the analogue signals had been covered with long hoods. The train steamed out slowly and when it reached Amritsar, it was past midnight, perfectly dark, no sound, no coolies and no local transport. Nothing of the sort, till I saw a cycle rickshaw and reached home.
After a couple of days, the much-awaited action the people had been anticipating, started. News of our army tanks having broken into the border gate and pounding Lahore came from milk vendors and border students. Dog fights of PAK Sabre jets and India’s tiny Gnats were daily events watched from rooftops. All schools had been closed but ours remained open because there was no headmaster to order closure. Ultimately, the cantonment authorities got it closed because boys would gather on the terrace and watch gun-hit enemy aircraft winging downward like a feather.
After the ceasefire, normalcy returned and schools reopened. With a curious and excited mind, I went into the lab to take stock of my purchases from Ambala made three weeks before. Shockingly, there were many items missing, including some expensive apparatuses. Obviously, I had lost them while deboarding the train in pitch dark, but couldn’t share my grief with anyone. I was a confused lot. I came home all worried about the loss and the risk of losing my job.
The next day, while pedalling past the railway station, I casually shambled in to platform No. 1 and looked into the lost property office (LPO), just in case. Believe it or not, I discovered my bag sitting on the top shelf, including the king-size slide rule, all staring at me like a lost child, among a pair of umbrellas, a paraffin stove and a bag of clothes. I had just to pick it up, no formality, nothing of the sort as such. Imagine my relief and peace of mind, after the war. prof.mohansingh@yahoo.in
The writer is a retired professor in Amritsar
