Arrhythmia, Professor and Me

I have been suffering from a heart disorder called arrhythmia over the last two years. An arrhythmia is a problem with the rate or rhythm of your heartbeat. It means that your heart beats too quickly, too slowly, or with an irregular pattern. Over a year, my problem of arrhythmia worsened. Last month I suffered dizziness and had even a fall couple of times.

While cardiologists were examining me to address the root cause of the problem, I thought of meeting my Professor friend and take his advice. Professor has been always helpful to me when in crisis.

We met at our usual coffee shop. We occupied a round table in the foyer with a marble top and an ash tray. We ordered some Ethiopian coffee with ginger biscuits.

“Dr Modak, the real reason for your arrhythmia is not the imbalance in the electric field, but your nature of getting excited in every bit you see or do in your life”. Professor lit his cigar.

He saw me surprised so he continued to elaborate.

“ I have seen you now over 30 years. Your heart seems to be racing up when you deliver a talk, especially to the students. or when you attend a musical concert or meet a beautiful and intelligent lady – I know that latter has always been your weakness” (I couldn’t disagree)

Probably, your heart beats slow down when you get depressed to see inaction and apathy towards environment, poverty and injustice.  And then after a while you become angry and your heart beats start racing up. These ups and downs of heart beats over several years have disturbed the rhythm of the heart.

Your doctors may change your medication, but nothing will change until you learn to live life like most of us do – i.e. stay calm, not emotional and remain indifferent”. He sounded like Lord Krishna in Bhagavad-Gita.

“But how can I Professor?” I protested.

I told him that in my school days, our teacher used to write on the blackboard names of the first ranking student in the late evening, one week after the examination. All of us used to flock around the blackboard, be tensed and wait for the “disclosure” of the top ranker’s name.

There were occasions that I got the first rank. And when I saw my name being written on the blackboard by our teacher Shri Dabholkar, as the top ranker, my heart raced up with all the excitement. My heart must be beating at that time well above 120 beats per minute (BPM).

“Oh, so silly of you. Top ranks in school days have no great significance. Topping in the class has nothing to do with your later career. I have seen so many school toppers doing badly in college and subsequent studies. You should have understood this truth and remained quiet. Your heart should have been rock steady at the standard beat of 70 BPM”. Professor said calmly. He sounded indifferent.

“But what about this memory Professor?” I did not give up

“While at IIT Powai, me and a group of my friends climbed the hill behind Hostel 4 to get to the top. Not a tall climb at all, but getting on the top of that 1500 ft hill mattered to us. We reached the top of the hill that had a small Shiva temple with no pujari. We were aghast to see spread of Powai and Vihar lakes on both sides of the hill. Vihar lake with islands at the center looked mystic as the sun was about to set. The breeze was strong. An eagle took off from the overhanging rock noticing we the strangers. Wow, my heart had raced then as I stood near the rock with my friends. I breathed deep, smelling the grass and enjoying natures glory. We climbed down without saying a word”

Professor took a deep puff.

“Well Dr Modak, you are exaggerating too much from this mundane experience. Hill and the lakes is a commonly seen setting. Nothing unusual or exciting” He paused and said sarcastically “You don’t have to climb now anymore as most of the hills in and around cities have been mined by the builders or are denuded. Watching a lake is no more a pleasure as the lakes have been polluted, infested by weeds and mosquitoes and in some cases even full of foams”

I realized that Professor was indifferent to my exciting story. I imagined him standing on the top of the hill watching Powai and Vihar lakes with heart rate rock steady at 70 BPM.

May be he was right. You don’t have to actually visit the places – there are now good documentaries on Netflix that show the Great China Wall, Grand Canyon and the Whales in Alaska. You can watch these documentaries your bedroom at rock steady heart beat of 70 BPM. But standing on the top of the Alpes at Mont Blanc, clad in snow, with your heart racing at 120 BPM is an altogether different experience. I now thought that Professor could be wrong.

I started remembering occasions when me and my father visited some of the poor families in the villages that were hit by a famine. We camped there to provide food and water to people and working to find solutions that could help them to combat the repeated spells of the famine. My father spent his personal money to help. He wasn’t rich enough to afford such spending, but it was the spirit and the compassion that led him to be generous while he was disadvantaged. I probably returned with considerably irregular heartbeats – especially when I saw the people suffer, my father’s gesture to help and the tears of gratitude I saw in the eyes of the people.

I did not narrate this experience to the Professor as I knew what he would say. “handling famines is governments job. What difference can one individual make? So be practical, stay calm and wait for the government to take action. Now a days corporates under CSR also contribute and help. One doesn’t have to be so personal.”

I asked him – doesn’t he get agitated to listen to speeches made by politicians and bureaucrats at the environmental conferences? Same rhetoric, same play of words, false promises and manipulated data! I stopped attending the inaugural speeches of such meetings to avoid getting irregular heartbeats.

Professor replied that I was perhaps expecting too much from these meetings. “You have to understand that after all holding conferences is a type of business or a networking game that most play.  Content of the speech is irrelevant, just the conduct matters” Professor extinguished his cigar.

“You may like to join me next Sunday at the Sea lounge of Taj Gateway for an evening snack. A friend you know will be joining. But let us chat on a topic other than your arrythmia. Be there at sharp 6 pm” Professor got up after settling the bill.

“And in this week, don’t attend the Buddy Guy’s concert at the NCPA. You will unnecessarily race up your heart” With this practical advice, Professor left with these parting words of wisdom.

I reached ten minutes earlier and Oscar the head waiter escorted me to the table Professor had booked. As usual,  the table was on window side where you can watch the ships sail – a truly romantic place.

Window side table at the Sea Lounge, the Taj Gateway of India 

A lady with a familiar face was already at the table. “Oh Elma, how come you?” I exclaimed.

Elma was Professors old friend from his college days. Her father was Indian and mother Swedish. She had lovely blond hair, a sweet face, an Swenglish accent. Elma lived in Budapest and was visiting Mumbai for work.  I had met her several times before with Professor.

“Oh Prasad, great to see you – what a surprise? ” said Elma. “Your Professor friend is delayed as usual. He will reach in next 15 minutes”

My heart beats were already racing after seeing Elma. I asked for one plate of dahi batata puri and one plate of (not so spicy) special bhel, the signature dishes at the Sea Lounge. Elma suggested a pitcher of Kingfisher Draft to go along. Good choice! I said to myself.

Since there was some time, I told Elma about my problem of Arrythmia. I ended telling her Professor’s solution – that is stay calm and indifferent at a rock steady heart rate of 70 BPM. I praised Professor saying that he has a great control on his mind and the heart beats.

Elma had a good laugh.

“Prasad, do you really believe in what your friend said?. I still remember feeling  his racing heart beats (must be at 120 BPM) when I first hugged him and kissed as a surprise”

I could understand as I had myself gone through such an experience.

When she saw my stunned face, she said

“Well well, perhaps things have changed now after he implanted a pacemaker some 10 years ago. His heart now beats at a rock steady rate of 70 BPM, despite what he sees, listens or does”

I wanted to ask more on this to Elma, but I had to cut the conversation on this delicate topic as I saw Oscar ushering the Professor to our table.

While driving home I was wondering. Perhaps Professor did this pacemaker implant when there was a massive pacemaker program launched by the Government for all senior advisers, administrators and politicians (existing and “potential”). It was contended that with pacemakers installed the Government machinery will run with no emotions, always stay calm (i.e. stay passive), indifferent and at a rock steady heart rate of 70 BPM.

No wonder the state of India’s Governance we have seen over years!

I thought of calling my cardiologist to recommend a pacemaker – but then I wondered whether this was the way to live life?


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Story Very Scary

 

Last week, I was on a vacation in Goa. I was staying in the old quarters of Panaji known as Fontainhas. This area is situated between Altinho and Ourem creeks. It mirrors the Portuguese influence through its architecture, narrow winding streets and picturesque buildings in beautiful hues of pastel colors. Most bungalows in this area are more than 150 years old.

In 1984, UNESCO recognized Fontainhas as a Heritage Zone.

I had rented a room at a guest house that was nearly 250 years old.

It was late in the evening and the sun was about to set. I was strolling outside the guest house planning to go for a quiet dinner at the nearby boutique restaurant Viva Panaji. Just then I saw an old man standing at the gate of a bungalow bang opposite the guest house.

The old man waved at me and smiled. He said “Frank Briganza (owner of my guest house) tells me that you are the new guest from Mumbai. And you are globe trotter I was told”. The old man seemed very keen to converse and learn more about me. So we spoke. Indeed, I have been a globe trotter and have visited more than sixty countries across the world.  My friends say that I am a good story teller.

“You know something?” The old man said.  “My son Larry loves to travel and go to places around the world. He would love to meet you an listen to your travel stories. Why don’t you come up and have a chat with him? He has been in bed for last 10 years due to a paralytic stroke. It’s the evenings that he gets very lonely and depressed. Perhaps your stories will cheer him up. Have a cup of tea with us”

I couldn’t refuse his invitation.

We went up to the first floor using a wooden staircase. The staircase was dimly lit and made  squeaky sounds as we climbed up the steps. We reached the drawing room on the first floor that had chandeliers, a long table, large windows with glass and antique furniture.

I noticed that all the furniture was three legged –I thought this was a bit odd. Three has been an unlucky number for me.

I also noticed an unusual carpet on the floor. Unusual because it had a face of a dog at the center. For a while, I thought the dog looked at me moving his eyes. I also heard the old man whisper “Tommy, he is our guest. Keep shut”.

“Be comfortable my friend” said the old man “I will get you some tea”.

I nodded and sat on a cane chair. The old man went inside the kitchen.

I inspected the drawing room in the meanwhile. The room was spacious. There was a cute library shelf and a tall cupboard displaying glasses of wine. The room had a wall with several sign boards such as, “do not spit”, “please keep silence”, “no smoking”. There was nothing special in these sign boards to display. The boards in a drawing room were certainly out of place – I thought. One sign board was in Portuguese.

The old man came back in five minutes with a tray carrying two cups of tea and some biscuits.

He noticed me staring at this unusual wall. “Larry used to collect all kinds of sign boards as a hobby” The old man said.  He continued “you must be wondering about that sign board in Portuguese. It is one of Larry’s favorite. It means ”goods once taken are not returned”

This signboard sounded rather strange to me. Generally, in the shops you see the board “ goods once sold are not taken back”.  I was a bit puzzled what this Portuguese board was trying to convey.

The old man served me tea.

For a while, I thought that he had three hands – with one hand he was holding the tea pot and with other he was holding the cup. And he probably used a third hand simultaneously to put biscuits in the plate from the glass jar.

I must be hallucinating now. The sunset, that queer atmosphere, the mystic carpet with the dog and the three legged furniture had perhaps made me very nervous. Besides that Portuguese sign board ”goods once taken are not returned”  sounded rather ire to me.

We had some tea. The old man asked me about my profession and family. He said that he retired as a pastor from a Church. Larry’s mother passed away right after he was born. The old man took care of Larry. Unfortunately, when he was 25 year old, Larry suffered from a paralytic stroke and could not walk. He always wanted to be a sailor and wander around the world but now he is mostly bed ridden and confined to the house.

I felt sorry for Larry.

“Oh, let me take you to Larry’s room” The old man said.

Larry’s room was small. It had a roll top desk with a cuckoo clock on the wall. Larry was perhaps expecting a visitor. The old man introduced us, and we said hello. I noticed a scar on Larry’s cheek. Must be some accident I said to myself.

I sat on a stool next to his bed. I told him about myself. The old man added that I am a globe trotter.

“Uncle, I would really love to listen to your travel experiences “Larry requested me. His voice was deep. He had an intense gaze as he looked into my eyes.

I described Larry about my travels. The exciting road journey between Casablanca to Rabat, the boat trip between Ho Chi Minh to Vung Tau, the stay at the penguin islands near Melbourne, the rainforests of Brazil and the glittering snow peaks of Himalayas from Dalhousie. I must have done a good narrative because I saw Larry excited and was listening to me attentively without any interruption. He was perhaps imagining that he was in my place and was seeing the world through my eyes. His intense gaze and attention made me a bit uncomfortable.

I saw that the old man was happy that I met Larry.

“Where is your next travel Uncle?” Larry asked as I was about to leave. “Well next month I will be in Austria and in another three months later a travel to China is due”. I did not want to get in further details.

Larry was impressed. “I am so jealous Uncle. Wish I could come along” he sounded serious.

I could understand his feelings.

The old man walked me down to the gate. The dog on the carpet moved his eyes noticing me leave the house.

You made Larry so happy today Mr. The old man said while opening the gate.

I crossed the street and reached my room in the guest house. I went to the bathroom for a shower and looked into the mirror

I saw Larry’s face instead of mine. What happened? Was I hallucinating again?

I went close to the mirror to see my (or Larry’s?) face.

I noticed that scar.

I thought of running back to the old man for the explanation and ask back my face.

Then I remembered the significance of the Portuguese sign board

“ goods once taken are not returned”


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And friends – Don’t get scared. Its all imagination

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sticker with an Angel

I am posting this article based on from my personal experiences. This story is a bit unusual. It is  cast in three scenes with a setting in Bangkok.

Its about Champo and Achara. Of course the names have been changed.


Scene 1

I was involved for a year for a project on the industrial estate of Samut  Prakarn in Bangkok. I used to make two weeks mission every three months.

I met Champo and Achara during my project. We became extremely good friends and we still are.

Achara was a pretty office secretary, knew accounts, spoke French – and was a great book lover. Champo was a mechanical engineer by training and worked as  the PR person for the project, doing outreach of Cleaner Production and Industrial Efficiency project to the industries. He was dam good in his job.

Champo’s family came from Myanmar and settled in Bangkok over two generations. The family was rich with considerable political clout in Yangon. In Burmese, Champo means someone who is friendly.

Champo must be around 30 years. A very jovial person. He was a frequent visitor to the Massage parlors in Bangkok. And he was extremely knowledgeable when it came to the gory details of this nightly industry.

I learnt lot from Champo about Bangkok’s notorious massages, especially at the soapy parlors. All soapy massages in Thailand have either a fishbowl or sideline girls and in few parlors the “modelling girls”. A fishbowl is a big room which has a glass wall. You’re on one side of the glass and the “soapy girls” sit on the other side. Every soapy girl has a badge attached to her clothing with a number, this is the number you give the mamasan (manager of the girls) when you select your girl. Being a regular visitor, Champo knew which number to ask from the fishbowl.

A fishbowl in the Massage Parlor 

Sideline girls sit on a chair or sofa. You can approach these girls and talk to them unlike the girls in the Fishbowl. Sideline girls are very much like freelancing Thai hookers, they have no set hours and can come and go as they please. Usually they charge more.

And there are Modeling girls who feature in the fashion magazines and are really expensive to book.

Champo must be spending huge money– as he used to visit the parlors practically thrice a week and go for sideliners and the modelling girls. I guess his rich dad sent him money every month as much as what he got as a salary.

Champo used to talk about his night life only to me and when Achara was not around. I was interested to get from him his interesting stories and experiences in dealing with the massage girls. I used to recommend that he should consider writing a guidebook and make money!

I told Champo that it is the eighth wonder of the world that he is not yet hit by STDs and HIV given the potential risk of being with the sex workers. He used to ignore my warnings and instead give a sweet smile.


Scene 2

I stopped my missions as the Samut Prakarn project got over. Achara had left the job earlier and it seemed that she got into a book publishing company. Champo got a job in managing a chain of supermarkets – the Central. PR was his USP and that came handy while picking up this job.

We however remained in touch via emails and FB. I did make trips in between on other projects but we could never get together.

In 2008, I did a short visit to Bangkok and met Achara. She had joined as a manager at the Dasa Bookstore. That was the kind of job she was craving for.

But before I proceed, I must tell you a bit about this amazing place.

Dasa Bookstore was opened in 2004, It sells and exchanges all types of second-hand books. The store stocks more than 20,000 books and is  known for its high English classics and inspiring biographies.  The ground floor holds the more contemporary and lifestyle orientated books with the likes of general fiction, travel, art, and cookbooks. The second-floor houses mainly novels of all sorts – thriller, tragedies, and westerns. Above all this, stacks upon stacks of English and European literature classics are heaped on the third and final floor.

Dasa Book Store

I saw Achara  on the ground floor in the floor managers cabin on a Monday evening. She asked for a coffee with some chocolate donuts. We had great conversations and remembered all the good times we had together.

“Do you meet Champo?” I asked

“Oh. We are in touch. He comes to the Queen Bee that is just next doors on Tuesdays” Achara said.

“Then let us give him a surprise. I will come to Dasa by 7 pm tomorrow and we will walk up to Queen Bee”

She readily agreed.


Scene 3

Queen Bee is a bar on Sukhumvit Soi 26 and just a 4 min walk from the Dasa Book store. It looks like most of the bars you can find tucked in the soi (lane) in Bangkok. But what makes it different is the music, and in particular, the Open Mic Tuesday night. During Open Mic, anyone could get on the stage, sing or play an instrument. No wonder why Champo visited Queen Bee on a Tuesday.

Queen Bee

I met Achara at the Das. She lifted a box that was neatly packed.

“This box is for Champo“. She explained.

We walked to Queen Bee and I helped Achara to carry the box.

Champo was sitting on a bar stool and listening to the Open Mic performer. He was simply shocked to see me with Achara.

“Oh my dear friend – long time no see”. He got up and hugged me emotionally.

I saw his face had some signs of age that were catching up. There were wrinkles on his face, few stands of white hair were noticeable and there were dark spots under his eyes. The job at the supermarket chain must be taxing, I thought.

We asked for beer Singha. He held my hand and talked a lot about his work life and his family. Champo was not still married and lived alone.

When Achara went to the loo, I winked and asked Champo about his massage parlor visits

“Oh, I haven’t stopped.  I now go to new places. This industry is rapidly changing”. Champo had new information to share.

While he was explaining, I noticed the girl sitting alone at the bar.

These are the kind of girls Champo must be spending time with. I didn’t know what to say.

When Achara returned, Champo asked her

Did you get my box?

Achara showed the box that we had kept under the table.

“Hey Prasad, I have to go. Let us catch up again before you fly out. We will ask Achara to coordinate and fix a nice place, may be over a healthy lunch?”

Champo seemed to be in a hurry and had an appointment. But after listening to him on his continued visit to the massage parlors, I found that I wasn’t particularly interested to meet him again.

He must be going to the Darling Turkish Bath on Soi 12 – I said to myself.

As Champo left Queen Bee, Achara looked at me and spoke

“Prasad, I must share with you a news. Champo and I are getting married. We will have a marriage ceremony just around Christmas. His family will join from Yangon. You must come with your family”

I just couldn’t believe.

Are you crazy Achara?  I couldn’t control my voice.

I then spoke about Champo’s affinity towards girls and the massage parlors, concluding that he is not the man for a decent, innocent and talented person like Achara.

It was hard for me to reveal the truth.

Achara heard me patiently and then said

“Oh, in that case you probably don’t know much about Champo and what he does. For the last several years, Champo has been actively engaged in helping and reforming the sex workers. He pays the charge when he visits a massage parlor but does not ask for a massage or sex from the girl. Instead, he gets into a conversation, helps the girl to open out, relax and help find an alternate profession to live.

Being with Champo has been a relieving experience to these exploited women. Many cry and many just stay rested on his shoulders. He has now formed an association in Bangkok and Chiang Mai to rescue the girls and help them to live a respectable and secured life.This is how he has been spending most of his money and for a good cause”

I was simply amazed to know this hidden or “other side” of Champo. I remembered Nestor Patou (Jack Lemmon)  doing the same for Irma La Douce (Shirley McClean). That was in the movie Irma La Douce.

Achara continued

As a friendly gesture, Champo started gifting the girls a book to read. I choose the books for him from Dasa. I find the most appropriate and easy to read a book that can inspire the girls. I bring him a box of such books to distribute whenever we meet.

The Sticker with an Angle

And, as a gesture to remember, Champo puts a sticker on the book he gifts – the sticker with an angel. A sticker of affection and confidence.

(I understood. In Thai “Achara” means an angel who is very pretty – so no wonder Champo chose such a sticker!)

Achara left the Queen Bee after this explanation. I stayed on – stunned and sitting in daze.

The lonely girl at the bar with a large purse came to pay

While looking for a wad of Thai notes, she took out a book from her purse.

The book had Champo’s sticker with an angel!


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Seat No B10 in the NCPA

 

I wrote this post after we attended the 3rd day of the International Jazz Festival at Mumbai’s NCPA last week. The music was great. We met there some of our old friends like Farida Green. It made me feel rather nostalgic.

Kiran, Farida and me at the Foyer of NCPA

This post depicts lives of old, sensitive and graceful souls of Mumbai who love music. I leave the mystic part the story to your judgement.


Mrs. Farzan Chichgar reached the National Centre for Performing Arts (NCPA) at Nariman Point in Mumbai  half an hour before the program was to begin. She lived in the Venus Apartment at Cuffe Parade that wasn’t too far. Her driver John drove her in old Mercedes-Benz 300 SL (1993 edition). He dropped her at the main gate and as she got down, the security guard reached to fetch her and help walk up the staircase.

Mrs. Farzan was a regular at the concerts at NCPA for years. Who would not remember this kind and graceful personality and the way she dressed and carried herself even at the age of 80? Today she was wearing a dress that was in polka dot white black faux silk satin. Her pair of golden rim spectacles was a trademark. These spectacles were made by Phiroze Dastur of Dadar TT Circle in 1980.

Mrs. Farzan walked up slowly and reached the foyer. Her husband Jehangir always reached in just a nick of time before the show, a habit that Mrs Farzan never liked. “Jehangir has simply no sense of time”, Mrs. Farzan often said.  She always liked to reach early and have a coffee with her friends.

She was happy to see her friend Mrs. Todiwala and reached her. They ordered coffees from the counter. Mrs. Todiwala opened her large purse and brought out a box. The box contained soft “mawa” cakes from the Sassanian – a 105 year old restaurant at Dhobi Talao. This Irani restaurant was founded by Meheraban in partnership with  Sharookh Yezdabadi and serves authentic Parsi food even today. Its famously known for its “mawa” cakes and the “kheema” puffs.

The Sassanian

The “Mawa Cake”

“Oh, it’s a great combination to go with this coffee” Mrs. Farzan said while sampling a slice of the mawa cake and thanking Mrs. Todiwala “. Jehangir never understands that there is something like this in life other than music” she said to herself.

Jehangir was a pianist. He worked as an accountant at Tata Sons in his entire life. After his retirement he took up as a piano tutor and started coaching young Parsi kids.

It was the third day of the international Jazz festival featuring MND FLO  and the Clifford Brown Legacy Band.  MND FLO (Mind Flow) –  a New York-based band, was featuring Simon Moullier on vibraphone, Sharik Hasan on piano, Anthony Toth on drums and Alexander Toth on bass. This session was to be followed by the trumpet wizardry of the late, great Clifford Brown band. This band was brought by his grandson, Clifford Brown III featuring Miles Davis’s one-time saxophone player Bennie Maupin along with Rayford Griffin on drums. This was going to be the first tribute to Clifford Brown anywhere outside the United States.

Jehangir is going to love these sessions, Mrs. Farzan muttered as she went through the flyers kept on the tables placed in the Foyer.

The Foyer was now full with people, mostly coming from Colaba, Cuffe Parade, Malabar Hill and Marine Drive areas – the exclusive crowd of South Mumbai. A large number of the people were NCPA members and probably knew each other. The ambience of NCPA provided a good setting “for saying hi”, “catching up” and to “discuss” a bit of music and more of Indian politics and the scams. Lavender flavor dominated the perfumes.

Mrs. Farzan noticed Mrs. Bharucha in the crowd wearing a necklace of large size south pacific pearls. She always shows off – Mrs. Farzan said. And there was Mr Mistry dressed in a black suit standing with his son Ardeshir. Mistry and Mrs. Farzan attended Xavier’s college at the same time. “He still looks so handsome – doesn’t he?” Mrs. Farzan told Mrs. Todiwala.

But Mrs. Farzan was not a person of the “networking type” as she had passed this phase decades ago. Her life today was more private. She got into the auditorium and was guided by the doorkeeper to her seat in the B row at the aisle. Chichgars always chose seat no’s B9 and B10, and Mrs. Farzan would take seat B9.

Jehangir was already there on seat B10. In fact, he was looking around for her. “Thank God Jehangir, this time you are in time” said Mrs. Farzan.

“How come I didn’t  see you in the Foyer?” She asked, “Sometimes you just appear in the chair as if from nowhere!”. Jehangir smiled and fondly held her hand, his hand was a bit cold. He gave her a light kiss on her cheeks.

After their son, Rustom, migrated to California in the United States, the couple lived a bit lonely life in the Venus Apartments. It was good that their old servant Shankar was still around to take care of all the errands. Jehangir would be out the whole day giving piano lessons and going to Freddie-  his school friend for an afternoon rum and coke. Mrs. Farzan would spend time keeping the house tidy and clean, experiment different recipes, listen to the jazz of 1960s and make long phone calls to friends.

Sometimes in the evenings, the couple would ask John to drive to the Bombay Gymkhana and have an early supper, ending with a parsi pudding. They always chose the foyer that had the wonderful cane furniture made by Biloo Mehta.

The Bombay Gymkhana

On every Sunday morning, when Rustom would give a call, both would dress up for the conversation as Rustom used to insist to use Skype on a video mode. Their neighbor’s little daughter Fatima would help them set the Skype on their desktop and even participate in the conversations.

Clifford Brown Legacy Band

The first session by MND FLO was over. Mrs. Farzan was impressed with Simon Moullier on vibraphone. Jehangir whispered “Did you know that this is the first time a vibraphone is played in the NCPA”. Jehangir always had some interesting information to share.

After a short break, the Clifford Brown Legacy Band began. His grandson Clifford Brown III recounted some of the stories of Clifford playing with the stalwarts of American Jazz music. Mrs. Farzan was deeply impressed while listening to the stories of this legacy.  When she turned to Jehangir showing her appreciation, Jehangir said “All what he is saying is not exactly true, he is making up stories for the crowd”. “Oh, come on Jehangir, you always speak as if you know everything – and now you are talking as if you just met Clifford Brown!” Mrs. Farzan whispered, “You are impossible!”

Although she didn’t mean, she must have spoken a bit loudly. NCPA is very strict when it comes to “so called whispering” and “flashing of the mobile phones”. The doorkeeper promptly moved to row B with his torchlight to “silence” the person.

When he beamed his torchlight, he noticed Mrs. Farzan sitting on B9.

He returned to the door and told his colleague

“Its usual Prakash, its Mrs. Farzan once again. The old Parsi lady who books an extra seat B10 that always remains empty.

The colleague understood.


Cover image sourced from https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8b/Seats_at_NCPA_Opera_House_%2820160909204034%29.jpg


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Remembering Guru Das Agarwal

Professor G D Agarwal

I came across Professor G D Agarwal’s name when I was in the final year of BTech in Civil Engg at IIT Bombay. This was year 1978. I was researching on where to do a Masters in Environmental Engineering. My batch-mate Renu Gera who had moved from IIT Kanpur to IIT Bombay, recommended IIT Kanpur and mentioned Professor G D Agarwal. “He is a very senior Professor and a rather strict and a strong personality. But he is the right person to write to” she said.

I wrote a letter to Prof Agarwal on a post card asking about the Master’s program in Environmental Engineering at IIT Kanpur. I asked how this program compares with some of the international graduate programs, especially in the United States. Honestly, I did not expect a response.

In the next two weeks, I received a letter from Professor Agarwal, typed on the letterhead of Civil Engineering Department of IIT Kanpur. The letter was very considerate to my questions and elaborated the curriculum and ended stating that Master’s program at IIT Kanpur was comparable to most of the top masters programs in the United States. Professor Agarwal encouraged me to apply to IIT Kanpur.

Eventually, I joined the Masters Program at IIT Bombay. By then Professor P Khanna had joined IIT Bombay from Roorkee University and I thought that I will be at good hands by working under his guidance.

One day, while sitting in Professor Khanna’s office, a person walked in, wearing a simple dress. I saw Professor Khanna rising from his chair and touching his feet with respect. “Oh, stop this Purushottam” said the stranger. He was clearly embarrassed.

Professor Khanna then introduced me and said “Prasad, meet Professor G D Agarwal of IIT Kanpur”. That is how we met for the first time. It was July, 1979.

In January 1980, Professor Khanna called me to his room. “Prasad, I need you to support Professor G D Agarwal for a one week training program on Wastewater treatment. He needs an assistant to help him to handle the logistics like reproduction of course materials and ensure that the participants are well looked after. This will be good opportunity for you to be with Professor and learn”. At that time, I was completing my Masters dissertation.

I readily agreed to Professor Khanna’s proposition. I later came to know that Professor Agarwal had resigned from IIT Kanpur due to his differences with the Administration. A bit expected I said to myself.

My job started with a task to receive Professor Agarwal at the Mumbai Central Station and reach him to the IIT Guest house. He was arriving by Rajdhani express from New Delhi. I went half hour before the arrival of the train.

Some of you may be aware that many times, there are touts moving on the Railway platforms who do all kinds of tricks to whisk away young boys by administrating an anaesthetic. As these touts noticed me lingering alone on the platform, they circled around. Indeed, I was in trouble. Just then Rajdhani express came thundering in and the passengers started alighting. I was already a bit dosed with the anaesthetic and feeling giddy.

I had someone gripping my hand firmly “Prasad Modak, here I am. You seem to be in some trouble”. This was a strong voice and the person was Professor G D Agarwal. He was just in time for me. As we traveled to the Guest House of IIT Bombay, Professor Agarwal explained to me the chemicals used in anaesthetic, cleaned my palms with his handkerchief and summed up saying that I was just lucky to escape abduction. Indeed, I was lucky,

In the next five days, I was an obedient assistant to Professor G D Agarwal. He gave me his set of notes that I got neatly typed on the cyclostyling paper (a duplicating technique only known now to the “old generation”!). I used to get cyclostyling done at a place called Datye Copiers and Ammonia Prints near to the Dadar (Western) railway station.

Lectures by Professor Agarwal were so amazing that I still cherish. His style of teaching was “minimal theory”, just to introduce the “basic science” but focus more on infusing the practice. Clearly he was more of a hands on person, “action oriented” (unlike most of us!), very precise and rational, and rather explicit and opiniated in drawing conclusions or making summary statements.   He was the sole speaker for all the 5 days – and the participants loved his style of course management. There were not just lectures but also exercises. I understood his personality and convictions in those 5 days. Professor took a good liking for me and spent time advising me on my career post the day long lecture sessions.

Right after this encounter, I went to New Delhi to present a paper at the annual convention of the Indian Water Works Association (IWWA). I met Professor Agarwal in one of the technical sessions. He presented a paper on the true residence time at the clarifiers in water treatment plants using simple tracers. I liked his work as it blended theory and practice and opened up a discussion on the inlet-outlet arrangements and shape of the clarifiers and strategies on how to improve on the hydraulic efficiency and sedimentation rates. (Today, I call this as a “consequential” research)

Looking back, this was the progeny from the Berkley school. Professor Agarwal graduated in civil engineering from the University of Roorkee (now IIT Roorkee) and later obtained a PhD in environmental engineering from the University of California at Berkeley in a record time of 2 years. His PhD thesis was on  “Electrokinetic Phenomena in Water Filtration,” with Professor E A Pearson. Those were the golden days at Berkeley with presence of Professors like David Jenkins and several others. When I asked Professor Agarwal, how did he complete his Ph D research in a short time, he said that it was sheer difficulty of managing vegetarian food in those days that made him work hard and harder!

During the IWWA convention in Delhi, Professor G D asked me whether I could accompany him to Kandhla, his farm in Muzaffarnagar district. I said “Well Sir, I will have re-book my railway ticket to Mumbai, but I will do it.” I remember I placed a STD trunk call home from IIT Delhi Guesthouse and spoke to my father. I stood in a long queue at New Delhi Railway station to re-book my seat.

When we reached the farm in Kandhla, Professor G D took me to a garage or outhouse like structure. He asked me to open the locks and raise the rolling metal shutter. Inside the room, all I saw was books. They were stacked all over and there were two stools right at the entrance. “Prasad, you will sit here” said the Professor pointing to one of the stools. And over the next three days, Professor G D introduced to me some of great books in environmental engineering, his notes and assignments while at the University of Berkeley. It was an opportunity I got that I will never forget – listening to his wise words. In this collection of books, I came across signatures of Harvey Ludwig, another great environmental engineer, who also studied at the University of Berkeley. (Subsequently I met Harvey in Bangkok and we spoke about Guru Das Agarwal, as he knew him).

Professor Agarwal interacted with me during my doctoral research at Asian Institute of Technology I Bangkok. He was the member secretary of the Central Pollution Control Board then. He invited me to work with him on River Ganga after returning to India. And I did.

Professor G D resigned however due to difference of opinion with Chairman Niloy Choudhuri.  Professor Niloy Choudhuri was more of a policy & strategy person while Prof Agarwal was a person of action.

Later, I had opportunity to work with him on an assignment in Dhaka for the Government of Bangladesh in framing the national regulations on environment. There were occasions where we were together as speakers in training programmes, seminars and conferences. I vividly remember sessions we did at the Administrative Staff College of India.

Professor Agrawal’s students remember him with admiration, awe and affection. In 2002, his former students at IIT-Kanpur conferred on him the Best Teacher Award. He has guided many Masters and Doctoral students who are now leaders in the field of environmental engineering and science. Among his prominent students was the late Anil Agarwal, the pioneering founder of the Centre for Science and Environment, New Delhi. He helped mentor well-known development activists including: Dunu Roy (IIT Bombay,’67) of Hazards Centre, New Delhi, Ravi Chopra (IIT-Bombay,’68) of People’s Science Institute, Dehra Doon and Rajendra Singh, a Magsaysay awardee and founder of Tarun Bharat Sangh.

Professor Agrawal embraced ‘sanyas’ at Sri Vidya Mutt in the 79th year of his age. After ‘diksha’, he became Swami Gyanswaroop Sanand.

In his sanyas phase, I was not in regular touch with him and used to see him occasionally – mostly by accident. When he once addressed me as Dr Modak, I remember telling him to call me Prasad as before. He smiled then and said “Well Sir, I will call you Prasadji. Do stay in touch – will you?

Unfortunately, I could not remain in touch with Professor G D. We never met after this last and brief encounter.


GD was notable for a number of fasts undertaken to stop many projects on River Ganga. His fast in 2009 led to the damming of the Bhagirathi River being stopped.

GD lived a Gandhian lifestyle in his spartan, two-room cottage in Chitrakoot, Madhya Pradesh. He swept his own floors, washed his own clothes and cooked his own meals. He retained only a few possessions and dresses in handspun handwoven khadi cloth. These are the deliberate choices of a devout Hindu with respect for simplicity in living and reverence for nature.

GD died on 11 October 2018, after being on an indefinite fast since 22 June 2018, demanding the government act on its promises to clean and save river Ganga.

 


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Text in italics is sourced from http://www.indiawaterportal.org/articles/dr-g-d-agrawal-scientist-environmentalist-and-rishi authored by Pavitra Singh

The Final Take-off

 

While I was studying at the Asian Institute of Technology (AIT) in Bangkok, I received a letter from Capt. Apte of Air India that I should meet him at hotel Rama Tower on Silom Road. He wanted me  to collect a food parcel that my parents had sent. Capt. Apte suggested 11 am Sunday to meet. This was in 1981.

I wasn’t familiar about Bangkok and did not know where hotel Rama Tower was located – so I asked a Thai friend. He told me that it was simple –“take AIT bus and at the last stop; get down to take city bus no 15. After few minutes you will hit on Silom road and you will see a 20 storied hotel on your left – that’s Rama Tower” He said. I decided to leave early so that I reach on time.

I took bus no 15 as instructed but couldn’t see a 20 storied building for a while. After 20 minutes of ride, when a tall building appeared on the left, I got down. But to my horror, that tall building was not Rama Tower but a Hospital! When I inquired, I was told that I was almost right (!)  but was in the opposite direction (!!). My Thai friend had forgotten to tell me to cross the road first and then take Bus 15! So, I crossed over and queued for Bus no 15 , now in the right direction. I reached Rama Tower 60 minutes late wading through Bangkok’s traffic. It was already drizzling.

I used the house phone of the hotel to reach Capt. Apte. He wasn’t in the room and I realized that he must have stepped out after waiting for me for an hour. I sat waiting at the lounge and left a message at the reception. I knew this was going to be quite some wait.

After another hour a short man approached me and asked  “Are you by any chance Prasad Modak? ”and when I nodded, he shook hands with me and said that he was Capt. Apte of Air India. I was expecting a tall person with a handlebar mustache  with a bunch of air hostesses around. I was a bit disappointed to see someone “not Captain like” and instead a simple and friendly man.

I went along with him to collect the food parcel. Just then the cockpit crew entered the room. They were all set to play a game of the bridge with Capt. Apte.

In the meanwhile, the rain had paced up and it was showering rather heavily. We looked outside the window as we heard the thunder. There was a clear sign of flooding.

“Prasad, I suggest you wait in the room– let this rain subside, else you will get stuck” said Capt. Apte. He was right. I decided to stay on and instead of playing bridge we all got into conversations. I noticed that his crew called him “Chotu” because he was barely 5ft 4 inches tall.  So apt, I said to myself.

I left after two hours as we saw that the buses were now moving on the streets.

I returned to AIT rather late. My friend Narendra Shah, who is now a Professor at IIT Bombay, asked me the reason. I explained the mess, the rain and then about Capt. Chotu Apte.

After some pause I said “Naren, I think I am marrying his daughter”. Naren was surprised. He asked me whether I knew that he had a daughter in the first place. I said I don’t know as we never spoke about family, but something tells me that I am going to be close to this man for the rest of his life. I still remember this strange conversation we had in October,

In the summer of 1982, I got engaged to Kiran Apte, Capt. Chotu Apte’s daughter. We got married in December 1982. The mistake in taking the wrong bus no 15 and the torrential rain thereafter was perhaps a providence and for a purpose.  Some things are often pre-decided.

In his suit in Rama Tower (L-R)  Mahesh Athavale, Sayona George, Kiran Modak, Capt Apte and me 

In the family, Capt. Chotu Apte was known as “Daddy” . He became a Daddy to me after I lost my father in the same very year.  He not only supported me financially when most needed but taught me how to live life for others – without saying anything.

I had occasions to fly with Daddy on few sectors of Air India. Sitting in the seat of “check pilot” with he commanding the aircraft was a great experience. I used to think that Captains who fly at 40000 ft must be understanding the “ultimate truth” and hence should live like a sthitapradgyna (detached but yet connected).  I don’t know about other Captains, but Daddy was indeed a case of sthitapradgyna. He used to often talk about the vision of northern lights and the “dim fireworks” in the skies while crossing the Atlantic.” You experience and see God in these visions” He said.

Daddy lived in poverty when young, He used to sleep on a footpath on one of the streets of Shivaji Park that I cross even today. But he painstakingly worked hard to become a pilot in Air India from a position of a radio officer. He joined Air India in one of the early batch of pilots in 1950s and became one of the first Commanders. His Air India colleagues used to say that it always used to be a funny sight to see this “chotu” maneuvering the giant Jumbo Jet.

Daddy was not just a popular pilot, but was well known for his smooth landing of the aircraft. No wonder he was a preferred Air India commander (besides the great Capt. Maharaj Godbole, a 6ft 2 inches captain in contrast! ) by all top personalities and politicians. We have in collections, letters written to him by JRD Tata, Lal Bahadur Shastri, Morarji Desai etc. appreciating his flying skills.

Daddy lived and always wanted to live a simple life as compared to many in Air India. He drove Cortina a 1600 cc automatic Ford car. When he would be on the wheel, the car used to glide like an aircraft. He loved playing bridge and play a game of chess with my son Pranav. But more than anything he enjoyed beer and wine sessions with friends. That was the phase post retirement.

With a glass of wine

Whenever I used to return from my travels abroad we used to have a beer and wine session at his house. He had a great collection of beer glasses made out of Pewter with wooden base that he had shopped in Singapore. I used to tell him my travel stories that were many times entertaining and he loved to listen, especially those from Cairo – a city he had fond memories.

In 1992, Daddy suffered a massive heart attack and had to undergo a bye-pass surgery with Dr Nitu Mandke, one of the top cardiac surgeons of those days. Dr Mandke was an extremely busy surgeon and getting a date of surgery from him was very difficult. But when I approached him, he said “tell me Dr Modak, who is this father in law of yours? – Must be a well-known person as I am getting so many phone calls for him from so many important  people; I will operate on him asap – don’t worry”. At that time, I realized how much daddy was “connected” and was quietly helping people without talking about it. I have yet to learn and practice his style of helping.

On the day of bye-pass surgery, at 5 am in the morning Dr Mandke asked me to meet Daddy and ask him his last wish. He said the probability of success was just about 60% given the precarious condition of his heart. I remember I stood by him, next to his bed, to explain the situation in Hinduja Hospital. He was about to be “towed” to the Operation Theater. “Oh” he said. “Well then this is just like taking off from the Hong Kong airport during a typhoon”. He had no last wish to express.

The operation was successful and Dr Nitu Mandke was extremely happy.  Several years passed by after operation with no major concerns except Daddy’s LV function of the heart gradually reduced and reached close to 22%.

In 2010, I was to fly to Kuala Lumpur for a 3-day meeting and Daddy asked me if we could do a beer session prior my leaving. I was busy in preparation and hence said “well, its just 3 days Daddy; will be back with interesting stories and let us meet the next day I arrive in Mumbai”. “Of course,” he said “Work comes first”

My flight landed from Kuala Lumpur at 1 30 am in the morning. But just as I reached home, we received a frantic call from my mother-in-law  to rush as she had found Daddy lying on the floor in the kitchen. We rushed. His house was just 5 minutes away.

By the time we reached, Dr Hemant Shinde, a neighbor and a well-known anesthetist was standing next to Daddy’s body lying on the floor. He looked at me and he didn’t need to say anything as I understood the situation. Daddy had passed away due to a massive heart attack.

While we all were in deep grief, I realized that for Capt. Chotu Apte, it was a final take off –a bit unusual – as this time there was no landing going to be!

The Family (L-R) Prasad, Meera Apte, Pranav, Daddy, Devika and Kiran

Daddy passed away in 2010. I wrote this blog just to cherish memories of a warm and honest person who influenced my life.


Cover image sourced from https://bn.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E0%A6%9A%E0%A6%BF%E0%A6%A4%E0%A7%8D%E0%A6%B0:VT-ESC_A320-232_Air_India_(5598504534).jpg


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You, Me and Mr. Phileas Fogg

During my school days, when I read the book by the French writer Jules Verne “Eighty Days Around the World”, I was most impressed by the character Phileas Fogg. Phileas Fogg was a rich British gentleman living in London and in solitude. Despite his wealth, Fogg lived a modest life with habits carried out with mathematical precision. For instance, Fogg dismissed his former valet, James Forster, for bringing him shaving water at 84 °F (29 °C) instead of 86 °F (30 °C). He hired Frenchman Jean Passepartout as a replacement.

I was fascinated by Fogg’s “perfect” and “precise” life. His adventure of going around the world in 80 days was another inspiration. I started to behave like Phileas Fogg and carried a thermometer when I went to the bathroom and check the temperature of the hot water in the bucket while mixing hot and cold water. I ensured that I bathed with water of 31 0C temperature. I started counting the number of steps I would take to reach my school and remained close to the average number of 887 steps. I wouldn’t cross the road and say hello to friends as this would mean a deviation to what was supposed to be. When in college, I ate food that had a fixed composition of raw and cooked portions, 70:30, to be precise and I ensured that total calorie intake was 1600 on weekdays and 1800 on weekends. My mother and house cook had a tough time due to my insistence on the precise way of eating.

As I grew older I realized that living a precision life like Phileas Fogg was impossible. The real world threw so many challenges and this led to detours and deviations. My life became patchy somewhat with no clear and steady goals and targets set for accomplishment. Life simply rolled on like a wind wheel.

I studied environmental science and engineering (because I was deeply  interested in the subject and had no career rationale), started my career in marketing pollution control equipment (left as I got a bit nauseated) and then moved to engineering consulting that I liked. I decided to take a break for doctoral research however as I discovered some research problems and needed a “pause”. The next step was to join a position for teaching, research and consulting at an academic institution that I did. In few years however, I realized that I wanted to move faster and closer to the real world and the institute I was working had a lot of inertia and a pride in isolating from reality.

I enjoyed international work as I loved to travel. Becoming an entrepreneur was always my dream and so I started my own business while working with the world of Corporates and financing institutions. I did not prepare a business plan for my company.  I set up a not-profit organization focusing on awareness, training and eco-entrepreneurship that had less clarity on the objectives. Nothing was planned like how Phileas Fogg did when he prepared his itinerary to travel across the world.

(My wife says that if I had the clarity and doggedness in planning my life, then I could have become a Vice President of Asian Development Bank enjoying the power, money and retirement benefits! Alas – I missed the boat!)

Few years ago, I met with a smart Sri Lankan bureaucrat in Tokyo who worked for Asian Productivity Organization. She shared with me her plan of life that had clear definition of goals, objectives and targets prepared starting from her graduation till date. “Dr Modak, I planned my life ahead of time” she said while sharing with me a well-articulated document. I saw that this lady had a perfect plan in place to guide and track her life and assess accomplishments. “And where do you stand Ms. today?” I asked. She told me that she was doing extremely well and was two years ahead of her targets.

“ But the plan cannot be static Dr Modak” She explained. “Plans must be dynamic, and you need to check whether goals and objectives are still relevant and whether targets set were realistic. So, I keep adapting my plan every two years based on the new situations”. I thought this made a perfect sense.

I realized that this is exactly happened to Phileas Fogg when he undertook his journey around the earth in 80 days. Initially, he had made a meticulous plan of travel that included destinations, stopovers and modes of travel but then he had to deviate and innovate when he met with several surprises on his way. For instance, he encountered characters like Detective Fix, a young Indian woman Aouda and an Elephant in India who were not part of his original plan.

Mr Fogg’s Route across the World

I was unhappy however that I did not follow the precision and perfection of Philias Fogg nor the adaptive targets approach of the Sri Lankan lady.  I talked about my frustration to my Professor friend.

Professor had another view. He said that planning is certainly needed but the extent to which you stress about the targets must be controlled – else there could be frustration.

(I remembered that while the SriLankan lady looked happy about her accomplishments, she was stressed due to “continuous self-assessment” against the targets she had set.)

Professor elaborated and following “bullet points” emerged from his discourse

  • Make a plan but its ok to deviate from your plans from time to time
  • Change the targets if they are no longer serving you
  • It’s not so much about planning every detail of your life but learning to enjoy the process
  • Each new experience (whether it was part of the plan or not) helps you grow as a person and teach you what it is that you want out of life

“So, Dr Modak, there is absolutely nothing wrong with planning your life! What can go wrong is your strong attachment to a plan” Professor lit his cigar and continued to explain citing his example.

“I am kind of addicted to plan my day before I start my work. I do this in the form of a checklist of “to do things” with a colleague and plan what is to be done in the right sequence or priority on that day. Many actions need to be delegated and that needs to be done upfront with some guidance given to the colleagues. Then at the end of the day, I sit with my colleague once again to take a stock and understand the status of “to do’s; find reasons why? especially for important things if they could not be done. A strategy to remedy the situation is then prepared and all this rolls into the next day’s checklist of “to do”.”

“So its “micro-planning” that I would recommend you to follow. Certainly, you need to prepare a broad long term plan – but let it not intimidate you or suppress the opportunities of oddities”.

I liked the idea.

Professor extinguished his cigar and said

“A person who plans meticulously does not deviate. But this person will never be creative”

He left the room with these deep words.

You all may know that due to all the mess and surprises, Fogg finally reaches one day late to London. The following day Fogg apologizes to Aouda for bringing her with him, since he now has to live in poverty and cannot support her. Aouda confesses that she loves him and asks him to marry her.

As Passepartout notifies a minister, he learns that he is mistaken in the date – it is not 22 December, but instead 21 December. Because the party had travelled eastward, they had gained one day upon crossing the International Date Line. Passepartout informs Fogg of his mistake, and Fogg hurries to the Reform Club just in time to meet his deadline and win the wager of £20,000.

I realized that Mr. Perfect Phileas Fogg couldn’t execute his meticulous plan to the perfection he would have loved to; but his handling of the situations “creatively” led to winning the wager and even better a deal as he got Ms. Aouda as partner to his life.

Remember what Author Michael Gellert said: “Striving for perfection is often confused with the quest for fulfillment: we think that if we can become perfect or create perfect things or situations, we will be happy.”

So happiness need not be linked to perfection.

Mr.  Phileas Fogg was a man of precision and perfection but finally the imperfections in the journey around the world made him a happy and a successful man.

I thought of letting my wife know.

 


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