Durgapur — Sweet and Sour

Commanding Heights, Public Sector Undertakings, Trade Unions, Integrated Townships — most of these words today are a source of derision in today’s India. But if we go back around five decades, they were the crowning glories of the country.

Starting with the sixties, SAIL, OIL, FCI, ONGC, Indian Oil, and BHEL, along with their picturesque townships ruled the roost of the newly industrializing India. Attracting the best of the talents from the premier engineering colleges, the more than competitive salaries in a largely poor country, fancy accommodation for staff with all the facilities baked in, and a promise of lifetime employment followed by reasonable post-retirement benefits — they offered the prized career opportunities.

I grew up in one such place Durgapur. Once described as the Ruhr of India, Durgapur became one of the largest industrial hubs in India. A location close to the mineral-rich Chotonagpur plateau, large tracks of arid lands inhabited by the tribals (which made it easy to vacate), coupled with the excellent personal equations of the then Chief Minister of Bengal Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy with Jawaharlal Nehru — helped Durgapur to attract a large number of manufacturing and heavy industries.

There were the Durgapur Steel Plant and Alloy Steel Plant (part of the Steel Authority of India Limited — SAIL), Mining and Allied Machinery Corporation (MAMC), Fertilizer Corporation of India (FCI), Philips Carbon, and many more.

And around Durgapur were other hubs — hubs like Kulti, Burnpur, and Chittaranjan were just around 60 km away. And they little ahead were the famed mines of Dhanbad, part of Eastern Coalfields Limited.

Anyone who is possibly on the right side of forty today will only have heard about the inefficiencies, bloated workforces, accumulated losses, and numerous (and mostly failed) attempts to privatize this organization. And on top of all is the history of militant trade unionism.

Today organized labor of on the decline, and in many ways, it is probably a result of how these organizations were held to ransom by many. There was rampant recruitment and overstaffing (DSP which had 40,000 employees during our times could well manage with 10,000 later), pilferage, absenteeism, and innumerable “Dhua Bandh — Chaka Bandh: No smoke, No Movement of Wheel” to ensure that the annual increments are robust. No one loses jobs on any grounds.

But that is one part of the story. We the kids all had a great life on the other hand.

Free schools with great teachers (almost all of them were as good, if not better than the ones I met in the so-called hallowed institutes I attended), free medical (except for critical illness — where the attending doctor will always play safe saying “nothing can be said before 72 hours”), safe neighborhoods, abundant flora and fauna, good friendships — as I look back life was heaven.

A very special plus was the social, cultural, and sports lives. All the schools had huge playgrounds (and in secondary schools many teachers were malingered, leaving us ample time to play). The executives had their exclusive clubs, but the staff members had their community centers.

Just across the road from our diminutive staff quarters, we had the “Rabindra Bhavan”. It had a library (including one especially for the children), Table Tennis, Badminton, Volleyball, and Football facilities — and all free. And there was a huge auditorium that showcased two movies a month and also played host to all sorts of cultural events.

At the local community center, along with the two stadiums in the township (Nehru Stadium was one of them), we were fortunate to catch up with national-level athletics, football, cricket, table tennis, and a plethora of other sports. And add to that the cultural events which allowed, again free, view to the la creme de la cremes like Utpal Dutta, Nandikar, Suchitra Mitra, Hemanta, Sabitabrata, just to name of few.

I especially enjoyed the library at the community center, which had a reading room. Apart from the Bengali newspapers and periodicals, it also subscribed to Sunday and The Illustrated Weekly of India, both now discontinued (and India sure lost two great long-form journalism). Every evening post 8:30 PM I will spend around one and a half hours catching up on the stories. And needless to say, it was my first initiation to inquisitiveness.

But the best of Durgapur was surely the cosmopolitan environment we grew up in. Since the steel plants (and other industries attracted people from across India — both for talent, as well as to fill up positions in a relatively remote location), we possibly had around 50% of the population who were not Bongs.

So we had Sinha Kaku Murthy and Naseem as classmates. Or Panna Kaku from Bihar as barbar. So Dosa and Idly shops were popular, and exposed to Chhath Puja and Rath Yatra. So when the rest of Bengal was largely dividing Indians as Oriyas and Madrasis and Sardars and Biharis, we had a nuanced exposure.

But was it all milk and honey — an idyllic life for a few lakh people, who had a good life with almost everything provided on a platter, when the large part of the country was struggling for a square meal? People who could have job security, provided for education, and health (still a dream for most Indians), maintain one complaint away, and spare time soaked in culture and sports?

Well, I always thought so. Sometime back I saw a documentary named “In Search of Gold” by Basav Biradar. It is on Kolar Gold Field (KGF), its discovery, evolution, golden days, decay, and present status — all recounted as memories by people associated with it. And interspaced with claims like KGF is still viable and can be reopened, and the Cornish ancestry of the early settlers — there were some disturbing questions. “What about the exploitation of the people who were not the staff or executives, but the contract laborers, and most importantly the original inhabitants of the place?”

And that made me remember about the Bauris — who were always the maids in our home at Durgapur. They were from a place called Danggal, just outside the township limits. But who were they?

After a little study, I found they are a Scheduled Caste, who along with their brethren were pushed out of their land to make way for the industries and the townships. And while we all had a good life, they remained the maids, the gardeners, the laborers, and at best the class 4 employees.

Have they not progressed? Probably not much, as even now the percentage of 10th pass among them is a shade over 10%. So while the dire poverty has reduced, and social inclusion has happened, the economic divide remains.

Well, a sort of a bummer for my nostalgic, feel-good memories. But then life is always a mixed bag — isn’t it?

Maybe it also portends that instead of just a romantic view of these once-integrated human settlements, which are now on the path to decay, the time has come to write dispassionate, research-based histories of these places.

After all, while India is busy rewriting history (mostly we very little effort and very high emotions), a new genre of “Industrial History” can be a genre that can take its baby steps.