M S Neelakantan

Notion Press

Old No. 38, New No. 6

McNichols Road, Chetpet

Chennai - 600 031

First Published by Notion Press 2016

Copyright © M S Neelakantan 2016

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 978-93-5206-675-9

This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

DEDICATED TO

Diganta Dass – Class of ‘90, Rajeev Mehrotra – Class of ‘92, Major Dhammi – Class of ‘91, Shravan Singh – Class of ‘94, Shefali Sharma & Kamal Laul – Class of ‘91, Major Navneet Vats – Class of ‘93, Taresh Kapahi & Naveen Gill – Class of ‘92 and Vikas – Shivani Gupta’s husband.

You were too good to be on this earth for an entire lifetime.

And to all my students who graced my classrooms, enriching my life.

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

On Neelakantan the Teacher

Acknowledgements

Foreword

How These Memories Became a Book

Author’s Note

Prologue

Section 1 At PUSA

1. On My Toes

2. The First Day Dilemma

3. When I Fell in My Own Eyes

4. Humungous Responsibility

5. Check your Kot Answer

6. The Summer of 1989: Summer Vacations

7. The 1989 Academic Session Starts

8. When Lasses Became Ladies and Lads Gentlemen

9. Tongue-Tied!

10. 1989: the First Teaching Session

11. Kasal and His Formal Wear

12. Caught Humming and the Stage

13. My Class of ‘92: why they Shall Always Be Special

14. No Mundane Monday Mornings

15. Ushering the Taj Mahal Hotel Bombay in My Classrooms

16. ‘‘I Would Like to Sit in Your Classroom!’’

17. Sorry..... Mr Neelakantan, you Cannot Continue

18. Diganta Dass and My Cricket Debut

19. Inspiring Teachers: My Role Models

20. Rohit Singh Rawat

21. 1989 – My First Year and My Class of ‘92

22. Unorthodox Teaching Style

23. Caught & Bowled: Jaidip Shankar Since October 1989

24. The Lily of a Day is Far Fairer in May

25. Mid-Term Examinations

26. My Appraisal: in Acidic Ink

27. 0800 Hours Onwards

28. The National Intercat Competition, September, 1989: the Event and Beyond

29. The Flight to Ireland

30. Some Achaar and Cat Calls

31. Diganta Dass and The Ilm

32. Year 1989–90

33. 1990 - Ravi Nayak’s Accident

34. Refugees in Their Homeland – Exodus from Jammu and Kashmir

35. Annual Day and Maiden Final Examinations

36. Campus Interviews and My Final Examinations

37. Tectonic Changes 1990

38. IIT-Madras here We Come for the Mardi Gras Festival

39. Sweet Revenge for Mardi Gras

40. Internal Assessments, the Maiden First Year Theory and Practical Examinations

41. Admission Process of the Class of ‘93

42. 1990 Summer Vacations

43. 1991 Academic Year: a Landmark Year

44. Welcoming the Class Of ‘93 and My First Student-Soldier

45. ‘‘I Shall Conduct Classes for the Third Year!’’

46. The Representation of the North East, Nepal, Tibet and Ladakh!

47. The Making of the Annual

48. Navneet Vats Joins the National Defence Academy

49. The First Diganta Dass Memorial Trophy Match

50. The Bhaang Kaand!

51. The Sabena Moments Again

52. Delhi-Jaipur-Delhi Weekend Trips Start

53. The Very Special Annual Day 1991

54. 1991 Academic Year

55. Academic Year 1992, Students’ Strike, Press Club, Indian Culinary Federation (ICF) Etc

56. Thums-Up Inter-Hotel Cricket Tournament, November 1991

57. The Annual Day 1992 and Farewell to My Class of ‘92

58. The Student’s Strike 1992 and the Fallout

59. Mr Andrews, The Principal, and the Ides of March

60. ‘‘He is Sir My Eldest Son’’

61. The Academic Year 1993 and the Witch Hunt

62. Marriage, The Administrative Arm Twisting Including Dismissal Threat

63. Understanding Pusa Politics Analogous to the Indian Cricket Team

64. Writing for the Pioneer Newspaper

65. National Student Chef’s Competition, Lucknow September 1992

66. The Academic Year 1993 the First Year of Our Marriage and...

67. Termites in the Woodwork and the Official Apathy

68. Tragedy of Two Murders at Ashok Vihar

69. The Final Countdown

70. Official Needling Increases

71. The Unsung Heroes of PUSA

72. Heroes, Bravehearts, Angels, Purehearts, Achievers Par Excellence and Others

Section 2 After PUSA

73. The Poverty of Wealthy PUSA

74. Paralysed

75. Jaidip Shankar Springs a Surprise

76. Shifting Residence

77. Kotakkal, the Medical Report Misnomer and the Stork

78. The Greek Tragedy

79. Following on Chasing a Huge First Innings Defiicit

80. Cricket Brings in a Smile

81. All-Weather Friends and Fair Weather Friends

Section 3 God Sent Angels Appear

82. Let-Down Again

83. The Diwali Cheer of 1995

84. The Sunrise of December 1, 1994

85. Professional Cameo Innings Begin

86. Rakesh Nayyar and Akshay Chaturvedi–God Sent Angels

87. An Angel Named Milind Kelkar

88. Problems Created

89. An Angel Named Dr. Kohli

90. Retreat to Madras

91. The Law of Karma Strikes and How!

92. Virtually in Delhi

93. Pentamedia Graphics Happens Serendiptiously

94. Want a Chopper on Hire? Call Me!

Section 4 Unexpected Love Affection and Respect

95. ‘‘The Longer you Make Me Wait the More Happier I Will Be!’’

96. SIP Academy India-A Harbor to Mend the Sails

97. Facebook: The Game Changer

98. The Miraculous Healing 2011 and My Student Angel, Kapil Sankhla

99. After Decades – Tribute to a Teacher

100. Sir do you Recognize Me?

101. The Constants on My Delhi Tours

102. PUSA Feedback from an Outsider, Pune 2013

Section 5

Photo Gallery

On Neelakantan the Teacher

A delightful tale of young people setting out on an adventure of graduate study, meeting a teacher who went far beyond the text books and manuals, to impart to them ways to find how to live a meaningful life while seeking a career in hotel management. The unorthodox guru, who opened up young minds to point out avenues even as he mingled with them in all campus activities including, most of all, cricket, shares through these memoirs his exciting experiences beginning with his first love. R Mohan-Resident Editor, Deccan Chronicle, Chennai.

Mr Neelakantan was different from other teachers. His biggest strength was he could bond with all of us. Although there was a lot of respect for him as a teacher, he was more like a friend and a guide. He made hotel management look ‘worth it’ in the days when people didn’t think beyond engineering and medicine, making hotel management look cool. Kapil Chopra, President, Oberoi Group of Hotels.

Neel sir, as he is fondly called. An intellectual, a wordsmith, one among his students, yet looked up to for his down-to-earth and selfless approach to knowledge-sharing and enthusiasm for life. He wasn’t just a Front Office Teacher to us – he taught us to always bat on the ‘front foot’ in life. Nirbhik Goel, Managing Director, Head of HR, Barclays India.

He ensured we learned without being taught, and we understood without being told. He did this by being a friend outside class – willing to participate in our adventures and standing by to support us in our hours of need, while being a strict mentor in class, who challenged us to question him to bring the best out in us. Rahul Pandit, Managing Director, Ginger Group of Hotels.

Most teachers teach, and teach well, but few inspire you to evolve and explore fully. Dr Anshu Maheshwari Arora, Principal, Amity International School, Gurgaon.

The epitome of guru-ship (yes, he deserves a new word coined in his (honor!). Friend, philosopher, mentor, guide, coach – he played so many surrogate roles in moulding and shaping our impressionable minds, in his inimitable style. In cricket parlance, this book is the perfect cover-drive, executed with the aplomb that only he could muster. Ravneet Bhandari, CEO - Lodgiqal, a new start-up in NYC focused on revenue and pricing optimization for travel verticals.

There are teachers and there are gurus. There are gurus and there are mentors. There are mentors and there are guides. There are guides and there are friends. There are friends and there are soul mates. There are soul mates and there are people who become a part of your life forever. And then there are some who can role play and be any or all of above. I know only one – Mr Neelakantan. Sharad Dewan, Regional Director, Food Production, The Park Hotels.

Acknowledgements

My parents- Mrs. Rajalakshmi and Mr. MGS Murthy who strived to give me the best as all parents would.

My in-laws- Mrs. PS Shakuntala and Mr. KS Parameswaran for supporting me when it mattered most.

My wife P Geetha and my daughter Arunima without whom nothing…

Dr. Sudhir Andrews for his foreword.

R Mohan, The Resident Editor – Deccan Chronicle (Chennai), who took time off from his busy schedule to read and critique my draft manuscript.

Tejeesh Nippun Singh Behl – Class of ‘94, now Editor, Digital & Analytics with TV Today Group who edited and painted Pusa visually in words for the reader to walk through.

Meher Sarid- Class of ‘91, for the cover design.

Reena Bhatia, my school classmate for her feedback on my draft manuscript, Shoba Mohan, who also encouraged me to complete the book. Saurjyeshnath Bhaduri – Class of ‘90, Meenakshi Ramanathan – Class of ‘92, Anshu Maheshwari – Class of ‘93, for editing my first draft and Sandeep Kumar – Class of ‘92, who painstakingly corrected many a factual error. Photographs courtesy- Vineet Panchi – Class of ‘95.

Abhinav Parihar – Class of ‘94 who connected me to Tejeesh Nippun Singh Behl.

Foreword

I had the privilege to be the Principal of IHMCT Pusa, New Delhi in the early 1990s. It was a time of dramatic changes in the college such as the complete overhaul of the curriculum by the UNDP; modernization of the facilities; accent on cultural activities as a measure of giving live experiences to students in organization and management; INTERCAT the first ever and only National inter-IHM sports & cultural meet; several awards by students in various competitions; the appreciation of various religious events; outstanding academic results; our own newsletter headed by the author; the establishment of the National Council; an original member of the Suraj Kund Mela; and many more. It was of time of joy, togetherness, sense of achievement and pride. MS Neelakantan (affectionately called Neel) was an important member of the faculty then, has been unique in capturing the joys and challenges of those years in this book. I wish his efforts all success.

Dr. Sudhir Andrews (B.A. Hons, MBA-IIMA, D. Litt)

Founder Director – Oberoi Hotel School

Member Personnel – Welcomgroup Divisional Board

Principal – IHMCT, Pusa, New Delhi

Board member of National Council for Hotel Management and Catering Technology

Founder Director – Metropolitan Hotel School, Dubai

Founder Dean – Ecole Hoteliere Lavasa, Pune

Winner of Rashtriya Gaurav Award, Rajiv Gandhi Award for Excellence and others

How these Memories Became a Book

The roots of this book can be traced back to 2010, to a casual chat with Manuj Khurana, a student from my Class of ‘92. I recalled incidents of Pusa and the characters, which prompted him to say, Sir, aapko hamaari saari baat yaad hain. Hum bhool gaye hain. (You remember all the incidents at Pusa and the characters. We have forgotten them.) Sir aap aapki Pusa ki yaadon par ek kitaab likho. (Sir please write a book on your memories of Pusa and your students.)

My immediate response Who will publish it? And who will be interested to read it?

His reply was quick. Sir, I will finance it if nobody does! I agreed and promised to do it. He added, Sir, when we joined the Hotel Management course, people thought we were going to be educated to be waiters and cooks. Those were still the days when Engineering and Medicine were the first career choices. Besides, now, there is a greater degree of awareness of Hotel Management as a career option. With all these television shows featuring Chefs, it has acquired respect. Now, over eight lakh students choose to take the Common Entrance Examination for the Hotel Management Course as their first option. In our times, the majority who enrolled were those who did not get admissions elsewhere.

That convinced me that this was an opportunity to let the outside world know firsthand, what being a hotelier was all about: the narrative through a teacher’s eyes and heart, of seeing the gauche undergraduate boys and girls enter to leave the cocoon of the Institute, to become Managers and Chefs in five star hotels, after the 3-year graduate programme. Their grappling with reality, disillusionment, ecstasies, joys, sorrows and exploits, their experiences in the kitchens, restaurants, housekeeping and the like. Most important, their trek to finding their strengths and overcome the odds and to rise to achieve more than they had dreamed of. I told my wife Geetha of the conversation with Manuj. Her reply to my question, Should I do it? was in the affirmative. I asked her why. She said, Because they were and are the finest people in your life!

The first chapter was easy to write. It flowed effortlessly. Then came a stumbling block. Little did I realize that the brain is a muscle. Once exercised, little circuits started getting ignited. The more I started writing, the faster the memories came alive, as if I had boarded a time machine. Characters and incidents were flooding my brain as if I was relieving the past. At work, I used to switch off, but little did I realize the power of the subconscious mind. I had a notepad and pen handy, wherever I went, in order to note down any memory. If Archimedes was inspired by the bath tub, I must confess, the time under the shower was perhaps the best for the mind to replay all my memories. Soon, I had the manuscript ready. A couple of phone calls, Facebook messages and emails got me more details and clarifications. Writing eight hours every Saturday and Sunday, and also on holidays helped me finish the project.

Ravneet Bhandari, Class of ‘92, agreed to co-sponsor the publishing with Manuj and Samir Kasal, his course mates. He dismissed my idea of printing this for my students only.

Author’s Note

The Hotel Industry is known as the ‘Father of the Service Industry.’ As processing to finished goods to sale, consumption and feedback happens under one roof, unlike any other, be it Banking, Telecom, Airlines, etc.

It is often said that the girl or boy who joins a Hotel Management program, is not the same Lady or Gentleman after the completion of the course. This holds true only for Hotel Management. All other Bachelor’s programs fail in this respect. How does this happen? Be it a three-year long Diploma course, Degree or a four-year Degree, the basic character of the program is clear.

A military model is replicated, throughout the program, pre-lunch classes, usually 4 hours from 0900 hours to 1300 hours. Did you notice that I used 0900 hours and not 9:00 AM? This is just an indicator of the military model. The practical classes: could be, for example, maybe Monday for Food Production, Tuesday for Food & Beverage Service, Wednesday for Bakery, Thursday for Housekeeping and Friday for Front Office. Some lunch breaks may find the student on duty in the staff restaurant, serving food in fine dining style to the teaching faculty members. A student in his first week of first year learns that there is dignity of work, whether he is cleaning toilets or mopping floors, peeling potatoes or cleaning the kitchens after four hours of cooking.

In the second year, there is a six-month Industrial Training in the hotel industry. As September to March is the tourist season, both batches, the ones going first in the calendar year and the second, get to know the workings of the industry with hands on training. Trainees have to work through all the four operating departments doing menial tasks, as well. This training separates the ‘wheat from the chaff!’

Howard Gartner has scientifically proved that there are eight types of human intelligence: Kinesthetic, Spatial, Auditory, Mathematical, Linguistic, Natural, Intra-personal and Interpersonal. This is accepted world over.

A budding hotelier inadvertently over time develops all of these. Which professional degree can claim to develop at least five, if not seven? Creativity for a buffet display, restaurant and coffee shop themes, theme parties, theme weddings, thematic colour schemes for uniforms, backdrops and the like, changing a seating arrangement in a jiffy for a banquet – the demands are constant, with no textbook answers. ‘Thinking on the feet’ develops as a matter of instinct. Besides, working for long hours that are arranged in three shifts, with no Saturdays and Sundays off, working during Diwali, Christmas and New Year, with the workload increasing during these times – it really is a demanding profession. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ But, hoteliers have fun! More fun than you probably thought. Departmental pride makes a person who has worked a night shift for a week to turn up in flannels for an inter-departmental cricket match with just enough time to have the luxury of a nap before and after the match. By 2100 hours, he would be back on duty. Parties start late and end late, with those on duty being relieved for an hour or two. In this way, everybody enjoys and experiences the rigors too.

The world became aware of hoteliers staying at the post, in a crisis during the dastardly attack at the Taj Mahal Hotel, Bombay. Harminder Kang, the GM, chose to stay at his post to shepherd guests and his team members to safety. Aware that his wife and children residing in the hotel, were being suffocated by the smoke to eventually pass away. His team members too, put their lives at risk, in keeping the safety and welfare of the guests above theirs. If this is not a military model, what is?

Feedback at: msneelakantan@gmail.com

Prologue

As I closed the door behind me, I saw the familiar face of Mr Sudhir Andrews coming forward to meet me. Come, Neel, he said, his bald pate bouncing the lights in reflection. Nervous as I was, his presence seemed reassuring in a room full of strangers who were waiting to grill me. Our acquaintanceship went back a couple of years, when he had conducted a training program at Welcomgroup Vadodara, Baroda, during which time we had hit it off. In that enclosed space, therefore, he seemed more of an ally as opposed to coming across as the Principal of the college where I was going to be interviewed for a job in a few minutes. He introduced me to the panel – Mrs Suman Swaroop, IAS – the Secretary, Ministry of Tourism; Mrs S. Gupta, the Director –Studies, the National Council for Hotel Management, Catering & Nutrition; Mr Joshi Manohar, the Head of Department – Food & Beverage Service and Mr S. Bhatnagar, the Head of Department – Front Office. He fired off the loosener as he took his seat, adjusting his tie and the lapels of his suit. It was one of those times which convinces one of a mysterious guardian angel being at work, for the loosener was a question, the answer to which I had rehearsed and re-rehearsed over the last forty-five minutes while waiting my turn.

Neel, tell us. Why do you want to leave the industry?

Sir, with all due respects, I am not leaving the industry, but returning to it.

As I paused, the script playing perfectly in my mind. I saw the puzzled glances of the panel. In life, as in cricket, my favourite sport, timing is everything. I waited for another couple of seconds before I completed my response. Yes, I am coming to the cradle to return all that I benefitted from it. As the two ladies in the panel exchanged smiles, I knew I had them at that. The rest of our conversation were a matter of mere technicalities.

Winter of Discontent

It was in Bangalore, in December 1987, when I was working at the Taj West End as the Senior Captain (Banquets), I started noticing my breathing becoming labored. Anxious, I consulted a doctor, who after a round of routine tests, advised that I should move to a place with a dry and tropical climate. The Taj Hotels Human Resources department, being what it was back then, shunted me forward to Mr Sanjay Jog, the Personnel Manager at the Taj Palace, Delhi, who finally found a fit for my role at the Taj Rambagh, Jaipur, then under the command of Mr Vikram Singh, the General Manager. The relief of finding a spot under the sun was soon eclipsed by the new appointment letter which overruled my Bangalore experience and put me on probation for another six months. I was not on the Taj payrolls, but on the Rambagh’s payrolls. It seemed like a small irritant at the time - and would come to bite me later.

Rambagh palace is quite literally a palace. The former palace of the erstwhile Maharaja of Jaipur had seventy-nine rooms and suites with high ceilings, marble and frescos in abundance, with lawns spreading in every direction, of the almost three acres large sylvan surroundings, ensuring that a guest gets a royal experience. The routine was bliss. Waking up at 0400 hours, taking a cold shower in the wintry cold weather in the desert since the geysers were invariably not too keen on exerting themselves, and then a sprint that Usain Bolt would have been proud of, in pitch darkness from the Staff Quarters to the hotel just to be at Suvarna Mahal, the 300-seater Indian restaurant. The Suvarna Mahal almost 30 feet × 20 feet in size, with lovely artwork and paintings adorning the solid walls. The high ceiling work and paintings added a touch of grandeur. I was assigned the duty, at 0445 hours to supervise the breakfast for the departure of the guests – foreigners, primarily, to board the Indian Airlines Delhi-Jaipur-Agra flight to see the Taj Mahal, till lunch. This program was repeated all week-long, till Sunday, with the Mondays being off. Mondays were the days when I would meet up with Sabena Khan, a counter staff member with the Indian Airlines City Office. Dating was a lot different then from what it is now. It meant long walks, actual cups of coffee rather than the metaphorical ones, and the occasional sumptuous dinner spread at her place, prepared by her mother. What wasn’t bliss was the undercurrent of workplace politics – a workplace dominated with the local populace, led by the Food & Beverage Manager, Mr Rathore, and his nephew, Devender, one of my supervisors. Jaipur is a small city, and a liaison couldn’t be hidden for long, not that I ever intended to hide it – but I never intended to advertise it either. Before long, Devender had chanced upon Sabena and me, together, at a local coffee shop. It wasn’t long before he broached the subject with me.

We’re brothers, you and I, Neel, no? he asked, accosting me at lunch one work day, with all the MCP colleagues present.

I’m not quite sure how you mean, I replied, hesitating, unsure what was on his mind.

Well, brothers share things, you know – if you need something, I can give it to you and if I want something, you can lend it to me, right.

I put down the spoon in my plate and looked up. This was unusual. Devender was making friendly gestures towards me.

So, what is it that you want from me, Mr. Devender?

He paused, sitting down right opposite to me and leaned forward. That woman friend of yours, she’s…? his voice, already a whisper, trailed off.

She’s a friend, I replied.

Could you introduce me to her?

I looked straight at him. Sure, I can check with her.

He smiled, and relaxed. I wasn’t finished yet. In the meantime, how about you checking up with your sister about me and her?

As expected, he froze and walked away. But if I thought the matter would end there, boy, was I completely out of depth. Managers, especially whose Uncles were in a position of power, had elephantine memories and their word carried a lot of weight when it came to performance appraisals. Something I would learn, at a great cost.

My Lee Iacocca Moment

March 31, 1989, was a day like any other. It was bright and sunny and the last day of the official tourist season. It was also the last day of my probation period of six months, and when the call from the Personnel Manager’s Office came after lunch, I was relieved. Finally, hard labor’s just rewards would be mine. As I walked into the Personnel Manager, Mr Singh’s office, I saw Mr SS Rathore, the Food & Beverage Manager sitting on the opposite side of the desk. That struck me as a bit odd. Confirmation letters were usually a formality, completed with minimum fuss. Neither of them spoke when I entered. Immediately, a sense of foreboding engulfed me.

The Personnel Manager handed me a bunch of sheets. I quietly took them. They were my appraisal forms, backdated from the time I had joined. The comments were consistent: ‘Rude to Guests, Unpopular with staff, Indisciplined.’ The last sentence read: Should not be confirmed. To be terminated with immediate effect. I slowly looked up, trying hard not to break down in front of two elderly men.

Lee Iacocca, the legendary American CEO, mentioned in his autobiography how he felt when he was fired from Ford Motors. It was like being kicked off from Mount Everest. I was nowhere near something that high, but I could understand now what the feeling of being flung into empty air was like.

Thank you, Sir. I addressed the Personnel Manager, handing the appraisal forms back and shaking his hand, following it up similarly with Mr Rathore. I walked out, with as deliberate an attempt as possible. My feet felt like lead and the sensation I had in my solar plexus was as though I had been pulverized. I was in a daze. Just where had I gone so horribly wrong as to end up losing my job? The last six months of my life flashed before my eyes as I made my way back to the residential quarters. The guest appreciation letters, the spurt in tips that my waiting staff had seen, all that seemed like events of a distant galaxy, if not a universe.

Then realization dawned on me. It was the result of one of my skirmishes with the powers-that-be: the Managers, including Devender and even the hotel’s Director, the erstwhile Royal, who owned the property that owned The Rambagh Palace. It may have been forty years since Independence, but the winds of democracy were yet to blow through his mind. Used as he was to Managers and waiting staff genuflecting before him, my inability to do so was quite obviously mistaken for arrogance. But the fatal mistake I was told that I did was to antagonize one of his ‘acquaintances,’ a tour operator known to have his ear. This tour escort, a veteran conducting tours with Abercrombie & Kent, dropped in unannounced on March 30 at 2000 hours with thirty people in tow, demanding dinner. Word had it that it wasn’t the first time she had done so, being close to him. The trouble was that Suvarna Mahal was full and booked that evening. Despite repeated entreaties to her in the morning to confirm the time of her group’s arrival, she hadn’t done so. Expectedly, all hell broke loose, with the Food & Beverage Manager, Mr Rathore ordering me to leave the restaurant premises while he cancelled all the confirmed bookings to accommodate a walk-in group. Having changed into my civvies, I decided to go to the temple within the Staff Quarters’ residential premises. Being early in the afternoon, it was deserted. There, I broke down, ranting to the silent idols of Lord Ram and Sita, as the tears flowed freely from my eyes. My career had