Representative image.
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In 1987–1988, it was decided to establish automatic state load dispatch centres to improve the quality and reliability of electric supply and manage various electricity grids in the country more effectively.
In 1989, as a cub engineer with the Himachal Pradesh State Electricity Board, I was directed by our stern Chief Engineer, Mr. Batra, to report to the Northern Region Electricity Board (NREB). Under NREB’s aegis, the scheme was to be implemented, and the automatic state load dispatch centres in various electricity boards in North India were to be established in the next few years.
At NREB’s office in Katwaria Sarai, Delhi, I represented the Himachal Pradesh Electricity Board (HPSEB). Similarly, there were representatives from other electricity boards in North India, including Punjab, Haryana, Jammu & Kashmir, and Rajasthan. Delhi was represented by DESU (Delhi Electric Supply Undertaking).
As the sole representative from Himachal Pradesh, I was an assistant executive engineer among groups of two or three representatives from other states, who were mostly XEN-level engineers. I felt a bit small in their presence.
The Superintending Engineer of NREB, who was in charge of the scheme for delegates from the region, delivered an introductory and somewhat esoteric lecture about the load dispatch scheme and our roles in our respective electricity boards. I was a little overwhelmed by the prevailing atmosphere. After the lecture, he asked us to introduce ourselves one by one. And we discovered some interesting surnames.
The first delegate stood up and said, “Sir, I am so-and-so Kaura (a surname, which means bitter). I have worked in this and that field.” The next one said, “I am so-and-so Khatta (which means sour)”. I have experience in such and such work.” Then, someone from the Rajasthan State Electricity Board (RSEB) stood up and remarked, “Sir, I am so-and-so Mitthu (which translates into sweetmeat). I have worked in design and operation.”
When my turn came, I stood up with trembling legs and introduced myself somewhat nervously: “Sir, we have just heard from Kaura, Khatta, and Mitthu. You can consider me Rajnish Phikka (which means insipid or without taste).”
There was a loud guffaw in that small committee room. The rest of what I said was not heard in the din. When the noise subsided a little, the witty Superintending Engineer, with a keen sense of repartee, addressed the next delegate who was about to introduce himself and said, “I hope you are not somebody loona (which means salty).” Another roar of laughter filled the room.