The “Khujli”  at the State Transport Bus Office

It was the summer vacation sometime in the late 1980s, and we were on a camp in Pune with our boys. As always, a camp meant not only activities and adventure, but also trying to think of something different and memorable for the boys.

One idea that came up was to take the boys to the Defence Institute at Khadakwasla. It sounded like an interesting outing, but there was one important question: how were we going to get there without blowing up the camp budget?   We were advised that the most economical option would be to travel by a State Transport bus. 

So, two scouters, Sharukh Balsara and I, decided to go to the State Transport office and make the necessary enquiries. We confidently set off early in the morning, reaching the office at around 8:45 a.m., assuming that the morning shift would begin promptly at 9:00.  That was our first mistake.  We had seriously underestimated the concept of government office timings.

We were directed to an office where the concerned officer was expected to arrive. The office was quite a sight. There was a table, a chair, 2 chairs opposite the person's chair and a window behind the table. The rest of the room was occupied by racks upon racks of old files. Files were packed in bundles & every bundle was carefully wrapped in white cloth, marked with a date and neatly placed on the shelves. 

It was, in its own way, a museum of government paperwork.  We sat down We waited. And waited.   At 9:30 a.m., the officer was still nowhere to be seen.   Our patience began to disappear. We started getting restless. Then came the inevitable question between the two of us:   What do we do now?

And that was when the idea of doing a little “khujli”—our rather juvenile term for harmless mischief—came up.  One of us took up position near the entrance, acting as lookout, while the other began moving bundles of files around.  One bundle moved from one rack to another.  Then another And another.

We had no idea why we were doing it. We weren't looking for anything. We weren't even particularly interested in the files. We were simply bored and, unfortunately, had too much time on our hands!  But apparently that wasn't enough. 

We went closer to the officer's table and noticed a table calendar, the old-fashioned kind with a separate page for every day, on which people could scribble notes and reminders.  Naturally, we decided that some of the future dates were surplus to requirements.  So we pulled out a few pages of futuristic dates.

Then came the problem: where do we dispose of the evidence?  The wastepaper basket was obviously out of the question. Someone could discover the pages and perhaps wonder why perfectly good calendar pages had suddenly disappeared.  Then we noticed the window behind the table.   Perfect!

We opened the window and threw the pages outside.   Unfortunately, we had not noticed that there was a ledge immediately below the window.  The pages landed neatly on the ledge.  Not only did they not disappear, they were sitting there in full view—torn, crumpled and looking extremely suspicious.

We stood there looking at our handiwork, suddenly realizing that our brilliant escape plan had a serious flaw.  Before we could think of a solution, we heard the sound we had been waiting for.   The Station Master had arrived!   Our hearts sank.  We quickly moved away from the window and prayed that the first thing he would do would not be to look outside.   Fortunately, he didn't.

He sat down, and we explained our requirement about taking the boys to Khadakwasla. To our relief, he turned out to be a very pleasant and helpful gentleman. He patiently listened to us and then gave us some advice that completely changed our plans.   He told us that, rather than taking a State Transport bus, a private bus would actually work out cheaper for our group. He even gave us a contact for the private bus operator.   We thanked him and left.

But now we had another reason for wanting to get out of that office as quickly as possible.  We had just spent our waiting time rearranging government files and vandalising a calendar, and the poor Station Master had actually been extremely helpful to us!  As we hurried out of the premises, we couldn't help feeling a little guilty.

Looking back after all these years, it is one of those completely unnecessary incidents that somehow becomes a treasured camp memory.   But then, as every good Scouter knows, you don't always have to plan an adventure. Sometimes, it simply happens! 

And somewhere on a ledge outside that office in Pune, there may once have been a few crumpled calendar pages bearing silent witness to the legendary “Khujli at the ST Office.”