What happens at a Retirement Party in Small-Town Bihar...

On New Year’s eve in 2018, KDP Yadav’s lavish government quarters in Munger’s Jamalpur area was alive with a celebration of a different kind. Having served the Indian Railways for 41 years, the influential officer from the historic Bihar town was finally retiring at the age of 60—albeit in style. With his strong political connections, Yadav is known among the residents for his influence in the Indian Railways, a family firmly rooted in government services, and his candour. Amidst loud music, expensive decorations lining the red boundary walls of his house, and men and women dancing to Bihari songs, piping hot food was being served to scores of guests at the abode of the retiring Incharge of Railway Inspectors. The festivity, however, wasn't restricted to his house. They were everywhere.

Every year on December 31, Jamalpur’s British-era railway colony witnesses hundreds of servicemen throwing a "final" parties. As the rest of the world welcomed 2019, around 102 officers bid farewell to their comfortable government jobs with all guns blazing—literally. It’s an expensive bang, with dancing horses, Bhojpuri songs blasting, gunshots being fired in the air, and an exhibition of wealth. A baraat (wedding procession)-like march includes guests dancing their way to the retiree’s erstwhile office, led by a mobile DJ on a truck.

“Someone ask him to play ‘Lollylop lagelu’,” cried a sweaty old man in Yadav’s convoy, referring to a popular Bhojpuri song. The DJ played youngsters’ favourite ‘Ladki Aankh Marey’ for the fourth time in quiet residential area.

Munger (or Monghyr) has been a seat of power, from being mentioned in the Mahabharata to becoming the capital of Nawab Mir Kasim Ali in the 18th century. Later, it was one of the important cantonments under the British Raj. Yadav’s house is part of a residential quarters, which is home to nearly 7,000 Indian government employees.

As Yadav’s caravan stopped outside homes, the neighbours came outside to shake a leg with the powerful officer. The problem arises only when one caravan meets another. On the way, Yadav’s convoy passed dozens of others, sometimes going around on sidewalks to let each other pass.

With the DJ changing the song to ‘Saat Samundar Paar’, the dancing guests finally reached KDP Yadav’s office, where an official felicitation is organised. In a background of dusty files, the event began with the words of a junior railway official playing the host. “Sir, being a strict disciplinarian, has asked us to limit his retiring event to 12 minutes, as the railways are dealing with a huge operation,” he said, referring to the recent AK-47 smuggling racket in Munger, in which the local police and the Army were allegedly involved.

A senior colleague Sujeet Kumar Singh talked about the penchant of his “departing friend” to stick to the strict guidelines in railways at any cost, while another, Sudhir Kumar, referred to retirement as a “happy occasion”. “As our quarters are nearby, we would keep meeting Yadavji even after retirement. Let us not forget that one of his sons, younger brother and many relatives are still in the railways,” he says. It almost sounded like a warning not to take him lightly after his farewell.

There was some drama when Yadav refused to be garlanded, which was resolved after requests from senior colleagues. It was time for Firoz Akhtar, a subordinate to speak about Yadav. Before he went to the temporary dais, the host requested him in a muffled voice: “ Zyada mat bolna (Don’t speak too much).” As Akhtar started speaking, the advice seemed prophetic. “Yadav sir knows everything and everyone in Munger: be it the criminals, cops or railwaymen.” Utter silence followed. “Just give him anyone’s name and he would like scan his memory give you the full biodata.” More utter silence followed. The juniors began concentrating on distributing the food packets.

The final speaker, a senior colleague, turned out to be an unofficial poet, who saw Yadav’s farewell as an opportunity to showcase his undiscovered talent:

Pal milte hain, seher hoti hai, shaam hoti hai,
yunhi, yunhi zindagi tamam hoti hai.
(Moments meet, morning comes, evening comes,
Just like that, life passes.)

The audience clapped, encouraging Kumar to lament further. “It time that has rung the bell of retirement on our dear friend. And no man can fight time. Everyone face adversity,” he said. It started to sound like a funeral, so efforts were made to lift the mood.

“Ae malik, khushi de to aise khusnaseeb ko,
Jo bure waqt bhi aaye to has ke muskuraye.”
(Lord, give happiness to that lucky man,
Who keeps smiling even in bad times.)

The audience clapped, now not so loudly, leading Kumar to assume the role of a philosopher: “Yadavji should now concentrate on his nati-potas (grandchildren).” Sensing the impatience of his audience, he decided to finally depart with this:

“ Bhool kar bhi naa aaye teri zindagi me gham,
Aage ka yaad nahi aa raha.”
(Hope grief doesn’t come to you even by mistake,
I forgot the next line.)

Now it was the turn of the man of the moment, Yadav. Continuing the somber mood set by the previous speaker, he stressed on retirement being an ‘unavoidable eventuality’ in everyone’s life: “My junior colleagues used to say that they won’t let me retire at any cost. But my turn has come.” Not taking much time, he thanked his colleagues, inviting them into his home for dinner and a long night of celebration.

As Yadav’s caravan of old railway officers left for his home, the mobile DJ began playing the next run of “Aankh Marey” on a loop. On the march home, the two horse riders tried to make their animals dance. One horseman made his white horse dance to audience’s whistles, while another tried in vain with a brown one. At an intersection, they met another caravan of old men, resulting in a traffic jam.

The DJ kept playing. With cars waiting for them to move on, little kids, young and old men, relatives and policemen danced their way into the New Year.

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