This article deals with the funny side of training and is in no way intended to denigrate any of the companies or people referred to or to reduce the importance of the training system.

In 1958, when I received the telegram that I would be included among the trainees heading for the USA if I joined the steel company immediately, I was not overjoyed, but apprehensive. A shy person by nature, going to the unaccustomed West was not a happy proposition for me. When I told my friends and relatives about it they said it was a one in a million chance and should be grabbed. Accordingly all the formalities were completed and preparations were made for the flight from New Delhi.

One of my colleagues' enthusiasm was in sharp contrast with my hesitation. He was from a small town in the most backward state of India and was paraded on elephant-back around the town by his elders - a rare honour! Of course, those were the days when colour TVs, computers and pocket calculators were not common, even in the USA.

Jets were unheard of then, at least in Air India and we had to travel umpteen flying hours, with refuelling breaks in between, by a Super Constellation. The other young men were so excited, especially one smart fellow who used to beckon the air hostess every five minutes - he thought it was a big joke - till she gave him back in the choicest language.

During the orientation lectures in the USA, we were told not to eat with our mouths open, not to show ‘Asiatic meanness' by going over the head of the immediate boss to his superior and funniest of all, not to walk side-by-side with hands on the shoulders of other boys - for we would be mistaken for gays. Over there, only a boy and a girl together would walk like that, they said.

To develop our overall personality, we were given free ball-dancing classes in the YWCA there. The partners were selected by drawing of lots. It was my lot one night to take as partner a hefty Afro-American lady of huge proportions. Though she was sweet in her manners, she held me so tight and started swirling so fast with the music that I was literally carried off my feet like some satellite in orbit. Next time onwards, I started going late to the dancing class to save myself from her clutches.

Though we Indians take pride in our ancient cultural heritage and think very high of ourselves, Americans have very poor knowledge of India - so much so that one American student asked me whether Nasser was our Prime Minister. Another asked me if sati and narabali were still in vogue. Their knowledge of India was much the same as say, ours of Thailand or Laos. I guess it is the same now after forty three years.

In the Blast Furnaces, where I was trained, there was a Superintendent heading the department and two Assistant Superintendents below him. One of them, Mr. Donald, never used to leave the office or do any work. Instead he used to read story books sitting in the office. I found out later that he was the steel plant owner's nephew. His friends used to phone his home at night and tell his wife that he should go to the steel plant immediately to attend to a breakdown. Actually this was a ploy - they used to drink and play cards the whole night at some joint or the other. The lady one day told us, "Poor Donald has to work so hard, every night there is a breakdown in the steel plant."

In the end, when our training period was drawing to a close, Mr. Donald said, "Don't worry boys, if you haven't learned a thing. I shall give you each a book containing a hundred and sixty four excuses which will stand you in good stead throughout your career!"