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    My father was the President-in-charge of a glass factory. He normally kept his calm. But that day, looked quite pensive. The frowns on his forehead were palpable. The transporters had called upon a strike and all movement of goods had come to a standstill. Since the warehouse capacity was limited, the production of glass bottles would soon come to a halt. No solution seemed to be in sight. He did not have the liberty of offering excuses to his bosses.

    Taking a stroll in the factory’s residential colony, my father looked for possible solutions. He did not have to wait for too long. Right in front of the lawns of our bungalow, was a children’s park. No further analysis was required. Soon the message was conveyed to the persons concerned. And by the fall of night, the park, that was once the hub of children’s playful activities, was now a large storehouse of beer bottles. Amidst the huge piles of bottles, were visible the seesaw and the swings, which were now rendered useless. And to make matters worse, free movement of trucks made the hitherto cool soothing air into a smog filled poison.

    The small incident reminded me of the difference between the old and the new generation. The older generation bosses were known for their efforts for employee satisfaction. There used to be a club within the colony. But it was closed down when the colony was divided into two by the new generation bosses. No attempt was made to resurrect the club. It was deemed unnecessary. Health, fitness and entertainment were luxuries that a moderate sized company could not afford for its employees. The club still bore a deserted look except for marriage functions that were held there which provided alternative source of revenue. Citing the difference, old drivers of the company used to narrate stories of colony picnics, and get-togethers. But these too were stopped after the realization that the returns on these investments were poor. After all, in the new generation, profits governed all activities of this business unit.

    And in the new generation, when all sources of entertainment in the colony were pruned or removed, there lay the solitary park. A park that was poorly maintained. A park that had rusted swings. And a park that carried the testimony of a decent, if not glorious, past.

    I did not play there. But the scenes of young kids shouting and playing there provided me immense satisfaction. Also, the numerous trees in the park provided shelter for twenty odd peacocks- the prized attractions of our colony. Thus, when I heard of attempts to destroy the park, I made up my mind to challenge my father on this issue. I gave him a sermon on plethora of issues like virtues of having a park, utility of a club, environmental concerns, employee satisfaction and things like that. My father seemed to be unfazed, as though he knew it all, which indeed was the case. After hearing my spirited monologue, all he said was that the bosses were duly informed about all these concerns and they had turned a blind ear to these issues. He also added that it was a temporary measure and the park would be soon handed over to the rightful owners – the colony’s children. I was not satisfied with this answer and I kept debating with my father alleging how callous he had been in using the park as a storehouse. This time, my father kept mum. Seeing my father’s plight, my mother dutifully jumped in. Without providing me any reason, she promptly asked me to keep my mouth shut. Failing in the attempt, she resorted to emotional blackmail, as to how my actions were endangering my father’s job, and casting a shadow on the family’s earnings. I could reason out with my father. But my mother belonged to a different genre. Arguing with her was futile. And I accepted the changed status of the park albeit after a verbal feud.
    Other residents could not even muster this much courage. They had accepted their destiny long back. And for them, I was a fool trying to make a difference, without any success.
    Within a day or two, the colony that slept by eight, remained awake whole night with the noises of truck moving bottles from the factory to the park and from the park to different client sites. All the kids, under the instructions of their cautious mother, disappeared into the confines of the four walls. Some watching TVs and others playing computer games. The peacocks too felt the pinch and started moving away. And as though this was not enough, three people met with a serious accident when a barricade meant to check the movement of trucks was overlooked by a speeding motorist.
    The colony, accustomed to not raising its voice, took this issue too in its stride. I too, in fear of disturbing my mom, kept quiet on the whole issue. And since I had to leave for US for some project-related work, keeping quiet was the best I could do.
    After three months when I returned with lots of dollars, and expensive gifts for my family members, I had surprises in store for me. The temporary arrangement to store bottles was now made a permanent one. The park that earlier offered some playing space, was now completely submerged by a sea of bottles, and broken glasses. Trees were chopped and a steel structure built to protect packaged bottles from sun and rain. Also, there were no peacocks around.
    Progress and development had snared another set of victims - a group of people whose hands were tied. And those who could speak, were asked not to. And those who could change things, were interested not to.

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