High Seas, Heavy Luggage, and the Hierarchy of the Engine Room
Curator’s Note: In this story, A.K. Grisam shares his first ship’s adventure as part of his maritime memoir series.
JOINING MY FIRST SHIP
I thought nothing could be worse than summer in Bombay during May. Madras — Chennai’s name in those days — took offense at that thought and roasted me in June as I went to the agent’s office to complete my ship-joining formalities.
The agent dropped me at the gangway of the ship and left. I looked up, and the gangway seemed positioned at a brutal 90-degree angle to the vertical, as if designed solely to test my stamina and strength. The ship looked immense. Later in my career, I would serve as Chief Engineer on vessels six to eight times larger, but right then, it was intimidating. I huffed, puffed, and dragged my heavy luggage — loaded with uniforms, boiler suits, warm clothing, and textbooks — until I finally managed to reach the top.
My heart was beating fast, not just from physical exertion, but from sheer anxiety. All the horror stories were playing on a continuous loop in my mind: how ruthless Second Engineers make Fifth Engineers wish they had never been born, and how Diploma in Marine Engineering officers and port apprentice engineers harbor deep grudges against graduate engineers and torment them.
I was praying to every god in existence to grant me a kind-hearted Second Engineer — a fellow graduate, if possible, though I knew better than to be too greedy while asking the heavens for favors. Stepping off the main deck, I entered the accommodation block. The sudden blast of cool, air-conditioned air felt heavenly. As I scanned the deserted alleyways, my eyes caught a door labeled ‘Engine Room.’
Grapes, Walrus Mustaches, and “Specimens
I opened the door and spotted a man in a crisp white boiler suit, wearing a matching white cap and sporting an impressive walrus mustache. He was in the middle of putting on his shoes.
“Excuse me, sir, where can I find the Second Engineer?” I asked timidly.
He looked me up and down.
“I am R. Khanna, Second Engineer. What do you want?” he asked, holding a bunch of grapes in his right hand.
My mouth went bone dry. I didn’t know whether to shake his hand (he was holding grapes) or smile and say hello (he might take offense), so I froze and stood there gulping.
“Don’t tell me you are the new Fifth Engineer?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, sir, I am,” I replied with immense relief.
“My God, what specimens the company sends us! Okay, drop your luggage in your cabin, hand your documents over to the purser, and report to the engine room in…” he glanced at his watch, “…fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, stepped back into the corridor, and immediately got lost.
There was no one around, and the alleyways were completely deserted. I had no idea where my cabin was or whom to ask. Eventually, in the duty mess, I stumbled upon a thoroughly intoxicated steward. Luckily, he happened to be our deck steward, and he guided me to my quarters.
I changed into my boiler suit, went up to the bridge, and handed my documents to the purser, a Mr. Mallik. It never ceases to amaze me how clearly I remember the faces and names of everyone from my very first ship, yet I struggle to recall people from my last few sailings.
The Engine Room Maze & The In-Law Hierarchy
I rushed straight down to the engine room, which felt like a pre-heated oven. Within seconds, I was completely disoriented. I caught hold of an oiler and asked him to lead me to the Second Engineer. He navigated me through what looked like an intricate, overwhelming maze of pipes and machinery, finally leading me into the cool, air-conditioned Control Room. There, the Second, Third, and Fourth Engineers, alongside the Electrical Officers, were sipping tea and gossiping.
I shook hands with everyone and introduced myself. They stared at me with curious eyes, as if examining some rare species. I poured myself a cup of tea and joined them at the table.
(Note: I will use the standard abbreviations C/E, 2/E, 3/E, 4/E for engineers, E/O for electrical officer, and R/O for radio officer to keep the writing smooth and crisp.)
There are striking similarities between a brand-new 5/E joining a ship and a newly married daughter-in-law entering her new home. The main difference is that while a bride usually has one mother-in-law, a new 5/E has several.
- The 2/E is the primary mother-in-law, directly responsible for disciplining and educating (read: harassing and tormenting) the 5/E
- The C/E is the chief mother-in-law, to whom the 2/E regularly reports all the omissions and commissions of the green 5/E.
- If a 5/E is fortunate, the Captain (Master) acts like a benevolent father-in-law, observing from a distance — or else he joins the mother-in-law brigade, hell-bent on breaking the new arrival’s spirit.
- The 3/E, 4/E, and E/O assume the roles of the husband’s sisters. This group can be delightfully sadistic, deriving vicarious pleasure from the discomfort of the poor 5/E while constantly whispering tales of his alleged misdeeds into the mother-in-law’s ear. (In daughter-in-law terms, unmarried sisters-in-law can be a genuine pain in the neck, endlessly complaining to their brother: “You’ve changed so much since getting married; you used to be so affectionate!” — forcing the poor man to take them out for movies and shopping while neglecting his young bride.)
- The engine room ratings take on the role of domestic housekeepers and cooks, acting as informal spies who whisper in the mother-in-law’s ear about the 5/E’s laziness or oversight. They’ll report that he failed to clean the filters despite claiming he did, that he was goofing off instead of tracing pipelines, or that he was taking sneaky naps behind the switchboards. (The domestic equivalent: being slow to bring in the laundry when rain starts, letting the milk boil over, or peeling potatoes so wastefully that barely a quarter-kilo of curry comes out of a full kilogram of potatoes.)
Fortunately, the similarities end there. A 5/E enjoys one huge advantage: he is not saddled with these monsters-in-law for life. If he patiently weathers the storm, either they will sign off or he will. Once he is finally accepted, he gets promoted to in-law status himself. A new daughter-in-law, on the other hand, must either be trampled into submission or channel her inner Lara Croft or Rani Laxmi Bai to fight for her rights (much like the classic cinema heroines in Seeta Aur Geeta).
Then, the 2/E dropped the exact question I had been dreading:
“Are you a graduate?”
I took a deep breath and replied, “Yes, sir, B.E. (Mech-Marine),” waiting with bated breath for the reaction.
“See how lucky this guy is? When I joined, I was the only graduate on board, and what a nightmare time I had! Now, except for the C/E and Pal, every single one of us is a graduate,” he told the group.
I almost jumped for joy and would have broken into a victory dance had I been alone.
“Who is Pal?” I whispered to the 4/E.
“He’s the other 5/E. The C/E is ex-Indian Navy,” he clarified, expanding on the 2/E’s comment.
“Alright, head back to your cabin, get some rest, and report back at 6 p.m. You’re on night watch starting today,” the 2/E instructed me.
Cabin Luxury and the Sliding Spider-Man
I thanked him and took my leave, fully determined not to get lost in the industrial jungle of machinery and pipelines. I was going to reach my cabin without asking a single soul for help.
Naturally, I ended up walking in circles, returning to the exact same spot time and again. An oiler working nearby asked me rather bluntly if I was lost and needed directions. I tactfully claimed I was inspecting various machinery units, managed to dodge him on my next loop, and somehow ended up at the boiler platform. Eventually, I managed to disentangle myself from the labyrinth and reached my cabin.
I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and felt like I had walked straight into heaven. I loved my room instantly. It was to be my sanctuary for the next twenty months — compact and cozy, equipped with a bed, a sofa, a writing desk, a couple of chairs, and a private attached bathroom. I whistled happily as I unpacked; this was a level of luxury I had never experienced before.
Coming from a large family with four brothers and a sister, we had never lived in cramped conditions, but I had never owned a private room either. Years of hostel living with shared bathrooms and endless waiting lines had been exhausting. Here, I had a space entirely to myself, and I relished the feeling.
The crowning feature — one that was absent on all my future ships, even when I served as Chief Engineer — was a call bell positioned right next to the pillow to summon the steward. When I woke up, all I had to do was extend an arm and press the button; within ten minutes, the steward would arrive bearing a fresh tea tray. It was a luxury I never enjoyed again on any vessel.
I finished unpacking, caught a few hours of sleep, and headed down to the engine room thirty minutes early, factoring in plenty of extra time for getting lost in the maze again.
When I reached the Engine Control Room (ECR), it was empty. Neither Pal nor the oilers were anywhere in sight. I stepped outside the ECR and was looking around when a sudden blur of motion caught my eye.
I looked up, and my jaw dropped as I saw a figure sliding effortlessly down the handrails of the steep staircase. Holding onto the rails with both feet airborne, he zipped down: zip… zip… zip… within seconds, he landed right in front of me with a beaming smile.
“Hi, I’m Pal, 5/E,” he said, extending a hand.
“Hi, I’m Girisam, the new 5/E. If you had slipped, you could have broken half your bones! Why on earth were you sliding?” I asked, shaking his hand in total disbelief.
He chuckled. “Going up, you have no choice but to climb. But coming down, you can save valuable time and energy. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. By next week, you’ll be doing it too,” he said as we walked into the ECR.
I studied him with curiosity. He was short, athletic, with slanting eyes, and spoke with a distinctly clipped British accent. The combination was wonderfully incongruous.
He smiled knowingly. “I know what you want to ask, even if you’re hesitating. My Chinese eyes — my mother was from Burma, and my dad was from Calcutta,” he explained.
“Was?” I asked gently.
“I’m an orphan. My parents are no longer alive,” Pal said softly.
“I’m so sorry,” I replied.
An awkward silence fell over us for a moment, and I struggled to think of how to steer the conversation back to lighter ground.
“So, apart from sliding down staircases like Spider-Man, what other special skills do you have?” I asked.
He asked me to raise my arms. As soon as I did, he pressed a specific spot on my ribs with his index finger, and I was instantly paralyzed. I couldn’t move a muscle, nor could I even manage to scream. The moment he removed his finger and the paralysis faded, I rubbed the sore spot and asked in absolute astonishment what he had just done.
“Karate. I’m a black belt. A light chop to your neck, and I can knock you out cold,” he mentioned casually.
“Wow,” I said, genuinely awestruck. After spending a few more minutes briefing me on the vessel, he took his leave.
Contd…
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