Twenty-eight point Four Cubic Decimeters

It must have been some forty years ago, ’79 or thereabouts that I was travelling to the Railway Staff College at Vadodara for a training course. As was common in those days, none of the messages from Jamalpur (where I was staying) had been received in New Delhi, India and there was no reservation on the Frontier Mail in my name. After checking all the coach reservation charts, I button-holed the Conductor Guard. “Sorry Sir “, he said, after looking at my railway pass, “No vacant berth anywhere.” With little option I got into the first-class cabin marked ‘Ratlam Quota’, hoping that on an outside chance some passenger would not turn up at that station.

It was an empty first-class compartment and having ensconced myself on a berth near the door, I took out a book and sat down to read. Ratlam would be a few hours away and at least the wait would be well spent.

About half-an-hour after the train started, three T.T.s(travelling ticket-checkers) in uniform black coats and white trousers, came into the compartment and occupied the seats near the windows. They took out their papers and started doing some calculations on the small table provided there.

Their calculations did not seem to go well as they scratched out their figures and repeated the calculations several times. Then in apparent frustration they told the Attendant to fetch somebody called Ghosh-da. This individual turned out to be another ‘black coat’ somewhat their senior. Together they went about their work again with no better result.

By now my curiosity was aroused and I asked them the nature of their problem. It turned out that a police officer who was travelling on transfer in the next coach, had filled up the corridor with his luggage. They had measured his luggage by volume and were trying to assess the excess charge to be levied.

The Ticket-checkers had been issued a new Commercial Guide, which said that for luggage measured by volume, the rates would be calculated based on so many rupees for every 28.4 cubic decimetres. So, they had measured all the offending luggage in inches, converted that into centimetres and then decimetres. Then they had to calculate the volume into cubic decimeters and divide by 28.4. Having got this far they then had to multiply by the rate to arrive at the final figure. There were at least a dozen pieces of luggage in the corridor, and their calculation always came up with absurd answers.

Normally a rate would be fixed at so much per unit of volume. The volume unit in common use were centimetre cube, litres or cubic metres. Decimetres did not exist outside school arithmetic books, and why 28.4 cubic decimetres? On a hunch I converted one cubic foot into cubic decimetres. It was 28.4. Somebody not quite comfortable with numbers had written the Commercial Guide!

Once the Ticket-checkers knew that it was just a metric version of the cubic foot, they could do their calculations in a jiffy, much of it mentally. When they had finished their work, they then asked where I was going, and did I have a reservation? My answer in the negative sent them to the Conductor Guard. At the next station the Conductor came up to my compartment, said “Sorry for the inconvenience Sir, but we have found a berth for you.”

A decade later, as an ADRM (additional divisional railway manager) on Chakradharpur Division, I happened to check the Guide again. It still quoted rate for every twenty-eight point four cubic decimetres!

 

Anju

My eyes first fell on Anju early one morning in the spring of ’67. Jayell (Jatinder Lachhman Singh’65) and I had gone bird-watching to the jungly bit of hillside below the Jamalpur Waterworks. Over years this steep slope above the Lower Reservoir had become overgrown with fig trees, lianas, thorny bushes so that it resembled a patch of natural jungle.

We were sitting below the lane overlooking a mature banyan tree laden with orange colored figs. Because of the steep slope the upper branches were at eye level. We could see mynas, orioles, barbets, green pigeons, a koel and numerous crows all hopping from branch to branch and filling the tree with noisy calls.  The birds were swallowing figs, dropping figs and disputing ownership of the better spots.  An olive green and red coppersmith was even pushing figs into the open bill of its dowdy grey young one.

Then from lower down the hillside, we heard the unmistakable ‘Cha-cha-cha’ of mynas, warning all others of a ground predator. Quickly I followed the calls down, to investigate. Some mynas flew off from the base of a tree. Between its gnarled roots, lying amongst the leaf litter, spread eagled and face down was a myna. Its wings were still trembling and there were two spotted glistening coils across the back and shoulders of the dying bird. The myna was being constricted by a snake. Very quietly I sat down to watch.

Common_Myna_(18894493254)

Courtesy: Common Mynah by Koshy Koshy, Bangalore

Minutes after the bird had stopped fluttering a wedge shaped head emerged from below the leaf litter. With it forked tongue it investigated the wings and back of the dead bird. Then the head disappeared under the leaves only to re-emerge in front again. This time it flicked its forked tongue over one wing, then clamped its jaws over it.

The wing stuck out of both sides of the snake’s mouth preventing any swallowing. Shifting its bite, almost by trial and error the wedge head finally engulfed the dead bird’s beak and head. After a short pause the mouth opened wider, stretching the skin on the cheeks. The neck of the bird quickly disappeared inside. Another pause and the lower jaw seemed to separate from the upper. Even the two sides of the mandible appeared to come apart. The scales on the cheeks separated and the skin became as tight as drum. Slowly gulp by gulp the whole body was engulfed. The wings folded in along the sides of the bird’s body, and its flight feathers and the feet were the last to disappear.

Bird fully swallowed, the snake’s head twisted from side to side, as if to make the meal more comfortable. The bulge created by the dead bird could still be seen moving slowly towards the middle of the snake. Then the snake-it was a young python-started moving away. I had been sitting, still as a stone barely a metre away.  As the juvnile python moved out from between the roots, I pounced upon it. After an ineffectual attempt to bite the snake was safely collared. She coiled her body on my forearm and started its only other defense-constriction. That was no matter from a constrictor only about as long as my arm.

1599px-Indian_rock_python_pratik_dahod

Courtesy:Indian Rock Python by Pratik Jain

Jayell had joined me sometime in all this, to find out why things had suddenly become quiet. I was too engrossed in watching the snake make a meal to notice. Off we went down the Lovers’ Lane towards Gymkhana. Something dark was by now sticking out of the mouth of the reptile. It was attempting to regurgitate its meal-making for an easier escape.

Back in the hostel we located a crate from the kitchen, moved it to my room and released the python. It immediately went about completing its unfinished business, by bringing up the now sodden myna. Having thus lightened itself it started threatening with loud hisses and open-mouth attacks. She would have no truck with those who had handled her so unceremoniously.

We had examined the snake by then. The blotched, thick body with ventral scales partly covering the underside tallied with the general appearance of a python. It had a series of slits on the front upper lips-the heat sensors of the python. No claws were visible near the vent, so it was a female. We named her Anju and she was just less than a metre long.

From the first Anju refused all food. No mice or live frogs would tempt her. And she learnt fast. By the third day she had stopped feigning attacks when approached. Instead she would coil up her body with the head underneath for protection, much like a man covering his head with his hands when assaulted and outnumbered.Anju caused quite a ripple in the hostel. Inmates came to have a close look. Many had their first feel of Anju in their hands. Murari (Yogesh Behari Sharma ‘64) even brought along his camera to take a photograph. That was the only photo of Anju in the hostel.

Chopsi (Sree Krishan Chopra’64) who stayed in the next room was disapproving. It was bad enough for him staying next to someone whose interests lay divided between animals and the gym. To have a snake in addition next door free to roam around was more than he could take. So he read the riot act on keeping pets in the Special Grade Hostel. That of course made no difference.

A week passed with everybody getting to know Anju. But she didn’t appreciate all the attention. At night when things were quiet, she would leave the box to investigate the room for possible escape routes. In the morning I would locate her, usually hiding behind the trunks or almirah and put her back in her box. She stood steadfast in her refusal of food or drink.

Then one morning Anju was nowhere to be found. Chopsi came along to help, more worried perhaps that Anju might have moved in next door with him! We searched both rooms high and low. Finally I located her. She had crawled into the fold at the back of my steel almirah, just visible but not accessible. With a cold chisel we pried open the fold of steel where she had worked her way. Slowly the back of the almirah gave way and I was able to extricate Anju from her hiding place.

That decided things for me. Anju had gone without food for near two weeks now. She was getting increasingly adventurous in her efforts to escape. Releasing her back in the jungle was the best solution. So I took her back to the hill above the Upper Reservoir and released her for the last time. A few flicks of her forked tongue and Anju slithered off with serpentine grace, without a backwards glance.

 

Bhuto was almost Human

Bhuto had settled down and was well established when I got married. Rakhi, my wife had only seen him for a few days, before she came to stay with me. Bhuto was my pedigree bullterrier, white and muscular, with a brindle patch on his egg shaped head. He was a terror for all unwanted visitors, but having grown up with my cow and chickens usually left them alone. And he wasn’t sure whether Rakhi was not just another  visitor!

Bull_terrier

(Bhuto looked a lot like this. Modified from:  https://thecompletedog.fandom.com/wiki/Bull_Terrier)

He wasn’t keen to share me with her. As long as we sat on separate chairs like friends, he had no grouse. But if the two of us sat close together on a divan, Bhuto would immediately get up and put his schnozzle between us. Then he would push himself in and having pushed Rakhi away would occupy the seat next to me. He wasn’t going to let her share his master.

It took him quite a while to accept my wife. My job required me to go out of Patratu quite often for two to three days at a time. He would sit on the edge of the front verandah, just looking at the gate, for the days I was out. Once in while he would visit the kitchen or wherever else Rakhi was, nuzzle her feet or sari as though asking when I would come back. Then he would go back to his post, watching the gate. Slowly over several such outings he learnt to accept her as a member of our family.

———-

I had brought Bhuto from his breeder in Khidderpur, an Anglo-Indian gentleman who called himself Dogman James and specialized in bull-terriers. Bhuto’s pedigree went back four generations of interbred show champions, with double barreled names. He was then in ’75 a three month old pup, who came up to Dhanbad in the dog-box and afterwards spent the night sleeping on my lap on the 1 GG (Gomoh-Garwah-road) Passenger till we reached Patratu next morning.

I didn’t like the peculiar long winded names that breeders give to their show dogs. No ‘Avon Whitehead of Kidderville’ would do for me. I named him ‘Bhut Nath Ray’ instead-Bhuto for short. It wasn’t long before he became a family member.

The full name raised a few eye-brows. Like when I took him for an anti-rabies shot to a retired Army Vet in South Extension, NewDelhi. Everything went smoothly until he started filling up the vaccination certificate. Owner’s name-Debashis Ray,  Dog’s name- Bhut Nath Ray and then the old getleman did a double-take!

———-

My parents were with me then, and as I was in the Shed at work, he spent most of the day with them. He had not been house-trained at the kennel, and would tend to mess the house. So early in the chilly mornings, my father would pick up the pup and take him to a corner of the garden, where Bhuto after some sniffing around, would relieve himself. He got used to this and after a few days, to see his smug expression, it was clear that being carried out to do his business was a birth-right!

Patratu railway colony was an open place with single storey houses and lots of trees. The Damodar river was about a kilometre away running through undulating scrub jungle, with the Hazaribagh reserve forest starting on its other bank. The weather never became really hot as showers were frequent even in summer. But as I learnt from experience, even short haired pedigree dogs could not stand a walk in the mid-day sun. So in summer I would give him a shower, before an outing.

All I had to say was ‘ganga-ganga’ (a Bengali term of endearment to babies when bathing), and he would run to the bathroom and look up expectantly at the shower. With the shower turned on, he would prance under the cool spray, biting the jets of water and dancing like a boy in the rain. Then soaked to the skin, he would shake himself and we would proceed on our walk. The evaporation kept him cool for the next half-hour.

His tastes in food were catholic. Though his normal food was rice boiled with meat, supplemented with an occasional vitamin pill, he would eat just about anything that we ate. If he got hold of a brinjal then off he would go to eat most of it and shred the rest. The garden had a guava tree which had grown from some seed thrown away. It bore a few guavas and if a ripe one fell on the ground, we would learn about it as Bhuto would be happily eating guava on the verandah!

———–

Bhuto grew up in a bungalow which already had a cow with a calf, ten desi hens and four Australorp poultry. Discouraged from chasing them with a sharp ‘Naa!’ he left them alone. That protection did not apply to the philandering neighborhood rooster, who always got chased out. Once when I stood close to Folly the cow, Bhuto’s protective instincts got him to nip her hindquarters.  Folly lashed out with her hoof and got me squarely on the knee. Fortunately there was no major damage.

His meeting a toad for the first time was a learning experience for both of us. He was snapping at a toad on the lawn, when I stepped out to take it away from him. He wasn’t going to part with legitimate prey and promptly chewed and swallowed the animal. Within ten minutes he was retching and bringing up all that he had eaten. He continued retching for a few hours, before the effect of toad poison passed. Bhuto did not touch a toad again.

———

He never forgot those early months with my father and his bond with my parents was special. He used to sleep on an old curtain under my bed at my next post in Jamalpur. My parents came visiting and were put up in the second bedroom across the living room. At bedtime on the first evening, Bhuto picked up his ‘bedding’ and dragged it to my parents’ room. Calling him back did not help. He pulled the cloth under my father’s cot and that is where he slept until they went back to their home in Delhi.

Once a year we would go to Delhi on a fortnight’s vacation and would take Bhuto with us. He didn’t like being cooped up in the dog-box and usually travelled with us in the coupe -when we got it. His presence kept off all unwelcome passengers who would have liked to occupy every available space even in a reserved compartment. His look was enough to unnerve any would be gate-crasher.

Getting down from the taxi-cab, his first few steps through the gate at home would be tentative. Then he would recognise the place, and in an ecstasy of joy he would do several rounds of the lawn, sprinting up and down. On the final round he would run through any open door and throw himself on my father, licking him all over in an exuberant show of affection.

———-

When my elder son Amit was born at Jamalpur, I was worried about Bhuto’s reaction to this new stranger taking our attention. I took care to give Bhuto his due and introduced him to the new baby. He seemed to understand and became protective about the boy. As Amit started toddling he would play and pursue the dog. Even when Amit was hitting him with a stick, Bhuto  would not growl but take refuge under the bed. My son would follow him there too and the dog would emerge from the other side and go under some other bed or furniture.

That immunity did not extend to anybody else with a stick or broom. Many a time I had to pull him away from visitors or sweepers who had waved some baton or broom at him. Even if I waved a stick threateningly he would start growling. He had this allergy about humans with sticks, ever since he had cornered a uniformed Home Guard who had come to the out-house. That worthy tried to fend off Bhuto with his baton, and my dog had received a few blows.

The antipathy did not usually extend to the human at the other end of the stick. Once Bhuto got hold of the stick or broom in his huge jaws, he would run off triumphantly with it and proceed to chew it to bits in a corner of the garden. But how was a visitor to know that it was their stick the dog was after?

He was a bit of a snob. Anybody coming in through the gate would face a head-down growling  charge. Visitors in dirty clothes or carrying a head load were likely to be attacked and cornered. Visitors in uniform (shades of the Home Guard!) were unwelcome.  However if they were well dressed, his demeanor would change and they would be greeted with a huge toothy smile and a wagging tail.

Stray cattle and marauding langur monkeys got chased out pronto. The langurs with their superior numbers and intelligence soon got the better of him though. They would team up and alternately come down from different trees in the compound. Bhuto would chase each one up again, but the langurs would just repeat the exercise until he was overheated and exhausted and could chase no more. Then they had their fill of the roses or any vegetables in the garden with impunity.

One day an inquisitive half-grown langur came into the bungalow through a ventilator. Bhuto got him before I could do anything. I was able to drag the poor animal out of his vice like bite, but the animal died within an hour of shock and internal bleeding. It was a job disposing of the body, but the langurs stayed off my garden for the next couple of months.

———-

Characteristic of his breed, Bhuto was intelligent and a quick learner. Even at Patratu he had learnt to distinguish from Rakhi’s sari, whether we were going out. The moment he saw Rakhi in ‘going out’ sari, he would start prancing. He wanted to go out too! It was difficult to explain to a dog why he could not go with us. When he realised that we were not taking him along his posture showed his disappointment.

One afternoon Amit, then about two feet tall, was walking around eating a piece of cake. Bhuto snatched it from his hand and gobbled it, before I could react. So I gave Amit a second piece and let Bhuto repeat his misdemeanor. The moment he put his nose to the cake, I caught him by the scruff and delivered a cuff to his side. He associated the action and the punishment and never again grabbed food from the child.

He learnt to search in the garden for things that I had hidden in the garden after dragging them around. On being told ‘Khoj’ (Bengali for ‘search’) he would follow the trail till he found the object. The bull breeds have a good sense of smell and Bhuto showed it by his nose to ground posture, frantically wagging his tail as he followed the meandering trail that I had created, locating his ball at the end. In all he learnt about eleven different orders.

One thing I never succeeded in teaching was to stop bringing things so that somebody could throw it for him to fetch. When guests he knew well turned up, Bhuto would proffer a stone for him to throw, so that he could run after it and retrieve it. People like Rajiv Upadhyaya who didn’t like handling a slobbery stone would ignore his offer. Not perturbed by being ignored, Bhuto would then shove that wet stone on his lap or between his leg and his seat to make a more  insistent demand. It was difficult to hold conversation when a dog felt that visitors had come with the express purpose of throwing stones for him to fetch.

Normally social visitors were welcome, but one day he gave Anil Handa, then a student, a nip on his ankle. I could see no provocation except perhaps that Anil was nervous with Bhuto around. We washed the bite liberally with soap and water and then applied dettol.  My reassurance that Bhuto never missed his anti-rabies shots did not appear to put Anil’s mind at ease, and he worried about it for days afterwards.

———-

His ability to bite and hold on was phenomenal. If he bit into a towel, one could swing the whole dog with all feet off the ground, round and round. He just would not let go. Stray dogs soon learnt to stay away, but an occasional larger dog would challenge Bhuto on his home turf. In almost no time Bhuto would grab the challenger’s lower jaw in his massive mouth, and in spite of all the bites on his snout, just would not let go. His opponent  would soon be whimpering in pain, and I would usually have to throw a bucket of water on Bhuto’s nose to get him to release his hold. Bhuto’s snout would be a pin-cushion of bites, but that did not seem to bother him. Nor did he get infections as a result.

This reputation for biting and holding on had its plus points. At different times burglars tried to break into almost every bungalow in our neighborhood. But my house next to the golf course at the end of the Gymkhana road was never touched in six years. He  was loose inside the house at night and ensured nothing, man or beast entered or got away.

Late one summer evening as I was preparing to go to bed at Jamalpur, Bhuto left his customary place and went to the rear verandah barking loudly. At first I thought that some stray dog or cow had entered the compound and he had heard or smelled it. But then the bark was deep and guttural, much more threatening than the usual call. Walking into the verandah in the dim light I could see that the dog was growling at a cobra, which had mistakenly entered the house. The snake had fanned its hood in fear and was swaying threateningly at Bhuto who was growling around the reptile, keeping just out of range. This had gone on for a few seconds, when in a sudden flash he bit the snake on the body and gave a vigorous shake that dislocated its vertebrae and sent it into shock. Having got his kill, Bhuto took it, still squirming, under my bed. True to the instinct of his predator ancestors he was not willing to part with the snake, which was still moving languidly and snapping in its death throes between his fore-feet. I had to tempt him with  a biscuit and shut the door on him in another room, to bring out the dying snake from under my bed.

———-

Unlike my earlier (and later) desi dogs, Bhuto was susceptible to internal and external parasites. Vets in small town Bihar, were ignorant of dogs and their problems. So I had to learn to identify worm infestation symptoms (roundworm, tapeworm, hookworm)  and cures, tick infestation seasons and locations, comb out fleas from his coat, and tackle blow-fly strike and fungal infections. Clearing blocked anal glands, and ticks were routine. Had to read up on dog nutrition requirements, and identify night vision problems. All this knowledge came useful to dog-loving neighbors, but Bhuto was the guinea pig who suffered while I learnt!

The blow-flies nearly took Bhuto to his grave at Jamalpur one winter in ’83. Investigating why he kept gnawing at his the pad on his foot, I found to my horror maggots in a cut on the pad. The standard treatment with turpentine did not help and for three weeks I tried every folk-medicine that I heard. Pulled out the maggots with tweezers but new ones developed. Then one day a colleague RK Singh, told of a similar maggot infestation on his relative, which the village Vaid had treated with a paste of fresh bamboo shoots and sugar. I fuzzily remembered having read that young tender bamboo shoots had prussic acid to discourage animals from eating them. But then bamboos do not throw up shoots in winter and none were available. So I tried this bait and poison treatment by using a mixture of a much diluted insecticide mixed with castor sugar. Low and behold, three hours later all maggots, tempted by the sweet bait had come out of the wound and died. This time there was no recurrence.

———-

After six years at Jamalpur, I was transferred to Waltair-now called Vishakapatnam. Bhuto now nine years old off course moved with us. An older dog now, his health had taken a beating from the prolonged maggot infestation. Still he was active, willing to fetch sticks or search out his ball on being told Khoj .

He loved to swim and would fetch when objects were thrown in the water. He learnt to dive on his own if the ball sank and would disappear from sight for a few seconds. Usually he surfaced with the ball in his mouth, fetching it from the bottom near two metres down.

———-

Small sea fish less than finger size, were dirt cheap at Waltair and occasionally I would substitute the meat  in his food with it. It was one such time when I had given him fish daily for about a week, that I noticed a change in his coat. It was a sheen on his white fur that looked unusual. So I changed the diet to meat and rice again and checked after a fortnight. Sure enough the coat had become duller. I repeated the experiment with fish and in ten days the sheen had returned. There was something in the whole small sea fish that was doing him good, though whether it was trace minerals or omega 3 fats or vitamin A in the fish I could never ascertain. Any way he taught me a lesson and Bhuto and all my dogs after him have benefitted from fish once or twice a week.

———-

Into his eleventh year age started telling on Bhuto. He became less active, spending much of the day sleeping in his box. Ticks were numerous at Waltair and they latched on to the sleeping dog in hordes every day. Pulling them off was painful for him and left his coat in a bloody mess. So I put his box on four nails as thick as pencils and covered them with Vaseline. Now in the mornings one could see the ticks gathered in numbers near the box, waving their antenna, unable to get to him.

A few months later Bhuto’s vision, hearing and sense of smell all started failing him. He would bump into family members and growl, unable to recognise them. His motions became so hard that he could not pass them. I took him to my friend and Veterinarian  Dr Rehman, and he said it was time I took a hard decision. I knew what he meant and was in tears. Then after I regained composure, I gave my nod. He pushed me out of his surgery by the arm, while he put the old dog out of misery.

Bhuto lies buried in a corner of the compound of my home in Dondaparthy. He has left a void in my heart that neither time nor other dogs has filled.

 

Galvanic Corrosion on Solar Water Heater

‘We condemned and scrapped that solar water heater long ago’, said Dr Bikramaditya Swain, MD of SER’s Hospital. ‘We’ve got a new solar heater on the terrace now.’ I had gone nosing to take some pictures of the old corroded water heater that I had seen during my posting in Garden Reach. It had some interesting corrosion area and I was crestfallen.

Never the less the good doctor gave me a guide to show the new solar heater on the terrace of the Hospital. It was the standard design of finned copper tubes built into a glass fronted box. There were four panels in parallel connected by galvanized pipes from the mains and to an insulated hot water tank. The pipes were connected by flanged joints to the flanged copper headers of the solar collectors.

The copper flange of the header was bolted to the flange of the GI pipe with carbon steel bolts with a rubber gasket in between. Their nuts on the copper side were quite corroded and the gasket hardened and cracked. It was perishing from prolonged exposure to sunlight.

Slide1

The next view shows the same flange from the other side. Note that the heads of the bolts are in very good condition.

Slide2

This is classic galvanic corrosion! Where steel met steel there was no problem, but when copper met steel there’s profound corrosion. This is as expected, as can be seen below from the Galvanic Series in seawater at normal temperatures.

Slide 4

The Series is best used for general guidance only. A change in the environment e.g. changes in dissolved chemicals, temperature, and oxygen levels and even velocity of water can modify the ranking. The reason for this is commonly modification of surface film (oxides etc) on one of the metals.

There are several things that could be done to reduce rusting of the fasteners. For one, the bolt head could be placed on the side of the copper flange with the nut on the G.I. flange. That would delay corrosion around the nut, which makes it difficult to open. Another thing that could be done is to give several coats of paint on the copper flange. With better insulation electrical charge will not flow slowing down corrosion. Insulating the bolt shank from the flange by using non metallic washers and sleeves is also an accepted solution.

The problem does not really end with the nut and bolt. The attached piping is galvanized and the zinc coat is sacrificed to protect the steel pipe. Now zinc is anodic to steel at normal temperatures. At over 60oCentigrade, zinc forms a hard oxide which makes zinc cathodic to steel. As solar heaters of this design commonly heat water between 50 and 80o C, the galvanized layer will actually aggravate the corrosion of the steel pipe!

Cathodic reduction of oxygen into hydroxyl ions occurs more easily on a copper surface. In the presence of dissolved carbon dioxide, traces of copper bicarbonate are taken up in the water. These are then deposited as metallic copper (microscopic level) on the steel surface of the galvanized hot water pipe. The zinc and iron now form galvanic cells with the copper deposits, increasing the corrosion at points well beyond the steel copper junction. In Europe where hot water systems used to have galvanized steel tanks in conjunction with copper pipes, systemic failures because of corrosion were common. We may have to learn this lesson ourselves if we do not take a lesson from the European experience.

Ideally we should be using either good quality CPVC/ X-linked PE pipes or copper piping to connect a solar heater. All these are available on the Indian market. The final storage tank should also be of CPVC/X-linked PE but there seems to be no manufacturers. The alternative is to use a stainless steel tank.

Without these changes we will continue to see what I have experienced in many places on the old ER & SER. Solar heaters are installed with fanfare on rest houses, hospitals and other public buildings.  Only a few years later they lie neglected and irreparable, from rust, dust and decay.