Flashback@Presidency

I was in Calcutta for a day and decided to make a trip to Presidency College where I spent my graduation years. I landed in the midst of familiar chaos at College Street – narrow footpaths cramped with bookstores selling old books, hawkers, buses, trams and rickshaws all jostling for space on the road. As I arrive at the college gate, I can’t stop grinning – a Che poster welcoming the freshers greets me on the portico wall. Quintessential Presidency! For a lot of outsiders I have spoken to, the Presidency environment seems highly politicised and somewhat inimical. For me and I guess a lot of other Presidencians as well, it is an integral part of what Presidency is – a virtual melting point of everything. From the moment you step into the college, it throws you into a vibrant chaos with no inhibitions. You may end up spending your college days slogging it out at the lecture theatres, sloganeering as a leftist leader or discussing philosophy in the canteen high on grass for all you know. The college does not promise a textbook education, it lets you choose (no archaic attendance enforcement rules exist), makes you question why and yet lends everyone a space for individuality.
Each department in the college had it’s place in a percieved value chain born out of past history and the college grapevine. Eco was quite high up with a certain element of glamour ( I am not sure why, probably the girls :), I wouldn’t believe if someone told me it was because of the guys, except for two batches senior:)). Batch sizes were typically small and an incredible student teacher camaraderie existed. Sadly enough, the college has been a victim of the state’s poor education policy, a reason why it falls short of good infrastructure and fails to retain the best faculty.

I turn left from the portico.I notice Derozio has been coloured a disappointing blue and stands a tad incongruously now. Inside the department, things are pretty much the same except for a new computer lab which occupies part of the erstwhile office. I stand around in the corridors for a while , how it just seems like yesterday!! The library looks better organised. I meet Balmiki da, our favourite assistant librarian and saviour to many an errant student. He tells me most of the old faculty has left and laments at what many think Presidency needs the most – good teachers. There is a new lady librarian in the EPL library. She looks up to me and asks “ Ei, first year? Library card nebe?”( First year?, looking for your library card?). I nod, murmur a soft no and walk out. There is something I must absolutely check before I go back. I walk into one of the lecture rooms, where a couple of young students are vociferously discussing Harris Todaro. I wave a hi and walk straight to the last row. My eyes look searchingly for that one last bench. Ah, there it is! I run my fingers on the rough inscription on it: “This bench is dedicated to the memory of those who died waiting for the bell to ring”. I look around the scores of names till I find mine etched somewhere in the corner. Atleast somethings in life remain just the way you remember when you left them last:). I smile to myself and walk away.

Hasta La Vista Delhi

I came down to Delhi for my postgraduation 6 years back. Ever since it has been a love hate relationship with this city – a place mired in history, power and a struggle to survive. I am not exactly sure right now what I love about the city (except for the truly amazing roads) or whether I have a sense of belonging but there is something about the city which exudes power – as the political capital of the country or the fact that historically it has been the centre of all battles to the seat of power, and there is something which induces a necessary dose of aggression for everyone who comes to create a space of his/her own.

As a child, I used to move places quite often since my father had a transferable job. There was always a sense of sadness of leaving behind places and friends but the thrill of moving to a new place and meeting new people more than made up for the farewell blues. I also had an extremely quirky habit of saying goodbye to all pieces of furniture (I am not sure why I had an inexplicable sense of emotional connection with furniture) and would roam around the house saying my goodbyes to every single piece of furniture till my parents were forced to drag me outside. As I leave Delhi , I thought I would say my random goodbyes and thank yous to few places ,people and events which will always be a huge part of my Dilli memories (no , not to furniture this time, age has made me saner I think):

JNU Campus days, night outs at PSR rocks watching the planes fly overhead and wishing that life would just stop; Sarojini Nagar, Janpath,Lajpat for all the street shopping and lessons in the art of haggling (Delhi autowalas deserve special mention here); the drives around India gate at night and the sudden rush of pride; the noises, crowds and smells of Parathe wali Gali and Chandni Chowk, the Galotis,Burras and kebabs at Karims’ and Al Kauser (you made me realise the true sense of gastronomic pleasure); fruit beers at Dilli Haat ; Connaught Place (for the eternal knowledge that no matter how well you know this place, it takes a minimum of two rounds to locate any damn thing, four if you are with Ankita) ; the nip in the air as winter approaches; the nights spent at Silver Oaks playing the same boardgames over and over again (I realised I suck at drawing, I lose all my money in Monopoly, I can hardly get over my laughter fits to be able to act remotely for Dumbcharade and I have the highest tendency to cheat) ; Ronnie,Babu, Tanuj, Buddha (I know you are smiling), Peejay, Adi, Shweta, Varun,Boru for the amazing weekend times ; Garga, Joy, Anal, Ankit and all the kids for the birthday surprises and the party sessions;Tanuj and Babu for converting me to Alcoholics Anonymous; Babu for the drives down Faridabad Highway (sorry for err..puking in the car) and my first camera lessons.

So untill next time Delhi..see you! Mmuah:)

Run Lola Run!

Experiences in self defence – some suggestions in hindsight and supporting anecdotes for fellow women:

• When in doubt run (If you are in stilettos, God save you girl. Else wait for available superheroes)
• Get a sense of local geography. Keep a map in handy if you are highly prone to get drunk/stoned/both
• Get a hang of public transport and routes if you are travelling or moving to a new place. It helps not to be a lazy bum who only sticks to using cabs
• Master the art of walking fast in Brownian motion (Theoretically , it helps if you have a slender frame as it minimizes drag)
  

Yenna Rascala!
Bangalore, May 2004
I was in Bangalore for two months for an internship with two of my friends– Rathi and Apu. One of the weekends we decided to hang out in the evening ( I think it was some birthday celebration thing). So we go, gorge at some restaurant , have one of those girls night out kind of time and finally decide to head home. It was slightly late and it was getting difficult to get an auto. We finally managed to get one , told the autowala where we wanted to go and went back to our random conversations . Now women chattering away have a habit of losing sense of time and direction which we soon did , not to mention our severely limited knowledge of Bangalore geography. I suddenly realized we were travelling in the auto for an unusually long time .I poked Rathi to check the route with the autowala ( she is a fake half kannad woman who can only count till 10 but nevertheless the most qualified to converse with our shady autowala). He muttered something incomprehensible and before we realized we were inside a dark alley with not a soul around. Our highly suspicious autowala stops, jumps out and vanishes inside what looks like …err..a house with pink curtains leaving the three of us quite baffled about what is it that we should do. Apu is the first one who notices the pink curtains, I mention that I find those pink curtains incredibly shady, while Rathi thinks we should run ( smart she is I tell you, that fake half kannad woman). Apu was the one who was most averse to the idea of running , I thought it wasn’t a particularly bad idea plus we even save on the auto fare. So there we were , three girls running in a dark Bangalore alley one summer night. Rathi was the fastest , quite commendable given that she was the only one in a skirt. Apu was the pessimistic one who kept telling us running would be of no use since the autowala could catch up with us in no time. We ran till we reached what looked like a main road, got another auto and reached home while giggling hysterically all the way , much to the consternation of our new auto guy:)
Yeh dilli hai mere yaar!
JNU, New Delhi ,March 2005
It was my final year in JNU and the season of hostel festivals. The JNU campus is incredibly huge and vast areas of the campus are under natural forest cover. Outsider entry is somewhat unrestricted and sometimes results in security issues although the campus brims with life till late night (Night life at JNU is also one of the most incredible memories for anyone who has been a part of the campus). I was attending a dinner and dance night at one of the hostels and decided to take a stroll down the ring road ( the road which circles the entire campus ) with two of my friends. It was late and a lot of the security was diverted to the hostel festivals leaving some other parts of the campus unmonitored. We were walking along a particular stretch which was quite desolate and the only populated area was the campus school area which was somewhat ahead. One of my friends –a strong , well built Punju girl was telling us about a self defence course she recently took from the Delhi Police. Suddenly, a car comes and stops near us with some drunk ,jeering Delhi brats. While we try to ignore them and walk faster , the car does a U turn , goes back and a while later we could hear its screeching brakes to turn back again.
Two of us turn to our Punju friend reassuredly:” Hey, you took the self defence course didn’t you?
Punju friend:” Yea, I know, but girls, right now..JUST RUN!”
My other friend suggests hiding in the bushes. We overrule it completely , you might just end up landing on a cobra’s tail for all you know.
So there I was , running again on JNU roads , hoping we could beat the car and reach the school area ( which we did , or maybe the brats decided not to drive all the way)!

The Italian job
Milan, June 2006
I was in Milan for a couple of months on work and I would take a trip off to see some place in Europe every weekend. This particular weekend I had gone to Barcelona and was returning back to Milan. When I reached the airport in the night, I realized there was a taxi strike and the only way to get to the city was the shuttle which would go till the Central railway station. I was so used to taking the cabs to work and back that I had completely ignored on exploring the public transport system in the city , especially the subway. So I took the shuttle and reached the Central Railway Station. I realized there was a subway station nearby , but had no idea how to get to my place. I figured the best way would be to reach the Piazza Duomo (the square in the heart of the city) and then walk back home from there. I found the subway station quite empty, partly because it was late and partly because there was a soccer match that night. I noticed two men (who looked very Indian to me) loitering around in the station. They got in the same compartment of the train I boarded and got down at the Piazza station with me. I realized I was being followed but fortunately for me I knew the Piazza very well. I also knew there would be a huge crowd at the square to watch the soccer match on the giant screen. This is a perfect situation for what I call the Brownian motion walk – walk extremely fast with high degree of unpredictability in direction. Once I reached the square, I lost myself in the crowd and the two blokes as well and a while later walked back to reach my apartment safely:)

Billions of blue blistering barnacles!

A friend of mine recently asked me when was the last time I felt truly happy ( she was trying to explain to me that after a certain point of time in life happiness becomes "relative"..err..she is profound , ain't she?). So here goes the conversation:

Profound friend: Think of it..when was the last time you felt truly happy ?
Me ( think ..think..think ): Oh..when I went home two weeks back and I bought myself a Tintin comics from the local bookstore....its a sequel to this another comic I was looking for..bla..bla ..bla..
Profound friend (rolls eyes):*Oh my God.. so she is actually nuts!

I cant remember a single moment in the entire chronology of my life when a Tintin comics did not make me truly thrilled. It was my dad who actually introduced me to Tintin , he being a obsessed fan of the series too ( I therfore call it genetic:)).As a child, I used to wait eagerly for my Dad to visit Calcutta since there was a bookstore at Howrah station where he used to get the Tintin books from. The book was expensive and hence supply was rationed. Another source was a local bookstore in my mom's hometown which used to offer cheaper prices. It was part of a program of cultural exchange between Soviet Russia and the West Bengal Government. The collapse of the USSR however , left me with the sole Howrah bookstore option.

I used to pride myself at my carefully built up inventory of Tintin comics and put them to greater use:). One of the boys in the neighbourhood had an amazing toy - a Leo racing circuit with a set of cars which I thought was fantastic ( That I thought he was a dumb,fat brat worth being socked was a different thing). I used to bargain one Tintin comic a week (or till he finished reading it) for using the Leo racing circuit 2-3 hours everyday during the entire period. He was a damn slow reader and the bargain worked beautifully:). I often used to overshoot my daily usage quota and everytime I did so , I would go to his mom to return the toy . Fat brat was obviously not pleased but his mom was a big fan of mine ( I used to play the nice, model kid with elan and it worked;) and would just brush away any objections he had with my blatant violations of the contract. Oh., and by the way , I also made him sign something resembling a contract ( I wrote a long drawn sentence in English which I thought was complicated and hence sounded very legal and made him sign it). Fat brat left the neighbourhood after some time as his dad got transferred . I thoroughly missed exploiting him:).

I still collect Tintin comics now , they are readily available now everywhere.I realise the utility levels have gone down ever since the huge demand supply mismatch ceased to exist. Nevertheless, the gleam in my eyes and the restlessness to finish reading it off has stayed intact ( or so my mother says). And I do realise what it is to be truly happy when I have one in my hand!

* Author's version of unvocalised thoughts
P.S: For other Tintin fans , here is an interesting link http://www.tintinologist.org/guides/lists/curses.html
List of all curses used by Captain Haddock:)