Hooghly Ghat at Shobhabazar

Article in Presidency College Magazine 2010

SIX MONTHS IN PRESI: A CLASH OF CULTURES???

Excerpts from my Mental Diary

Saturday 11 July 2009:

A frantic morning date and lunch with some school friends later, I left my sleepy hometown behind for my initiation in the clichéd “real world”. Finally, after having dreamt of this day almost all my life, it had arrived on me in quite a hurry; I was on my own at last, in what would have been the hero’s voyage for treasures in some of the fairy tales we were introduced to in early life. Like David Copperfield, I was yet to find out whether I would be the hero of my own life, or whether someone else was to occupy that station of honour, or something to that effect. Well, I was to find out over the course of the next three years as an Economics Honours student at Presidency College, Kolkata, one of the premier educational institutions in our country.

Sunday 12 July 2009:

Coming from the serenity and tranquil of Shillong, where vast green expanses were interspersed with oft-painted cottages, velvety hills and style-conscious (mind you, not necessarily fashion-conscious!!!) people, Howrah station was quite a shocker in the early morning gloom. Blank rear-sides of shabby buildings, political propaganda-ridden walls and an unforgiving blanket of heat were the first impressions I had of my adopted home. The idea of a sea of people embarking on their daily chores seemed unfamiliar, yet somehow thrilling as I stepped into the ‘urban jungle’.

The yellow Ambassador taxi was a far cry from their accessorised counterparts in Shillong but they had a sense of purpose the latter lacked and I liked. Within minutes, I was at the hotel, with the prospect of an idle day in the searing heat. All in all, I had mixed feelings towards the city of Kolkata but in my enthusiasm of a new and promising life, I was more than happy to ignore any minor (and major!!!) problems and rather look at the larger picture.

Monday 13 July 2009:

Having attended two Pass classes and bunked the following Honours ones (Huh!!!), I made my way across the street to Hindu Hostel, expecting the usual dry and boring admission process. Instead, the melee I was welcomed with would have done justice to any Filmfare Award winning movie. Like cattle being bid for in a weekly countryside market, the first-years were herded out to the different farms err... wardsJ. And thus, began life in full earnest.

Older or Younger? Which way do you wanna go?

Coming from a culture where everyone at least 5 years younger and older to one preferred to call and be called by each other by their first names alone (with no prefixes and suffixes), calling people just a couple of years senior to me as ‘Dada’ came quite unnaturally to me. Respect demanded according to me, was no respect at all. But I played into the system; rebellion wasn’t foremost on my mind. While my mates had to be coaxed and intimidated into shaving, I found moustaches and beards a disturbance anyway. While everyone else wore formals, I hardly had any of them in my wardrobe, even when I seriously needed them. Now, before you think I’ve lost my mind to bore you with my blabber, let’s get to the point. I had encountered the first of many culture clashes between my old life and my new. With all due respect, while people in the Northeast loved to be young, look young, live young, Kolkata was (in general) obsessed with growing older. On the one hand, I had seen a 60-year old Lou Majaw (a local country musician) walk the streets of Shillong looking like just another music-struck teenager, and on the other hand, I had teenaged Presidencians looking well beyond their prime. Now, I had no intentions of landing home for vacations looking like a 30-year old “Uncle” and so I decided to draw the line. I realised I wasn’t gonna turn into a full-fledged Kolkatan after all.

And even if I wanted to, I would have failed miserably on one vital front. Compared to the loquaciousness of my contemporaries, I was pretty much a quiet kid, more interested in getting the work done than to go publicising about it. And deep down in my heart, I preferred it that way.

Carefree vs. Intellectual

Now, my hero’s voyage in the troubled waters of my adopted home was taking a very ‘ ”We” vs. “Them” ’ turn. But thankfully, Intellectualism came to the rescue like a knight in shining armour. While back home, the world outside was one messy yet promising universe that we didn’t think much about, a few months in Hindu Hostel introduced me to one of the most endearing aspects of Kolkata: The ability of people here to think, and think deep and logical; think intellectual, as it is called. And as I watched my hostel seniors engage in late-night debates on topics ranging from religion to Maoists to communism and back to the latest Bollywood movie, I felt engrossed. If the last six months have changed anything in me, it has surely been the ability to think deeper than I ever have been able to. And for that, I am also thankful to the handful of debates I participated in, in the college. But despite this awakening, the college politics that seemed to capture the imagination of other so-called intellectuals continued to seem to me like a cobweb of personal interests, illogical confrontations and negligible genuine concerns. Maybe, I wasn’t intellectual enough, or at all! Or maybe it was something else I could not fathom.

What mattered was that life that was looking bleak in early days had started to emit shades of hope. And as I started studying and enjoying the Social Sciences like they really should be, with enough references to the real world they are meant to serve, I found time in Kolkata a productive investment.

As for the fun I had so cherished in the hills of Meghalaya, hostel life gave me enough alternatives to be satisfied with. From late-night multi-lingual Antakshari sessions that included songs Hindi, Bengali, English, Assamese, Marwari and Khasi, to wildly celebrated birthdays to midnight walks down the Howrah Bridge to the occasional shopping outings (which ended up being less of shopping and more of dream-shopping), fun wasn’t hard to find, especially if you looked for it! And I looked for it literally all the time!

An Interesting Future Ahead!

Presently back home for an extended winter break, I find the next two-and-a-half years in Presidency and Kolkata as a period of promise and enjoyment. It is pretty much going to be a case of enjoying the best of both worlds! While holding on to my carefree and unique Shillongite roots, a Kolkatan maturity seems like a potent combination. Interesting days lie ahead as my adopted home feels more like a home with every passing day. Of course, there are compromises to make, and frustrations to endure, but there is light at the end of this tunnel of varying cultures, and it doesn’t appear to be that of an oncoming train!!! Signing off from the Scotland of the East, this is Mohammad Waled Aadnan.

Out of Comfort Zone

The last race has been run,

With glory and triumph, the Anthem sung;

The champagne spilt, the accolades deserved,

Humbly accepted the adulation served.

As the curtain falls, the world readies to go,

The celebrations now a receding echo.

The champagnes emptied, the adrenalin down;

Reality dawns with a frightened frown.

Darkness awaits in the unknown future,

Hollow! A vacuum, the heart does nurture.

Through mirrored love and joy have I grown,

But now it’s farewell to my comfort zone.

I cry! I weep! The world disappears.

Oh! What’s to become of this child’s tears?

The empty bottles recall genies of dreams sown -

Empty! For I am here, stranded all alone!

Yet one such genie stands out tall,

And beckons me to spring from my fall:

“It mortifies, but don’t be prone

To weakness; come out of your comfort zone.”

And thus the child grows into a man,

Willing: to voyage for wonders yet in hand,

To start afresh; this time for higher grounds,

For a new romance beyond his bounds.

He moves on to struggle with eager ambition

From the mighty river to the mightier ocean.

He moves out on his own;

Out, out of comfort zone.

- M Waled Aadnan (pH2)