College visit

College visit

     (1)

There were three beautiful files hidden behind a pile of project reports. An attractive wrapping paper was used to cover them. Inside were students’ essays – neatly arranged and flagged year wise. Most were handwritten, some printed. Someone had lovingly handled them and preserved them for twenty years.

Sonia’s heart started beating faster. She had won a prize in college essay competition – actually for two years in a row. Second prizes both times but they had made her proud. The year? Oh! It was so far away and everything had become blurred now.

Sonia thought hard. Well, it could not have been earlier than 1991. She opened the file at 1992 and sure enough there was her handwritten essay on women’s empowerment. Comments of the judge, his noting, remarks and corrections were also there.

Sonia’s depression fell away. She felt connected. Gender equality was her pet topic then. She had hunted for references and had packed her essay with facts, figures and quotes. Every girl must aspire for a career, she had declared. She remembered arguing her case with a few girls who cared to listen. They were not convinced. They were happy to attract male admirers. Their hold over boys made them feel secure and powerful. All their time and effort were dedicated to that pursuit. It was not easy to go steady but once it happened, everything changed. Would they not get tired of each other, Sonia used to wonder. All her friends wanted to study beyond graduation but they implicitly understood that home-making, cooking, raising children were the basic stuff.

The next year also had Sonia’s essay. It was a photo-essay on Pune. She had borrowed her cousin’s camera and clicked away. She had taken walking tours of old parts of the city and she had written about how her impression of Pune had changed from a cold, frightening place to a cosy, comfortable, accommodating neighbourhood.

Sonia felt charged. She wanted to stir about, make enquiries, meet people and put her time to good use. She had come back after fifteen years!

     (2)

The college campus had changed of course. Three new buildings had been added and old buildings sported additional storeys. Milling crowds. Everyone looked so absurdly young. Colours, movement, shouting and banter, laughter filled the air. Everything was magnified, more intense and collapsed into a small frame at the same time.

A smart new wing was added to the college building. When Misha – her niece who was studying in the college now – took her to the library, the large reading hall cheered Sonia even more. It was more or less as it used to be when Sonia sat here from 1 to 5 p.m., four days a week. The staff room was as imposing as before but there was not one familiar face around.

Sonia has worked hard in the college. In her first year, she could hardly open her mouth. Everything was so different and noisy! She could not understand the local languages and English accents were strange. She was literally tied to the apron strings of her cousin. He used to bully her. He was constantly annoyed with her. Bit by painful bit, she had developed herself – in her speech, in her writing, in her answer books, in her dress and in her behaviour. This library was a witness to her struggle and frustration. All too soon, college life had ended and she was back home in Zambia.

Sonia started pottering around the library. An exhibition of books on a current topic was arranged in one corner. Discarded books were available as take-away in another. New arrivals had been kept on a long table. One corner was for students’ writings – project reports, dissertations, journals, articles in wall papers and magazines. There was less rush here. She could stand there and leaf through the reports.

     (3)

Inquiry counter in the college office had not changed one bit. The same last minute rush of students and the same reluctant, cryptic answers by a much harried junior clerk. Yes, walking tours were on. They were popular and started from Shaniwarwada every Sunday morning. You had to go there for more details.

Professor Bedekar and Prof. Joseph? Bedekar had retired many years ago and Joseph was on long leave. Their address? Cannot be given. Well, for past students a departure from rules could be made. Sorry, we do not update records of retired persons. You have to take your chance.

Fair enough! Sonia refused to feel deflated. On an impulse, she decided to skip phone calls also. She dragged Misha with her in an auto rickshaw and went hunting. She had not bargained for taking so much time but traffic was heavy and moved very slowly.

Prof. Joseph was not at home. She had gone to Kerala and would be back after a month.

Prof. Bedekar herself opened the door.

“Oh, it is Sonia! Is it not? It is years since I clapped my eyes on you” she exclaimed.

“Miss, you remember me, Miss!” Sonia said with wonder, lapsing into her college talk.

“Of course. I remember most faces and you were a special student. Few had your kind of concentration in the class. But come in and spend time with me. I will make tea.”

Sonia felt elated. One such meeting wiped out a whole mass of impersonal, indifferent contacts. She remembered Prof. Bedekar as a learned, no nonsense capable teacher.

Bedekar’s house was simply but tastefully furnished. Misha got lost in the books in her study. Sonia looked around feeling more and more at home. She felt like opening up, baring her soul. What the heck! In another week she will be back in Zambia. She will probably never meet ma’am again.

“Yes ma’am I went back home after graduation. I had to. Family finances had become precarious. My younger brother fell to gun-shots outside our shop. I could easily get a job in a government office though I wanted a bank job. I stayed on, appeared for civil services exams later.”

“Now I work in the information ministry. Zambia is passing through one crisis after another. Corruption, runaway inflation, blood bath in tribal rivalry, sham elections, fundamentalism, mindless violence – you name it, we have it. I have survived but our family business is wiped out. My parents could not take the blow. They are no more. I had become the breadwinner much before that. Now the time for marriage is gone.”

“Ma’am I remember your Communication lectures and I thought I could put some of your lessons to use in the information ministry. We run public information campaigns on TV, radio and newspapers. We have drafted many good welfare schemes but there is a lot of leakage of funds. I am made to feel like a pariah because I oppose it.”

Once she began, the flow just would not stop! All past disappointments and hurts came tumbling out.

“Life is like that. You are doing well. Do not blame yourself for factors outside your control.” Bedekar assured her.

“But ma’am I feel wretched most of the time. I am always alone.”

“A small price to pay for the good work you are allowed to do! We are all alone. Growing up means learning to live with yourself finally. You have to take loneliness in your stride. I have spent my life like that. Concentrate on the present moment, do your job well and don’t fret. What more can a single person do in this life? Stop making a long face and don’t take yourself so seriously. Loosen up a bit and laugh more.” Bedekar had not lost her confidence. She always came out with such practical advice and students, those who had the courage to approach her, would be comforted by it.

Yes, what indeed was Sonia moping about? She felt a rush of Adrenalin.

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A joint family

Forget about the joint families in television entertainment serials in India. Why they have such a hold on the Indian psyche is a wonder.
However, one joint family is coming into shape in modern England because of current economic pressures! Sounds implausible?
Well, that is the plot of Elizabeth Buchan's Separate beds - a novel in 2010.
 Husband has devoted his life to BBC corp. Wife is a senior level hospital administrator. They have three children: twins - a daughter and son and again a daughter who considers herself neglected by everybody.
Husband loses his job. Son's marriage ends and he comes back home with his daughter as his earning capacity is limited. His twin sister abandoned her family five years ago because its conservatism stifles her. Husband finds that his mother's investments which kept her in an old age home have shrunk in value and she must be brought home.
Thus three generations of a family are together. Upheaval follows. Money is tight but the youngest daughter who wants to be a novelist gets a job and slowly these people get adjusted to one another. The novel ends when the elder daughter returns home, defeated. Her high ideals have vanished. More importantly, her boy friend has vanished and she is forced to make do with poverty.
Fascinating! One gets drawn into this family saga which becomes very sloppy at places but is still absorbing.

An interesting book

I am referring to The comfort of things by Daniel Miller, Polity Press, UK, 2008
It is an anthropological study of 30 people staying on one London street. Its purpose is to explain how people express themselves through their possessions, and what these tell us about their lives. The study thus explores the role of objects in our relationships.
In regular anthropology style, details of routines of the inhabitants are presented. Each is a coherent narrative prepared by the authors. There is a divorced mother who offers McDonald meals to her children as a special treat, a female wrestler who keeps moving furniture around in her house to de-clutter her mind, a pair of grandparents who prepare Christmas presents for their children and grandchildren and other relatives and so on.
The study ends with comments on things and the meaning of modernity.
I did not understand the conclusion. However, the very idea of such a study and the life stories presented here held me spell-bound.

Tight money

Tight money

Here is an extract from Margaret Atwood's Payback, Debt and the shadow side of wealth (Bloomsbury, London 2008):

When my brother was born, in mid- February 1937 - in the depths of the Great Depression - there was a special Valentine's Day excursion price on the train from Nova Scotia to Montreal. It cost ten dollars. My aunt and a girlfriend scraped together the ten dollars each and went to Montreal to help out my mother with her new-born baby. When they got there, my mother was still in the hospital, because my father hadn't received his monthly paycheque and thus couldn't pay the bill and bail her out, hospitals at that time having a lot in common with debtors' prisons. My father was finally able to spring my mother, but paying the hospital bill - ninety nine dollars - used up all of the paycheque.

My parents didn't have a bean at that time, so my father had no cash reserves, and he pawned his fountain pen in order to take my aunt out for a thank-you lunch....When my aunt and her friend took the train back to Nova Scotia, they were also given two valuable going-away presents: a bunch of grapes and a small box of Laura Secord chocolates - and this is all they had to eat during the train ride. They had no berths, so they had to sit up the whole time, and this was uncomfortable; but a man was renting pillows for twenty-five cents each. Alas, they had only forty-eight cents between the two of them, but they offered the forty-eight cents and two of the chocolates - fluttering their eyelashes, said my aunt - and their offer was accepted. Thus they slept in comfort.

Atwood wants to emphasize the delicate give-and-take in close relations. This is a very important point. You upset the balance and fall out of favour rapidly.

The book is the written form of The Massey Lectures given by her on CBC Radio in November 2008. This lecture series asked major contemporary thinkers to address important issues of our times. There is a lot in favour of this idea of getting non-specialists to talk on important matters. They bring a fresh and basic perspective to the problems. This perspective is often lost when specialists huddle together to discuss matters in their jargon, with a lot of mathematical formulae and modelling thrown in.