My long stint at Ness Wadia College of Commerce

College and its surroundings

I have spent four decades in the college – four years as a student and thirty seven as a teacher. It was a very long, almost continuous association during which I witnessed quite a few transformations of the college.

It began as a small, late starter in a corner of the campus which belonged to Nowrosjee Wadia College really. Cusrow Wadia institute had a different culture and a different type of students. Ness Wadia building was no patch on the imposing, stone edifice of Nowrosjee Wadia College. Staff members of Nowrosjee Wadia College looked down upon both teachers and students of Ness Wadia College initially. Among other commerce colleges in Pune also, it stood apart because of the Wadia tag. Cosmopolitan atmosphere, emphasis on sports and outdoors, a high level of spoken English and a happy-go-lucky attitude were noticeable features of Wadia ethos. It was a part of the culture of eastern Pune, particularly Pune cantonment area. There used to be a huge cultural divide between west and east Pune then. Pune, the seat of Peshwas and the focal point of Marathi culture was actually west Pune.

Today, Ness Wadia College has overtaken Nowrosjee Wadia College in terms of number of students and activities carried out. The profile of teachers and students has changed so much today that it is like any other college in Pune. The ‘hep’ crowd has perhaps moved on to private universities. The level of English has declined and other languages such as Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, and Gujarati etc. have disappeared from the commerce course. Given the internal and external changes to which the university system has been subject since 1970, this result was probably inevitable.

One incident, way back in 1985 is etched in my memory. While waiting in a queue at Silver Jubilee petrol pump to fill petrol in my scooter, I heard two gentlemen ahead talking of college admissions. One confidently told the other: “Send your son to Ness Wadia College. It has excellent faculty. Your son will do well.” This was praise indeed and it made me very happy.

Commerce was not treated as an academic faculty in the 1960s and 1970s. So much so that the university of Pune opened its commerce department only in the 21^st century. However, today it is the preferred undergraduate course. Nonetheless, attendance of students is a big problem in all commerce college because the syllabi and examinations are pretty simple. Ness Wadia College has one distinction: attendance by students has generally been good. This is more so after a new building and an open air theatre were added to the college campus.

What Commerce syllabus lacks in depth is perhaps made up for by its constant revision. Practicals were introduced in early 1980s and subject syllabi have been regularly updated. The latest change introduced by the university is credit-based post-graduate courses. These keep M.Com. teachers and students on their toes. By and large, these changes have been beneficial.

My contribution

My first year as a teacher in the college was disastrous. I simply did not have the confidence that is necessary to make simple points in a loud voice and a no-nonsense approach before students. I watched with despair as my students turned to the next classroom where a more experienced teacher taught the same subject. The misery I endured then led to a resolution to try my best to become a good teacher. As a commerce teacher, I could easily move among diverse subjects such as cost accounting, business administration, business management, strategic management, communication and secretarial practice etc. This and syllabi revisions helped me keep boredom away and then there was research.

Over the years, my observations and reading helped me crystallize some principles. The first principle is that academic and administrative work are different. Teachers must concentrate on the former. There is an acute shortage of good teachers while administrators are many. It is difficult to be a good teacher rather than a good administrator. (Ironically, I taught Business Administration for a number of years.) A good teacher has to work hard continuously on his/her own.

The second principle is that academics must have an upper hand over administration. All the great educational institutions, be they Oxford and Cambridge, Ivy League colleges and IITs and IIMs ensure that academic considerations have the final say. In other words, teachers must be the final arbiters in syllabus formation, conduct of examinations and results. There are many non-academic pressures on teachers but they must be countered. This I tried to do to some extent. The idea was to spread the message that merit matters, that students have to work, have to be sincere, honest and that they do not get anything free. The pressure to pass all students at the end of the year has now become enormous. This makes a mockery of education.

I paid a price in terms of isolation to implement these simple principles. Looking back, I am happy that I did so.

Teachers and classroom teaching matter even today. By observing the teacher, students imbibe many values. I have seen that B.Com. and M.Com. students have little confidence. They think BBA and MBA students are much smarter than them. Students must be able to interpret the world around them on the basis of the knowledge and the tools that they have been given in the college. This is not happening and it is a major failure of commerce faculty.

As I look back today at my college career, I have fond memories of the college library, S.Y.’D’ classes, practicals of Business Communication, project reports of M.Com. and of course, my own room on the top storey of the old building. Free access to all books and magazines in the library and permission to order books were a privilege which is sorely missed in retirement. These memories allow me to look back on my teaching career with some satisfaction.   

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The Gods must be crazy!

That is the title of a popular 1980's film. An African tribal finds an empty, plastic water bottle and not understanding what it is, knows that he must get rid of this stellar object. He travels on foot to a distant valley and throws the bottle away in its awesome waterfall. He sees and experiences many weird things on his way. They include a brief spell in a prison. He does not understand what a prison is and spends all his time in the cell in watching the sky from its tiny window. He refuses to eat. Seeing this an American young scientist persuades the warlords to free him or else to have the blood of an innocent man on their hands.
I had not heard of this movie at all. Imagine my pleasure when I chanced upon it on an idle afternoon when I was clicking TV channels at random. I decided to give the movie 5 minutes and stayed glued to the TV set till it was over. Oh! What an enjoyable time it was!
I remembered the movie again because in the labour camp behind our building, there is a new worker who keeps gazing at the nearby tree-tops, the sky and the birds whenever he is out of his tiny shed. He reminds me of the tribal from The Gods must be crazy.
The surroundings of our society are getting commercialized very fast. The bungalow on the right had made way for a four- storey building. A regular office has started on the third storey and work is going on in other parts. The construction workers and security guards stay in make shift sheds on an open plot behind our building.
These are tiny tin sheds. After 2/ 3 instances of rain-induced wall collapses recently, the sheds have been somewhat fortified. There is minimum furniture. One shed boasts of a bed. Ropes have been put up to hang washed clothes.
It rains heavily nowadays and otherwise it is hot. In this tropical climate, there are plenty of birds, butterflies but also insects and creepies and crawlies about.
The workers make light of these difficulties and go about their business punctually without any fuss. There is minimum conversation among them though. There are 7 or 8 of them around. Until recently, there were just 4. Half of them have mobile phones. There is electricity. They appear to be content.
I watch them. When they carry on so well with so little, do I have a right to feel bored?

A riveting read

True Grit by Charles Portis, Overlook Press, N.Y. 1968

A western novel with a difference. The blurb calls it a classic.

The protagonist is a 14 year old girl and the action is set in the 1870s. The girl's well-to-do father is murdered by a vagabond and the girl decides to track him down and avenge the murder. She leaves behind her weeping mother and two younger siblings and moves to the nearest town. She manages to enlist, with considerable difficulty, an experienced marshal who wants to undertake the commission but without her on the journey. The commission is $ 100, a vast sum and the girl is used to dealing in that kind of money! She offers only a quarter of the money first and balance later. Another Texan officer joins the party and she succeeds. But boy! what a journey!

 The girl - Mattie - has loads of common sense while also being prone to simple mistakes. The marshal is Rooster Cogburn, a memorable character.

Right from page one, sentence one, the story begins and continues. The style does not vary. It is the details - of landscape, weather, people and action - which are gripping. And smartly, in 143 pages, the story comes to a happy end. Well, Mattie loses one hand and never marries. Towards the end, it becomes clear that as an 80-year old lady, she is describing this story based on her memory.

The reader hardly expects this feminist perspective in this setting. That is a part of the attraction of this novel.

Do read it. It is almost unputdownable. I skipped some parts, did not understand some and have vowed to read it slowly, again.

Battlefield

Battlefield

The grand-aunt from India is visiting and has all the time in the world. Dad is working from home today and can spare half an hour. So how about a game of – sorry, not cerebral chess but the much humbler snakes and ladders? Kids are happy and the game starts immediately.

The kids are seven and five years old. The younger one is indicted as a full-fledged player for the first time overruling the smirking elder one’s objections. The young one could never resist the temptation of skipping snakes or fudging the houses to grab a ladder. Her elder brother would never have allowed her to play but he was told she was not a serious contender and it would be best to ignore her. So was tolerated. Now things have changed. She has become rather adept at the game.

The kids and their father have all the luck. The grand-aunt is a plodder but very patient. She seems to enjoy the journey more. The elder one takes pot shots at her and she does not mind. He himself is burning with competitive spirit.

In their enthusiasm to reach ‘heaven’ – the top house of 100, the kids are over- eager to grab the dice. After missing their turn a few times, the elders make a rule: whoever plays the dice out of turn, must move back five houses.

N goes up quickly but also slides down fast. S steadily goes ahead without once resorting to cheating. N fumes. However, S plays out of turn.

“Move back five places.” N orders her. This is the chance he is waiting for.  S does not want to go back. Seeing her face, the grand-aunt takes pity on her.

“This is the first time. So I am letting you off with a warning. You must allow each player to play and take his own time.”

S nods her head meekly. N is furious.

“A rule is a rule. She has to come back.”

“Come on N. She is a small girl. We will let her off with a warning.”

“NO!”

The grand-aunt is being partial! S is allowed to continue.

“That is unfair. I am quitting.”

Instead of capitulating, the grand-aunt merely says,

“Okay. We will call you once this game is over.”

N has to step aside. He does so most reluctantly. He had not bargained for his own removal. He does not go away but stands nearby wearing an injured expression and watching every move of S like a hawk. Her progress continues. The grand-aunt does not mind.

N edges closer. He can barely suppress his fury.

He leans towards S. “Cheater!”

“I am not!” says S in a small voice.

“N, she did not cheat. She did not ask for a concession. I allowed her to play.”

N does not care for any lame explanations.

“Stinker” he hisses.

“I am not.” S says softly. The poor thing is used to placating N even when – which is most of the time – he is in the wrong.

The dice is cast twice. N comes closer to the game.

“Pooper!” he shouts with venom in his voice.

“I am not.” S maintains.

The grand-aunt suppresses her mirth with difficulty and the game continues.

This is too much! N attacks S and whacks her. She is ready. Both wrestle. In any such game of physical power, S can beat N hollow.

The grand-aunt is rolling over with laughter. Kids’ father has no patience with these tactics. He warns them once and then goes away. The kids are a bit scared of him.

The grand-aunt controls herself and gives a call for the next game. Quickly N and S end their fight. They are eager to find out who will win the next game.

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