Monday, October 26, 2009

Room No 86 KM Hostel.

KM College Hostel...Delhi July 2005- july2008. Oh! the amount i miss it. I was lucky enough to stay in the same room all the three years and of course with the added benefit of single seater in the 3rd year.The Room No. 86.

But thats not what i remember my hostel for. I learned a lot in hostel. What i learned even i cannot explain. it is a thing to be experienced. And of course there was the funda of new block. Also called the Gaon of the hostel. It was the only block where you could play cricket in the corridor. The reason why i like most, it is the block where i had learned to listen to metallica,Iron maiden, Guns N Roses at the maximum volume(People used to come begging at my door steps to lower the volume so as result the volume considerably reduced by the time i reached third year). Also i developed the habit of studying and sleeping while listening to rock. Crazy though it seems i once slept through 2 hours of GNR while the warden was banging at my door. Oh! How crazy it used to be. Of course there were birthdays along with the bumps. I was never a part of it though. I never liked the idea of your buttock being smashed to pulp on your own birthday. So i never participated and was not bumped.

Of course how could i forget my first year. Farid and me being ragged. Debankan Da asking me to imitate Hercules holding up the sky. Ridiculous though it seemed i was doing it by climbing the huge desert cooler in my room and placing my palm on the ceiling. There were other task too but i had better not talk about it here. Then there was my roomie Hridoy Da. We became rock buffs which was not a pleasant event for our neighbours. I remember being asked to play rock in the morning time so that he could get up from his slumber. You should see him sleeping. He could beat anyone in that.

Then of course there was my wallmate Kuldeep.

I will give a treat to anyone who can speak more than him. But of course he had the largest heart in the hostel. Fearless till the point of stupidity sometimes. Oh! the fights which he got into. There was the rule known as "Hostel juniors are college super seniors". So that meant that all hostellers went into the college without the fear of being ragged. Well in the hostel it was another story. KM Hostel was known for its ragging in yester years. So unless you were a north easterner you had better pray and come.

Then we had those long story telling sessions which started after 12:00 am at night. it can go until anytime which resulted in being bleary eyed the next day in class. There was always PJ's from Satyam Sir(president of jhel association of new block). Sam's guitar and samson singing. Then there was a craze of Debo's bong for sometime. Debo was incidentally the "mukhiya" of our Gaon.

Then during second year there was the illuminating discussions with Abhishek Jha(commonly known as Mota bhai or jha ji). It was mainly he who did the talking. It was worth listening.

Then there was of course Baba. Well his typical Bihari tone made him quite famous and he was the Baba of the hostel.To people who do not know his name is Vivek Singh. Baba i will always remember your lectures.

I miss them all. I want to be there again but i know i can't. Somethings are enjoyable only during a particular time of your life. you cannot enjoy before or after that. They say that new block is no longer how it used to be. They say there is no one like me or Sampurn or Kuldeep anymore. but i think they don't realise they have occupied our place. Now they define the new block. We are the past.

But no matter what when i left that place it created a huge hole in my heart. i miss the winters terribly. I miss the parties which we had practically every month. i miss the view of the KM football field. the unusual blend of language at the same place. the zeal to read a novel overnight and finish it. the desire I had to reach here(TIFR). the lectures on marxism by Baba. Debo's critical remarks. The gap has not filled. I don't know whether it will be ever be filled. it was where i learned and listened the most. I hope all the others feel about new block the same way. the Gaon of KMC hostel. New Block Jindabad.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The City, it’s trains, my guilt etc.

 

Mumbai.

We all came to this city from various parts of the country. I can though claim to come from one of the farthest place which makes sure that I have to think twice before I go home which is actually a pain. So when we came and finally we were placed at Wadala, the first feeling that came to my mind was anger. Why so far away from my institute?

Since it was useless to complain I calmed myself and so did others (though not all) we finally got used to Wadala. Of course we all got busy with studies (especially quantum mechanics deserves a special mention). Soon came all the assignments, mid-semester etc.

And we finally got the hang of Mumbai. The city of dreams for millions and I wonder how many can realize those dreams. The city has one great communal element in it. Of course I need not mention it. They are none but the local trains of Mumbai. Thousands of commuters travel by these trains and arguably they are the lifeline of this city without which the city will come to a halt. But it is also in these same local trains that we find the real Mumbai. This too of course everybody knows. I will just try to describe it.

A good friend of mine once told me that if I wanted to know the real Mumbai then it is the suburbs where we must live. I think what he said was really true. TIFR for once did a good job and gave us the taste of real Mumbai. They kept us in Wadala.

Due to some of my personal engagements I had to travel in the locals a lot. I don’t know whether you all feel the way or not but whenever I hop into one of the trains I get a strange feeling. I cannot describe it exactly but the feeling actually connects me to all those who are commuting together with me making me feel one of them and making the statement true that the real Mumbai is found in those trains. It actually feels like that we all are covered by the same fog everywhere except that the fog lies inside the heart.

The travels have revealed a lot to me about the people travelling in it. I was once travelling on the Harbor line to Wadala. The man who was sitting on the place near where I was standing was rummaging his pockets. Having nothing to do I was just watching him and trying to get a clue of what he was finding. Finally came out a fifty rupees note. The thing he was looking for.  I suddenly realized that it was the only amount that he had in his pocket. That man surely had a family to feed, children’s to be send to schools and what not. And there he was with only fifty rupees in his pocket. And I was there with more than a thousand rupees in my pocket thinking about what to buy next. To get out of the guilty feeling that somehow I was responsible for such a state of affairs I quietly moved to another place. I soon got down, a remorseless man, buying whatever I was thinking of buying; with a thought that how could I alone bring a change? After all I am not responsible for such state of affairs.

Such guilt never dies though and you yourself must have experienced it. It comes back to me when I refuse to give a coin to the children who beg on the trains. When I see the people sleeping on the footpath at night while going to Wadala by the bus. When I see an old bullock pulling a kerosene oil tank with an old man sitting on it. When I walk below the foot over bridge at Wadala station and a train is passing by. When I see a fruit seller near the same station not only selling fruits but also massaging the feet of his ailing father by rubbing oil on it.

I finally realize that there is no escape from the guilt. To be free you should not feel it in the first place.

So the city of dreams finally made me realize all the guilt within me. It made me see through myself. How I have changed all over the years from childhood to adulthood, from innocence to selfishness and much more.

But of course dear readers(whether you think or not that reading this article was a waste of time) don’t take my words to be the ultimate truth. As Pamuk has rightly said in his novel ‘The Black Book’

“at the end of the day there was nothing to be gained by reminding people that everything that had been ever written, even the greatest and the most authoritative texts in the world, were about dreams, not real life, dreams conjured up by words.”

Maybe what I thought about what I saw was just a dream. I hope so.

 

 

Dipankar Nath

First Year,

Research Scholar

DHEP,TIFR

 

 

Saturday, October 11, 2008

The world....

Its a place of total chaos.....of unpredictability...of undeterminism and what not....and still ....we find patterns appearing in the chaos.....

its our world...love it....and help protect it