At some point in my teenage years, my father decided to take me under his wings , and got me admitted into a school in the city.
It was a wake -up call. From the cloistered and protected environs of a convent school in the backwaters of bihar, where swear words and dirty 'thoughts' were as alien as the unicorn amongst a herd of water -buffaloes, I was thrown into the rough and tumble of the 'real' world. Whether that was a good thing to happen or not , is not for us to decide. But , it was definitely, not a pleasant thing.
I also saw a new breed of people from the close quarters, the anglo-indians.They were mostly hot-headed bullies, over-age(for they failed at least once in most of the grades), and illiterate. They were mostly good at two things, viz, bullying and sports. They made most of the house captains, and were boarders. Over the span of two years that I spent there, my emotions swung from awe, fear, disgust to frank pity. Of the many dregs that the british raj has left behind, this is the most poignant one . These girls , mostly fair and robust, could speak the vernacular (hindi and bengali) very well. But insisted on talking in their own lingo- which was a pidgin version of the queen's language that had been bequeathed to them.
They had parents who wore last century's clothing. Flowery frocks and dull- coloured suits with bow-ties. You could tell them from a mile. When the parents arrived, it was almost as if , a fancy -dress ball was under way.A great show of affection ensued, but you could tell there was no genuine filial affection; at least not measuring up to Indian(bengali) standards. For starters, most of them lived in the boarding (free for the anglos), despite having homes close by. Some were dark, almost Indian complexioned, others were pale pink, turning to red when they had to "fix" a junior.
All the english expletives that I know, can be traced to these enthusiasts.
I saw waxed legs, done-up eyebrows, tank-tops and condoms from close quarters. Things I had only heard/read about, hitherto. I also learnt that fear of "God " and "God " himself , was a fictitious concept, drilled into your impressionable minds by god-fearing nuns.I saw teachers being abused , behind their backs( and in some commie/ anglo cases- right in front), and people getting away-scot free.I also learnt sexual innuendoes and overtones to normal conversations.
I also learnt not to trust girl-classmates'(kaal ke kichchu podi ni'-"I didn't study at all yesterday,' the class topper will lie to you on the morning of exam finals, batting her eyelids innocently). I distinctly remember a classmate, who got top marks in all papers; used to guard her papers/notebooks so jealously, that no one was allowed even a peek inside .She made it through to MBBS Entrance- a coveted position then and now, and was known never to smile( had uneven teeth). I can imagine her examine patients, in the unsmiling gloom of cold efficiency. She had only one friend in whole of the class, and she was the class' moron'/outcaste.; someone who would /could never compete with her.
Then there were mothers. Overprotective,ubiquitous, omnipresent.Bengali mothers are the worst breed of mothers on the planet earth.(My mother too, is a bengali mother. But she never smothered me, and I thank her for that. I may have not become a doctor; but , at least, I am not a human bonsai) They have no idea of personal space.I know of one particular mother who used to drop her fat bespectacled daughter(an only child) in the morning, and patiently wait outside the school gates (doing what? chatting up with the gatekeeper probably),be there with hot tiffin at lunch-break, feed her morsels while the scholar daughter consulted her books or gossiped with her cronies; and again at the off-time to pick up her darling daughter and escort her home safely. She practically lived and breathed her daughter's life. Heard later that the pampered girl made it to the hallowed shrine of IIT in first attempt.(probably the mother accompanied her to coaching classes too, after school; patiently sitting under a tree , doing her knitting, as her daughter grappled with calculus). But what happened to her mother? Did she shift residence to the banyan-tree-outside-girls'-hostel- of -IIT Kanpur? In any case, she would have to abandon her child's side , sooner or later. I mean, how can a parent camp outside her married daughter's bedroom door? May be this lady can. With a coffee percolator in hand, she may appear as a genie in the middle of the night, with a steaming cup'o''joe in hand.
It was overwhelming, scary, and disquieting.
It also put me off studies in the two crucial years of my life. (class 11 and 12 ). I had entered the hallowed portals of the competitive times and chose to remain shut-eyed /deaf to the incessant chants of IIT/JEE carrying on all-around me.To top it all, I had been given science in class 12, with both maths and biology(another recipe for disaster).
It was an ostrich like response to too much stimuli in too little a time.
It was a wake -up call. From the cloistered and protected environs of a convent school in the backwaters of bihar, where swear words and dirty 'thoughts' were as alien as the unicorn amongst a herd of water -buffaloes, I was thrown into the rough and tumble of the 'real' world. Whether that was a good thing to happen or not , is not for us to decide. But , it was definitely, not a pleasant thing.
I also saw a new breed of people from the close quarters, the anglo-indians.They were mostly hot-headed bullies, over-age(for they failed at least once in most of the grades), and illiterate. They were mostly good at two things, viz, bullying and sports. They made most of the house captains, and were boarders. Over the span of two years that I spent there, my emotions swung from awe, fear, disgust to frank pity. Of the many dregs that the british raj has left behind, this is the most poignant one . These girls , mostly fair and robust, could speak the vernacular (hindi and bengali) very well. But insisted on talking in their own lingo- which was a pidgin version of the queen's language that had been bequeathed to them.
They had parents who wore last century's clothing. Flowery frocks and dull- coloured suits with bow-ties. You could tell them from a mile. When the parents arrived, it was almost as if , a fancy -dress ball was under way.A great show of affection ensued, but you could tell there was no genuine filial affection; at least not measuring up to Indian(bengali) standards. For starters, most of them lived in the boarding (free for the anglos), despite having homes close by. Some were dark, almost Indian complexioned, others were pale pink, turning to red when they had to "fix" a junior.
All the english expletives that I know, can be traced to these enthusiasts.
I saw waxed legs, done-up eyebrows, tank-tops and condoms from close quarters. Things I had only heard/read about, hitherto. I also learnt that fear of "God " and "God " himself , was a fictitious concept, drilled into your impressionable minds by god-fearing nuns.I saw teachers being abused , behind their backs( and in some commie/ anglo cases- right in front), and people getting away-scot free.I also learnt sexual innuendoes and overtones to normal conversations.
I also learnt not to trust girl-classmates'(kaal ke kichchu podi ni'-"I didn't study at all yesterday,' the class topper will lie to you on the morning of exam finals, batting her eyelids innocently). I distinctly remember a classmate, who got top marks in all papers; used to guard her papers/notebooks so jealously, that no one was allowed even a peek inside .She made it through to MBBS Entrance- a coveted position then and now, and was known never to smile( had uneven teeth). I can imagine her examine patients, in the unsmiling gloom of cold efficiency. She had only one friend in whole of the class, and she was the class' moron'/outcaste.; someone who would /could never compete with her.
Then there were mothers. Overprotective,ubiquitous, omnipresent.Bengali mothers are the worst breed of mothers on the planet earth.(My mother too, is a bengali mother. But she never smothered me, and I thank her for that. I may have not become a doctor; but , at least, I am not a human bonsai) They have no idea of personal space.I know of one particular mother who used to drop her fat bespectacled daughter(an only child) in the morning, and patiently wait outside the school gates (doing what? chatting up with the gatekeeper probably),be there with hot tiffin at lunch-break, feed her morsels while the scholar daughter consulted her books or gossiped with her cronies; and again at the off-time to pick up her darling daughter and escort her home safely. She practically lived and breathed her daughter's life. Heard later that the pampered girl made it to the hallowed shrine of IIT in first attempt.(probably the mother accompanied her to coaching classes too, after school; patiently sitting under a tree , doing her knitting, as her daughter grappled with calculus). But what happened to her mother? Did she shift residence to the banyan-tree-outside-girls'-hostel- of -IIT Kanpur? In any case, she would have to abandon her child's side , sooner or later. I mean, how can a parent camp outside her married daughter's bedroom door? May be this lady can. With a coffee percolator in hand, she may appear as a genie in the middle of the night, with a steaming cup'o''joe in hand.
It was overwhelming, scary, and disquieting.
It also put me off studies in the two crucial years of my life. (class 11 and 12 ). I had entered the hallowed portals of the competitive times and chose to remain shut-eyed /deaf to the incessant chants of IIT/JEE carrying on all-around me.To top it all, I had been given science in class 12, with both maths and biology(another recipe for disaster).
It was an ostrich like response to too much stimuli in too little a time.
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