Half a decade of : An homage.

‘Reconstituted apple juice’* How many JUDE-ians were into The Doors? Im going to go out on a limb and assume all or most of us. An American Prayer, a Sony Walkman, AA batteries-these were ‘a few of my favourite things’, also a microcosm of my existence in the University at large. Somewhere in there are books. Orientation day, we were asked what book we were reading. I was on Timothy Mo-The redundancy of courage and Maya Angelou. The Prof. meh-ed my Mo’. She seemed undecided on Madam Angelou. Some twenty minutes before that, the 2nd year students sauntered in for the obligatory ‘ragging’ ritual. Let me just say that I was more intrigued than scared. This was the summer of 2001, a world away from Facebook or even Myspace. Poor sap of a future classmate and I were ‘forced’ to re-enact cyber sex-ing. Us cool kids first asked a/s/l back then. My ‘partner’, heretofore uninitiated into the big bad world of online chatting, was confuzzled and so that was that. Bobbed hair, race car-red. A world of possibilities. What with ‘Dryden’ telling us , in the initiation class, and I paraphrase, you are no longer in uniform. You are college kids, nobody’s going to come after ‘yo azz’ for not being vigilant about class-goings. Yep! No Gestapo this faculty. As a result of which much of my time on campus was spent ON campus. I divulge with amused embarrassment, that only two, of the esteemed JUDE faculty remember me. But being remembered is not so much important as what I remember and Still hold dear. Our 1st year undergrad classroom, opposite the library, where I spent very little time. Our 4th sem Masters room, next to Tintinda’s office, where i spent far more considerable time having wizened up about classes by my fifth year. I close my eyes and remember each memory , the associations I associate with each teacher: ADG, hand(often hands) in pockets, pacing from one corner of the front of the class to the other, never looking at the class, lost in his brilliant discourse. Some girls had crushes. Rimidi wildly gesticulating, every so very often pushing up her glasses. PB eyes about to roll out of their sockets under Old English eyebrows, extrapolating about Grendel’s mother. A.Lal upright on the chair, fingers interlaced, not a hair or moustache out of place clipping on on Donne. Oh and the Graham Greene optional i took with SC, which i never could fully concentrate on because i think most of the time i was too caught up imagining her karate-chopping goondas in her sari. The other SC blub blub blubbing away on the Shakespeare. . Oh and Tintin sitting On a classroom table, chai in one hand, waxing lyrical about Sartre and the French Rev.(olution). Some things are indelible. And the friends! Such wonderful crazy kooky weird wired incredibly incredulous people. No country for the lily-livered those halls. Wherever my lot is doing whatever, I like to think we are all still ground breaking-ly earth shatteringly rolling eyes at convention. Did we smuggle cheat sheets on occasion? Was the boys’ room strewn with books during exams ? Did I fashion joints in class on more than one occasion? Was I a bad student nay the worst nay bottom of the barrel? This is all heresay. You didn’t hear nuthin’ from me. I always say Kolkata is my second home. However far I’ve travelled in what places I’ve lived in, when I talk about my country, when I imagine my country, I imagine Kolkata. I imagine Jadavpur University. I imagine the girl who lived in this space in a time in the world, shaped by all these people, all these places, all these experiences. It cannot be documented in 600-800 words. I try. As I sit here re-memory-ing from my desk in a 9-5 sarkari office, I think, I turned out ok(!) *contact Mr. Simon Jennings for info.