Ever since the day I had stepped into Presidency College, I had wanted to do one thing that I had not done before. Well, that didn’t sound very difficult did it? Hmm…let’s see, I’d already done most of all the things an eighteen year old should and shouldn’t do. So that made my task a wee bit difficult. And I kept thinking about it for a couple of weeks, but then “The Presidency Effect” worked, and this is how…I fell in love with the college the day I resolved to be a part of it, and in turn the college has taught me how to fall in love with everything that has been gladly offered to me rather than run in pursuit of the ‘forbidden fruit’. Like say for example our city, people so often quote as the “City Of Joy”. Calcutta, be it the city of joy or not, has an innate connection with Presidency College, each complement the other…in a way that only someone who understands what it means being a Calcuttan and a Presidencian. All I meant by that was that one must belong to a place to be in love with it. So, true to the pre-determined effects, I fell in love with a horde of things but “that” guy every girl around me were volunteering to fall for. I proudly say I love, “Promod da’s Canteen”, the rickety benches in the union and opposition room, even the ever-irritating “Jeet” (thank god he won’t be able to read this himself, unless of course someone has a bad score to settle with me, because otherwise he would be serving me yesterday’s tea all through the next three years); next is the haunted “Maths-er Chhaad”…and the locked gates make it even more exciting; then how could’ve not fallen for the “Portico”, once I stand under that gigantic ceiling, I feel no less than any Countess or Duchess; or the “Derozio Hall”, the “Lover’s Lane”…
…and most significant of all, I fell in love all over again with Calcutta. And I did something I had never done before; I took a walk back home one evening from college. And on that day I figured out how much the city holds hides and offers. I didn’t just walk back home, I walked through one of Calcutta’s most time-honoured roads, one such road where footsteps of many a great men could be traced if it had not been for another traditional fact, filth. This particular road also happens to be the shortest distance between two points, one the college and the other my home, so I had no problem narrowing down my choice of roads to follow back home. Alright, I’ll stop being so unnecessarily mysterious, it’s ‘Bidhan Sarani’. Running almost through the middle of central Calcutta towards the north, this road obscures many secret beauties almost invisible to our mechanically programmed eyes. And I myself was surprised at the level of observation I was suddenly sensitive to, I saw and felt things differently though I had gone by that road at least a thousand times. It was amazing how things can change only if you just stepped out of the bus and take to the streets.
I saw the love and compassion that still existed, and that which was missing at the same time. I saw the people, who were smiling and sharing chit chats in between pulling rickshaws; the beggar who was feeding the dog from his own measly share; the heritage buildings trying to stand tall amongst newer and safer not-at-all heritagious buildings, those which don’t have signs put up by the P.W.D “UNSAFE” or “DANGEROUS” with ample exclamation marks; the street urchins staring longingly at the stalls put up by the sidewalk, and the vendor shooing them away as if, he could see the hatred in their eyes for those who can afford the goods, and scared that it might frighten his customers away; people walking crammed up against each other due to the sidewalk being overburdened by the stalls, but no one seemed to mind, rather they seemed happy to indulge in an ‘I-push-you-and-you-push-me’ sort of a thoroughfare; the inquisitive eyes of boys peeping out of holey windows of boys’ hostels, boring into all passing girls…they are perhaps new to the city and unaccustomed to the generous numbers of groups of giggly girls passing by; the couples fighting over matters either important or grave, (I can’t tell) while munching the ‘Masla-Badam’; the unsuspecting bond between the unfed cats and dogs sitting closely in front of the makeshift chicken shop is seemingly apparent and vanishes the moment the vendor throws away a bit of unwanted leftover, very much like the shop owners on this street, they seem to be buddy buddy but only till a prospective customer approaches the scene, and they become just murderous competitors; the tea-stall where I took a little break and a cup of tea, the taste of the tea instantly improved when I thought he had made the tea for everybody but himself, not demanding any appreciation nor comments neither expecting any though his stall seemed to pull all the crowd, maybe because it was the only tea stall in the area; and the pair of feet I was walking on…and their refusal to even closely associate themselves with fatigue.
It took me an hour and a half to reach home, but it was love’s labour worth a lifetime or even more. And at last when I was back at home I was happy about what I had done, but I decided I would never do it again, because I fear disillusionment, and I know its an indispensable baggage of love. But I am happy with the love I have in my heart for things that are invaluable to me, and I am wary of losing it. And I am delighted that I have an inherited connection to my love, and a deserving commitment to Presidency College. Presidency has am impact unlike any, an influence beyond any predestined. I have learnt to love like a lover, from Presidency College…and like I said, I would remain so because I won’t let it change.
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