College Days - Moored to BEC
BEC - A life cycle commences
Introduction:
The holy Ganges ponderously lumbers through the Hoogly district into Howrah - much wider and calmer here than her youthful self frolicking and capering over rocks and twigs in the Himalayas. She courses past factories, towns, and dwellings, ducks below bridges, and awashes gently the banks behind a sprawling lush Botanical Garden. From here she moves on, but I pull to a halt. This is a distinguished garden with a noteworthy 1000-year old banyan tree, considered divine in Hindu culture, that draws tourists from across the lands. And guess what shares the boundary with this renowned green patch? More than a hundred year old and extremely prestigious IIEST, reputed as BE College, Shibpur, among us - the cohort that stepped through its yellow-red Centenary Gate (more commonly known as First Gate) into its quite, mesmerising, and tree-enfolded campus amidst the hubbub of city-life on the crisp morning of 5th September 1994. That marked the beginning of a phenomenal 5-year journey that'd be a priceless, timeless; but we hardly contemplated that during those days. Given our tender age, who among us would've thought we, and in future our spouses and children, our juniors and seniors would all be strung to the same string forever - the BEC string!
During the initial days we were curiously and quietly judging each other, sifting personalities - some of us were thin and docile while others were sporty or podgy, bright and flashy or simply nonchalant. Too young to rise above these trivial differences, we were already calculating who to befriend and who to steer clear of; little aware that these calculations were meaningless for our perspective and who we'd like down the lane would change drastically. The only thing that bound us together was the eagerness to know each other - a bunch of fledglings, of almost equal aptitude, who've found the freedom in their wings to scale the sky.
Yes, equal aptitude (not gloating), for there wasn't any easy pass through that gate; the pass was hard-earned through notoriously tough tests that we all had cracked to be deemed to join that college in that particular discipline of that year - nothing more, nothing less. We were there to make the most of it, or so! It was a crucial juncture of our lives - learning the boons and banes of living independently, learning to add new strings to our bows, learning life! Thus we plodded along together, hopping from design studios to Materials & Details of Construction classes, prancing from Masonry to TCMN classes, padding past library and workshops, breaking our heads over Applied Mechanics and Thermodynamics, helping each other with complex plans, elevations, sections of buildings on contours, cheering each other to trudge on with assignments throughout nights before the dreaded "submissions". And alongside this chock-a-block schedule unfurled our potentials, personalities, and predilections - our camaraderie with our classmates developed and evolved; student-professor relationships were forged; knowledge took shape and culminated in mind-blowing capstone projects during the final semesters. These sculpted out the people we were when we stepped out of the yellow-red Centenary Gate for good on a scorching day in May of 1999, five years after our first day.
We walked out leaving within the confines of our beloved campus all the good moments and not-so-good ones, funny events and the sad ones, the wrongs and the rights, our aspirations and inspirations, memories of our unrequited or reciprocated love and friendship - leaving them forever or that's what we thought as the third industrial revolution hadn't set in and it wouldn't take the world in the next fifteen long years or so. Who could've thought then that we'd reconvene, reunite, reignite our memories and friendship, albeit off the campus and on the screen of handheld devices, but no less intense than before. So here we are, the Architecture 1999 cohort, harking back to the nostalgia inducing days of togetherness during the precious years of our lives at BEC - the days of chrysalis forcing its way from pupa to metamorphose into a fiesty young colourful butterfly!
Chapter 1: Our BEC days (we metamorphosed from chrysalis to butterfly; I'll start with mine and pass on the baton to the rest)
An alma matar holds a special place in the heart of each alumnus or alumna. It could've been precincts like Lords and Oval for some, the quaint workshops and Colonial style architecture for others, but for me, the premises of the institute bore a striking similarity to the township I was brought up in. That, compounded with the facility of hostel, left no place for dilemma in opting for BEC. The old clock tower, overlooking a shimmering mesmerising Bidisha, green with the reflection of surrounding trees, beckoned me to be one of the several thousand students it witnessed graduating. So there I was, with the vim of youth to explore and experience a new phase of life.
And who do you look for to rely on in a new place away from home? Friends of course! To start with, it was a bit of luck. I was destined to share a room with another two of my classmates - naive sporty perfectionist Soma, and intelligent hardly-audible diminutive Anindita. Our bare iron beds soon got padded up with locally bought mattresses and pillows, complete with mosquito nets, bed covers, and all other necessities of daily life. Even before we stepped into our classes, our hostel rooms had to be arranged. Thus we hurriedly bunched up as brand new friends, set up our room, and set out to find the rest of us - remaining four girls of our batch, namely, Indira (Indu), Dipanjana (Dips), Sumana, and Anamika. Over the years of college and beyond, we'd grow close, drift apart, and re-connect, with the exception of Sumana who early in her life escaped the weals and woes of life - beyond any mortal reach.
Those precious five years were perhaps the most exciting time of my life. The formative years were a rich swirl of fun, action, and creation - sprinkled with unadulterated joy of having fuchka with a friend after dinner and scampering back to hostel moments before the grilled doors clattered to close for the day; splashed with high-octane razzmatazz of NASA/ZONASA and annual programmes; peppered with apprehensions of end-sem assessments; spiced up with fragile calf love that hardly crossed the subliminal limits, let alone be expressed; dotted with study tours that unfolded the distinctive architectural styles of different regions of India; laced up with design submissions and diorama presentations.
I fondly look back at the way we managed without Microsoft Office to present our transparent slides on projector; the way we managed without Google to find information from books and painstakingly light trace for compilation; the way we managed without YouTube to pronounce unheard-of-before "Massachussetts" with the help of none other than the apparently omniscient professors.
The little xerox corner we frequented for all the right and wrong reasons, the (in)famous Bokultola, our college canteen, the stationery store, Netaji's statue, green lawns abutting winding roads, spinal avenues, and the college building with roomy studios are as inseparable memories as the eateries that lined the road outside the gate. I still salivate at the thought of Basanta Cabin's chowmein, Panditji's daal kochuri, sweet shop's fulkopir singarha, and toast with tea. However, it was Pandya Hall that tops my list - the only girls' hostel where I resided during those days. Within the hostel, as we moved from Graveyard wing to Heaton, and eventually to the Roadside, our bond fragmented with some and strengthened elsewhere, our priorities got defined and redefined, and our paths wove in and out with others; but years later, off the campus, we stood again as one!
And not just our batchmates; given the nature of our studios and the subject, we bonded with our immediate seniors and juniors with equal ease. It started even before we were assured a seat in our classroom; the seniors guided us through the concepts of 2D/ 3D compositions, basics of perspective views and equipped us with other necessary knowledge to ace the exam for Architecture, a second hurdle after clearing the WBJEE test. Their verve in imparting their skills in us instilled a special bond much before we shared the studio floors. That helped us to some extent in coping up with stanger-anxiety in a new world. And a year later, we too stepped into the shoes of instructors to train a new batch of aspiring architects in a similar manner - kudos to us, the exam was a cinch for them!
I laugh at how capricious I was back then - running into paroxysm of laughter or tears at the drop of a hat. In one instance the entire floor stirred and the professor was driven to stupor as I ran out of the classroom crying and yelling, upset at a spontaneous comment of a classmate on my design! It's embarrassing to even think of such inane moments now. Nothing mattered in the end, though; it's just a fond memory. A memory like just another where I was hoodwinked to share my ID card and then I was on a faux news of marriage with a classmate called Saurav. It was cooked up for sheer fun to imitate the fabled marriage of the eminent cricketer Saurav Ganguly and Dona Roy. We all had a good laugh! 😃
I can go on and on because innumerable incidents are etched on my mind as if I were there yesterday. But I'd wrap up with this last note that I had no idea I'd find my life partner there when my name showed up on the list of pupils allowed to walk through the yellow-red gate. Like me, many of us found among us their business partners, life partners or fellow researchers in post-BEC life, but that's a different stage - the stage of a matured butterfly 🦋 that I'll touch upon little later. For we need to check out on the adventures of other contemporaneous chrysalises/ chrysalides that were on similar journeys!
Chapter 2: Our matured lives beyond BEC (fully grown butterfly)
Like a fluttering butterfly, beyond the BEC gates, I moved from flower to flower in search of life-sustaining nectar. Post-graduation from equally notable national institute paved my way to the alluring world of information technology. Despite its grandiose charm, and an apparent-repute as yardstick of job-stability, I didn't mind adding new programming skills from the confines of hoity-toity glitzy edifices. It wasn't always a walk in the park though. I found myself at the vortex of maelstrom, balancing the needs of family and work. Often I moved in and out of country, which had me walk the plank but I managed to swim from one role to another, albeit with gaps in career path. But over the years I've learned that everything is ephemeral, not always tenable, and the moments must be appreciated as they come. The me-butterfly's wings are withering fast; time to pass on the responsibilities to the progeny - the next gen of millennials. Oh yes, we all have witnessed the end of millennium and in the new one we brought new lives - little larvae that hatched from eggs we laid. We'll have a sneak peek into their lives - drastically different from ours with smart devices and the internet at their disposal - a generation at the juncture of third and fourth industrial revolutions!
Chapter 3: Our Children (larvae hatched from the butterfly's eggs)
In my childhood, not having access to telephones or televisions didn't mean the-end-of-the-world; but times changed. Personal computers were a household thing by the time I joined my job. Those dinosaurs shrunk to palm-held mobile devices by the time I had my first (and only) child. These newfangled devices transformed to versatile smartphones my the time my son stepped into his first school. Little wonder he was no stranger to these captivating devices.
'It's recommended you limit his screen-time to two hours a day only,' the pediatrician prescribed after a regular check up when he was in his terrible two's.
Screen-time! So that's what it is. But as the years rolled, there was only one limit - more sleep-time to reduce screen-time on newfangled gadgets. With all his assessments, assignments, researches overly dependent on the internet, he is now incarcerated in the labyrinthine web. I can't complain or isolate him since he is in a world that is increasingly adopting new technologies to achieve the unprecedented! His time will probably harness LIDAR that's set to take transportation to an astounding level of autonomous cars, witness humanoid robots taking over mundane menial jobs, AI superseding the hands-on expertise of surgeons; yet his path will still be fraught with the usual thrust and parries of struggles, the peaks and troughs of emotions, the weals and woes of life! I conclude wishing him and our children the very best; May their dreams substantiate, May their lives be healthy, may they appreciate the beauty of this world and the people around them!
Conclusion:
Leveraging technology we've reconnected. An enthusiastic chum corralled us and tethered us to our group on a platform in social media. We are thankful to him for bringing us together. How wonderful it is at times to cogitate on the minute details of our past, including our roll numbers, the buildings we researched or the work of architects we presented. Then again we have each other in our current-day endeavours to complete the circle of life. And I'm sure we'll have each other as we brace up for our forthcoming adventures!
When I passed on the baton, others picked it up to express their emotions, albeit in their own unique ways. Anirban Ghosh, perhaps the quietest of our lot, came up with paintings that when seen collaboratively appears to be college tour. Sumit shared one of his expressions through his depiction of the iconic Clock Tower! Here they are.
Comments
Post a Comment