Driving down the deserted streets of Bangalore, his excited family leaning out of every available window , my father in his Ambassador accelerated from his sedate speed of 20 kms/hour to a reckless 30….’we’re leaving the city, folks!’ he announced, to our delight.
“On the left, the dairy...see those cows…?” my father’s voice with the grandeur of a circus barker…“And on the right…the famous Dharmaram chapel...and we are on the highway… children, sit back…we’re gonna speed up now…” and the old Ambassador rocked faster in its effort to ‘speed up’ its journey out of Bangalore and onward past Hosur to the hamlet of Krishnagiri.
Thirty years later, rattling over potholes, winding our way between trucks, cars, buses, fallen trees, errant cows, stern police men and death defying bikers, I found myself entering these gate, no longer a landmark on the highway but almost in the heart of the city. While Dairy circle is almost unrecognisable, the Dharmaram chapel remains serene and unflinching, the eye of the storm that is Bangalore today.
What was once the end of the city, lies at the heart of it .And what was once a fleeting glance to a child driving past to her grandmother’s house in Krishnagiri, now is her veritable home.
Whenever I pause at our University gates, I’m struck by this memory… and I wonder how many more unfamiliar places
will one day become home…as CHRIST has to me now. I say home not sentimentally. I have spent most of my waking hours here. I have become who I am, here. I have shed all pretences and been myself here, for better, for worse. Every morning as I enter these gates, I leave behind all the roles foisted on me by this world and become what I have chosen to be. I square my shoulders and plunge in, with some knowledge of things to expect and a lot of excitement for all that is beyond my anticipation. For that is a constant here- to expect the unexpected .
You ask me, aren’t you bored? I look at you incredulously… bored? How? Who knows where every path will lead, what every discussion will reveal, what every class will challenge? I’ll never really know. And just when you think you know it all, something disrupts your smugness and it’s a fresh start. Like gazing through a kaleidoscope, no two days ever alike, no two people ever the same, no two tasks ever, ever the same.
I have laughed here… At a colleague trying his best to articulate a thought but his rich baritone being constantly interrupted by a shrill, scolding squirrel determined to outdo his lecture from the dense foliage outside the window At a line of turkeys, following, in grave procession, one of the maintenance ladies as she marched ahead of them, her broom jutting out from under her arm like tail feathers, so she resembled a turkey herself at students desperately hiding their misdemeanour like I’ve forgotten what it is to be young and foolish, at the outrageous excuses for incomplete assignments, the pretentious poetry, the spaced out gaze of the daydreamer in a 2pm class, the rebel without a cause, the earnest but unintelligent ideology that is being formed … after all, that was me not so long ago!
At my stern colleagues and even sterner Deans, as they struggle to hide their exasperated laughter at some teenage act of defiance! At our struggles to inspire indifferent youngsters and being grateful we haven’t inflicted any bodily harm or permanent damage on their restless souls. That has become my mantra these days!
I have wept… With the broken-hearted, knowing he’s never coming back or that she was too naïve. For the homesick, tired pair of eyes which gaze at me from the back of a classroom, late again to this hour. In irritation at that headstrong one who will be as difficult as he can yet panic when he hears the word 85%. With the girl I’ve never met before, who allowed me to hug her as she fought back tears outside the sickroom. She had a twisted ankle and her parents were far away, and though she was a Master’s student, she was a little girl missing her mother.
For my young colleague who nurses his sick wife, makes inexpert dosas for his hungry, clamouring toddlers, struggles to complete his research and wearily corrects a pile of projects. Lord have mercy!
For my other colleague as she juggles the care of an ailing parent and deadlines and research and edits manuscripts while finding time to comfort me and my woes and giggle over tea at someone’s pompous, blundering foolishness.
I have fought… For honesty and rationality to prevail… To be objective. To be critical yet non-judgemental. To speak up for those who cannot, and not despise those who won’t.
I have discovered… That there is no hero or villain, just people in search of themselves. That a noisy street play, a flash mob and soulful choir are as precious as a library full of books. A philosopher and an aesthete in a gardener who slaves over his pots and plants and lawns just so a class doesn’t graduate without being surrounded by hosts of blooms.
That the lady who cleans my cabin has taught me richer lessons in feminism as we share a quick snack and tidbit of gossip and as she firmly advises me against getting another ear piercing!
That a rat in your bookshelf is worth two in hand …
shudder…as we united in pursuit of a family of rats… priests, professors and techies, defeated by a band of rats that refused to vacate my bookshelf…screams, squeals and cheers …and the humbling knowledge that Disney lied. Rats aren’t cute.
I have watched in satisfaction… Generations of Christites marching on, proud parents beaming, a thousand selfies later, a mumbled thanks, a tearful hug and the flutter of robes. …the moment of epiphany when a youngster discovers the beauty of poetry. Or when an old timer looks at you anew and discovers you’re not so bad after all. When a semester long battle of wits culminates in a moment of honest understanding. When the stammering teenager or haughty young debater mellows into an affectionate buddy.
And there are days… When I enter my cabin earlier than usual and the corridor light filters through the bars. And I smile in sheer joy.
That this huge and whirling human dynamo of a University exists and I am part of it, even if infinitesimally so.
Shobana Mathews, PhD
Associate Professor
Dept of English
CHRIST (Deemed to be University)