Month: June 2017

The Road Out of Tehatta – Part II – Meanings II

 

Once I’d “settled into” my guest room, it was time to eat. Remember the part of the dream where I would smoke and drink ? It also included buying packaged food and heating/cooking it at home. As evening grew into night, this part bit the dust.

I’d been acquainted with a restaurant about a mile away from where I lived. Around 8:30pm in the evening, I headed out, locking up the room carefully. The cooperative was deserted by this time, giving me the eerie feeling of being literally in a ghost town. The road leading to the restaurant (really the ghat, but I learnt that later) was also semi-deserted and many shops were shutting down. Coming from a city that doesn’t sleep at least till midnight, this was both a surprise and a worry.

Now let me get some things about Tehatta restaurants – and “mofussil” restaurants in general – out of the way. One, they call themselves hotels. Places with the critical component of real hotels – staying rooms – call themselves lodges and guest houses. The twain generally do not meet (I can recall only one example of a hotel providing living quarters – the one at Pantha Tirtha in Krishnanagar).

Secondly, they serve a set meal, with additions based on your choices. Think of it as a Zinger Meal, in which you can throw in additional items with a markup each time. Here, however, the basic meal consisted of daal (with the consistency of swamp water), spicy veg curry and an assortment of fries (potato fries, kochu fries, corolla fries, etc etc.). You could even get some chutnee on occasion. The additions included fish, eggs, chicken (on occasion) and double helpings of the non-veg parts. Base price Rs. 45. With Egg – Rs 55, With Fish – Rs. 60, with chicken Rs. 70. With mutton (rarely) Rs. 100.

In those early days I didn’t have the confidence of dealing with spicy non-veg dishes,  and stuck to the basic veg menu. Out of pity perhaps, I was given some additional fries every time. And for some reason (hopefully not pity), they always referred to me as “Sir”. This, as you’d have guessed, was also not among the Dickensian touches I’d have liked to my fantasy.

The remainder of the day – or night – passed uneventfully. Getting up the next day, I made a shopping list of things I’d need. It was winter, and one of the first things I’d need would be a heater. Also, the bucket. Extension cords, some snacks and real estate renting research. For all this, I’d need money.

One good thing about Tehatta was the large amount of financial institutions it had. There was the State Bank, Allahabad Bank, Canara Bank and United Bank of India. Then there were the ATMs – three of SBI, one of the other banks (except UBI). Now my salary from BESC had been credited to Uco Bank, so it really didn’t matter which ATM I used. After a heart-stopping moment when the Diebold (yep, that’s the name) machine simply stopped making any noise while coughing up my money, I had the cash to get the necessities.

I got hold all the things, except the bucket. While shopping for key rings (an added item), I was helpfully told about the possibility of a house being available for rent. After lunch, the shopkeeper and I set off to see the place that would eventually become my “camp” for most of my time in Tehatta. That done, I went back, rested, then set out and “booked” the bucket on my way to the hotel. On  the way back, I picked up my first steel bucket and clanged it back to the guest house. I fancied myself a lone silhouette on a dark road, walking home wearily, bucket in hand. It’d have been unconventional, no ?

The next day, I went to the college again. The OIC had turned up, as had the half a dozen teachers who had joined before me. Two were quite senior, the others roundabout my age,  and with as much experience as me. The staff room, even with the teachers in it, was rather empty. I’d come from a staff room where taking any chair from its place elicited loud complaints from the person who sat there, and his/her entire clique. Here, you could simply sit in any chair and not be disturbed at all. Even better, the chairs were the padded swivelling type that are usually reserved for dignitaries and corporate officials.

Beyond submitting my joining papers, I had little else to do, so I decided to head back to Kolkata as soon as the situation allowed. For one, I was running out of clean clothes. For another, I was already yearning for the comfort of my bed, the convenience of having things handed to you instead of going out and buying them, and above all, the familiarity of the city. I wanted more adventure, just not now.

The details of the journey will be covered in a piece dedicated to the journeys. For now, let me just add that I submitted my salary papers on the way  at Krishnanagar and then took the train home. My first tryst with Tehatta was over.

Over the next couple of weeks, I got to know the students better, met my HOD and chatted over a variety of things, and finally, finalized the house. Amidst it all, I got a call from my ex-girlfriend informing me that the MPhil form-fillup deadline was approaching, and I should move fast. You’d think I’d rush to complete the formalities, when actually, I’d decided that MPhil could wait. I probably wouldn’t be able to complete my MPhil staying in Tehatta. And even if I did, I wouldn’t do a good job.

Two hours of consultation with my parents later, it was time for a mea culpa on my part. I called the official who dealt with these things, learnt that the deadline was nearly over, and then called my caretaker. He politely told me that he would be up, and even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have any problems leaving.

Hectic packing and little sleep later, I was off at seven to a place called Howlia More. Before you point it you, I’d tell you that I’ve already exhausted the wordplay associated with the name. I could say, for instance, that the wind was howling as I headed into Howlia on the morning of 15th December 2015. I could also say that my soul was howling at the thought of navigating my way back from Tehatta to Kolkata for only the second time, and in a way that would allow me to reach before the university closed for the day.

Fancy language and self-doubt in tow, I found a bus and headed towards Krishnanagar. With the wind really howling now (the conductor insisted on keeping at least one window open), we whizzed past the countryside and reached Krishnanagar. Turns out, there was a Sealdah local due in just a while, and even more fortunately, the crowd wasn’t exactly WWE grade. I reached Kolkata around 1, and three hours of cross-Kolkata rushing about later, had submitted the form.

Yet this wasn’t the last screw up of the year. On the last day – 21st of December – we had the annual sports day. Given that I had just joined and had no role, all I had to do was turn up for the day and watch. Sadly, due to a particularly bad train journey, my feet refused to cooperate. The result was more tense moments, followed by a whole week in bed with Amazon providing me the books I needed to pass the MPhil coursework exam. Staying under blankets for a whole week while studying and sipping unhealthy amounts of coffee is a good thing. In excess quantity really.

I won’t go into the other anxieties related to getting my salary started, getting through coursework exams with the college session in full flow and the other issues that plagued my early months. After all, I’ve titled this piece “Meanings” and not “Anxieties of a New Job”. Instead, I’d go into the remaining one year of Tehatta with a more “general” approach than a narrative one, hoping – as ever – that I piss off as few people as possible.

The Road Out of Tehatta – Part I – Meanings I

 

Transitions are full of meanings, and most of them are inferred in retrospect. Some of these meanings are really the ones you wish to use, while others follow them. Still others are created by those around you, creating sense of what you are doing in their own ways. This is not to say that they have nefarious goals, or any goals for that matter. They may just want to make sense of something through their own worldview. And so you have endless meanings, refined and distilled and remixed until you have a coherent narrative that suits everyone and maybe, even you.

Tehatta is one such narrative. More to the point, leaving Tehatta is. What is this narrative ? To put it in brief, it speaks of a boy from a sheltered background who  was sent off to a far off place and managed to get back to Kolkata. In doing so, he ensured that he could do his research, teach at a good institution and generally become part of city life once again. Tehatta was a blip, and now it is over. Aritra is back where he belongs.

That’s the story I seem to subscribe to as well. Yes, I have come from a sheltered background who had no idea about life outside cities and towns. Yes, I had always sought to leave Tehatta because at the end of the day the city was where I belonged and where I felt comfortable. And also yes, one and a half years can be taken as a blip when you think of the 25 odd years you have lived and the years that you will, hopefully, live.

But if I were to simply accept this prima facie, there would be a lot that would be left unsaid. And if there’s one thing I have learned, a good amount of what constitutes memory requires stimulation to bring to the fore after a point of time. So, in order to bring out what Tehatta meant for me, and what coming back to Kolkata means, I will write a series of articles. Some with pictures. The articles will not be pieces worth reading, simply because they aren’t meant for any audience in particular. The pictures won’t be works of art, because they reflect everyday life, which isn’t a work of art. And above all, all of this won’t be written with a specific goal or a point to prove, because life is more about living than proving anything to anyone.

Philosophy and disclaimer done, the autobiography begins.

So let’s go back to the point where I got the job and the posting to Tehatta. Months of waiting amid shrill warnings about postings in strange-sounding places ended in December 2015 when I finally got my appointment letter. It was one of the first times (second actually) that I had gone to Bikash Bhavan, and naively I expected a lot more advice from the staff there. All I was told was, it’s a place in Nadia district and not a bad place at all.

It’d have been fine if I’d taught at a run-of-the-mill college in Kolkata, but where I had taught was BESC, which was average with a lot of pretensions. So much so that people were actually quite surprised I would leave their college for a place like Tehatta (even when they knew that a contractual job was nothing compared to a government job – and a substantial one).

Anyhow, a little research told me that it was about 142 km from Kolkata and would take approximately 3 hours to get there. This would prove to be quite optimistic, since the average time taken was closer to 5. Also, the place wasn’t exactly a city, though it was close to becoming a town. Again, this proved to be optimistic, but I’ll get to it later.

Finally, I was told that given the distance, I would probably have to live there. And here is where the meaning of the posting really sank in. For one thing, this would be my first full salary job, as against the guest lecturerships and contractual jobs I’d held earlier (one of each, so the plurals aren’t justified). I’d finally be considered, in American terms, a “tenured” assistant professor and wouldn’t have to depend on the whims of HODs and whatever the fuck was the name of the head of the institution (Principal ? Teacher in Charge ? Rector ?).

More importantly, I’d  be living on my own. From childhood, I’d always dreamt of living on my own, with a job and a comfortable home. “On my own”, of course, precluded wife and kids, and usually involved a small house with a single room , a bathroom and kitchen and sometimes, a balcony. I’d stay up late smoking and having the occasional drink, I’d head out with friends and think about life, and above all, would know what I was and what I could do. I’d be, to repeat a cliché, be a man.

A man in a city with neon lights and easily accessible resources. Food, clothes, etc etc. Perhaps not a ton of money, or else where would be the fun in discovering what working life meant. But some money yeah. Slumming isn’t exactly an ideal outside communist circles you know.

Arriving in Tehatta, the first thing I had to cross out was, you guessed it, the city. The website had described it as scenic (or was it picturesque ?), and scenic it was. With as little human habitation around as could possibly be. The building itself was brand new, the gate was a sorry agglomeration of cement and brick, and signs of life mimicked Chernobyl.

I’d talked to two teachers, the HODs of History and English, before turning up, and had brought the documents necessary. But the OIC (officer-in-charge, get ready for a lot of acronyms) wasn’t there. The next day was a holiday, so I’d have to stay on at least for three days. In the time, I could do two things – get to know the college better, and find someplace to stay.

The first proved to be a rather short experience. The entire college – both floors – had little signs of life. Whereas I’d come from colleges where you’d have to navigate crowds of students to get anywhere, here the halls were empty. There were no sounds of laughter, of chattering youth, of music blaring from an audiophile’s speakers. Neither were the desks written over,  or the blackboards much abused, nor the walls showing any signs of wear and tear. It was all new, and deserted. I told myself that this was just the beginning, that one day these halls would be bustling with students and teachers would actually be asking them to keep the volume low. But I asked myself – would I be there to see this ?

I remember my first class, in Room No 3. For those who have studied in Presidency, the room has special significance. It was – and is – the signature room of the History Department. To be asked to take a class in a room of the same number seemed to hold a special significance. What ? I don’t know, but it stuck with me.

The class itself had very poor attendance. Honours classes are notorious for this, but only four (or was it five) students was a low for a first class. A few introductions later, I had marked the attendance and had left. It was time to find a place to stay.

I’d been accompanied by a man from my father’s office who knew the environs of Tehatta somewhat better. He also knew a person at the local office. Through their joint efforts, I got hold of a room at the local cooperative guest house. Or as it is called, Tehatta-I Block Cooperative Society. The guest house was the first floor of the building housing the society offices, and also the society godowns. So as I settled in, the sound of trucks coming and dumping all sorts of produce became commonplace.

I requested my companion to return, since Tehatta was my place of posting and for better or worse, the sooner I got to know it on my terms, the better. I’d brought clothing  and other necessities with me, and once I’d set up a half-decent living space, it was time to clean oneself. The bathrooms were common, akin to the ones I’d seen in hostels I’d visited, never lived in and heartily despised. But again, these were empty since the other rooms were unoccupied.

Once I’d navigated the complex mechanisms of drawing water (a switch that was followed by a blast of ice cold water), keeping my belongings (wallet, spectacles and keys on a single soap rack) and the yoga associated with answering nature’s call (they call it Indian style for a reason I think), I had some major epiphanies. One, I’d need a bucket of my own. Two, I’d need a bathroom of my own. Three, the two could only be combined if I had a place of my own.