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.