Entry Restricted. Exit Prohibited

I entered the University gate to the sounds of a Policeman announcing the potential danger awaiting those who may enter the campus unprepared and unaware of the intrinsic dangers associated with such places.

The security at the gate was massive. Except for harmless looking pedestrians every thing which entered the University had to go through an elaborate search procedure wherein the Cars had to expose their boot space and the Bikers their Faces to the naked eyes of the Security Men.

Me with my black College bag slinging sloppily from my shoulder was the last object they would pay attention to. Inconspicousness has been a striking trait residing in my behaviour ( only in dangerous situations) ever since I was a kid. 

As I passed the heavily guarded gates I could see the vehicle owners waiting impatiently to prove their innocence even as the Cops were suspiciously hovering around the cars and giving full attention to the inmates .

The scene of the road which lay beyond me was quite interesting as well. Anti-Riot vehicles with MMG guns mounted on top were snailing the path and this fact hardly seemed unnatural to the people I happened to encounter on the road. 

The road which cuts at a right angle brought into view an even more absorbing scene as I proceeded closer to my Departmental Building. One both the sides were the marquees of various political groups each attended to by a half a dozen Policemen.

A conscientious soul and careful gaze would have failed to spot a single reasonable soul sitting there.  That doesn't mean there weren't any. It just means that no conscientious should have seen one.

Marching past the battalion like arrangements one felt a little self conscious . Each eye ball sitting inside the Cloth Tent was sizing you up as a potential voter . I saw one of the groups smiling condescending towards me as one of my classmates whispered something into their ears which enhanced my value in their eyes. 

By the time I crossed the entire stretch I was feeling like a hapless consumer wading through the congested Consumer fair where people take upon themselves the solemn responsibility to make the lives of their fellow brethren a little less comfortable.

The entire journey from the gate to my department lasted but 7 minutes (including the 30 seconds I spent standing still and deliberating as to which side of the road should I walk on;I eventually decided to start with the right and and on the left and covered the last 30 metres walking alongside the road divider ).

 

The last leg in Calico museum.

Calico: A plain -woven cotton cloth , normally with a figured pattern on one side.

A tourist: a person who believes it is his moral duty to waste money and time.

A host: a person who believes it his moral duty to help the tourist to do so.

a museum: a place which is never brightly lit and from which no one ever derives any pleasure but never admits to that fact.

Boredom: Something no parent can digest in a child.

Hooliganism: A cousin of partying.

When we entered the house of calico
to begin the last the leg
a thought in all our minds lingered
at our hearts did it peg.

Why should be there museums
which house calico
when many out there
what it means not know.

Why to keep all that cotton
stored up for posterity
when millions on the streets
have nothing to wear or to show.

If Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
then why does beauty always side with opulence?
Why do we have to go to a museum to appreciate it
when we won't look at the peasant who wears it
when we won't have anything to do with the weaver who weaved it.

We spent 2 hrs in a place where
which taught us the value of human life
which taught us that it counts for nothing
if it can't be displayed in a museum.

Calico Museum -2

The Characters:

A nosy tour guide who for some reason wasn't impressed with us.

The three of us and our unbridled enthusiasm.

A group of six elderly ladies who knew something about the art of embroidery and a bit too much about the art of conversing ceaselessly and unabashedly.

A foreign tourist accompanied by a local translator.

A couple of foreign origin...but I could not ascertain their nationality.

A middle aged woman and her son( I presumed)

The staff of the museum , who's duty was to dissuade us visitors from touching and going too close to the specimens and to do that were trained to utter the following words with immaculate precision and infallible effect : "Please Don't Touch" (it took everybody full 5 minutes to understand the meaning of these words , because of our underdeveloped hearing abilities and the staffs' overdeveloped vocal powers)

The tour started with a brisk walk to the main building which was to be our adopted home for the next hour and which housed some magnificent textile works with numerous variations of embroidered silk,cotton and other such materials. Our guide was a brisk walker who rarely looked back while travelling from one precipice to another and this the old women of our group realised pretty soon, much to their chagrin. When finally we all had assembled outside the building , she gave a small and cold little speech, although I could hear both my friends chuckling over something which nobody else found funny, which was of course the absence of any eatery in the museum's vicinity ; after all 2hrs inside a museum can be quite exhausting.
Nevertheless we all proceeded to begin the tour and soon were surrounded on all sides by brilliantly crafted materials which helped us to smother the hunger pangs which had already begun banging violently inside our young and hungry stomachs.

" On the left is a palanquin which the queen used used to travel from one fort to another and which is covered with a rich material and embroidered silk, which may give you asll a fair idea as to what exactly was the idea of opulence in those times....."
"To your right is a collection of sarees and other garments from orrisa , with double lining, *****frill work, this and that and what not"
For about 30 minutes all of us (except for the old ladies who turned out to be great connoisseurs of such things) tries to pretend that we really were enjoying the tour and relishing each and every moment . But soon came the time when I for on could no longer take in the any more textiles for the maximum limit to which I can be exposed to all such dress materials is 30 minutes at a stretch (that too when I am shopping with my mother or other such close relations who can force me to give them company). Uneasiness is an infectious thing and soon all of us started rushing through the museum while sweating profuse;y and my Gujarati friend also began mouthing certain unmentionable obscenities. The staff who was earlier constantly on the prowl to catch one of us going near the glass cases and exposed linen now was wondrously watching everybody's exasperated faces waiting for the tour to get over.
After an hour had elapsed the tour guide in her cold and calculated expression announced that after 5 minutes the next leg of the tour would commence. Anybody who wished to leave the tour because of certain pressing engagements could do it there and then for once we entered building no. 2 , it would be like entering a labyrinth and there would be just one way out. No sooner had she uttered these words than the foreign couple pleaded forgiveness for that suddenly remembered that they had a train to catch in about 40 minutes and before that they a had a couple or more things to do. I can't be certain but when the couple was taking leave I caught a glimpse of the lady's shoulder bag out of which was protruding a train ticket which revealed to me that the couple were to board that train not until next week . Why had they lied? why did they forego such a great opportunity? I never understood this then nor will be able to understand this ever. Our audacity abandoned us as we all marched towards the next leg of the tour when suddenly the white chick almost fainted. Oh pardon me I should abstain from using such derogatory words for a female. She almost fainted because of the stifling heat, claustrophobic corridors and the constant blabber which ricocheted of the carpeted walls of the museum.

A recreational excursion to the calico museum-1

The following article has not been modified , altered or censored to suit any audience, to fit any screen or go down well with any honcho.
In the month of July when the whole human race screams for some reprieve from the scorching heat , did a fellow reach Ahmedabad to get a feel of the city, quite oblivious of the fact that the sun over that part of the country is usually brighter and stronger than most parts of the country.
I dropped in at the 11th hour just to give him company and protect him from his own eccentric traits. We were to be housed by a friend whose name needs no introduction(especially if you have been to any eating joints in and around the western region of the country).
So the three of us were to explore the city from a tourist's perspective in weather as hot as hell, but that doesn't matter. Weather hardly matters in India...or at least this what our movies lead us to believe- in a single scene the villain can be seen wearing a tweed, while the actress is dressed in a two-piece swimsuit, the hero sports a leather jacket, even as the henchmen can be seen flaunting outrageously well matched Dick Tracy attires.
Anyways....the point was to impress upon the reader the fact that weather in India is hardly ever the deciding factor.
Our Gujarati friend, a decent fellow. A good host . His obsession with potatoes notwithstanding. WE three explored the city to our heart's content. Which means that each and every excursion was plotted in such a way that either on our way to the place or on our way back we would have the privilege of having potato rich , deep fried snacks and eatables.
On about the third day he mooted the idea of visiting the calico textile museum. Since it involved no potato centric plans, we both became indecently excited about the thing and finally after a he made a few calls, we arranged for ourselves three secure places in the daily guided tour which started at about 10:30 in the morning and lasted for about 2 hrs. The duration of the tour made us all a little apprehensive . What the hell, our normal college day lasted for 3 hrs. But we all mustered some courage and this in no way was not affected by the praises which one of our classmates and who was quite close to the gujju, had showered upon the entire thing. So we all hopped into his mother's car and made our way through the giant door which hid behind itself the WORLD FAMOUS CALICO TEXTILE MUSEUM.

From Θ to Π

Many humans with whom I have had anything to do in life, have a very cheerful air about them. From the moment they enter into something they become a part of it and start enjoying the experience of being a part of it. I cannot claim any such thing for myself. It takes me an awful long time to become a part of something so much so that when I am finally able to relinquish my fears and prejudices it is almost the end of my stay in that something. Consequently the only years when I do enjoy my stay in any institution are when I am at the fag end of my stay there.

After spending 10 years in the same school I finally began accepting my situation and it was only in the beginning of year 12 that I finally started enjoying going to school.

My father says that no matter how dark and sad your past may have been , the brain has a natural propensity to always remember all the happy moments which you may have experienced in your life, despite the general gloom around you. I don't know how far this statement holds good , but as far as I can remember my last year in school was a time of great strife and struggle and still I can claim that most of the memories from that time are sweet.

It all started withΘ and ended with П.

The Fountain - Head

I don't know why, when, how or who was ingenuous enough to have undertaken the task to scratch the 'C' from every inscription titled " Clover construction" engraved on cement benches to accomodate the tired bottoms of hard working students. It must have been quite painstaking but the effort produced the desired result, which means that 1 out of every 3 individuals observed the work of art and almost every body forgot it the very next moment for it represented the most striking example of unoriginality . Honestly the whole show wasn't actually invidious , only a little low on genuine humour.
After attending our lectures for the day which ended at say around 10 a.m. or 0010 hours , we used to head out to a spot which was quite strategically located in the college premises. Since none of us had anything better to do , except for of course watching a movie or going to a new eatery to order and eat the same old things, we all decided to make that spot our "place of zen" as one of us later called it( God knows why) .
There is a rather long cemented enclosure ( painted with colours which do not match with anything else on the premises) which contains a couple or more of small taps supposed to eject water at the appropriate time so as to be called a fountain.
It is another thing that those devious little truants never actually splashed a drop of that liquid , at least not when when we were around them. Some hostelers do tell me tales of them fountains being really beautiful when they do work, which happens quite rarely ( giving Hailey's comet a run for it's money). The last time when anyone saw them behaving as they technically should, was when a committee of a few persons had come over to our institution to accredit it. I think they liked the fountain , after all we were given the highest grade available on the platter.

Anyways, this fountain(which is not actually one) is not important per se, but becomes so because of the topographical features it gives rise to , quite inadvertently of course, on the premises. Firstly it creates a semi-circular track of sorts for vehicles to ply on, including those which should not have entered the gate in the first place. I never could understand as to why the guard who was supposed to man the gate always stood on the exit end of the semicircle and not the entry point. But why not? After all it is far easier to collect the parking fee when people leave than to be continuously worried about someone making a slow motion yet non-stationary circumlocution of the semi circle to perform an errand. The fountain also served as natural compass for all those who pretended that they were quite lost when it came to finding the lecture halls or the library. To the north of the fountain's top most tip lay the college library and reading room. It is quite interesting to note that at any point of time the number of people who were standing outside the library was always equal to or greater than the number of people inside them. Most of them(who stood outside ) were actually those fellows who had taken a break from their intense research work to attend a call from someone who was standing outside the cinema hall getting confused whether or not to take the platinum row for the evening show of a movie which no one was sure about (qualitatively).
To the fountain's left lay the ladies parking which always bore a deserted look.beyond it was the Sports field which fielded God knows who, for whatever they were they weren't students from our college.
To the fountain's right was the college canteen. Always swarming with people. For as long as I can remember providing it with a permanent roof never quite made it to the priority list of the college authorities. It's yellow coloured tarpaulin roof added colour to the college premises.

Needless to say ( And specially if you have been to a legal drafting lecture where a sale deed was (badly)drafted) to the south was the public road. Quite busy. We managed to witness many incidents on that road, ranging from minor accidents and major brawls to well intentioned peace processions where 98765432 candles were wasted to support something which no one really had any idea about.
So the question is....where did we place ourselves to observe all this and much more? For it was to explain our den's location that the fountain was brought into the picture. Before I go on to describe that location and please it's not a secret hideout , let me briefly and without breaking the vow of anonymity present you with the ingredients of " we". We were a group of 7 persons, human beings if you like. 3 of us belonging to the fairer sex ( no racist intent). All were comparatively free creatures , none hard pressed with any impending deadline. This was because of different reasons to be sure. While the females had utilized 4 of their 5 years quite fruitfully and hence could afford to relax a little, the same could not not be said for the others who had always managed to cheat work and other such organisms by adopting a cynical attitude towards labour and ambition. Ok I admit it, I was the the most indolent specimen out there or may be the only . Whatever it was the bottomline is that for most part of the final year we spent majority of our free time sitting on a rather long low and flat pedestal which supported nothing and at best marked the semicircular track's boundary. That was it , that was our Fountain head. And it did harbour us in pretty rough times.

Ode to ILS

Our day starts at 5 in the morning
when the sky hasn't still turned blue
While the people are sleeping or Yawning
We start our day all grand and new.

3 hours into the day
and we are free for good;

we are free to do what we want to,
not free to do what we should.

struggling against the traffic
we reach home much sooner than noon.

for those who have 12 hour work schedules
we are quite out of tune.

back in the room there's no power
so we sit with sweat and in heat
we won't have a cold shower
so without freshening up we eat.

and thus comes the evening and darkness
we all step out on the road,
it looks we are being driven like cattle
being hit by a specially made goad.

finally it's time to sleep
only to wake up at 5 the next day

it's not that we our smitten by this life
but we won't have it any other way.

Let's Start From The Beginning.

Almost a week after it was received, was I informed of it's arrival. Better late than never, they say, in retrospect I can only mull over that day when , at the 11th hour was I given the information which would lead to a series of events all directed and guided by the supreme human desire to appease everyone including oneself in every possible way and to the greatest extent.

Before I commence the tract fully, I would like to say something about the people of Delhi. And when you talk about the people of a place you automatically have to talk about the weather. Like Delhi's weather the people out there also exhibit extreme emotions , surprisingly all at one time.
The word contradictory does not apply here for these emotions seem to compliment each other very well(to my dismay). They are short tempered and tall ordered. Warm and cold. Detached and indulgent. In an AC NIELSEN survey they were rated as the most street smart people residing in any city in thew world( 1/3rd of the Delhiites who fit this criteria can be found loitering around in the corridors of the parliament)

By the way that survey thing was a joke.

Like all humans and for that matter living organisms, even the Delhiites are concerned about their well being, it is but another thing that invariably their embellishment means the pro rata spoliation of their neighbours (the word should be given a liberal construction).

In the sweltering heat of June did I find myself brushing shoulders with these street smart people who in spite of themselves out did each other in pushing me to the back of the queue and convincing me that I was not meant for the streets.(something which I took for a compliment)

Fortune favors the brave and success comes running to those who persevere . I can't see how this applies to our story here, but at the time when I was writing it it sounded good. Hence why bother deleting it.

Had I stayed in Delhi and taken admission there may be I could have devoted and would have devoted an entire chapter to the people of this great city, but as fate had already intervened I found myself sitting in a Sahara air carrier bound for Pune , a day after I received the information that a law college there had shortlisted me for admission .

What I call the beginning is thus the time which starts running when I landed in Pune all ready and set to spend the next five years of my earthly life there.

Nested in the pristine and serene environment of the law college hill lies The I.L.S. Law college.
Primarily it is a happy hunting ground for all morning walkers; The college timings are quite unique , for when people commence their journeys from home to office the students of this prestigious college can be seen packing their portmanteaus ( if they brought one in the first place) to start a similar trip , only towards their homes or p.g. s, as applicable.
To be sure the day for the students of this college starts only when the college ends. This gives them not only the latitude but also the conviction to embark upon various paths and journeys relating to extra curricular exploits and amusements.
During my stint at this legendary institution I personally witnessed students completing 101 diplomas, certificate courses, language courses , higher degrees all quite comfortably and without breaking a sweat, during the semester and after it. It is but another thing that there were many candidates who got so excited by this prospect of adding to their qualification that they ended up missing the law exams or failing in them due to the pending workload brought about by their various allied pursuits.
Although it reflects quite poorly upon me, I would not shy way from declaring that in those five years(yes it was a five year course) I managed to avoid any such constructive activity and devoted myself entirely to the ardent adulation of existential concepts like loneliness, depression and the like which often mark the lives of those who have nothing to do and a lot of time to do it in.
When I first entered the college I had a rather limited vision when it came to the legal profession. Since I had entered the course by chance and not choice I could also not boast of nurturing and entertaining fantastic aspirations regarding my growth in this particular field.
It is another thing that my limited vision completely fizzled out by the time I reached the final year, in spite of the fact that not a single person I came in contact with outside the college , failed to impress upon me the bright avenues linked with the legal profession in these days of harmonious litanies.
True to my shy and indolent nature I was pathetically slow and infirm when it came to socializing and hence even at the end of Two full years(or as some of my more progressive colleagues put it four semesters) I could hardly call any single soul in the I.L.S law college compound my friend. I had many acquaintances, all on amiable terms. Some say that it was because of my monstrous moustaches that I could not break into the social circle. I would beg to differ( not on the monstrous moustaches point, yes they were indeed gigantic) on that point , for if anything which could have brought a shy guy like me into any group , it would have had to be something so striking as those preposterously thick and long moustaches( not to mention unkempt).
I would now like to move the scene to The beginning of the third year when slowly( as slowly can be) I started finding a few fellows with whom I began " hanging around"( no pun intended)

As it often happens, courage and creativity develop in solitary settings but can only germinate and ripen when one is in the company of fellow human beings and the society at large.

My shy and bashful nature could now find an outlet for expressing it's inner most desires on almost every issue available.
It is rather ironic that the first issue which presented itself to me was regarding something which occupies the imagination of each every individual at least four times a day.

Our college was designed by someone who was quite fascinated by the prospect of providing the passers by with adequate opportunity to peep inside the lavatories and feast upon the site of the male species urinating.
Had females been equipped by The Creator to pee in the same way as the males this would have been equally true for the female lavatories also. But as things stand, Females have been forced to urinate behind closets from times immemorial , some say to preserve their modesty, others say to prevent the male species from exhibiting crude animal like behaviour.

Luckily, not many individuals are interested in exploring the interiors of the lavatories ( at least by peeping in) . I however cannot afford to be so presumptuous when it comes to males , who have had folklore written in their names whenever they have been able to make an adventurous excursion to the female lavatory's precincts.
It came to me more as an epiphany than anything else. It so happened that while a person was busy relieving himself he could be watched by two sets of onlookers: ones who were going to the lecture hall( through he strategically place window) the others who were waiting in a queue lined up before the administrative office right in front of the obtuse angled door to the lavatory.

Luckily this revelation dawned upon me when I wasn't inside the rest room myself. Though it cannot be denied that it was due to the continuous and persistent feeling of good natured disgust
that the roots of the toilet committee took shape.

Before proceeding further let me just give the reader a brief insight into the plan and layout of the whole arrangement . We had two sets of rest rooms. One in the library block, the other in the academic block. Both these rooms for both the sexes were so designed that everyone could get a clear view of what was going inside them. For reasons mentioned earlier , the females were protected from the public gaze, but the same didn't hold true for the unfortunate males who were subjected to this humiliation and discomfort daily. I won't deny that some males drew pleasure out of the whole thing. But that percentage was quite small as compared to those who genuinely wanted to do something about the unacceptable situation.

Since the toilet block had only recently been renovated the college authorities were more than happy with whole arrangement. After all , why should the students be bothered about who is watching them.....this is India where privacy is is an alien concept.

As far as the female toilets in the library block were concerned they were located just next to the book issue counter. May be the designer saw a poetic angle in this.

On a wet monsoon day ( urghh.....) me and a group of my now closer acquaintances (totally five in number) formed an informal association called the toilet committee so as to scientifically analyse the situation and then approach the authorities to rectify the same.

This whole idea was initially marked by subdued embarrassment for obvious reasons. Those who were quite comfortable talking about much more sensitive issues conveniently failed , neglected,avoided, refused ....................ad infinitum (long live legal drafting) to sympathise with us and our cause. To bring credibility to the whole thing I even tried to fit in Labour laws to justify our demands. Ridiculous as it may seem this move did work, as the bright and legally aware students of the college who till then were looking upon the whole thing as a joke now began to see sense in the movement( what a joke).

After campaigning for our primal rights for most part of the semesters mostly through(as they later proved to be ) ineffective methods like meetings and discussions we were able to gather 10 people to support our cause. As for the rest , may be they relished the thought of being the objects of everybody's affection or really trusted their fellow students' maturity levels.

Those were days when my stay in Pune was unbelievably short and i was always on the look out for any circular which would announce the commencement of various vacations,( we had a preparatory leave which was longer than the actual vacations).

The plan was to moot our proposal which involved a massive structural overhauling of the current arrangement before i left for the P.ls.

SCENE II:

Last day of the 10th semester exams

As I close the zipper on my faded jeans( not washed for the last 2 months) my instinct tells me that there are about 34 students standing outside who have a clear view of me and hence can easily embarrass me. the scene is the same throughout the length and breadth of the college wherever the rest rooms are located. While i was packing my stuff to bid farewell to Pune I had come across that very morning a piece if paper which bore the names of the magnificent 5 who were the esteemed members of the I.L.S. TOILET COMMITTEE.