How Presidency Matters to Me

In the beginning of this millennium, I entered an institution that carried a legacy of close to two centuries and it stimulated my intellectual development. Presidency College, Kolkata, originally founded in 1817 as a college for Hindu students, represented a range of emotions in my mind's hueless palette. I was both conscious and eager to absorb the colours that this college was to offer to me. The iron gate opened in a mellowing autumn light and I saw myself climbing up the stairs of the neo-classical Baker Building that housed a physics laboratory where the great statistician Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis began his pioneering work. My destination, the Department of Zoology, was on the third floor flanking the Department of Physiology. The first impression was undoubtedly memorable as I found myself entangled in the renaissance history of Bengal. 

There were two lecture theatres in the department of which one was located in the older part of the building, and the other in the new building added later to make an expansion of some departments. My first encounter with zoological experiments started with dissection of egg embryos to find how it developed inside. This class was being held in one of the laboratories where the professor with the help of his assistant guided us on how the eggshell was to be removed finely. The mode of instruction, I noticed, was not a lucid explanation of the concept, but a forceful attempt to create his bold (fearsome!) presence. Coming from a middle-class family that infused my mind with a free-flowing respect for teachers, I took this behaviour for granted. I viewed myself subordinate to his persona. This wrong impression worked throughout my days at Presidency, and I could not come out of the cocoon until I witnessed the real world of teaching outside. 

In total we were about 30 students in the class – most of them were females so was the norm of those days in Biology classes. Gender was not an issue, as we made friends and exchanged opinions, thoughts, stories and gossips easily and spontaneously. The teachers were referred to by their initials and I didn’t know what their real names were for the next few months. Zoology, being the scientific study of animals, is divided into several branches like a large river breaks into her tributaries. We had subjects like Ecology (study of how animals interact with their environment), Ethology (study of animal behaviour), Embryology (study of animal development from fertilization), Palaeontology (study of fossils), Entomology (study of insects), etc. The world of animals and how they interacted with us in multiple ways was to open before my eyes with its magnitude. The creation of life on the earth is so magnificent and ethereal that it is extremely difficult to be caught under the book covers. But the beauty of this creation reflects on the minds of poets, artists and scientists alike – all come under the same bracket to study them to reach a perfection. The process ideally goes deeper and deeper to explore exactly what it is. However, I saw the teaching practice was conspicuously different – it was limited to recapitulating some dry old notes with information on what would appear in examination. A majority of professors dictated some major points from their hand notes which could easily be remembered. The process of learning was structured such a way so one could pass examination with ease. There was a class of Haematology where we were supposed to learn about blood and blood-related disorders. It was a half-lit room with rows of stools meant for students, and a desk and a chair separated at a distance for the professor. This class was particularly famous for stiff listening. Students were told by an invisible verdict that they could not ask questions even when one was unable to understand what was being taught. In the subsequent years, during my days at the University of the Arts London, I realised how important it was for a teacher to encourage students to ask questions, even if it was stupid.

The shabby college canteen under the shades of an old Neem tree was a sheer attraction. The gentleman who used to run it was called Pramod-da, a simple man with simple features. His oily showcase exhibited the menu prepared for the day. Famous for big boob girls holding cigarettes under the gentle press of their manicured fingers, the canteen served mutton samosas (in Bengali, singara) which cost me five rupees and a burden on my small wallet. My mother used to fill it every college day with a ten rupee note. A view of the showcase was so impelling that often I failed in my efforts to save some. A close friend of mine joined me bunking off bland classes – and we hopped over the College Street, a popular destination for book lovers and scholars, sometimes stopping by the Coffee House to spend a few more bucks. In that youthful age, my sexual sensuality was taking a height and a curiosity to know the hidden was growing stronger. Once we purchased a Bengali porn magazine from a roadside vendor and read that cover-to-cover siting on a quiet red bench near the College Square swimming pool. However, it didn’t improve my knowledge of body and the secrets of sexual acts as the level of writing was extremely poor and distasteful. Already I was familiar with the premier works of the Bengali literature where intercourse and copulation came as naturally as it could be. Further, the syllabus of Zoology was stuffed with the chapters of Reproductive Biology with description of the organs involved.

An intense lover of Bengali music, especially the songs of Tagore, I got an opportunity to polish my passion during the Presidency days. The Department of Zoology was celebrating its golden jubilee in 2003, and I was selected as one of committee members plus for the role of the assistant secretary. The place that smelled formalin and dissected animals magically turned into a rehearsal room for musical preparations. As one went past, the air was filled with the instrument and chorus tones. The event, which took place in the packed Derozio Hall on campus on 2nd March 2003, went smoothly. I got a flight in the cultural journey. My inclination to music drew me being a member of the Presidency College Choir that performed on several occasions in the college. One of the faculty members, well-known for bawdy statements, once foretold that the only student who would not be able to pass from this batch was the “musical” fellow. The heaven, perhaps in conjunction with the god of science, helped in making sense of my answer sheet, and I could obtain a degree from the university. 

During leisure, when my memory floats to the past, I construct a picture of Presidency which is a madly drawn canvas having interspersed colours – sometimes dark, sometimes light and mostly overlapping. A college excursion to the Pench National Park in the heart of India, Madhya Pradesh, was highly enjoyable, but not very academic to me. Though I was unable to grasp what it was intended for, I touched the surface to get a taste of an outside trip with friends. The concepts involved in the study of animals and humans were explained with such rotten approach that I felt disinterested many a time. There was an unhealthy and oppressive competition with the Department of Zoology at the Science College under the University of Calcutta. Some teachers at the Science College treated us like foster children and often acted in a biased and stupid way. I was exposed to the student politics of those days when the Students' Federation of India, a left-wing student organization, captured the students’ union of Presidency College after several years of efforts. There was a hidden class consciousness – those who secured their seats with the specified quota for scheduled castes and scheduled tribes were looked down upon with some frowning eyes. It was murmured that those innocent souls were seizing others’ rightful positions. This created some amount of confusions, not a dissent.

Presidency presented me with a ladder to ascend to the rainbow. Not long after I had left this institution, I left behind the city where I was born and brought up. In my present city, the capital of India, I have met several Presidencians some of whom have become my long-time friends. A believer in equality, I was slightly surprised when I observed a strong sense of elitism in the oldies who had been students of this college in the latter half of the earlier century. Perhaps the consistent excellence and career success created this foolish superiority over others – but that has gradually dimmed with the changing socio-political scenario in the state of West Bengal. Presidency continues to be an enigma to those who experienced it with the willingness to think clearly, unhindered by distractions or concerns. A part of myself is indebted to this institution for building something what I consist of.

Picture courtesy:
1. India Today
2. Times of India
3. Shutterstock
4. College friends

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The writer works with the IQAC at Amity University, Noida. A former student of Presidency College, Kolkata and London College of Communication, he loves to weave stories for children that involve wonders as well as folk and mythical components. His stories have been published by Amar Chitra Katha, Champak and Om Books International among others.