People

Over the weekend I was helping Sir with the admissions of the new batch of students. For those of you who don’t know about the madness we faced, read it over here. It is almost the same every year. I won’t talk about this yearly madness and hysteria and repeat what Pupu had already said. Just that over the years, the numbers of students as well as the weirdness of the parents have increased.

I will be talking about my experiences with people. I encountered at least 200 parents over two days, and I met all kinds: the polite ones, the arrogant for no reason ones, the good hearted ones, the “my son is so smart” ones, the hyper ones, the no non-sense ones and the ones who argue without logic and in vain.

The admissions were supposed to begin from 10 in the morning. Some parents were waiting from 7 in the morning! I empathise with the poor kids. I know how irritating it is to wake up early in the morning and especially when it is technically still winter! These are the early birds by the way. They come with the hope of catching the worm, and yes they do so too. They get to choose the best convenient batches for their kids and happily go home relieved. I would put them in the hyper ones category too. They worry too much. For the good maybe. But then waiting there for three hours? What is the point? They could come half an hour before and still catch the worm.

As soon as we opened the gates, a father came rushing to me with a notepad in hand. He gave me the notepad and with a kind but nervous smile said, “These are the boys who will be admitted today.” He had listed fourteen names and thought he could get all the fourteen admitted at once, all by himself. I was so overtaken by his good helpful heart that I had difficulty telling him that we needed all the 14 parents and the boys to be present there. When I finally told him that, he seemed a bit disappointed, but very kindly apologised and said that he would immediately call them and ask them to come over. In my list, he falls under the polite as well as the good hearted ones. I mean, look at him. So kind. So rare.

One very common thing was that, the parents did not bring along their son or daughter. For heaven’s sake, this does not require much brain or logic! They are the ones who would get admitted, not the parents. They would choose the batches. They would read the rules. But of course, how can they come over for even one hour? They have their final exams going on. No not even the board exams. Just the ones which we have to take to get promoted from class 8 to class 9. I wonder what they did all the year round that they can’t even spare one hour for something which they consider so important. I don’t remember studying so much and so hard ever in my life and I was not one of those brainy kids either, and I still sailed through school and college. Either the kids have become unusually dumb or the exams are really tough these days.

Then there was this mother who after looking at the choices of batches, came over to me and said, “Batch four for now.” I tried explaining to her that she can’t decide to put her son in one batch “for now” and then request for a change in mid-session. She was too arrogant to listen (I don’t know where her arrogance came from though.).  She cut me off mid-sentence and said, “My driver is not available on that day. I can’t help it. Sir will have to change my son’s batch. I will make him do it. I did that during my daughter’s time too. And if he doesn't, my son will discontinue from his coaching. Not a big deal!” I was shocked by her arrogance, overwhelmed by her confidence and irritated by her attitude. I sat there gaping at her. Yes I did that. With my mouth open, I stared at her wide eyed. Obviously she was blinded by her own aura to notice me.  Clearly she falls in the arrogant ones category.

While the parents were waiting for their turn to come, I overheard one mother telling another, “My son is so smart; he takes his maths exam by himself.”  Yes of-course she deserves to be proud of her son. Who takes their own exams “by themselves”?  We used to hire people to take exams for us. Hence we passed. Otherwise, our futures would have been in the gutters.

The evenings were the most entertaining as well as tiring. Every child and parent wanted the Sunday batch. Some wanted it because their darling daughters can’t come to tuition without her friends. Some wanted it because then daddy could become the driver. Some wanted it because they stayed too far away (Yes, I don’t know how the distance will be reduced because it is a Sunday.). Naturally, by evening the Sunday batch was full. Some parents were reasonable enough to understand that and choose from the remaining three batches. Some would request in a meek voice with a small light of hope that something could be done. And some would just argue. With us and with Sir as well. As we were trying to explain to one father that Sunday batch is just not available and we could do nothing and there was no point bothering Sir with it, he thought we were not “allowing” him to talk to Sir (I was a little happy inside, because after all he thought I was the boss, and I decide who Sir talks too. I tell you, it is rare that people think of me that way.). In spite of all our tries to explain to him, that there was actually no point, Sir could not help it; he went inside and called for a tongue lashing from Sir. Firstly, for talking to us like that, and secondly for not listening (very few people listen these days, anyway.). This same nagging for the Sunday batch happened repeatedly and every time it got on our nerves, Sir would help us with his most needed stern warnings to the parents. If Sir’s tuition and Sir is so important to anyone, they shouldn't have any problem coming to any batch right? Five years ago, I did not have to nag and haggle and cry and argue.  It just took me five minutes to sign and pay the fees and get out of there.

One father however had a strange reason for wanting the Sunday batch so badly. “My daughter can come to your tuition only by car, and that car is available only on Sunday,” he said. (I gave another of my mouth opened, eyes wide expression.) Also he had the guts to tell this to Sir. Someone, who travelled all his childhood and most of his youth by public transports, Travelled in an A.C compartment for the first time when he was going for his honeymoon, travelled by a car only when he could afford to buy one himself, and never felt the need to send his daughter by car to school or any tuition (Pupu stays in Kolkata now and comes over almost every weekend by bus all by herself to spend time with dad. She is just two years older than this man’s daughter.). I wonder are the kids more nyaka these days or is it the parents who would never allow them to grow up? And then these parents would go out of Sir’s place (after admitting their child anyway), and say, “Suvro Sir is so rude.” Really now! Don’t you think you called for that rudeness? Try talking to him politely and reasonably, you would get the same reception.

 Most of Sir's "friends" who haven't spoken to him for like some 20-25 years, suddenly remember him when their sons and daughters need to be admitted in his tuition. Sir, being the gentleman he is, would smile and treat them quite well. However it became awkward, when those "friends", would come and tell Pupu how he had seen her as a kid and how she played in his lap. Pupu looked at them blankly and gave them a fake smile. That is all they deserved I tell you. It is strange how selfish, people can be. They just remember even their friends only when they need them. They are not even ashamed to come and ask for a favour after not even acknowledging Sir if they happen to pass by him. And then it is Sir who becomes rude, when he refuses to give them a special favour. 

Then there were Sir’s present students from class 10, who had come over to help us. They were our comic relief. One of them, a really smart but humble soul, was so excited every time she saw a car stopping in front of the house, that she would jump up and run towards the gate, shouting, “Look look more students are coming!” No sooner did a parent park his bike, than she would hand him a token and very seriously ask, “Yes, what is the student’s name?” Good for her and for us that the parents did not start thinking that she was handing them parking tokens.

Another one made us laugh and forget our irritations by blatantly passing comments about how fat a dad was or how ugly a girl was, or how short and small a boy was for his age. The best part was she had found at least six dadas cute. She just could not decide who was cuter, and who the cutest. However Pupu pulled the trump card here. We were talking about a certain girl in her school whom she did not like. While commenting on that girl’s nature, she said, “She is nothing more than a fox.”(For my Bengali readers, Khyanksheyal is the exact word she used.) Unfortunately she was staring towards the gate, and her loud uttering of the fox reference, coincided with a father entering. It seemed like she was calling the poor father a fox. I don’t know if he heard her, but if he did, he would surely warn his son/daughter to stay away from Sir’s daughter and all his ex-students.

Coming across all these people was fun, but then it felt strange. Five years ago(it still feels like yesterday though) I was on the other side of this table. I had come over to get admitted, and I was honestly happy, that I had come to a teacher who was not grumpy. He definitely was not rude, like most of my classmates told me, and he was very polite and kind and patient. Now when I am on the other side of the table, I know what it feels like. I know why Sir is rude with some. I know why Sir shouts at some and I know exactly why he is polite and kind to most.

I hope that at least some kids who got admitted, would some day be lucky enough to enjoy what several of us, male and female, 15 to 28, got to enjoy today-- Sir's ability to make us feel comfortable and good around him even while we were working, his own  daughter and us all together. Any ex student of his can get it if s/he wants it, I think: all it needs is a genuine desire to get close to Sir without hangups, which he himself makes terribly easy, actually. If anyone is missing out on that, it's entirely their fault. They never reached out the right way.

When people we know for years can stop talking to us or cut us off completely without any reason, complete strangers can surprise us. Two weeks ago while I was coming home from Sir’s place by bus, I had offered my seat to an elderly man. He was very pleased and we had a conversation. Yesterday, he had come over to my place. He remembered me, took the pain to find out my house and come and pay me a visit. He brought me a small gift too. That was really heart-warming and very sweet of him. Rarely do we meet nice people these days, who mean it when they say that they like you. I am glad that I have been lucky to come across this rare category of nice people in my life. People like my dad, my Sir and this gentleman. And to all those Women, who shout and say, "Men are pigs, lechers and rapists!", I would say, they attract such men towards them. I pity such women. They are deprived from this happiness of basking in the love and care of wonderful men. 

 I have lost track of the categories long back. I think, as you read about the people I have talked about, you can mentally categorise them anyway. It is fun doing that I assure you. Enjoy!

Benchnama

[On Sir’s insistence and encouragement, I managed to write my first translation. This piece was published by Anandabazar Patrika on 9^th  February, 2014.  I hope I did justice while translating the very well written piece. If not, pardon me. After all this is my first translation. I promise to improve my skills.]

I was a back-bencher in school and college. I work with an IT company now, but the Bench hasn't left me yet. I still sit on the bench. My Louis Philippe Shirt and the Blackberry trousers look at those cabins with yearning eyes. They wish to cross this “benched” mark and sit before those flat screened computers showing various codes. But alas!

It was five years ago that I got this job. The campus placement procedures in my College had started since four in the evening. It was 1:30 in the morning when I was called in. I thought I was tired, but when I was greeted with a yawn by the interviewers, I knew they were in a worse condition.

I was honestly, disheartened with my interview. I had gone in with the expectations that I would be asked about complicated computer programming languages. The panel members asked me to sing a song, and stopped me just after the first two lines and asked me to send in the next candidate. Yes that was my interview. I was sure that I would not get this job.

Next day when the head of the placement cell, put up the list of the short-listed candidates, I was more amazed than surprised, when Nivedita from the electronics department congratulated me for getting the job. We were 250-300 would be B Tech students and all of us were placed in one month’s time.

That was back in 2007, when the companies needed us more than we needed them. There was a boom in the software industry, and apparently, except for the first 10-15 candidates no one had to go through the technical round. Yes it was that simple. As my friend, Sudipto said, “I went in the interview room chewing tobacco, and bagged the job.” I think I was in a better position. I was at least asked to sing.

We happily gave up studying in the final year. There was no point after all. At the end of the day we study to bag a job. When that was already done, what was the point in studying anymore?

It is funny, how nowadays; the seats in the engineering colleges are left vacant. Even after 2-3 counselling sessions, at least 10% seats are left vacant. The colleges literally beg students to fill in the seats. But why shouldn't it be that way? Look at me? More than an engineering degree, what have I achieved? I have a job, but I am benched.

For all those, who haven’t understood the meaning of “Bench”, rest assured, you are no better than I am. You don’t have a future to look forward to as well.  Keeping pace with the increasing number of malls and multiplexes, engineering colleges have raised their heads in thousands. Every year there are at least 12000 engineers. It’s just in the name that some are civil, some are mechanical  some IT and some electrical. After all like the rivers end up in the sea, the various streams of B tech ends up in the sea of Software. In this generation, I can bet you that you won’t find a house without an engineer. But I can assure you that, if you ask any of these engineers, “son, do you sit on the bench?” one out of five engineers would lower his head and smile.

It all depends on the pool. No not the water body, but the human resource pool. As in greater the human resource, more the chances of getting projects.  For instance, a client comes over to a certain IT solution company with a project or a problem.  Suppose they require around 500 people for the project. The company’s human resource is around 850. The impression on the client is that this is a company rich with talented people. Hence more the number of people the easier it is to get projects. My company however likes to deal with foreign clients. Hence the deals are made in crores.

My office in Rajarhat is a fifteen floors building. I work in the fourteenth floor. Sorry, I punch my card on the fourteenth floor. Honestly I don’t have anything to do. If I look back, when I joined this office, after college, I went through an eight months training programme. As soon as the training period was over, I got a project. Then another. In three years I worked in two projects. I dreamt of going overseas with my third project. But there was no third project.

Apparently, the technology is to be blamed. C++ , Mainframe are all obsolete. Hence I am benched.  A few more months on the bench, and God save me, I will be handed the pink slip. I would be asked to leave with an advanced salary of two or three months, and a letter saying, “Thank you for your valuable association.” The HR would smile and say, “downsizing.” In a lay man’s language: “a kick in the ass.”

Who cares about how I am living my life? My day begins with travelling with the thousand others to the Rajarhat-Newtown-Sector Five. We don’t have computers in our office. They are called workstation. I have one too. I swipe my card and after the finger print check has been done, my computer welcomes me with a message, “your company feels for you.”

Passing your time is not a problem for us benched. We can increase our technical knowledge in the library. We can Facebook, we can spend as much time as we want in the smoking zone. No one can tell us anything. We are the benchers. We are the company’s resource pool. It is just the hope of getting a project that keeps me going.

I am left with a blank look, when someone asks me about my work load. I deliberately look past the self- help books in the book stores. There are books like, “How to manage your work stress.” I wish I had some work to be stressed about. I am ashamed of the fact that I have a blue collared job. A fifteen floor office building, but no work. I spend my day sitting idle. Looking blankly at the computer screen.

Earlier I did not care much about the business papers. How do I care about how the cornflakes production would be affected by the rise in the oil prices in Qatar?  But now, that business page is the one that gives me hope. I hardly understand the world economic theory, but what excites me is when the value of rupee falls in comparison to the Dollar. With the depreciation of rupee, we become cheap labour. The cheaper we become, the more important we become for the foreign companies. My hope, that I will be called becomes stronger.

When will I be called? The flat 40% off on the apparels call me every morning. I look with yearning eyes at the attractive offers on the front page of the newspapers. My heart wrenches at the thought of a two nights three days holiday at Pataya. I dream about the luxury cruise and the moonlit nights.

I last remembered Goddess Kali (kali ma) during my campus placements. I now remember Obama. It’s all your whim and wish, your honour. Give me a project please!

What's In A Name! They Say...

Twenty three years of my life and I guess I can count the number of times my name has been pronounced or spelled correctly. As a kid I used to come back home from school and sit on the bed, sulking and complaining how no one, not even one teacher pronounced my name correctly. They either called me Sriranjini or for their convenience made it Srironjoni.  And to make things worse for the teachers, I don’t spell my surname by conventionally using the Dutta. I spell it with an A.

Every year when the report cards where given, everyone would be anxious about their marks. But I was anxious about the spelling of my name. I hoped that this time, this teacher would spell it correctly. But somewhere or the other there was a mistake, and till class five, I used to go to the teacher and make them correct the spelling. But then I gave up.

My class mates shortened my name Sriranjani to Sriru, to my horror and disgust. I tried to convince them to not call me by that name, but they won’t listen. So I gave in. In college I became Jini. There is a story behind that. While my name was being enrolled, someone wrote my name as Sriranjohnny (not unlikely, considering, for Bengalis all “a”s become “o”s.). My HOD an old Anglo Indian man said, “So my dear girl, you have Johnny in your name? Like the nursery rhyme?” Some idiot in class shouted, “Or it can be like the brand Jinny and johny!” and there it was.  A new name for me was coined. I was called Jinni for the rest of my college life and much later. Unlike the name, Sriru in school, I kind of liked the name Jinni, and when I went for my post-graduation, I did not give my class mates there another chance to distort my already distorted name.

What surprises me the most is that people get my name wrong even when I clearly spell it out for them.  How is that even humanly possible? This has happened not once but repeatedly.  In certificates of participations to the by-lines of articles I wrote. Even in my school passing certificate, and my voter I.D card and my pan card, my name was spelt wrong. And every time I had to send it back for correction.  

After a point of time, it becomes kind of frustrating. Yes I know my parents were trying to be creative by not naming me a Sreyashi or Ananya or paromita who are produced in thousands every year in Bengal, but then they tried it too hard, and ended up naming me after a South Indian classical Raga. If you are thinking that I have a wonderful voice, you will be disappointed to know, that my music teacher actually abandoned me. See I don’t even do justice to my name.

This is the story I am sure of many other sons and daughters of creative parents.  I guess, when parents name their child creatively, God up there, smiles and makes plans to spoil it all, and have a good laugh.  As the Bengali idiom goes: kana cheler naam Padmalochon. (I am sorry, the translation is not that funny. It is an example of a miss-nomenclature. Like naming me after a classic raga was an epic fail. even the dogs howl in tune.)

So as I earnestly call out to my readers and make a request to spell my name right when you write a comment (I really want to publish your comment, but I want my name to be correct too, right? And my name is right there see? Not asking much of you? Am I? You can even just copy and paste it!), I thank my lucky stars that my parents did not name me Lovely or Sunny. That would have been far more embarrassing I am sure.

P.S. 21.02.14. I came across this while surfing the net absent-mindedly. They have put down my thought perfectly well and in an animated way... pretty impressive. Do have a look.