“College” is not just a building with classrooms and gowned and capped scholars kicking down the cobble stones (yes, Paul, it’s your line). It is a stage of life that some fortunate children pass through. “Fortunate children” because not every child can do the college phase for various reasons. I exclude those who voluntarily drop out because they found a way of making a billion. Dollars.
A college is a pastiche of myriad stimuli. It is an institution of higher learning, it is a hub of culture, the source of information on the first shave, and gives the first taste of a freedom that does not exist in school. Even in today’s woke culture where kids go back to school with designer clothes, mobile phones that look like a space shuttle controller, and machine guns.
My college was down the road from my school. The environment was familiar, as was the trudge. It was supposedly one of the better bastions of academe for both the sciences and the liberal arts. We were of course part of the liberal, longhaired set. No complex equations or test tubes for us (that freedom I mentioned above…). The sylvan neighbourhood contained the usual confused mix of communities, and merchants catering to said communities.
My first day in college was unnerving, to put it mildly. I was trained in the navigation of complex & large human gatherings (aka crowds) thanks to my school, but nothing had prepared me for the intricate social conundrum that I – a plump, moon-faced, bespectacled lad - faced. To begin with I was in civvies – no uniforms in college. The outfit I had chosen was a hand-me-down pair of trousers and a shirt that looked like it had escaped from a 70s Bollywood movie – pointy collar and all. Most difficult for someone used to a uniform.
The classroom was a sea of female shapes, and I wondered if the college was actually an all-girls institution, and someone had pulled one on me. However, I stiffened the sinews, shot the cuffs, and entered as nonchalantly as I could. The female faces turned as one to stare at this blot who had dared sully their temple.
I walked rather stiffly to the last row and sat on one of the benches that looked like a refugee from some not-so-fussy prison. The professor (“teachers” in school morph into “professors” in college) – again a lady – marched into the room and I could sense the bonhomie between the female faces and the lady professor. A sisterhood against the male blot on the back bench. The professor took attendance (guess it was too early to withdraw all school habits). At the end of the exercise, I realised with a feeling of horror that I was the only male in the class. A rock in a sea of one hundred and five mermaids. I would have called it quits right then if it wasn’t for a few familiar faces in the merry throng before me (more on that later). And I noticed a few sympathetic glances sent my way.
The day finally ended, and I trudged back home, prey to nameless fears about the future.
I will not get into the details of the next five years in this hallowed establishment of learning and literacy (acronymically speaking). Suffice to say that it shaped me, presented experiences that smoothened out the rough edges in my make-up, and helped me build friendships that have lasted to this day. I learned the exotic tribal art of “bunking”, a community activity that promotes camaraderie, leadership, and deep philosophy. Incidentally, the tribal leader who introduced me to bunking dropped out after two years and became a monk. Giving "bunking" a whole new, transcendental meaning.
I also learned how to manage the multiple social riddles that a hapless teen faces when thrown into the deep end without a ring. I learned the importance of managing freedom with responsibility, and the need to find someone to foot the bill for a restaurant sandwich.
And most importantly, I learnt the difference between a school and a college. In school, one absorbs knowledge. In college, one absorbs life.
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