Friends, I have on purpose chosen to give you all a peek into our daily life at the women’s hostel for medical students half a century ago. I hope it resonated well for some of you, others became aware for the first time and yet others will add something new.
BACKWARD TURN BACKWARD TIME IN IT’S FLIGHT PART2
Tales from the Girls Hostel
THE TERRACE, THE MESS, MAHATMA JEE AND HIS KAKA
The Terrace
The terrace, the heart and soul of the girls hostel, the most visited place, connected the two buildings at the level of the first floor. Its floor made out of bricks with a flat parapet along its perimeter where we often sat .No meal was complete without a stroll on the terrace. Exiting the dining hall in groups of two or three ,we would dash toward the table outside, where our incoming mail was laid out. From there, we would slowly amble toward the terrace, and circumambulate it several times. On the terrace, our fears and hopes, our stresses, and disappointments were unleashed, a place where we laid our thoughts bare and pinned them on its bricks metaphorically before we reached our rooms . The gossip of the classrooms, clinics and the boys pouring out and ending here.
Memories in the Dining Hall
We would throng the dining hall like gaggling geese. The noise, the clamor and our ravenous appetites would drown any communication from the mess managers. All we could hear was vessels clinging , shouts of Pandit ji, Pandit ji. Pandit ji would go from table to table with a big pot and a ladle Once one of us asked half- heartedly, “Aj kya banaya hay”?
He said,” champaa”
“Pandit ji kya?
He repeated,”Champaan”.
” Pandit ji kya ?”
” Ah dekho jee champa”.( Mutton Chops)
He would suffix ji to confer respectability to the food and the girl being served both. He would say,”Lao ji, tusi jee, daal jee sabji jee”.
One would invariably hear some one grumble from a table across.
“Pandit jee yeh kya banaa diya?”.
He was so used to this remark but would remain totally unfazed and cool as a cucumber , Never once did he lose patience. Calm and collected, he would move swiftly between tables; his hands moving deftly to scoop out the dish from the pot.
Once one of our seniors ( a term I hate) asked,” Pandit jee kya banaya hay”?
He remarked,” Baingan.”
“Pandit jee mujhe chuhay nahin khanyay.”
He went back to the kitchen and said to her,” tusi jee, lao jee, matar paneer jee. tusee chuhay na khao jee.”
Pandit Bali Ram ji and his second Pandit Tulsi Ram ji ran the mess with such perfection along with a lot of auxiliaries to serve and clean. All of them were from Himachal Pradesh. Pandit Bali Ram was dark with a round face and a Buddha belly. Pandit Tulsi Ram lean, fair complexioned, and with blue eyes. He must have been any woman’s heart throb in his youth. Baliram ji had given many a bali ( sacrifices) to feed a hungry girl at odd hours. Generous and good hearted, he would never want to see a girl unhappy because of hunger. Once when Shobhana had newly arrived, and was waiting to be served chappati’s, she was appalled to see a group of girls grab the plate out of Pandit Bali Ram ji’s hand. She found it very distasteful, crude and mannerless. She waited and waited to be served. In disgust, she went upstairs to her room and cried. Pandit Bali Ram ji followed her with a plate of hot food and explained like a father, ” Doctor sahib, Naraz na hovo ji ,ethay tuhanu aapna kyal khud rakhna paina hay.” This became a life long lesson for Shobhana. She reminisces Pandit Bali Ram’s influence very fondly today. .Pandit Bali Ram ji was also a mini bank( small amounts) for some girls who needed small amounts of money urgently. He would maintain an accounts register and Shobhana took care of it. Shobhana’s mother later presented a beautiful shawl to Pandit Bali Ram ji as a token of gratitude..
Mahatma ji and his kaka
Mahatma ji was an elderly fair complexioned man with a slight hunch, and a flowing silvery beard that touched his chest; he looked like professor Dumbledore in Harry Potter. Clad in a dhoti, with a duster on his left shoulder, he would sit inside a very small cabin ( cabin within a cabin) on a wooden platform inside our very small canteen. He would be seen stoking the embers of an old fashioned clay angeethi frying bread pakoras, paneer pakoras and aloo pakoras. The baked goods outside on a platform. He would make hundreds of cups of tea a day inside of this cabin in aluminum pots and kettles.( come to think of it how much aluminum must have leached out of those pots and pans and caused brain toxicity )Aluminum pots and pans were forbidden even then in my home.
Every now and then, someone from the balcony would shout,” Kakay, ek chai lana.”. Kaka was an innocent , sweet looking , fair complexioned young boy of 18 to 20 who ferried hundreds of cups of tea and snacks all across the hostel throughout the day. He was Mahatmaji’s son, and both were from Himachal Pradesh too.
Dhobi Phool Chand and his son
The most frequent visitor other than kaka was the dhobi’s son. He came every week to collect our lab coats and other garments to starch and iron. He was very dark with sparkling eyes and once a while inappropriate clothing for a dhobi to wash would come back much to the embarrassment of the girl. This often happened when the clothes were not sorted ahead of time.
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between;
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again
Reminiscing Holy Trips
One late afternoon, when the air was crisp and the first note of bleakness in winter had announced itself, an unspoken restlessness took over us, inner sadness matching the bleakness outside , anxiety gnawed at our hearts, and it became difficult to focus on studies, — our professional exams were looming ahead. Rajinder and I decided to go to Darbar Sahib to get away from it all. Every so often, especially close to the exams a certain kind of invited holiness would descend on some of us. A penance for transgressions, and a prayer to God for our upcoming exams. We sat on a rickshaw outside the hostel. Our holy trip beginning right there. We had taken several of these trips in 5 years each one alike.
Rajinder would bring on such a somber expression to her beautiful face as if one were going to someone’s funeral and as the rickshaw moved forward, the intensity of her holiness did too. We would not exchange a word on the way .We both would put on a serious face. Looking askance at her, I too would be affected by her holy stance. After reaching Darbar sahib, not one word would be exchanged. We would cover our heads, and wash our feet; I would look at her beautiful feet and then, we would go around the parikarma. We would hardly listen to paath for about ten minutes when she would nudge me to leave. From the sanctum sanctorum, we would come out , and drizzle our selves with holy water from the pool. Lastly, we would partake of prasad and believe that God had literally washed all of our sins and that we had become clean inside out. Such was the power of our intended and feigned holiness in our minds. With that kind of invited holiness and renewal of mind, we would dart back to the hostel to return to studies truly believing that all would be well. I can never forget that so called holy look we put on to please God as if God could be swayed by appearances. After all, it was an initiation into our developing faith that has today made us appreciate the practice of spirituality in our daily lives as well as in health and disease. God blessed us in the right way albeit it was for our pretended holiness. God had looked at our heart and intentions which were indeed true.
“In small proportions we just beauties see
“In short measures, life may perfect be.”
