I must be fair here – the last blog written eons back has transgressed, as it did not bring forth the other side of the coin. So here it is, sans any embellishments, spiced up with tales of the people who made it what it is.

In this hallowed building we stood, unsure of our future, but hopeful that it would be better than most Indians have to suffer – we hope to be suitably employed, as end products of a transition that transcended a cacophony of boundaries of class, sex and nationality, the dissonance getting dissolved in the acceptance of the self by the other, and that of the other by the self.

That was how we started out – with a hope and a feeling of trepidation as well for those who left secure, smug jobs and launched themselves into what could be a cyclone, careening into multiple directions unsure and unconfident, or a river, smoothly gliding to the objective, which was nebulously defined in our minds.

It would be safe to say that we ended up somewhere in between. We went through a whirlpool, rapids and quiet scenic wanderings to reach where we are today. Classes in the morning was like bombardment of ideas and facts, some which we chose to accept and reject, and some which we lost, as for example the Radhakrishnan class, which bored me to hell and at the same time sparked off a protest against incomprehension. It managed to ignite a curiosity of philosophy which is not undimmed.

Then there were the afternoon classes, as we struggled to control our eyelids from snapping shut, it was a race against time as the longer the class, the greater the chance of us fading blissfully into somnolence, irrespective of the fact that the teacher would be watching. We did get caught – I know about myself and two other equally distinguished comrades – who slept in the grammer class after a losing battle between our desire to stay awake and the drooping eyelids, determined to close.

Comrades – this term might have struck you like a puff of hot air in the face – this campus resonated with the speeches of forgotten communists and neo-socialists, with illogical stirrings and romantic visions, but enough of that - I have written about that in the last note. An ubiquitous presence of conspiracy fuels their thinking and they do appear to be paranoid. But how much were we affected, how much did we internalize? I can’t answer that, but for me, it was reckless and brazen attempt at indoctrination, but still we managed to stay sane, and reek of logic and reality, than romantic visions achieved through subjugation of entire populations.

The central question of course, is whether we emerged as better writers. Now again there is an ambiguity, a tug of war between people who think writing is what reporters do, and those who value the pristine joy of putting imagination into words, of creating structures according to will, of putting life into swathes of ink. This place valued the latter, and rightly so, as it is a talent to write well. Writing is a science as well, of course, which allows the mediocre to rise above himself, to take himself to a different level of proficiency, without any particular talent, armed only with an abiding interest in writing. But for the talented, it might not always be fun – it might appear too easy, and abridged of challenges, unless the right stimulus is provided. I must say that here, it was a balance – the talented had their day as did hardworking people who improved remarkably, their past no longer a shadow on their present. This was the main achievement of this place. It gave space to the talented, maybe not enough, but close to sufficient, and to the rest who were powered more by their will than any inborn fecundity. The bunch here contained eclectic flavours, like an orchard in full bloom, it was there for all to see.

Grammar was a hot topic. We first were bored before we entered the class, and then we realized that we don’t know enough. We thought we were all good writers, and then we saw there was some distance to cover, some potholes to transcend. We did that, through the first and the second terms, through various assignments. Not each of them was worthy of exercising minds, or rake our idea producing region of the brain, but some were, and those gave me joy, and a sense of achievement.

I learnt equally from my classmates as from the faculty. From a collection that was kaleidoscopic with exotic elements thrown in here and there, the inputs were staggering. Finally did we change, and so in what ways, in our thinking or our actions, or processes...what? That is something that ACJians can answer themselves.