Ranchi

Dichotomy.

The hotel room I’m in is a contradiction. Clean, modern, and almost certainly designed as a tribute to perhaps the only artist I’ve referred to in my blog (and with a fair amount of derision I might add.)

The main windows in the lobbies of different floors are designed in the shapes of Pierre Mondrian’s works. The entire hotel has a remarkable abstract-cubical aesthetic.

My room is great, tables with rounded edges that remind me of my signature designs in photoshop. A window makes up most of one wall- eight feet high, over 15 feet across.

Majestic, really. When the curtains part, furious light floods the room, and from my pristine hotel room, sipping on bottled water, I can see hovels, a mosque under construction, and the tumours of India’s burgeoning middle class spread all throughout the city.

It is a contradiction, to be in a high-class hotel room in Ranchi, Jharkhand. It is a contradiction to walk into a bar in this hotel and watch a football world cup match.

A seething mass of bicycles, scooters and hatchbacks at noon, the city is almost empty in the early morning and at night. There is plenty of greenery, and I pass several semi-artificial lakes as I travel between the hotel and my relatives’ home. The mountains in the city are an unusual feature- tumours on the landscape, once again. Every second signboard, of which there are millions, advertises for school tuitions, coaching classes, preparation for entrance exams- IITJEE, AIEEE, AIPMT, AIIMS, for colleges- mostly small institutions willing to admit anyone- I see several massive billboards advertising the Birsa Institute of Technology- which surprisingly offers BBAs and MBAs but no engineering degrees. Perhaps more surprising are the billboards offering coaching for the NTSE scholarship- and as far as I’m aware, that didn’t help me one damn bit with anything in life.

Any ‘coaching’ you undergo for the scholarship will end up being more expensive than the money you can expect to get.

This is the face of an aspirant nation. It unnerves me to see the mindless desperation- but every coin has two sides. The proliferation of tuitions and coaching classes is only in reaction to the desire of the small town student to rise above his or her circumstance- but to be completely honest, it sometimes brings a small smile to the side of my face.

Yes, it’s partially because the mad rush to academic glory ascribes great value to my not-completely-insubstantial achievements in the past, it stokes my ego- and it reminds me of those little things that don’t really matter in the long run that I thought mattered then. But it’s also because of the contrast between the small town and the big city- rife with decadence and the justifications of men and women who gave up before they ever tried, who may perhaps never reach their full potential. They are willing to mock those who take part in the rat race, all the while unwilling to put their own necks on the line to achieve something tangible- instead hiding behind a veil of materialism or pseudo-nihilism, depending on where you’re looking.

There are many who are more than willing to exploit the gullible gumption that proliferates the slightly lower middle class of India.

I met my cousins in Ranchi, I had come here to attend a somewhat distant cousin’s Janeo, the sacred thread ceremony of the brahmins.

One of them had been staying in Patna for the last two years after moving from Delhi, he transferred from Delhi Public School, Noida, to Delhi Public School, in Patna (Oh the irony) which was considered to be the best school for boys in the city.

What happened next was odd. Soon after arrival, he was interviewed by the school principal and deemed a delinquent, simply because he was from Delhi- despite being a moderate mix of nerd and jock. He was told to leave behind his Delhi Attitude, which I assume implies decadence and westernization, but also confidence and flexibility. Other teachers were nice to him, until they asked him where he was from, and he replied ‘Delhi’, at which point he was subjected to the same extreme prejudice.

I found this hard to believe, but the story continued with his younger brother, aged nine, being sent to the same school. First of all, my nine year old brother was not allowed to bring bread to school, for whatever twisted reason the authorities could think of.

On his bus rides to and from school, the nine year olds weren’t allowed to sleep.

They also weren’t allowed to talk.

The Orwellian nightmare continues- my nine year old cousin, tired after a long, hot day of school, fell asleep on the bus, only to find a teacher grabbing his ears and pulling him to his feet.

When I heard this, I felt rage. The same kind of rage that everyone has at times but inevitably fails to act on. This isn’t discipline. This is torture. I am a human being. This is my brother. I am angered.

And the story isn’t over- the elder cousin was witness to the occasion of a friend of his beaten mercilessly by his principal- on account of being a prime suspect for some ‘crime’ or the other, on account of being from Delhi.

The laws of the Republic of India can be Damned.

He asked the other students why they tolerate this man, even though he clearly breaks the laws of the Indian nation. With some resignation they told him that they were in no position to get into trouble, lest it leave a lasting mark on their future.

He’s moving back to Delhi now, and looking forward to returning to some kind of sanity.

Many of my cousins are entering the phase where they need to do things greater than they ever have before… to secure a future for themselves… I hope they manage it. I can do little else. I fear that might make the same mistakes I made, but if I try too hard to warn them, I might scare them off entirely. Let us see.

In the mean while, I haven’t done something stupid for a long time. It’s time to make a big mistake.

P.S: I now sport a large festering slash/welt on the thigh from my first attempt to play football after over a year. 4 goals bitch!

PPS: One of my bihari GRANDMOTHERS asked me if I had a 'female-friend' in college. I said 'No'.
FML.