EDUCATION – A LAYMAN’S VIEW

National Education Policy 2020 (NEP2020) has been launched by the Government of India. As is the tradition in the country, an instant debate has ensued. The debate, however, is a bit subdued. The impact of the proposed policy is yet to sink in. In our country, all issues are weighed from a political perspective. One state government, politically opposed to the party in power at the centre, has already raised its voice declaring that the centre could not impose its policy on the states. Other political entities are probably watching the reactions of the public and the educational institutes. They will only take a stand only after feeling the pulse of the public and weighing them against their political agenda. Many political leaders are incapable of taking a stand because of their lack of basic education. There has been a recent instance when two brothers, both school dropouts adorned the offices of deputy chief minister and health minister of a state!

NEP2020 looks good. Of course, my opinion hardly matters. The policy engulfs a few new concepts.

The current system of pre-school or play schools will be under the overall education package. Earlier, this period of infant education was left in the hands of private entrepreneurs.

Students will have the choice of opting out at any stage and be entitled to a certificate confirming the level of their education. This is expected to eradicate the stigma of being branded as a drop out.

Choice of subjects will be flexible.  One can study physics with Sanskrit, mathematics with anthropology and economics with biology. This will cease the categorisation of Arts, Science and Commerce.

The role of the Boards will gradually decline and schools will be empowered to enjoy a degree of autonomy unprecedented in India.

There will be focus on vocational training during the process to ensure job eligibility when one steps out to the professional domain.

Students will also have the option of adopting their mother tongue or any other regional language as the medium of education, up to a certain grade.

So far so good but an irritating question has not been addressed. Will the new policy liberate the students from the curse of the menace called private tuition? It is openly acknowledged that there is a parallel and thriving education system, where the students and guardians get sucked in.

Decades ago, a student, weak in a particular subject sought the help of the teachers outside school hours. The teachers obliged and charged a nominal fee to supplement their meagre salary. A private arrangement between a teacher and student has grown into a profitable business over the years. Teachers are much better paid these days but additional inflow of money is hard to resist. In course of time, the individual enterprise expanded into large empires and adopted a new identity, - Tutorial Homes. Funny enough, guardians resist any hike in school fees and resort to agitation if the school administrations suggest fee increase but they are quiet about similar increase by the Tutorial Homes. These Tutorials earned the reputation of successfully preparing students for entrance examinations to reputed colleges and university and guardians are ready to pay a little extra if needed. The entire scenario exposes a huge credibility gap as far as the schools are concerned. The system implies that the schools are unable to educate their students and guardians are forced to outsource the teachings to unrecognised institutes. Students follow two parallel systems simultaneously with the schools paying minor roles. This additional burden robs the children of their childhood.

Tutorial home are big business. The owners make money. Teachers supplement their income substantially. Students willy-nilly participate in the hope of a lucrative future.

The wrought had gone so deep, it would be a herculean task to uproot the system. Most of these tutorial homes are owned by politicians and their cronies. Therefore, right or wrong, the parallel system will continue to prosper.

Kolkata, 10 September 2020

TRYST WITH DESTINY

It was 14^th August 1945, 15 minutes to midnight. At an industrial town built and maintained by a British Oil Company, a group of Indian professionals and their families gathered around a flagpole. Their faces glowed in excitement and the hot summer wind felt unusually soothing. Nobody complained. Among the group, was a young couple. The husband beamed in anticipation. The young wife stood close to her husband, as if in a daze. A two-year-old baby boy was blissfully asleep on the man’s shoulder.

The senior most man in the group was assigned the honour of hoisting a tri-coloured flag tied strategically at the lower end of the pole.

All were rather quiet awaiting to experience an event they never thought would be possible in their lifetime.

Suddenly, sound of conch-shells from a few houses nearby, signaled the arrival of the historic moment. The senior most man pulled the string. His fingers trembled and eyes went moist as the tri-colour went up and started to flutter in the hot August air.

Everyone burst out in spontaneous cheers and then went quiet, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, a lone female voice chanting “Vande Mataram” resonated the air, followed by a roar in unison from the rest. It was an extemporaneous act; an act which could have landed them in jail a few weeks earlier.

At that very moment, the young man woke up the baby on his shoulder and lifted him high to draw his attention to the flag. The baby was known to break into deafening wails if woken up prematurely from his slumber. But, that precise moment, he looked around him, squinted at the flag and went back to sleep again.

That baby was me. Yes, I was a witness to that great moment but I have no recollection.

Jai Hind.

Happy Independence Day.

New Jersey, 9 August 2018 

SHASHI KAPOOR

 It was September 1990. I was based in Kuwait, which was under Iraqi occupation those days. Initially, we all were stranded as there was no flight out of the occupied country. Things eased up a little after a while and people were allowed to leave from Baghdad airport. Indian embassy in Kuwait also advised the Indian citizens to evacuate gradually.

 Fortunately, my wife and children were already in India when Iraq invaded Kuwait. I was in a hurry to get back home as I had no communication with them for more than a month.

 On a fateful evening, I, along with a few friends and their families, boarded a bus from Kuwait to Baghdad with the objective of taking a flight out of Baghdad to Amman in Jordan. Air India was operating a few flights from Amman  to Mumbai to evacuate the Indian citizens. The bus ride was quite scary. Damaged cars, burnt buses were strewn alongside the road from Kuwait to Iraq.  There were horrifying stories of atrocities committed by the Iraqi army. Kuwaiti citizens were imprisoned and tortured. They were generally soft with Indians but fear prevailed everywhere. Many Indian expatriates had their cars seized and houses raided.

 The ride out of Kuwait was trouble free. Out first brush with the authority occurred after an hour’s drive. A group of soldiers set up a barricade on the road and stopped our bus. A sinister looking soldier entered with an automatic rifle pointing to the passengers and yelled in Arabic, - Who are you and where are you headed?

 We obviously panicked but managed to murmur; - We are Hindis (Indians in Arabic). The guy’s face softened a bit but his voice had the same authoritarian pitch, - Kullu Hindi (All Indians)?  We mumbled a soft and polite, - Naam (yes). He suddenly smiled broadly, looked around and said, - Shashi Kapoor maujud (Is Shashi Kapoor here)? He broke into a big guffaw admiring his own humour as we smiled nervously. He dismounted and a signalled us to proceed. He was still smiling as the bus left the barricade behind.

The memory of this apparently insignificant event is haunting me since yesterday when the TV channels broke the news.

Rest in peace Shahshi Kapoor.

5 December 2017

NIGHTMARE AT DAWN – AUGUST 2, 1990

Thirty years ago, to date, I woke up on a Thursday morning and discovered to my shock that Kuwait, my host country has been taken over by the Iraqi army, at the behest of Saddam Hussain, their tyrannical leader. It was a weekend, I was planning a day of shopping and planning for my annual travel home in summer. My wife and kids were already in Kolkata and I was to join them the week after.

My first reaction was panic at the possibility my family getting worried sick of my whereabouts. I picked up the phone and dialled; - there was a consistent busy signal. All international communication was suspended. However, I could make a few local calls and reached out to a few friends. I rushed to the supermarket to stock up on food and other provisions to last me a few weeks. I knew my flight next week was as good as cancelled. I checked my wallet and realized I did not have enough money.

The neighbourhood supermarket was chock-a-block with shoppers with an unabashed combative looks on their faces. They were pushing and jostling and snatching chicken, fish, eggs, vegetables grocery from the shelves and piling up their trollies. I even saw two elderly ladies pulling the sole chicken on the rack from two ends. I did not stay back to find out who won. Anyway, all I could pick up was some khubooz (Arabic bread) and a crate of eggs.

It was a very stressful day. TVs went off and our only access to the developments was through BBC. My small transistor radio, which I had rarely used earlier, came handy and kept me updated. I still have that radio displayed on my desk as a token of my gratitude to the small device.

To cut a very long story short, after a lot of topsy-turvy events, turmoil, agony and frustration, I managed to reach home in the middle of September, absolutely penniless. I borrowed an one rupee coin from a stranger to call my wife, who hired a taxi at midnight and came to the airport to rescue me.

May be someday, when I feel like it, I shall summarise my experience for posterity, - my grandchildren.  

THE BRAHMAPUTRA

Every year in mid-summer, news of devastation along the banks of the mighty Brahmaputra reverberates far and wide. Newspaper headlines scream grossly overused catchphrases like unprecedented devastation, thousand homeless, hundreds dead, crops destroyed, etc etc !  Lengthy editorials and comments adorn the pages of the newspapers. The TV channels go shrill, hosting debates by panelists who outshout each other. But a few days later, a new issue with the potential of a higher TRP crops up. A vital issue, nothing short of a national crisis is forgotten.

More than six decades ago, I witnessed a violent devastation and a fearsome erosion of the river’s southern bank in Dibrugarh. I stood stunned at a safe distance away with my parents, my kid sister, my uncle, aunt and their children. There was a road along the river and a magnificent church stood proudly overlooking the Brahmaputra, enhancing its pristine beauty. On the other side of the road were three sprawling bungalows inhabited by the District Commissioner (DC), Superintendent of Police (SP) and the Civil Surgeon. The last named was my uncle. The horrifying sight is still etched in my memory. First the church fell and was dragged away mercilessly followed by the three majestic bungalows. My cousin sister, four years older, broke down as her home disappeared.

Decades later, time stands still. The devastation has become an annual event. I find it hard to believe that no solution could be found till date. India of today is vastly different from the India of the 50’s. Today we are the topmost I.T power in the world. We are on our way to be recognized as the world’s pharmaceutical hub. We sent a satellite to Mars on our first attempt. Our men and women head leading multinationals.  I refuse to accept that no solution could be found. We have a large pool of proven talents, - planners, engineers, architects and what have you. Funds are not a constrain these days; - thousands of crores are being spent on infrastructures around the country. Why can’t there be a concrete plan to solve the problem once for all? What happened to the masterplan of linking all the rivers of India? Can the plan be revived and updated?

It is a national issue. The central/state governments, private enterprises, academicians, civil society, all need to step in, form a team, develop a plan, allocate funds and go for the kill. Let us set a deadline. It can be done. We have the resources.

All we need is an honest will.

Kolkata; 21 July 2020

 

 

 

RANDOM RUMBLE: A FLIGHT FROM TEL AVIV

RANDOM RUMBLE: A FLIGHT FROM TEL AVIV: An earth-shaking event took place on 31 August 2020, which I never thought would be possible in my life time. An Israeli Airlines flight fro...

RANDOM RUMBLE: DOWN THE MEMORY LANE

RANDOM RUMBLE: DOWN THE MEMORY LANE: I was very excited to have received the invitation. It was a landmark event; - A Reunion of batchmates to celebrate the golden jubilee of...

A FLIGHT FROM TEL AVIV

An earth-shaking event took place on 31 August 2020, which I never thought would be possible in my life time. An Israeli Airlines flight from Tel Aviv landed at Abu Dhabi airport with the Israeli prime minister and US president’s son-in-law on board. The kingdom of Saudi Arabia, a staunch adversary of the Jewish state, accorded permission to the crew to overfly its territory.

The scenario was totally different when I came to Kuwait in 1981 to pursue a fresh career. I was gifted a welcome package by my company which, among other goodies, contained a diary. On the inner back cover, there was a prominent map of the middle eastern nations with names of the countries clearly inscribed. However, there was a strip of land adjoining Jordan and Syria, which was unmarked. That was the state of Israel whose existence was not acknowledged by the Arab neighbours. Some other maps identified the area as OAT, meaning Occupied Arab Territory.

Any interaction with Israel was totally prohibited in the Arab countries. An individual with an Israeli entry stamp on his passport would be denied entry in to any of the Gulf Arab states.

In 1984, I went to London on a week-long business trip. The working hours were pretty gruelling. I had some plans for a bit of shopping for my family particularly my two little kids. One of the most popular departmental stores among tourists was the iconic Marks & Spencer on Oxford Street. It was a place which had the reputation to offer good value for money. However, there was a catch. I was warned by a few frequent travellers among my friends and colleagues that one had to be very careful about merchandise from Marks & Spencer, which supposedly had a Jewish connection. If detected by Customs, there was a good possibility of the items getting confiscated. I was advised to chop of the labels. Under the pressure of my professional commitments, I forgot the wise advice and landed back in Kuwait with the labels intact. The Customs ignored my smallish inconspicuous baggage.

Kuwait imported cars from all the major automobile manufacturing nations. The highways were dominated by all makes of American and Japanese cars. Any car with components manufactured in Israel, was banned.

The skirmishes between Arabs and Israelis were frequent and often violent. Palestinian Arabs confined in Israel, which was originally their land, suffered a lot. Among the neighbouring countries, Egypt bore the brunt.  The oil rich gulf countries stayed away from direct conflict and compensated their physical inaction by offering handsome financial packages to Egypt and Syria.

In late 70’s, the president Anwar Sadat of Egypt decided enough was enough. He extended a friendly hand to Menachem Begin, the prime minister of Israel. Begin responded warmly. US president Jimmy Carter played an active role in bringing the two governments to the negotiating table and a historic peace treaty was signed by Sadat and Begin. The world applauded and both the leaders were rewarded with the Nobel Peace Prize.

Well, not the entire world though. Arabs were shocked and accused Sadat of betrayal. The most agonised were the Palestinians who felt totally let down. Their leader Yasser Arafat rejected the treaty outright. Egypt’s neighbour Syria snapped all diplomatic relations with Egypt. The outrage was so fierce, Anwar Sadat eventually fell to assassin’s bullet. His death was gleefully celebrated almost everywhere in the region.

Politics is a funny game beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals like me. In course of time even Yasser Arafat signed an agreement with Yitszhak Rabin, which assured Palestinian self-rule in the Ghaza strip, which was inhabited by the displaced Palestinians. In return Arafat recognised Israel’s right to exist. The agreement earned the signatories another Nobel Peace Prize.

The peace did not last long due mainly to the lack of mutual trust. Situation worsened after Arafat’s death in 2004. Palestinians attributed his death to poisoning by Israeli authorities. The matter reached stagnation and no immediate resolution was visible.

In this context, the sudden resumption of diplomatic activities reflected by a flight from Israel to UAE caught the world by surprise. The Palestinians were of course upset once again. It is apparent that the Arab world is finally tired of the conflict and decided to initiate a new phase. Realization has finally set in that Israel was here to stay and with full support of the mightiest nation of the world. The current pandemic jolted the oil rich emirates out of their comfort zones. It would be prudent to diversify their economy, where Israel could be a productive partner. UAE citizens have not yet shown any resentment at the decision of their government. According to news reports, cargo flights would commence soon implying launching of trades between the two countries.

Let us be patient and wait for the next step. Probably, members of my generation will live to see regular flights between Tel Aviv and Jeddah.

What about the future status of Jerusalem and the Palestinians? I have no answer.

Let us wait and see.

Kolkata 6 Septmber 2020

DOWN THE MEMORY LANE

I was very excited to have received the invitation. It was a landmark event; - A Reunion of batchmates to celebrate the golden jubilee of our graduation. It was in the year 1967, when a gang of young men in their early twenties walked out of Banaras Hindu University (BHU) with an engineering degree and a lot of dreams.

I responded immediately to the invitation from the organizer, a classmate whose face I could barely recall though the name had a familiar ring. Fifty years was a long time. Anyway, my first reaction was to call up friends who were still in contact, to ensure their presence too. That was when I got the first jolt and realized time had take its toll. Many were keen to go but could not due to general ill health, a recent bypass surgery or a replaced knee. Age had left its stump on me as well but I was fit enough to travel.

Little did I realize that many more jolts awaited me.

As a student, I had always travelled by train to Varanasi. But now, to make the travel easy, I boarded a plane a day before the reunion. My wife accompanied me, - she was very keen too, probably curious to unveil a bit of her husband’s past.

I was pleasantly surprised when I landed at Lal Bahadur Shastri International Airport. It was a compact but swanky looking airport, a far cry from the modest structure we had seen half a century earlier. A car was waiting for us just outside the arrival lounge. The drive to the BHU campus was rough. The road condition was rather bad but a modern four-lane highway was under construction, which pledged a smooth and comfortable ride in the future.

During our days, the area just outside our campus was a beautiful tree-lined avenue with sparse traffic, lines of shops mostly catering to the needs of university students. There were a few cheap tea and coffee shops which were our hang-out joints. Our daily routine was to bike down to this area and sit and sip masala tea in earthen cups. Some adventurous ones had their roving eye focused to catch glimpses of pretty damsels from the campus on rickshaws or bikes. Many romantic relationships were born here. Some ended after graduation but a few survived the test of time. I met once such couple last year in USA. They were hosting a party to celebrate the engagement of their granddaughter.

However, this was where I received my second jolt. The place had lost its quiet, tranquil and romantic character but turned into a cacophonic mess with hundreds of cars, trucks, auto-rickshaws and thelas or push-carts. The quiet tea shops were all gone. The eateries selling samosas and jalebis disappeared. Instead, a lot of fancy take-away sandwich shops, bakeries and cafes had sprung up. The simple innocence in the atmosphere had disappeared. The trees lining the avenue still stood but ugly posters were stuck on them. The pavements were crowded with hawkers with barely any space left for the pedestrians. Most shockingly, I could not spot any young students on bikes in that melee. 

Our car slowly drove past this crowded nightmare, carefully and skilfully manoeuvred by the driver. He was a local boy in his twenties, very intelligent and well-spoken. He was fascinated to learn that I was returning to his hometown after half a century. For a young man like him, fifty years was akin to eternity. He promised to show us around to demonstrate the progress the city had made. He also promised to take us to the sanctum sanctorum of famed Vishwanath temple bypassing the crowd of devotees through his links with the inner circle of the temple priests.

Eventually, we entered the gate of the campus overshadowed by the giant statue Mahamana Madan Mohan Malviya-ji, the founder of the university. The campus had changed but it was a positive change. It was still clean, well-maintained and pristine in its looks. The building still wore the traditional saffron colour. Soon, we reached the guest house and found a bunch of old men welcoming us. It took me a while to realise they were all my classmates. There were a few I recognised immediately in spite of the time gap.

Initial euphoria over, I stepped out of the guest house to take a walk down the memory lane and received another jolt. A lot of new buildings stood along the main road and suddenly I realised I was a total stranger in the once-familiar set up. I lost my orientation and could not locate the famous landmarks. I could not even locate my department and had to seek help to reach the office of the Professor in charge or the Head of Department. I literally barged into his office ignoring the ardent appeal of his secretary that professor sahib was busy. Initially taken aback, the HOD welcomed me warmly the moment I introduced myself as an ex-student. He was a very amicable young academician, at least twenty years my junior. He gave me a VIP treatment that I never expected. He had the conference room open, invited other faculty members and a few senior students and requested me to share my life’s experience with them. The atmosphere was so friendly that I thoroughly enjoyed the interaction.

The HOD requested one of the younger students to show me around. I was keen to visit the hostels where I had spent my formative years. Another surprise awaited me. Parked outside the hostels were hundreds of motor bikes of different makes and models. Some of them looked rather expensive. I was amazed to learn that those belonged to the students. Gone were the days when we proudly flaunted our pedaled bicycles. Parents of the current generation were definitely richer than ours!

More surprises! The hostel we visited was equipped with washing machines, water dispenser at every corner, geysers on the bathroom walls and fans in every room. Times indeed had changed. The society definitely had made progress.

Well, I could go on and on and this write-up could take the shape of a book.

The lesson I learnt was that one could never go back to one’s past. The past is gone forever. My alma mater still thrives but it is not the one I had left behind fifty years ago. It was totally a different entity where I was a stranger.

------

A.I.

A few years ago, a prominent headline on the business page of a leading national daily drew my attention. It read, - “A.I. will be the dominant force in the future”. I was very happy to presume that Air India, the national airline was being revived to its past glory and the Maharaja will rule the sky once more. But my hope was dashed soon when I realized that the report was actually talking about a new concept known as Artificial Intelligence.  Rather oxymoronic; - I thought.

In course of time, I realized that Artificial Intelligence was the new catch phrase and one had to sound pretty serious while talking about it. Artificial Intelligence, a computer-generated technology would create smart machines to simplify our lives. It would be smart enough to take several right decisions regarding ourselves without involving us. The thought sent a chill through my spine. I found the prospect rather scary.

Thinking deeply, I suddenly realized that we already, rather inadvertently, stepped into the new world order where smart machines controlled our lives. And strangely, we gave in gladly. Let us, for example, analyse the small smart machine we all carry with us. It is the mobile phone, also known as the smart phone. A phone was a revolutionary discovery in the late 19^th century by a legend called Alexander Graham Bell. It made long distance communication a reality. 

However, any comparison between a phone invented by Bell and the smart phone of today would be a futile exercise. As far as the modern smart phone is concerned, distant communication is a minor function of the device. If we look at the commercials or advertisements of a smart phone, it would emphasise on the unique camera features with special lenses, fast down-load capacity, space for large data storage, long battery life, high resolution screens etc with no mention of the communication aspect of the device.

We cannot deny that the smart phone has changed the way we lead our lives. We can pay our bills, remit money anywhere, renew out fixed deposits, invest and disinvest, communicate with distant friends and family members, video chat with them, read newspapers, watch movies, and even pay our taxes

.

However, of late this small device created some panic in my mind. Recently, I was invited to watch a play at Gyan Mancha located at Pretoria Street in Kolkata. I was not aware of its exact location. I confidently activated the Google Map App on my phone and reached my destination easily. I felt very content having successfully used a modern technology. A couple of hours later I reached home and received a jolt. While I was settling down to have dinner, a message propped up on the screen of my phone. It read, - so you visited Gyan Mancha! Please answer the following five questions. Well, forget about the questions, I was rather flabbergasted that the small tiny device I was so proud of, was actually monitoring my movement or rather, infringing on my privacy.

Well, it was not an one-off event. A few days later, I booked an air ticket to Delhi to attend a family wedding. Soon thereafter, I was flooded with offers of good hotels with attractive discounts, trendy restaurants, fancy shops with alluring merchandise etc, all in Delhi. One message even booked a car for me to any destination provided I press the “yes” arrow and input my credit card details to settle the payment in advance.

I would not deny many of the advantages of the smart phone. It reminds us important dates, particularly wife’s birthday. If programmed properly, it will probably order and deliver a lovely bouquet of flowers or a mini-bottle of exotic perfume to the right destination. What a relief would that be!

There is another side also. Some phones show your location to the person you are talking to. So, no matter how tired you act while pretending you were still at work, your phone would send tell-tale signals that you were actually at a bar taking a sip of your favourite cocktail. It would just be a matter of time when technology would advance to the extent of identifying your cocktail and your company as well.

Seriously, artificial intelligence will play a bigger role in our lives in not so distant future. Driverless cars are already a reality and in a state of further development. Scientists are already in the process of finding a wide range of services to be provided by artificial intelligence. Many of the repetitive jobs that are handled by people these days will be executed more efficiently by smart machines. Will this new system eliminate jobs? Of course, it will but as seen in the past, a lot of new jobs will be created. It is generally believed that a couple decades down the line, a lot of jobs that we are familiar with will be extinct and new still-unknown type of jobs will come into existence.

Recently, I came across a news item that described a book titled “AI Super-Powers - China, Silicon Valley and the New World Order” by a hitherto unknown scientist named Kai-Fu Lee. He is a Taiwanese American scientist, who predicted disappearance of forty percent of the conventional jobs we are currently familiar with in fifteen to twenty years. I did not read the book but watched an interview with the author. He sounded very confident and convincing.  He was not at all perturbed by the impending take-over of our daily functions by advanced technology. In fact, he was convinced that human society would survive and indeed flourish with the advent of technology and job loss would not be an issue. The author cited the examples of calculators, washing machines, sewing machines, workshop machinery which replaced human labour and skills. Human society gracefully adopted all the changes and prospered. I checked the author’s credentials and found them pretty impressive.

One needs to think seriously about how far human society would allow the technology to penetrate into one’s life. I read a scary book sometimes ago. I had been a great fan of Dan Brown ever since I read The Da Vinci Code. I read all his books with mixed likings. The latest was The Origin. The protagonist of this novel was a rare genius who programmed a super device to guide events to achieve a goal perceived to be beneficial to human existence. The device or the intelligence artificially created, over-rode the planned strategy and changed the course of action conceived by its human creator. The goal was achieved faster but the creator perished.

The story was indicative of a future when machines might take over our lives. Some of the sci-fi movies that hit the screens depicting a war between man and machine might appear a fantasy now but if someday machines start thinking beyond their designed capability, humans will be rendered an endangered species.

Absurd thought, right? But scary!

*****

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Winter in the sixties had a festive feeling. There was a strong chill in the air throughout the months of December and January. Every Sunday, truckload of picnickers headed for cosy and tranquil destinations far from the city’s jostling crowd. Central Calcutta (Kolkata was not a part of English lexicon) looked glamorous with exotic decorations for Christmas and New Year. Circus troupes from all over the country and beyond came in droves to entertain the city’s kids. The maidan would be crowded with dozens of fairs and exhibitions.

And, there was cricket; test cricket of course. ODI’s and T-20’s were not even invented. Eden Gardens, considered the second best cricket ground in the world, next only to Lord’s, was a mandatory venue.  The players of the touring teams used to be thrilled and fascinated by its lush greenery, bouncy pitch, fast outfield, early morning dew and the sporting crowd. Cricket was essentially a winter sport, played in a cheerful, relaxed atmosphere. Today’s fans would probably be horrified to learn that a test match lasted six days with a day of rest in between.

Often a match was scheduled at the Eden Gardens during the Christmas New Year week.  It was this venue where, in the year 1961 on 30^th December to be precise, a starry eyed sixteen year old, ventured out to experience the flavour of the regal game at its highest level; a test match.

I was a student living in a hostel on a strictly controlled budget. Gathering the courage to plunge into an unknown territory was the first challenge.  An early morning queue to earn an entry to the coveted enclosure was the second. A daily ticket for a seat at the Ranji Stadium was Rs. 2 apiece. The total budget for the day was a princely sum of Rs. 5.

It has been more than fifty years since but I still remember the exhilaration I felt when I stepped inside the Eden Gardens for the first time in my life. The ground with a capacity of ninety thousand was almost full. Very soon, it would be packed to the brim. The fourth test match between India and England, led by Nari Contractor and Ted Dexter respectively, was scheduled to start shortly. As far as India’s prospect was concerned, there was nothing much to look forward to. India had a dismal record those days having received consecutive drubbings against West Indies (3-0) in 58-59 in India; England (5-0) in England subsequently. A freak victory against Australia in Kanpur thereafter triggered nationwide celebrations.

However, for the cricket loving city crowd, a victory did not amount to much; they just wanted to watch a good game.

India was led by Nari Contractor. There was no “local boy” in the Indian team. Pankaj Roy, the darling of the city had retired a few years earlier. However, that was not an issue to dampen the spirit of the fans at the Eden Gardens. Ironically, the only player with a Calcutta connection was Ted Dexter, the captain of the England team. His wife Susan was the daughter of Tom Longfield, captain of the first Bengal team that won the Ranji Trophy in 1939.

There was thunderous roar as the two captains walked in for the toss. Contractor flipped the coin and Dexter called. Both the captains bent down to have look. Contractor raised his right hand. Another roar bigger than the previous ensued; India had won the toss.

There was no giant TV screen anywhere to have a close look at the captains. In fact, there was no TV those days. The cricket lovers, away from the scene of action, stayed glued to their radio sets devouring every word of the running commentary broadcasted by All India Radio. It was known as ball-to-ball running commentary. Some of commentators were so skilful in the act that one could actually feel the thrill of the game in spite of being thousands of miles away. Two legendary commentators, Pearson Surita and Berry Sarbhadikari hailed from the city of Calcutta. Being cricketers themselves, their narration was just brilliant. Bengali commentary of the game of cricket rendered by Ajay Basu, Pushpen Sarkar and Kamal Bhattacarya were part of the city’s cricket folklore. They carried the spirit of cricket to the remotest hamlets of the state. It is generally believed that the idea of running commentary in any game started from the Calcutta station of All India Radio soon after its inception. The first ever commentary, in English, was during a soccer match between two city teams of yore.

I was accompanied by my cousin, a few years senior to me. I asked him in whisper, lest others discover my naivety, to identify the high court and the maidan ends, the terms I often had heard on the radio from the commentators whenever a bowler walked up to one of the ends to begin his run-up. The pavilion was across the pitch, hence there was no “pavilion end”.

England innings collapsed against the onslaught of Chandu Border, Salim Durrani, Ramakant Desai and Vasnt Ranjane. The only batsmen who stood their grounds on both the innings were the England skipper Ted Dexter and the opener Peter Richardson. They were both greeted with standing ovations by the sporting fans of Calcutta.

There were no man-of-the-match awards those days. But the man, who won the heart of the crowd, was a young Nawab from the state of Pataudi. He had returned home from Oxford and donned the Indian cap in Delhi a few weeks earlier. He enthralled the crowd with his well measured lofted shots that fell just beyond the reach of the fielders.  The Nawab, just a week short of his 21st birthday scored 64 in the first innings and 32 in the second. Destiny would pass on the mantle of captaincy to this young man during the next series in West Indies following a deadly delivery from Charlie Griffith that would end Nari Contractor’s career.

I probably was the lucky mascot for India because the team won the match convincingly setting a lead of 1-0 in the series. The feat would be repeated in Madras a few days later ending the series with a 2-0 victory in India’s favour.

Within a couple of years, I had the privilege of watching another England team in action in 1963-1964. India was led by the Nawab of Pataudi and England by Mike Smith. It was a different venue. I could feel from day one that there was something amiss. It was also a test match with big names representing each side. I was puzzled as I failed to feel the frenzy I experienced at the Eden Gardens. Then suddenly the realization dawned in my sub-conscious mind. It was the passion that was lacking. No other crowd can be as passionate for the game as the Calcutta crowd.

Long live Eden Gardens.

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