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.

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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.

****