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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