STEPHANIA
I have spent among the happiest years of my life at St. Stephen’s. I came to India first in 1969 as a research scholar in Modern Indian History from the Australian National University, Canberra. At first repelling and disturbing, the country gradually attracted me, and on my return I wrote to St. Stephen’s to see whether they would give me a job. Mr. Shankland was then Acting Principal in the absence of Mr. Sircar, and his response was encouraging. Mr. Sircar subsequently approved my appointment, and was encouraged in this by Professor Sarup Singh, then Professor of English, whom I had met while he was on a three-month visit to the A.N.U. The result was that I joined St. Stephen’s College in July 1969 as a Lecturer in the History Department.
In my ignorance I thought that teaching in St. Stephen’s would be like teaching anywhere. The students quickly dispelled that illusion, and they have been doing so ever since. The first stage in my enlightenment came in my position as Tutor of Mukarji East Block. It’s funny now to think that I lived there for five years. But I can never forget the block’s reaction my over enthusiastic tutoring. Mr. Rajpal was Dean at the time, and he primed me carefully on my responsibilities at Tutor. I fulfilled them so exactly that on three successive nights my room was bombed in the manner of the day – real Calcullawalas they were – and on the fourth night, in case I hadn’t got the message, my room was flooded, including my bed. I must admit to finding all this slightly bewildering, but I quickly realised why. And both the excessive tutoring and the reprisals stopped simultaneously. I learned to accommodate the students, and to my pleasure and surprise they learned to accommodate me.
I think this has been my long-term sense of Residence, and though manners and times have changed, it still strongly shapes my experience of College. But Residence has lost some of its sharper edges, and that is perhaps for the best. Those were the days of what seemed to me harsh and unnecessary ragging. Today, such things would not be tolerated. I remember students being made to proceed on their knees down bitumened Stephanian paths, or up Stephanian staircases; students being kicked as they passed down long rows ofStephanian seniors; students being made to stand all night, sometimes until 6 a.m., in the rooms of gentlemen. And all this in the manner of nineteenth century English public schools, which had long since abandoned such practices-as indeed they are now being abandoned in India, at last.
And yet after ragging, Stephania, particularly Residence, was a close-knit community, in a way that it is not today. Today, I have some times to introduce one resident student to another. ‘I’ve seen you around’, they’ll say. In those days everyone in Residence knew everyone else; and I must say that I knew most students in Residence. Today, I’m. not supposed to. In fact, today you’re lucky as a staffmember ifa gentleman in Residence acknowledges your presence. But at least one is greeted by and greets one’s fellow block-dwellers and the History students (generally). Perhaps I should be thankful for small mercies. Seriously, though, Stephania was once a warmer place. There was much more mixing ofstaffand students, particularly in Residence; and I, for one, hope that the old, human face ofStephania will not wither away. For me, then as now, the barriers that some students and staff create between one another do not exist. Thus, it was and is possible to go away on holiday or for History tours with students. Lots ofold student friends keep in touch, and not. as a mere formality. It was and is still possible to go off for tea with. students m the evenings, or stroll across the Ridge. And it’s more the possible to see a movie, or go for dinner to Tib Mon, Samrat, Moetts, Pind, Khyber Pass, Social Work, or Sharma’s. In 1969 this new world opened up for me, and thank Heaven it’s still there. It stands as a reminder of the personal quality of life at a time when there is so much that is cold and calculating, or even indifferent, between people.
Other memories still live on. Diwali in Residence was normally a time of noise, as most people stayed in. Today they desert college en masse for homes and friends but staff remain, and how good it is to share that festival’s joy with them. Holi still remains, and however, as a time when Residence lets its hair down. Mud-baths that are not really muddy, colour, Holi mubarak, and sweets on the lawn in Dr. Arya’s garden. I always remember how Manjit Singh used to carry me to the mudbath. Goodness knows where he is now; but students still come, and make you part of the community by throwing you in with their friends. I wouldn’t miss Holi for worlds.
On a slightly idle note, festivals basically mark the changing seasons. And I can’t help recalling my sense of wonder at the natural year in northern India as seen from my rooms in College. The monsoon-and the Ridge above; college bursts with trees and shrubs. The slow edging into the dry weather, and lengthening days. Those delicious days in October, after the College holidays, when summer finally disappears, and winter clothes slowly replace cottons. Warm water, too, from the boiler-when there’s coal. Into December, and the days are short and cold; if the winter’s severe, mists hang around until late-morning; but then delicious Stephanian verandahs in the afternoon sun. And so until March, virtually, when the whole process goes into reverse, and India (and Stephania) slip into summer. Then it’s a matter of the slow and steady application of cooling devices to make the heat as bearable as possible. Exams. Everyone leaves for home; and you are alone again.
I, for one, have always found the academic year in Stephania compelling. One of my earliest impressions of students was their unwillingness to work, and of teachers to take their classes. I suspect that the old Stephania was rather like an English club, where it didn’t do to be too extreme about anything. Certainly, until quite recently, there was a Stephanian type who was, above everything else, a relaxed person; didn’t do anything to excess, certainly not work; was at home in a club; and quite frequently’ spared around’, but could ‘deliver the goods’ when thrust into a situation that demanded it. These days that type has, if not disappeared, at least ceased to dominate either Residence or College. It’s been replaced by people who are all going somewhere, though some only as far as South Extension. There is more competitiveness, less time, more activity more time spent out of College, less time to chat. But definitely more variety, ‘more complexity, and the coming of the ladies has added to it.
Part of these changes for me as a historian are related to changes in the city. I’ve always loved Delhi, and part of the pleasure of being in Stephania derives from living in what is an interesting and challenging city. Its history is clearly evident. Within walking distance of College lie two thousand years of north Indian history: The Ashokan Pillar, the Mutiny Memorial, Pir Gaib, Chauburja, Flag-staff, Majnu ka Tila, Wazirabad and beyond. But Delhi is a modern city as well, and the new city continues to outgrow its older layers When I first came to Stephania, Delhi was on over-large country town, fairly slow-moving; its transport system was inadequate; and Connaught Place was still the centre of the city. Its population was about three million.
All this has changed. The population is now over six million. Transport is more efficient. The city has spawned a number of big regional shopping centres. The roads arc more crowded; there’s more pressure on services; more pressure on jobs. And so it seems to me that as always, St. Stephen’s story is partly related to the City of Delhi. At one stage Stephania was a mission college in a small dusty Indian country town. When Delhi became the capital, St. Stephen’s changed; and when Delhi was flooded with Punjabi immigrants after Partition in 1947, Stephania changed again. With the continuing growth of Delhi, and its emergence as the political centre of the country, and increasingly as an industrial and commercial centre, St. Stephen’s continues to change and grow.
But it would be unfortuante if the values which the older Stephania stood for are lost in a new world of commercialism, impersonality, politics and bad manners. St. Stephen’s still has something to say to Delhi and India, I believe. That sport is a game, or a way of life, not a matter of life and death; that education at its best can mature people and show them something they’ve never seen before; that people are important, their opinions matter; and that in a world of ruthless commercialism and politics, it’s still possible to find people who’ll smile when they see you, say ‘hullo’, and maybe go part of the way with you.
DAFAN
You could not see me that night,
encircled as you were
after the petfunctory namaz;
nor as I stumbled along paths
hard to unravel in the gloom.
The mashal was not much help either.
But I saw you,
lifted like an offe1ing to God,
then consigned to his care
in the yielding soil.
The crowd threw earth
in the way they do,
and disappeared,
signifying an end.
Yes I could not think the end
would be like this, as I
returned to the distracted city,
conscious of a bond
beyond time and space,
that not even your death could break.
Khan-I Khanan’s Maqbara
You never notice that tomb
do you, as you speed south,
your plastic life screened
from the possibilities of death?
But there it stands, set back
and somewhat disheveled,
conscious that its stories were tom
to build a viceroy ‘s tomb.
But for you, Khan-I Khanan, lawaris,
a mere commander of horse,
(though remembered for your verse),
What had death in store for you?
A tomb that shapes triumphant space,
rising double-storied on its base
to a peaked dome that hides
incised glories within. My dear,
if death creates such grace,
how much more may life rise
triumphant even beyond this tomb?
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