PATC Diary: February 2

 
Dateline: February 2, 2015
 
"Why are you in bed when there's class?"
I woke up my roommate with this declaration at dawn. All the world's pleasures lie in sleeping through class. A room is hardly the place to sleep. Like every other day, winter had settled in with a vengeance today. Walking by the lake, as we walked in that direction, I saw some tall flowering trees and began walking while thinking of childhood. In childhood, when I'd go out for morning walks with Father, I'd take along a flower basket. I'd have a long bamboo stick or staff in hand. I'd fill the basket picking flowers for prayers. Needless to say, the source of this childish enthusiasm was not devotion to religion, but the pursuit of joy. I'd pluck flowers from the tall trees with the bamboo stick or staff. The pleasure of getting up at dawn and gathering soft flowers beneath the shiuli tree was entirely different. The thrill of touching shiuli flowers in the morning is unforgettable. Father would identify flowers and trees for me, teaching me to recognize them, and would say, trees feel pain too, don't tear their branches and leaves, they need to be cared for. I was at that age when 'whatever I hear, I believe.' Father loved to wrap my tiny fingers in his hand and walk over fallen leaves. Walking through forests of dry fallen leaves has been one of my favorite activities since then. I got this habit from Father. In our PATC there's a small park where fallen leaves are scattered about. It's very pleasant to walk over them. There's a krishnachura tree where dry leaves have fallen below, some blown together like a bed. Going there reminds me of the final scene in 'Devdas'—I have a great desire to lie down like that. But alas! I don't wish to die. For whom would I die anyway? My Parvati has married too. That's not the point. The problem is, she doesn't even remember me, has forgotten me. (Did she ever remember me at all?) If I were to die and lie here, at most I'd get a posthumous reprimand for dying without the authorities' permission. Nothing more. What's the point of dying?

I don't feel like shaving every day before going to class. Why? Two reasons. One: There's no rule about getting reprimanded if you don't shave. Two: Some people have told me that I look quite good in a 'rough look' when I don't shave sometimes. Besides, I've decided to do only those things that I absolutely must do, or that bring me joy. Why should I let go of this opportunity to enjoy small lazy luxuries? Besides, it's not like I'm growing a beard long enough to braid or knot—I cut and clean it off before that. Today I thought again how dear Rabindranath is to Bengalis. Love, hatred, unlove, happiness, unhappiness, joy, sorrow, attainment, non-attainment—all of life's emotions I find so easily in his words. He even stays with us in the bathroom, bathing us with his own hands. Today while pouring bone-chilling cold water on my body, Rabindranath was playing in my head and on my lips. Shivering as I poured ice-cold water on myself, I kept singing, "Fierce terrible extremely long scorched day!" What does this mean? I tried so hard to get another song playing in my head—even something like 'The boy is like a ball of fire' would do—but nothing else came. Actually, what plays in the head and what doesn't depends not at all on circumstances. A song somehow comes and possesses the mind and stays there; it keeps playing incessantly.

Right now I'm remembering one day's experience, I'll share that day's Facebook status exactly as it was: "Boss is calling me into the room to scold me. And from somewhere in my head keeps playing keeps playing...saiya dil mein aana re...aa ke phir na jaana re...I'm trying my best to keep my face looking as sad and sorrowful as possible, but nothing's working. I just keep wanting to laugh, just keep wanting to laugh! Whenever the boss gets seriously angry, that's when it strikes in my head...cham chama cham cham..." After finishing my bath, I'm going to class. Oh, didn't I give a quiz in that day's note? It was: "PATC teaches us to be right-wing. I mean, in the corridors, in the syndicate building, in the lecture theater—everywhere we have to walk on the right side. Arrows are drawn at intervals on the right side below. If you try to walk the wrong way, it'll look awkward. Now, in one place in the corridor, one arrow has been mistakenly drawn the wrong way. You have to say where that arrow is." I'm giving the answer. Haaaaaaa...(Tell me, whose speech defect is this?) The arrow is right in front of our library. Today while passing by it, I was thinking—learning to walk this wrong path right after emerging from the library having acquired knowledge. Isn't this symbolic?

Even after leaving at 8:10, I had to have breakfast. I'm not saying 'did,' because 8:15 is the last time for breakfast, I reached the cafeteria at 8:13; can breakfast happen in such a rush? Still, I have to eat for Mother's sake. Mother calls at night and asks whether I've had breakfast. I don't want to lie to Mother. Mother knows how to trust so much! If I say I haven't had breakfast, Mother feels bad. To avoid causing Mother pain, I try to have breakfast. On the way to class I saw that the sun had risen, golden sunlight was falling on the cosmos-dahlia-salvia-marigold-rose-snowball-grass flowers, dew-touched sunshine was sliding down the yellowish-green grass like drizzling rain. In the rose garden, small unknown birds were hopping and flying about. Their voices seemed to hold the heavenly resonance of a thousand musical instruments. Seeing this scene, I felt like thinking that perhaps Hafez, sitting in this very rose garden, had written:
Even though my warm tears are falling now—
I still keep that garden in both my eyes.
Where there are roses—there I must go walking down this blind alley.
Can it be forgotten, don't forget!
……………………………………………………….....
Heart, become a rose, bloom bright red.
This is the time—why are you sitting?—time flows away!
……………………………………………………….....
Roses remain blooming there in rows—
They hold morning's first light in their hearts.
A mournful star of early dawn—
Still remains touching the sky's edge.

Thinking such thoughts, some melancholy lines merged with my heart's sighs:
Look there, see the rose bloom, how crimson-red the petals—
Like my beloved's face, her colorful cheeks flushed with shame.
……………………………………………………….....
Keep the redness on your cheeks, lest the rose be forgotten!
Keep your chin raised to the height of that deodar tree!

Thus the eternal funeral of words continues. I was thinking, and then I felt like indulging the Manna Dey song playing in my head...There was a lamp, there was a flame, only because you weren't there the light didn't shine. There were words, there was speech, because you didn't call me close the heart didn't speak...

First class; in the Syndicate building. The person who came to class—just seeing him makes my heart feel good. Why? There's a kind of good-natured expression on his face that says "He won't say anything if you fall asleep in class." Today after a long time I did mindmapping in class. What's this? Suppose you have to speak about a topic for half an hour. Impromptu speech. You get 3 minutes of preparation time. If in this time you just write down the names of 15-20 points, then when you go before everyone you won't have to think so much about what to say. Just explain the points you've written and the half hour is over! Today I got practice in that. My colleagues can think very clearly. I'm amazed! The last two classes were about how to conduct research. The classes must have been very good, because everyone in class was quietly listening attentively to sir, no one disturbed my sleep.

Between these two classes there was a break. During breaks we all go to the bathroom in groups, in processions. I think even if there were several breaks between two classes, we'd go to the bathroom several times. It's not at all the case that we go there because the tune of excretion plays among everyone. I've researched and found that during class breaks we go to the bathroom—whether the water pressure drops or not, we make it drop; we check in front of the basin whether I've become a bit more beautiful in this one hour; knowing for certain that we'll fall asleep again as soon as we get to class, we still splash water on our faces. I thought, people don't have that much water in stock. Still we go to the bathroom, chat, exchange pleasantries while urinating, take toilet lessons in socialization. After sir's such wonderful discussion on research methods in class, I don't think anyone else has applied it practically. I was sleeping, but I was the first to fully utilize sir's class. By the way, my research hypothesis was: "The bathroom is superior to the classroom."

I have only one principle while sitting in class: "Just because you're staying awake, why shouldn't I fall asleep?" I often keep writing in my notebook during class. Seeing this, many think I'm taking down class lectures in my notebook. I respectfully inform them that what I write in my notebook is not lectures, but material for my diary writing, an account of my poor memory. The age of taking class notes ended in early childhood!

Today we all had an Eid-like atmosphere. After lunch today there were no classes. I mean, we slept for at least 2 hours and went to the playground at 4 PM. Everyone could return to their rooms before 2 PM. Ah! What joy in sky and air! I'll tell you a truth. This PATC training is much better than a job. You can't stay this comfortable even in a job. If we exclude the morning PT that we have to do after getting up at dawn, we're all very well off here, relaxed. Jobs are invariably extremely troublesome things. We all eat and drink, wander around and borrowing from Guru Nachiketa sing...we're quite well off. We're quite well off./ We're quite well off, no work to do, no cars or horses,/ no office or courts, no attendance requirements,/ no noise or environmental pollution,/ no wife's anger burning because I don't give time,/ no telephone calls, curfew in the city, no people around,/ section 144, those who stay on footpaths, no one anywhere,/ nothing nothing nothing, yet there's something, nothing prevents saying–/ there's fear in both eyes, doubt in the mind...fear of what? Doubt about what? Fear of being afraid; doubt about why I'm not getting reprimanded yet. But still I'm truly well off. Our management is quite sincere about everything throughout the course. 99% of batchmates are easygoing! The remaining 1% are intellectuals! That 1% exists, so I still dream of spending 6 months laughing and playing and fooling around. Intellectuals are ready-made boxes of entertainment! We want more intellectuals, more entertainment.

Our batchmates are each more of a thing (read: genius) than the other. At PATC we've coined a new greeting. While peeing we tell each other: Happy Peeing! This great discovery is patented in the name of our batch. We, on behalf of the 58th Foundation Training Course, wish for the extensive publicity, spread and propagation of this unprecedented salutation.

We dream that one day in every Bengali home, everyone will say with smiling faces, Happy Peeing! (Gradually, people will one day even reach the greeting 'Happy Pooing!' That day, our batch's fame and reputation will spread and scatter across Bengal's skies and air like a foul stench!)