Where Dreams took Wings

Looking back, the city that I found dry and unfriendly each time I visited in the past, has kind of become dear to me now. Or one could say that of one of its satellite towns, which not only became home for me and mine but has been the backdrop against which the action of my family unfolded in the last few years. But as I said, this was a gradual process as, having been brought up in a quaint little township closer to Bengal’s rather than the nation’s capital, I was more at home with the warmth and friendliness which that city invariably exuded. There was something charming about the way of life there, the relaxed pace, the unhurried style of functioning and the ever-so-cultured orientation of its citizens. Each time I visited Delhi in the past, the stark contrast-both in the pace of life and the attitude of people-left me pining for home, within a day or two of my visit. (But ironically, and because of being aware that it was the best in the country, the idea of studying in THE Delhi University had held tremendous charm, gaining in strength perhaps because I was denied the opportunity when it had presented itself.)

Not anymore. More than a decade into the NCR, my outlook has changed radically. And so too, I strongly suspect, has the scenario. With the influx of more and more people from all parts of the country, the predominance of one state, which seemed to be the case earlier, has gradually been diluted and the crucible of cross-culture mix has resulted in a rather cosmopolitan emulsion. More important than that, the opportunities, the high standard of education and the competitive spirit that are to be found in this city are incomparable and I feel ever so grateful that we came here at the time that we did.

From two young teen and pre-teen kids who accompanied the spouse and me to the city of dreams (my own nomenclature, coined this moment!) at the turn of the millennium, the children have grown and found their place in life. The challenges we faced were many, arrive as we did at a juncture when their education and right choice of career were critical. First, the transition happened when sonny boy was halfway through the ninth standard, a crucial time by any definition. Secondly, the switch from the ICSE to the CBSE board had to be made and appeared traumatic as he, already initiated into the magical world of wordy tapestry woven by the immortal Bard, found it tough to settle for the prosaic and highly functional English syllabus this board offered. Then the fact that in the absence of a job here, I was still travelling to and from the city, hanging on to the old job, meant additional responsibilities for the kids. But they managed admirably-never complaining or making me feel guilty for leaving them intermittently, even if for brief spells. Of course, what made everything smooth sailing was my mother’s comforting presence. Like the Rock of Gibraltar, she was always there: happily taking on all the burden that she could handle. Her presence and guidance-both in studies when needed and churning out yummy goodies for them-helped them beyond what words can ever express. She was their sheet anchor and that prevented them from ever feeling lost or lonely during those initial days-in a new home, new school, new environs, when their dad and mom were busy trying to get their act together.

As everyone finally settled down, a spate of exams began. To start with, The Tenth, live as we did in the pre-CCE days, and then the all important Twelfth Board exams, which had the power to make or break your career, would come. Trying to figure out the right stream for the young lad, eliciting his thoughts and inclination and gently suggesting what seemed to be the best line were all matters of intuition; or the outcome of discussions with siblings. Fortunately, he had interest in maths and the sciences and engineering was accepted as the obvious choice. I realised that a clear-cut objective and a well defined goal help, as little else does, and it was to his immense credit that once he had found it, the laddie stayed focused. With wisdom uncharacteristic of one so young, he declared to me, one day, that he would be lucky if he managed even an 80 % in the twelfth exam so I shouldn’t expect anything more. I hastily assured him that I wouldn’t, knowing full well the stress of preparing for a competition as tough as the one he was aiming for.

One conversation in those early days, when he joined FITJEE, comes to mind when I had told him that, like Arjun in the Mahabharata, he should only look at the fish’s eye and not be distracted by anything else. I almost regretted these sentiments when a cousin’s wedding came mid-way and though he was as keen as I to attend it and the JEE were still months away, he refused to budge from his stance of not accompanying us, despite all my persuasion. It would have meant missing two classes and he was not willing to do that. One class was all that he could afford to miss, he declared, not two but the keenness to attend was palpable. Could we buy a flight ticket for him, please? In those days when flying on personal trips was still unthinkable for the solid middle-class-for whom a train journey and a marriage ceremony to boot were enough to destabilize the already precarious monthly budget-I balked at the idea. Fly? No way!

And thus it transpired that the kiddo chose that one FITJEE session over the wedding ceremony & all the fun it entailed; I continued to labour under the perception that flying was unthinkable for the likes of us and life ambled along.

Those were challenging days for him, as a fine balance between school and coaching classes had to be maintained. Out of three days of coaching, one was Saturday and therefore convenient but on the remaining days, the fellow had a schedule that was hectic, to say the least. The coaching van used to be at the gate when his school bus dropped him and then onwards, it was a race. Home in a trice, the school bag flung on the bed and he’d be seated at the table where, whenever she happened to be there, his doting Nani would have his lunch all served-the daal-chaval mixed and cooled to room temperature plus some favourite side-dish more often than not, ready to be gobbled. There was no other word for the ritual of swallowing food between gulps of water. The coaching bag was picked up, (no time to change out of the school uniform!) and long strides and all, the fellow would disappear. This went on for two whole years, and it is with tremendous pride that I narrate that the lad missed nary a class. His dedication bore fruit when the JEE results were declared and he sailed through with aplomb! The song that had befittingly played on FM when we had picked him up after the JEE and driven to IIT D, where they had been asked to assemble, proved prophetic and still reverberates through my mind-haan yahi rasta hai tera tune ye jaana hai, haan yehi sapna hai tera tune pehchaana hai…….

Four years sped by, entry into a coveted MBA programme seemed but the logical fall-out and two more years later, the youngster is firmly ensconced in the job of his choice: God’s blessings, everyone’s good wishes and his hard work having paid off. Paayega jo lakhsya hai tera!!

The lass, in the meantime, had been following her own trajectory. Not too enamoured of the sciences-and loath to leave her school (and friends!) that didn’t offer a course in Arts-she opted for Commerce in Plus Two. Luckily, maths was a strong point and though Accounts didn’t feature as a favourite, she did commendably at the aforementioned, dreaded Boards. More dreaded in her case as, for a generalist, admissions into the hallowed portals of good colleges are completely dependent on the grades. Good for the gal ‘cos she got into one of the most prestigious colleges in the University, vindicating my decades’ old dream of studying in D.U myself. As the three year programme neared completion, there was a new dilemma-what next? MBA seemed to be the natural progression and short listing in a few good courses happened. But finally, the destination was an institution specializing in a niche MBA programme-one she had filled up on consultation with friends-and set her heart on. So that’s what she opted for and seemed to find her calling. The going’s been great so far.

Another year and she too will have found her bearings; and our role in helping our kids find their chosen fields will have ended.

A period of lull…till it’ll be time to prepare for the next phase...