Beside the hotel, along the median cutting across MG Road, there are adverts for overseas education consultants—go study in UK, Germany, Australia, New Zealand, the lot. There were ads of this nature all over Kochi. Before my trip to Kerala, once while I was talking to Acha, he had wanted to know what the cost of studying at my university was, because education consultants were cropping up in Kayamkulam too. While studying abroad can be a way out of the dismal prospects in India, students seemed to be throwing themselves at any university which would have them. The truth is that you need to have your wits about you in selecting the right university and an employable degree and in playing the job market game once you are done with your degree, if you want a return on your investment.
Upon arriving in Kerala, I tried to get in touch with one of
my old St. Teresa’s professors. I have had, for some time, a desire to talk to
the students at my alma mater. I know what it means to be one of them and I know
how critical the choices that one makes around the time of graduation can be.
From my experience, it is the stage at which girls must select between three
alternatives–marriage, employment or higher studies—and it has serious consequences
for their future. Personally, I want students who are likely to fall into the
first category to choose either of the latter two, and for those in the latter
two categories to maximize their chances of being economically
independent, so that they can live life on their own terms. I also felt that the
Teresian crowd was the sort most likely to be receptive to ideas of empowerment
and where I can have maximum impact, because they are a spirited bunch, who for
the lack of clear guidance (or knowledge of future possibilities compared to girls
who go in for professional degrees) make choices with bleak prospects. Also,
changes at an educational institution, especially in terms of what their
students achieve, has the potential for a chain reaction. If there are college seniors who have done it before you, then you can too.
Weeks passed by and I got no response from the professor. It
did cross my mind that perhaps no one really uses their college emails even
though the email addresses were listed on the college website. Often time, these things exist for
appearance’s sake – the appearance of being professional and modernized—than for
serving any real purpose. I had, however, also cc-ed the professor on her
private email, but I guess I shouldn’t really expect anyone to welcome me with
open arms just because I sent an email. Or did I come across as someone who is
a bit full of myself? In any case, I felt disappointed.
I make it a point to walk through the college grounds whenever I visit Kochi, even if there is no one to meet in particular, because I have very fond memories of it (I guess I could say the same about Cocoa Tree). It also doesn’t hurt to put myself in a position that improves the odds of getting what I want. So, one day, Mike and I walked to St. Teresa’s. And lo and behold, I see the prof, buzzing about. The college was in the midst of its centennial celebrations and of course this woman was running about organizing everything. I say of course because one thing this prof always seemed to possess was a sense of purpose in her job. I wasted no time and went over to speak to her (as Mike lurked about at a safe distance and took pics of me in action). Thankfully, she recognized me and from the conversation it seemed like she read the mail and ignored it, even though she didn’t explicitly say this. She asked me to resend the email to her personal address (which I already had), but I obliged because, at the end of the day, she was one of the few people who readily agreed to write me a recommendation letter for my PhD applications twelve years ago.
I still heard nothing back from her until the day before my
departure. Her emails were choppy and in text lingo, but it did not matter. I had
an assignation with the students the following morning. Like a good little
American professor, I dived into preparing my PowerPoint. Thankfully, Achaamma did
not hesitate to spare me my alone time (they never have). I asked Mike to go over to
their room. He went (grumbling a bit because my request was more of a command) and
played scrabble with them, while I disappeared into my laptop.
I took breaks in between as my pace slackened and hung out
with the gang to enjoy quality time, after all it was going to be my last day
with Achaamma before my trip wrapped up. By 10-ish pm, I had put together all the
essential components of my presentation and all that remained was editing. I went over
to my parents’ room and they looked ready for bed. Amma, bindi-less, wearing a
nightie and hair rolled up into a top bun, rubbed my arm and gave me her big
sniff of a kiss as if she couldn’t get enough of me. She is so much smaller
than me now, that I feel that if I wrap her in my arms, I could absorb her into
my self. I looked across and saw Acha already curled up in bed, wearing a t-shirt
(the A/C was too cold for him) and mundu. He made some practical enquiries about
my flight the next night, to which I made automatic replies, because all I wanted
to do as he laid there, huddled up and smiling gently, was to go kiss his shiny
bald head. And so I did and he kissed my hand.
The next morning, we went with them to the station and hung
out as we waited for the train. Amma and I sat on one side and chatted about Chech
and the kids. Mike and Acha sat across us, talking about how electric trains
work. Once the train arrived and Achaamma were seated, all there was to do was
wait for the train to leave and see my parents leave with it. I am not sure if
it will be a year or two before I see them, I don’t know how many more chances
I am going to get to really enjoy their company, but I said goodbye to them
in spite of it because I have to get on with my life and because it is better for my emotional sanity that I do it away from them, so that they are left with
no option but to stop parenting a 38-year old. But I was sad, they were sad and
Mike was sad. I was relieved to see the train leave because then I could stop trying
to contain my sadness, which I didn’t particularly succeed at in the first
place.
A few hours later, I took an auto to STC. On the way, it
starts pouring, and even though I had an umbrella with me, I feared for the
laptop in my backpack. I had also taken great care to dress up in what I
felt was a very professional but smart attire of lime-green, collared, linen
shirt and army green trousers. What if the gatekeeper didn’t let the auto
through? Would I have to go in looking like a wet dog? No gatekeeper would have, back in the day. But I was let through without a fuss (must have been my smart clothes).
I had no instructions other than to show up for the 11:45
class, so I took the steps to where the faculty room (no private offices for
each professor here) used to be. There, I was greeted by the faculty and
attended to by a couple of the prof’s eager student helpers (Ms. Brodie’s set?).
Together, we went to the same old BA Econ. classroom in which I had all
my three years’ worth of lectures. The classroom was packed with 60-odd students
and there was a wonky projector with terrible display, but it was still an
improvement over my days at the college. The prof had wanted a lecture on a
topic in economics and I wanted to talk to students about something that would
have an immediate impact, so I decided to do my talk on student migration,
starting with the why from an Indian female perspective and the
employment scenario in India and moving onto the how by focusing on what
to consider when applying to colleges in the US. I think the talk went well, I
had them telling me why they wanted to leave in the first place, and it was
primarily to escape the double standards that they faced as girls and to make
good money.
It was funny how, later, back in the faculty room, when I
asked the prof about what she made of all these students trying to go abroad
for studies, she said, it used to be that student aspirations stemmed from a
passion for higher learning but this going abroad business seemed more of a
trend. I don’t disagree on the trend part to a certain extent, but I still wonder
how professors get around to deluding themselves like this. Do the hordes of
IIT/IIM/IAS/MBBS aspirants all go in thinking, God! I will burst if I can’t
pursue my passion for my dearest of subjects?
After the talk, I had a few of the quiet ones come and ask me questions. How did I get into DSE? Which other good institutions are there for economics? What was my path to going abroad? What are the main steps involved in the application process? What tests do they need to take? What makes for a good score? What’s my salary?
Once I had answered their questions, I was taken back to the
faculty room where I sat around chatting with the teachers. At some point, the
prof goes, I never thought you had the drive to go to DSE or go abroad after
that, I mean you were a good student, but I thought many others would do such things,
not you. To which I replied that I had to, that there was no other way. But
in my head, I thought two things: 1) What would have been the point of being a
go-getter at STC? It wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere different or special 2) You
don’t know me lady.
I ended up getting back to the hotel much later than promised. Mike had his grim, irritated face on because he was hungry. I apologized for being held up and we headed out immediately to lunch at Tummy Singh. For dessert we got kulfi from Wow! Kulfi. Around midnight, we caught our flight to Singapore.
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