Memoirs of a Cottonian

Memoirs of a Cottonian:

By: Manoj Kumar Das (‘77-‘79)

 

Every time I visit Guwahati, I always get this feeling of unfinished business. The sense of unfinished business of writing about my days in Cotton College. Not for anybody else but for my own sake. I have been to two campuses after Cotton College. Why then is Cotton College so special? So many faces, so many incidences, so much nostalgia! To my mind, it’s probably because it was my very first interface with the suave and urbane. Needless to say, I came from a sleepy village in the flood plains of Upper Assam. Cotton College was the place where, for the first time, we got an opportunity to study with people who could speak the Queen’s language as fluently as their mother tongue, while we stuttered throughout the lengthy process of translating from Assamese to English and then transmitting the message to tongue to convert into something audible! Oh! What a big mess! Managing a proper pronunciation? That was not even a priority at that time.

 

I think its time I finally finish the unfinished business. Go down the memory lane to the good old days in Cotton College! However, before that, I have to explain a few small details from my school days. Ours was a confused batch in Class VIII. The batch before us had a new curriculum. Two batches had been merged to make one mega batch. Class-VIII had the old and new both batches merged. We had skipped class VII to become the new VIII. We also had a subject called ‘work experience' introduced, in which I got a mere 47% in the class 10^th final exam. It was due to the poor assessment made by the external examiner. He had come during the floods when our school was being used as a cowshed reeking of cowdung. There was no one to greet him and do the necessary PR. He gave marks to all of us in the range of 41% - 47%. It had a devastating affect on my overall percentage in Class X!

 

I was the eldest son of my generation on the paternal side, highly pampered by 3 uncles, 5 aunts, and doting grandparents. My dad was largely non-existent during my childhood years as he was busy with his business, politics and other activities and hardly around at home. He was always, however, very benevolent and encouraging. I was never allowed to venture out of our house without being accompanied by my uncles and it was very doubtful whether they were ever going to let me go to Guwahati for as early an education as Pre University. My uncle who was a doctor wanted me to study medicine and so much so that he even constructed a house in North Lakhimpur with my education in mind.

 

The HSLC exams were held in the summer of ’77. There was no centre for matriculation examination in our school at Bordoloni. So we had to go all the way to Dhemaji for appearing in the same. I stayed in the quarter of the Chief Executive Councilor of Dhemaji Mohkuma Parishad (my dad was the Deputy Chief). His son with his gang would come over every night, drink and create a ruckus. I could not get enough sleep on many occasions. At last I was forced to complain, and his dad, the Chief, chased them away on a particular night. Our exam hall was in the Girls’ High School. During the mathematics paper, the embankment was breached and flood water had rushed in. What mayhem! It was a case of 'water water everywhere...'

 

Results were declared in July, I think. I was the lone first divisioner from the centre (pathetic by today’s standards). There were three more from the same area – Hariprasad Mili from the Jonai centre, Lalit and Keshab Gogoi from the Dhakuakhana centre. There was a lot of fanfare in our semi-rural area in my honour, as I had been also the first one in our family to pass matriculation in the First Division. It had left a lasting impression on my cousins and they all vied to better my marks by many notches in the years to come. However, my overall percentage was badly affected due to the poor marking in the work experience subject as explained earlier. Unfortunately for us, it was a compulsory subject. However, I moved on in life.

 

Joining Cotton College was not entirely a planned move. My aunt’s cousin brother (Arabinda Dutta) had got Letter marks (80% plus) in two subjects. When I enquired from her about his college admission, she had mentioned that he got admitted to Cotton College. There was a sense of pride in her words! I too met him when he had accompanied my aunt as a bride mate to our ancestral home. He was good looking, sober, intelligent and suave – a role model I tried to emulate in later years. I think since that meeting I had decided deep down in my mind that I would go only to Cotton College for my higher studies.

 

On the day of the admission formalities, we were seated in the Union Hall of the Cotton College. My turn came very late in the evening. My allotted Roll No. was 244. The Roll No. explains my overall position in the merit list, as more than 90% of the topper students used to flock to Cotton College. I was allotted the DS Hostel, which had the acronym of ‘Dangerous Hostel’. No rank holder was ever sent to this hostel, as it had the reputation of being rowdy and inferior in academic pursuits. R Raja (IIT alumni now settled in US), was allotted our hostel, but he later opted to be a local student.

 

My dad bought me the necessities for hostel life like a steel trunk, a mattress, furnishings etc. and dropped me at the hostel in the evening the next day. I got to know about ragging for the first time. I had arrived there with my eventual roommate Shoneet Bijoy Das. He was from Vivekananda School, Digboi and had been a hosteller all along. He was a so called ‘ustaad’. We were the first two to arrive at the hostel. Our senior Priya Gohain- who donned a terrifying moustache asked us to translate our names. Shoneet translated his name as ‘Beauty Blood Conquer Slave’. Mine became “Beauty Born out of Mind Unmarried Slave”. We were sent on a Singapore trip, which basically meant crawling under the cots, full of cobwebs and dust. Shoneet was ordered to kill a male mosquito. Laughing was forbidden. After some initiation, I was allowed to go to my room (No. 7). There were already three other boarders in the room and all were my seniors; Subhra Kingkor Goswami, Krishnendu Sutradhar, Dibakar Deka. I tried to put up the most innocent face I could muster to draw their sympathy. Eyes swollen with tears, I tried to look how I felt, alone amidst strangers for the first time in my life. To my comfort slowly, freshers started pouring in with their trade mark trunks and hold alls.

 

The nights were abuzz with ragging. A few days later, some boys were taken out at night. My roommates were very possessive of me; they locked the door from inside to prevent any misadventure. Krishnenduda was even threatened by others for being unduly protective about me. I am still so grateful to them for showing such compassion! Then an incident took place which I can never forget. The fresher boys were taken at night to Dighalipukhuri (a large deep tank, mythologically claimed to have been constructed by king Bhagadatta of Kamrupa to commemorate the marriage of his daughter Bhanumati to Duryodhana). Stripped down to their underwears, they were asked to take a dip in the swimming pool part of the tank. Later the victims were lined up before the gate of the nearby Handique Girls’ Hostel. Shouting slogans, the fully drenched boys prayed for the appearance of the ‘devis’. Unfortunately, half of our seniors were innocent onlookers in this escapade. The Principal of Handique College rang up our Principal, Prof Asaf Ali. He quickly assembled a group to hunt down the perpetrators. DS has only two entrances, at the front and one at the rear. The raggers fell into the trap while returning back to hostel after a satisfactory round of sortie through the rear gate. The next day, 11 seniors were rusticated. We were made to stage a hunger strike to take back our seniors. Prof Asaf Ali, however, did not relent. The suave and gentle Principal was let down by his own students, and the good name of Cotton College was smeared.

 

With that expulsion, a wall magazine, the second in Cotton, died. It was named ‘Taranga’ and was started by Subhrada and Dharanida (Dr Dharanidhar Das- mowed down by secret killers later on). I took up the task of reviving it with Gauri Prasad Sarma Bezbora. We collected 25 paise from each hosteller. I still remember, Prodyutda (Industry Minister, now) gave 50 paise! We bought sketch pens, chart paper etc. and wrote the wall magazine every month. We renamed the wall-mag ‘Prachiror Rengoni’-meaning the Rays off the wall!. I am happy to note that it is still alive.

 

Our first day in college started with a Chemistry class. The galleries from the old era were quite haunting, I must say. As we entered, some chemicals on the ground popped like crackers. There was a huge fire (Oxidation of Potassium Pentoxide) through which one could walk! Satyen Choudhury Sir was the architect of this unusual initiation rite to this great temple of learning.

 

Our seniors, notwithstanding the ragging period, were very supportive and caring. My roommate used to wake me up at 4 am and we used to go for jogging around the Dighalipukhuri in the misty early mornings. Then we used to study for no less than 3 hours before getting ready for breakfast and class. We were quite scared of our seniors. Even today, a senior by even a year will be addressed respectfully as 'da'. No first name culture with Cottonians. There were no fans in the hostel rooms when we joined, but after a year the luxury of beating the heat in summer was made available to us. Guwahati was a shed warmer than our upper Assam foothills. All our cooks sported huge moustaches – Bihari Bhaiyas rechristened ‘Thakurs’ in Cottonian lingo. We used to get a snack in the afternoon in the hostel; usually luchi with aloo bhaji. Occasionally, we had feasts. The family of the then hostel super, late Sri Sashidhar Goswami, used to join us. He had 5 daughters, and the feast used to start with his oft repeated song- ‘poro jonomor xubho logonot jodihe amar hoi dekha, puraba ne priye ei jonomor, moor hiyar opurno axha’ – (literally meaning: if we happen to meet in an auspicious moment in our next life, oh my adored one, would you fulfill my unfulfilled desire).

 

 

There was provision of a 'sick' diet for those boarders who were unwell. It consisted of a steaming glass of cow's milk from the cowshed of our chowkidar along with rotis and potato fries. We used to fake high temperature occasionally to get the treat. The trick was to have a ‘zarda paan’ or dip one's feet in hot water for sometime to raise the body temperature, and then sleep in bed with a bedcover pulled over the whole body. Some moaning sound is always helpful to build up the case. One had to write an application to the monitor, to be eligible.

 

Cotton main canteen was always a hub of activity. Bell bottom pants and high hills were in vogue those days. It was the 'Bobby' fashion era. Shyamada and his guitar yielding gang used to sip tea and sing songs. Sunday was the time for morning shows at Urvashi and Apsara Cinemas. Some Sundays I used to visit my uncle’s place in the veterinary campus for a sumptuous lunch consisting of chicken curry. Other entertainments were to go for a walk along the Brahmaputra river bank and see the Sunset at Sukleswar Ghat. A ferry ride across the river was not so infrequent either. Sometimes we used o track on the Nilachal Hills and view Guwahati from the Bhubaneswari peak. We used to play football, badminton, TT, carrom etc…We had two national TT champions in our college at that time, Modalasa Hazarika and Monalisa Barua. Therefore, the finals were always of national level.

 

The Assamese medium students were in awe of the convent educated Don Bosco and St Mary’s crowd in the initial months, till we proved our mettle. St Mary’s girls would speak loudly in English to bewilder us. One day one such girl, in popular parlance called ‘bamboo’ due to her height, slipped in cowdung. She shouted ‘Oo ma moriloo!’ Hence, we were confirmed that even the convent goers think in Assamese. While choosing the medium of instruction, we were told by Dr K D Krori Sir, that those who wish to become doctors, engineers, scientists etc. have no other option but to opt for English medium sooner or later, and sooner the better. I took English medium. It was difficult to cope with in the beginning but I managed. Life was tough for Biology students. We had to rush after Physics class to Dighalipukhuri, which was more than a km away to be in time for the Biology classes. Students in the Arts stream seemed to have a really cool time. Most of the time they could be seen chatting on the stairs of New building, the HQ of humanities section.

 

Visiting home back and forth was an ordeal. On few occasions we travelled by Arunachal Express Train. Our leader used to be Suresh Dutta. It used to take about 16 hours. During that time night super bus service was introduced too by ASTC. Most of the time the bus used to have a tyre punctures near Halem Tea Estate and the driver-handyman duo used to abandon us for a drink in the nearby village, never to be seen again. A red ordinary escort bus used to carry us to Guwahati, and the total journey time sometimes got stretched up to 18 hours.

 

Like in any institution, we too had picked a few nick names for our teachers and fellow students who seemed different from others. There was ‘Bruce Lee’ – Preety Kakoti ma’am and ‘Chana Punctatus’ – Chakravarty Sir of Zoology. Two girls, Upama and Arundhati, were inseparable friends, and hence they were named ‘cup-plate’. There were two love birds and were always seen hanging together. They were ghura-ghuri. Book worms and nerds were called ‘kaviraj’. The Super of the neighbouring New Hostel was Haridev Goswami (in short Hogu) and ours was Sogu. Whenever there was power cut, boys would climb to the terrace and sing quwwali..hogu sogu duyu bhai kandise binai...hai re hai...! Supers never came to enquire about the qawwals, indicating their tacit acceptance of the tease!

 

We had wonderful teachers. They were experts in their subjects. Our Physics teacher Dr K D Krori was the best Physics teacher ever. He used to repeat the same chapter; once in English and once in Assamese. Honestly, I never had to study much for Physics. There was a young teacher Dr Pradip Sarma, who was as promising as Krori Sir. Krori Sir was fun too. Once he let off the whole class to see a movie ‘Paheli’ which was about puppy love. He was always very poised. Once a very old fan fell off from the ceiling during a class. It would have cracked his head, had he not been in a bent position to organize the register just after the roll call. He continued the class as though nothing happened. In fact, we were more nervous than him and a few girls wept in sheer anxiety. Another teacher I remember was Dr Bapu Krishna Choudhury. He was very funny yet stern. Dr Naba Kanta Baruah used to take English classes and he used to intersperse his lecture with chaste Hindi to add humour. Durgeswar Das Sir taught us Mathematics and he was a towering figure with regal looking long locks of hair. The way he taught 3 dimensional geometry was absolutely wonderful. I have already mentioned, Asaf Ali Sir was a wonderful Principal. Once I was walking with my friend Brojen Sonowal and Asaf Ali sir was walking ahead of us. Suddenly he turned back and asked whether we were real brothers. We both looked similar.

 

New Hostel, our neighbour, had no toilets of their own at that time and we indulged in toilet politics. Let me explain. New Hostel was also the hub of leftist minded students. SFI was the major left group. Later on AISF also came into being. Immediately after each election, if it was suspected that New Hostel boys did not vote for our hostel candidate, posters would be put up prohibiting them from using our toilets!

 

The Cosmopolitan hostel had the best bird watching spot. Handique College girls used to pass the Cosmo canteen. Later on I analyzed that many from the Cosmo married Handique girls. The normal way to tease the girls was to tie a rupee note to a long black thread and place it on the road. Some unsuspecting girl would try to pick up the abandoned note and the chaps on the hostel verandah would pull the thread. The red faced embarrassed girl wouldn’t know what to do or where to look. These monkeys would then whistle and jeer at her! Saraswati Puja was an occasion to decorate our hostels. We would compete to outdo each other when it came to the idol or the decorations. It was also the occasion to attract and invite girls to the hostel campus. What more could we ask for?

 

Aftee the first terminal exam, I got the highest marks in two subjects – Zoology and Assamese, and thus got baptized into the intellectual league. I was regular with my studies, and took gym classes under the influence of my friend Santanu Bora. We also learnt a rustic form of Karate, as Bruce Lee was our icon and demi-God. Boys used to practice side kicks on the black bakelite switches in the corridor. Many such switches got broken once and that was enough to infuriate our Super. He could find the culprit only in the evening of Shivratri. Mr Pal, who had kicked the switches out of the sockets took enough ‘bhang’ at Umananda and held on to the feet of our super, until he was pardoned under duress.

 

I was under the impression that my popularity was great and, therefore contested for the post of Mess Secretary in the hostel and lost. That was my second tragic experience with the democratic process. Earlier in school, I had lost the election for the post of AGS. I did a post election enquiry and asked a few friends why they rejected me. Naba Talukdar (now Jt. Director, Industry) told me that boys from lower Assam did not vote for me as they deemed upper Assam boys to be extravagant. They apprehended that food bills in the hostel would go up due to more feasts, if I were elected! After that I fought many elections in different locations as diverse as Panjab University and won. Formula for success: know the pulse and temperament of your electorate.

 

Election process at Cotton College was a time of frenzied activity. Hostel loyalty being supreme, anyone violating that code was severely punished. Two such persons were bundled out of our hostel for canvassing against the hostel candidate. Cotton College had always been the breeding ground for future leaders of Assam in almost all spheres. Half of the Assam Cabinet is packed with Cottonians. Mr Pradyut Bordoloi, Mr Bharat Narah, Mr H B Sarma were GSs of Cotton College. During the initial days of the Assam Agitation, the Union was taken over by leftist activists and created confusion by rejecting calls for participation in the programs of the AASU. Students then retaliated by trying to impeach the GS. He had to take recourse to the High Court for a stay. However, the damage was already done and the locus of the agitation and student power shifted to Gauhati University.

 

1978 was the formative year of the Assam Agitation and we had a tiff with the police. KPS Gill, the Indian Super cop, was the SP of Guwahati. Over-agitated students burnt a public bus near our hostel. There had to be brickbats obviously. Parag Das, a junior was injured by the police stone throw. Gill and his posse, in fact, wanted to storm our hostel. Our Super stood firmly at the gate and did not allow the police to enter the hostel premise. He declared- ‘only over my dead body’! It was a tense day. After a long standoff Gill and party called off. That was one of our first lessons in managing severe stress and strain.

 

I must confess something of a personal nature too. Quite early on during college, I too got enamored by a gentle, charming and brilliant girl in my class. She had such beautiful slanted hand writing. We used to steal glances at the slightest opportunity. The first summer vacation was terrible for me. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Her mesmerizing eyes kept appearing everywhere. She was of non Assamese origin and an English speaking girl. I couldn’t muster courage to talk to her. Just as a relieving exercise, I wrote about her in a small notebook as a confession, which was later discovered by my dad. He gave me a good sermon during a bus journey back to college.

 

Her memory haunted me all through my Engineering and MBA days.  She somehow became my guiding spirit as I tried subconsciously to come up to her level, to get accepted. I kept track of her through my ‘khabris’ and after joining Hero Honda as a Plant Engineer, I sent her a letter proposing to marry. During a visit to Guwahati, one beautiful afternoon, I sought an appointment with her in the OPD ward in GMC, where she was doing her MS. She came for about two minutes precisely and told me “Sorry about marriage, my father is looking for someone in UP”! She then asked when I would be leaving. I said “Tomorrow” and she wished me" Happy journey”. That was 'The End' of my story as she turned back and disappeared. Ironically, she wished me for my life’s journey as we were never likely to meet again.

 

Now as I look back, (I am long married and seem to 'understand' women somewhat), I see what she probably said “My father may marry me off to someone from UP. If you have the guts, go and ask him for my hands”. The romantic impressions of yore are now a dimmed faded patch which sweetens the past and which I recall with so much nostalgia.

 

Stakes were very high. If one did not do well in life, maybe he would have to go back and till the farmland back in the village. Many a brilliant students had fallen into bad company, untimely romance and the sweeping jet stream of Cotton (cottonor hawa). If someone did not do well in the final reckoning; it was called ‘gera mora’ in Cotton’s vocab. However, they may have faltered once, but thanks to the exposure at Cotton, most of them would bounce back in life as politicians, businessmen, traders, entrepreneurs, writers, journos, lawyers etc. Our batch of ‘77 has done well. There were many doctors, engineers, professors, bankers, civil servants, police officers etc. About 20 of them are settled abroad.

 

Long live Cotton College!

 

• About author: Manoj Kumar Das
• Batch: PU(Science), Section: C. 1977-79
• Academics: BE (Production)-Morbi; MBA (Panjab University Chandirgarh)
• Current Occupation: Service, DGM with North Eastern Development Finance Corporation Ltd. (NEDFi)
• Other activities: Social service. General Secretary of Assam Association, Delhi for 7 years (4 terms)