Living Life Queensize..For Rs 40 a Month!!

Posted by James Kirkpatrick in memoirs

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This post was published in ‘Downtown’, The Hindu, in 2008 and was written by Janaki Rani Turaga, IBPS, who stayed in Women’s College Hostel while studying in Nizam’s College in 1958-60.

Exactly fifty years ago, I took a walk in the Begum’s Gardens of the Kothi Women’s College with my father. I was young and bubbling with enthusiasm and just got an admission to Nizam’s College in MA Economics with hostel accommodation at Women’s College Hostel. My father said ‘what a pleasure it is to live in these surroundings, looking at that grand historic building, running in those long corridors, strolling in the gardens – all for a mere forty rupees a month!!’

Large rooms with fresh linen, blankets with the sweet smell of my newly-bought perfumed oil, rosewood cupboards, dressing tables, mosquito nets, ever running hot and cold water since we had a boiler with a 70-bucket capacity, coke heated boiler in a separate room, super-sized parathas, - oh! What a luxury! Not to mention the pampering and loving friends! The Empress Gate gave way to the five Blocks, each with rows of six rooms, corridors leading to the Dining Hall and then to the temple. Clean bathrooms, with shining washbasins, the tiny Dhobi girl Sakku brining our ironed clothes.

We looked forward to the evenings with delicious anticipation for visitors. When it grew dark, a non-stop run on the sandy road, then to sit before the four tables to study and write letters – to friends, to families. And the occasional playful frolic with friends in the moonlight in the open yard!

The gardens with rocks, a running stream and pleasant corners of shady groves, aptly named Lovers’ Rock, a heavenly place of solace for tired souls. The male of the species were not allowed inside, except for one occasion when the great Vonoba Bhave held a meeting under the Bhoodaan Samithi.

In the mornings, physical training was compulsory for all the students, except the Post-graduate students like me. I would usually oversleep and then at a leisurely pace start for my college, which was 6 paisa bus fare away. I would go and look for my room-mates in the Women’s College laboratories. I would gently tap on the glass panes, make them sneak out and give them a treat in the canteen – a piece of cake, a mirchi bajji and chai, all for a royal sum of 20 paise!

My pranks with the juniors and freshers made for many hilarious stories. Once, I solemnly informed a junior from my native place that the Lions on the steps of the Durbar Hall actually hid gloomy dens and dungeons. Prisoners were thrown in by simply opening their mouths with the help of a pulley. To make the story sound real, I added that the right lion was out of order. The girl faithfully repeated the story to her mother who was my Mathematics teacher in school in my town. She could see the glint in my eyes and understood that I concocted the tale. She gently chided me for scaring her young daughter, even while laughing at it. There were many such pranks. I used to tell one more story about a girl in purdah, jilted in love, committing suicide and told my block-mates that her ankle bells are often heard during dark nights in the bathrooms of the Fourth Block! Just imagine the plight of the students who had to walk those corridors in the night!

Then there was the bungalow for spinster lecturers Vanaja Iyengar, Miss Gardner and others. Miss Linnel was our principal and then came Dr Sripathi Sridevi, who was a strict disciplinarian, but she later became my good friend.

Now, after more than five decades, I step on the premises of my hostel with feelings of nostalgia. What do I see? Dingy rooms, with construction implements in a corner, shabbiness and dirt around and hold your breath, three bathrooms for 360 girls!! The girls come on to the college premises with buckets, soaps, soiled clothes and make best use of the drinking water taps. Darkness all around, dried-up trees and overgrown grass at every inch, most unsafe and spreading gloom. Broken glasses, creaky broken doors, garbage everywhere!

Why is this so? Nobody seems to bother, no one is interested in keeping the placer livable, to keep the young girls comfortable, happy and inspired, looking into the future with bright eyes! How sad! A great tragedy, unless those responsible will spruce up the place, spend money or find resources if they are not already available. Who can look beyond the high walls, who can pull up those concerned, remind them of the Nawabi glory we basked in? Those who remember the yesteryears should awaken the administration, raise a hue and cry and save the little budding graduates, who are sure to leave with the bitterest of memories if not given a better lot.