The telegram that changed my life!

It was the summer of 1970, maybe mid-June. I was in my hometown Athgarh, a sub-divisional small town in Cuttack district of Odisha. Like many, I had completed my pre-professional (schooling) education and was waiting to join college. I am the youngest of six siblings. The eldest, our only sister, an MA in English and married, was incidentally holidaying with us at that time. Our father, a lawyer, for some reason, was not very keen for his sons to become lawyers. Perhaps because ‘law’  was not looked at as a much sought after profession in those days. He always wanted one of his sons to be a doctor. My four brothers had already got into engineering and were residing in various towns across India. I was the last one, with my father hoping good from me! I had done pretty well in the qualifying pre-medical course (1st-year B.Sc with Biology from Ravenshaw College, Cuttack). So I could easily get admission to the Cuttack Medical College, the best place to do medical in Odisha those days, and maybe even now! All the formalities had been completed and I was waiting to move to Cuttack in July.

As a routine, I used to go to the Post Office (there was only one in Athgarh) on a cycle every day in those hot summer afternoons, to pick up the mail. The idea was to get the mail as soon as possible. Otherwise, it would be delivered to your house at the end of the day by the lone post peon. There used to be enough mail coming in with our extended family spread across the country. Telephones and calls were rare. One had to go to the Post Office to book a trunk call and wait for a connection. The telegram was another method to send urgent messages.

On one such trip to the Post Office in that summer, along with the mail, I was handed over a telegram which changed the direction of my life, almost to the opposite! Before I get to the contents of the telegram, let me explain telegrams. Telegrams were the fastest way to send messages for a very long time from the mid-nineteenth century until the advent of telephones. It worked by transmitting Morse Code via electrical cables from one station to another. At the receiving station, messages got printed on thin strips of paper using a special printer. These strips were then pasted on a particular telegraph form and delivered to the recipient’s address. The cost of a telegram used to depend upon how many letters have been used, including the address. So, naturally, everyone tried to make it as short as possible. Our address couldn’t have been any shorter. We being the only Ghosh in Athgarh and the Post Office knowing us well, our address was ‘Ghosh Athgarh’. The paper on which the message strips were pasted used to be pink, maybe to show its urgency. The pink piece of paper I got that day said: ‘ARCHITECTURE ENTRANCE TEST DELHI SECOND JULY COME SOON’. It was from my eldest brother (dada) in Delhi, where he had a reasonably good architecture practice. It was a surprise for me, as was it for my father and the rest of the family. I remembered my brother mentioning to Baba during his last visit to Athgarh in the last summer that since I was good at drawing, I could become a good architect. No one knew, or, at least I didn’t that my brother had applied to a few architectural colleges on my behalf; perhaps without any knowledge about the fact that Baba had already admitted me to a medical college. I was quite all right with the message. As such, I was not supposed to make any decision on this and just the prospect of going to Delhi, even for a test was after all not a bad idea! Baba became quieter for a couple of days, perhaps charting plans for my travel. Ma was seen grumbling intermittently, worried about her little son traveling to this far away place called Delhi. Our sister’s presence was a blessing- she could manage to maintain calm in the family.

Sensing that I would soon be leaving for Delhi, I started meeting friends for long hours. There were two types of friends. Some were like me, waiting to go out of Athgarh for further studies, mainly engineering and medical. The others had no such ambition in life. They were content with their basic education in school or at best, getting a BA from a nearby local college. Even the first group did not quite know what Architecture was, but they assumed it to be something better than engineering and medicine. Otherwise, why would one relinquish a confirmed seat in Cuttack Medical College and travel to Delhi to sit for an admission test? So those week-ten days that I spent with my friends before I left for Delhi, I had a somehow privileged status amongst them!

The day of my departure came. I took a bus from Athgarh to Cuttack to catch a train to Calcutta. A few of my friends came to the bus stand to see me off. I could see my father standing a little away with a worried face. He stood there till the bus left. He was worried because this was the first time I was traveling beyond Cuttack alone, that too without a reservation. I knew the Cuttack railway station well as I had studied at Ravenshaw College for two years. From there, I took an overnight train to Calcutta. Two of my brothers lived there. One of them picked me up and after a day or two, pushed me into an unreserved compartment of a Delhi bound train with the help of a coolie. I reached Old Delhi station after 36 hours, around noon, on the 30th of June 1970. Dada, the person behind my hurried journey was there to pick me up. I was already instructed to get off the train and wait on the platform, and not venture anywhere. I was told my brother could be late as he was a busy architect! And he was late! When he came, I was very happy and relieved to see him. Other than a trunk and bedroll as my luggage, I also had a ‘surahi’ for drinking water, an essential item for all train travel in summer  back in those days. Dada didn’t like the surahi; I think, it was too down-market for his status. So, he asked me to put it back into the train which was standing there, empty. We took a long walk to the parking lot with the coolie following us with my luggage. I was particularly happy without the load and responsibility of my rather unwieldy luggage! We got into my brother’s red Standard Herald car. It was a very fancy, low chassis model; I had never seen one before. I felt proud of sitting in my brother’s car, we only owned two-second hand cycles in Athgarh. On the way, Dada showed me Lal Quila to the left, Jama Masjid to the right, passed through congested Daryaganj, and then through the picturesque New Delhi, India Gate, et. al. When we finally reached Defence Colony, his residence back then, Boudi (aunty, or, my brother’s wife), was happy to see me. I was wearing a tight-fitting ‘drainpipe’ trousers, which were a trend in Odisha those days. The first thing Boudi asked me was how I managed to get in or out of those trousers. I surprised her by showing the zips which ran from the ankles to the knees! She was not impressed and I was politely asked not to wear them again. Luckily that was the only trouser I had which was ‘trendy’. Soon my brother hurriedly left for office and I settled down in the impressive guest room of my architect brother.

The next day, 1st July was my niece’s second birthday. Although I was 18, I was completely unaware of birthday celebrations. Birthdays were never celebrated in our family in Athgarh. Some years, if Ma remembered our birthdays, she would prepare payesh (kheer, or, rice pudding). I had never attended, nor even heard of a ‘birthday party’. 1st July 1970 was the first birthday party I ever attended. Throughout the day preparations were going on, setting up furniture, blowing balloons, etc. A few close friends and relatives of Boudi were there to help. Dada came back from the office at the end of the day and faced a highly annoyed Boudi. Evening came and families after the families arrived with their little children. Soon the modest living-dining of the house was overflowing. I was introduced to all but I couldn’t converse, I was very uncomfortable and nervous as well. When the time came, the birthday cake was cut. That was the first time I saw a real cake of that décor and size! The only cake I knew till then was the slices of Britannia cake and local cupcakes. When the children got busy with snacks, cakes, and cold drinks, the adults lifted their glasses. This was also the first time I saw bottles of various shapes and sizes filled with different types of alcohol. A party was on. Within a year, I would know the importance of parties. Over 36 hours had passed after my arrival in Delhi, but Dada had not uttered the words ‘admission test’ even once. I was worried and even more nervous.

The party finally ended, the dining table cleaned and furniture brought to its right location. Servants continued cleaning dishes while Boudi retired with my tired baby niece. Then suddenly, Dada remembered my admission test the next day and hurriedly summoned me to the empty dining table in the quiet drawing-dining room. He explained to me in great detail about ‘still-life’ sketching and asked me to draw what he quickly assembled on the table using a glass, a bottle, and a cotton napkin. He was impressed with my drawing. I think he didn’t quite know much about the contents of admission tests those days but the one thing he knew was that one could not prepare for them. So, it was ok to just land up at the test center!

On 2nd July 1970, Dada took me to the School of Planning and Architecture (SPA) on Ring Road, near ITO, in his red Standard Herald. SPA operates from two locations, just about 100m apart with two other properties in between. We went to the place where the Department of Architecture was located. Dada parked the car under a Gulmohar tree, asked me to wait in the car while he vanished into the building. There were many Gulmohar trees and all were in full bloom. But as it was already July, leaves also had already come, resulting in a beautiful scenery of red and green. For some reason, I was neither worried nor nervous about the test, I was kind of enjoying the moment. Honestly, I am feeling quite nervous now, while writing about it after 5 decades. Shortly after, Dada came out of the building, rushed me in, and handed me over to a peon. I remember the peon, he was groomed and dressed in the SPA uniform. I still wonder why I was looking at him rather than worrying about the test. The peon opened the doors to a large hall where a few students were seriously engrossed in doing something very strange with two pieces of paper. This did not match any possible method of testing for admission that I could ever imagine. A bearded smart person, perhaps a professor, who seemed to be expecting me showed me to the only empty large table with a tall stool to sit on. He gave me two A-4 size papers and explained what to do. I found it quite easy- it appeared to me like some kind of a game. I finished the task in no time and waited for the rest to finish. Most of them looked very baffled and were not doing anything. Soon, that part of the test was over; there were two other rounds till lunch. One of the tests taken post-lunch was ‘freehand sketching’. I was quite familiar with this one due to the last minute experience of the night before. But I didn’t know what ‘freehand’ actually meant in this context. So, very confidently, I started using a set square (a large plastic triangle) which I had, to draw the ‘book’ in the still life composition we were drawing. Of course, the candidates on either side continued to give me dirty looks, until one of them explained to me what ‘freehand’ sketching meant. I rubbed off what I had drawn and drew again without using the set square. When I finished, the same candidate, a girl, asked me why I was using the set square if I was so good in freehand drawing. I did not confess to her that I didn’t know the meaning of ‘freehand’. The admission test ended. I waited for my brother to pick me up.

On the way home, Dada asked me about the test. Hearing about what all we were asked to do, he kind of looked hopeless without even knowing what could have been my answers. I guess, he figured the tasks were too difficult for someone from a small town in Odisha who had done his schooling in Oriya medium.

In a couple of days, the result came and my name was in the list of successful candidates! I was very happy. But frankly, I was not very concerned about a possible failure either. I would have been quite satisfied with just this bonus holiday in Delhi before joining the tough medical course back in Cuttack. Dada was naturally very happy for my success and also perhaps because his independent efforts to get his youngest brother admitted for further education had paid off. Boudi was very happy but both were visibly surprised. On hearing the result, Boudi twisted my ear so hard that tears came to my eyes in pain. Apparently, ear twisting is also an act to show extreme happiness. This was another ‘new’ for me. Till then I knew it just as a punishment.

It was decided by Dada and Boudi (I was not consulted) that I need not go back to Athgarh before joining SPA in a week or so. I probably would have liked to go back, just to show off about my great achievement to my friends in person. And, also to return a bunch of fat physics, chemistry, and math books which I had borrowed to prepare for the entrance test, which of course were never opened.

Boudi prepared me for my hostel stay. Required purchases were done including clothes as I hadn’t brought enough , thinking that I will go back. Admission formalities were done in a few days and I moved into the SPA hostel. Hostel living was not new to me but this one was very different from unfamiliar surroundings. Thus I began the most important five years of my life at the School of Planning and Architecture, which not only gave me a degree in Architecture but also my beautiful wife.

(to be continued…)

Written by Ar. Ujan Ghosh. All images by the author.

Sthapatya is the only portal that discusses architecture in Bengali (along with English) with the aim of raising architectural and design awareness amongst the common populace by using the colloquial language. We would request your help and support to render this initiative successful by being a part of Sthapatya. 
Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter|  LinkedIn