<p>In 1996-97, at the behest of my father, I started my journey of higher secondary education at DAV College, Jalandhar. A rural boy, having studied in a government school in my vilalge, Bhupal, Jalandhar was a whole new world with an alien culture. Transported to the NRI city, as Jalandhar is known, the fast-paced life in the big city bewildered me.</p>.<p>I was allocated LR-hostel and a boy from Phillaur was my roommate. We shared nothing common – While I conversed in chaste ‘Malwai’ Punjabi, seemingly content with my humble homeland, he passionately dreamt of the unseen foreign lands, spinning flamboyant tales, which made my Punjab appear like a desert, a poor cousin of the distant flourishing lands. </p>.<p>Much to the amusement of others, I pronounced certain words true to my dialectic, such as, ‘bursh’ for toothbrush and ‘valain’ for ‘banain’ (vest). An object of ridicule, the thought of giving up studies haunted me. Adding to my woes were my financial constraints that forbade me from indulging in any recreational activities. There was no respite for me from my troubling thoughts.</p>.<p>What kept me going were the resolve of fulfilling my father’s dreams.</p>.<p>My battles were hardly restricted to my accent and descent. English was the biggest bane and I found all lectures delivered in the Queen’s language incomprehensible. The Punjabi lecture alone, taught by Dr R B Singh, kept me engaged. How naïve I was back then that I was perplexed a ‘doctor’ was to take our Punjabi class! I came to know much later that a PhD degree also gave one the prefix ‘Dr’.</p>.<p>Another thing that surprised me was the tuition culture in the city. My grasp of scientific concepts was good, but I could do with an English tuition. However, my letter in this regard never reached my parents and I struggled with the language while others made rapid strides. </p>.<p>Something else that tormented my young heart was the ugly financial chasm! The arrogant display of wealth by others in the hostel -- clothes, scooter and shoes worth ₹3000! For students like me, who studied with ₹4-5monthly fee, it was a belligerent display of the power of money. Several others like me swarmed into their rooms just to see ‘those’ shoes. I couldn’t sleep that night! </p>.<p>Days passed, but the desire to possess those expensive ‘shoes’ stayed with me. The culture in the hostel proved too negative for me to stay so I went back home to my parents. I was sad that my parents didn’t understand my agony.</p>.<p>Back in the government school, I secured a merit position at the state level that fetched me a medical seat. <span class="italic">Bapuji</span>, overjoyed on my accomplishment, bought me a pair of shoes worth ₹1200. Thrilled to bits, sleep evaded me that night too.</p>
<p>In 1996-97, at the behest of my father, I started my journey of higher secondary education at DAV College, Jalandhar. A rural boy, having studied in a government school in my vilalge, Bhupal, Jalandhar was a whole new world with an alien culture. Transported to the NRI city, as Jalandhar is known, the fast-paced life in the big city bewildered me.</p>.<p>I was allocated LR-hostel and a boy from Phillaur was my roommate. We shared nothing common – While I conversed in chaste ‘Malwai’ Punjabi, seemingly content with my humble homeland, he passionately dreamt of the unseen foreign lands, spinning flamboyant tales, which made my Punjab appear like a desert, a poor cousin of the distant flourishing lands. </p>.<p>Much to the amusement of others, I pronounced certain words true to my dialectic, such as, ‘bursh’ for toothbrush and ‘valain’ for ‘banain’ (vest). An object of ridicule, the thought of giving up studies haunted me. Adding to my woes were my financial constraints that forbade me from indulging in any recreational activities. There was no respite for me from my troubling thoughts.</p>.<p>What kept me going were the resolve of fulfilling my father’s dreams.</p>.<p>My battles were hardly restricted to my accent and descent. English was the biggest bane and I found all lectures delivered in the Queen’s language incomprehensible. The Punjabi lecture alone, taught by Dr R B Singh, kept me engaged. How naïve I was back then that I was perplexed a ‘doctor’ was to take our Punjabi class! I came to know much later that a PhD degree also gave one the prefix ‘Dr’.</p>.<p>Another thing that surprised me was the tuition culture in the city. My grasp of scientific concepts was good, but I could do with an English tuition. However, my letter in this regard never reached my parents and I struggled with the language while others made rapid strides. </p>.<p>Something else that tormented my young heart was the ugly financial chasm! The arrogant display of wealth by others in the hostel -- clothes, scooter and shoes worth ₹3000! For students like me, who studied with ₹4-5monthly fee, it was a belligerent display of the power of money. Several others like me swarmed into their rooms just to see ‘those’ shoes. I couldn’t sleep that night! </p>.<p>Days passed, but the desire to possess those expensive ‘shoes’ stayed with me. The culture in the hostel proved too negative for me to stay so I went back home to my parents. I was sad that my parents didn’t understand my agony.</p>.<p>Back in the government school, I secured a merit position at the state level that fetched me a medical seat. <span class="italic">Bapuji</span>, overjoyed on my accomplishment, bought me a pair of shoes worth ₹1200. Thrilled to bits, sleep evaded me that night too.</p>