I will break the rules and write about myself today. Columns are not supposed to be a "dear newspaper" space, but for once I want to use it to reach people who want to go back to school. I did. I first went back to school to do my masters twenty years later than the schedule and I submitted my doctoral thesis nine years after completing my MA. In total, I was twenty-nine years behind what I had to do for a long time. Meanwhile, I knew that I was sort of someday. The distance between now and now was covered by the company grass and with the family. Meanwhile, I was busy being a mother, a woman and a businesswoman. I thought it would be good to share my story today, risking any criticism:
Nowadays, our parents have combined academic excellence with students who "stand." "Cheleta combined ey booth korechey" meant that the boy or girl had scored good marks and had passed her class or had made at least twenty top list in public scrutiny. There was more to tell. Either we were a student in the arts, or in science, or later, in commerce. The phrase "combined" meant that the student had arrived at the list that included boys and girls. To ensure that the "combined" list for a girl was exceptional, because boys, in our time, were considered to be more talented than us. And I wanted to be a topper. Knowing that I was always "aspiring" as a student, my father used his unique parental technique to challenge me in pure Sanskrit and tell me: "pholeno porichiyotey", which means Meant that the evidence was in his pudding, or quite literally in this case meant, the plant was known by the fruit that it wore. So, when I surprised him twice, first with my SSC results and then with HSC, my father bought a paper weight with snowflakes at the top of my head. Inside and said that "Delhi durast hai", that is, I had a lot of way ahead of me, and I should prove myself for a long, long time. When I surprised him two years later, he got a "two-in-one" (where I could play bands and listen to the Bangladesh Betar world music channel), which Was stolen in a week and I ended up owning a second hand replacement from a friend who was sorry for me. My mother was a different species, with a distinct history. She belonged to another world who thought that children were meant to be fed and fattened while late reading had to be discouraged regardless of examinations because they affected their eyesight. So, as a child, I had to carefully reposition my pendulum of ambition. So, when one day, my university days came to an abrupt end, I was damaged but not broken. Finally, I prepared for a fight. As a result, what was supposed to be a fight, proved to be a journey, with people all around me telling me that I was supposed to teach and that I would have my PhD one day. . . .
My wait was long and all along the way, I knew that my waiting would easily have lasted a nanosecond or an eternity, because in reality there is no intuition or a ball of Crystal which influences the Divinity. So, I expected, played with life on the surface. In the process, I began to call myself a great peeler, watching the layers of my life falling into the curry, slowly cooking slowly, giving off smells, teasing, but Yet, can not be served on a tray. I had no idea when my life would stop and take a final turn. But the best part was not to have lost faith at any time.
As I continued to believe that I would pick up my pieces again, I would like to wear the graduation dress (during MA) with many, who were half my age and were awarded the gold medal. After that, in order to find an appropriate scope for the PhD, I worked hours over the weekends in a small publishing house in Kolkata, which was a stepping stone for many gemstone celebrity literary. Writers Workshop, the publishing house was founded by Professor Purushottama Lal in 1958. Many, including Vikram Seth, Agha Shahid Ali, Anita Desai, Kamala Das, Adil Jussawalla, Jayanta Mahapatra have published their first books from the. Mature poets such as Nissim Ezekiel, over a period of five years, sued Lal to publish two of his poem books under the Kolkata footprint. Dressed in sari blankets with a golden calligraphy carefully made by P Lal, the books were artifacts. I was interested in archives and discovered that no previous research existed on this publishing house. So in full confidence I approached the University of Jadavpur in Kolkata to consider giving me this opportunity to do my doctoral thesis on the Writers' Workshop as an agent of change In the fifty years following the partition.
The challenge was enormous. It seemed like I was trying to do it. I was executing (and until the date of doing the same thing) a full-time business, a demanding home and a very agitated social scene, that presented their multiple demands in different Shades and colors. In the process, I often failed, I cried, but still I straightened up. The result was spectacular. Today, my 300 pages, linked to a tough cover, made me much richer than ever.
Like me, many have not yet lost faith in adult education. In fact, I just read about a 74-year doctoral researcher. The oldest doctoral graduate of the Sichuan University conducted his PhD defense at the age of 74 years. A history enthusiast, Huang Zushen has just obtained his doctorate at the University of Sichuan four years after his retirement. The 300 pages of Huang's thesis dealt with the US military's support for the development of Chinese air force during the Chinese people's resistance war against Japanese aggression. Like his graduation gifts, he had the newest iPad and iPhone from his children. At the end of everything, Huang wants to be an academic.
Another story recently broadcast by Al Jazeera was about 27 women over the age of 60 attending school 120 kilometers west of Mumbai. Gulag Kedar, 64 and Kantabai More, 74, were two students, draped in bright pink sari as uniform, sharing their dreams on the screen. Well, what do these women hope to achieve by going to school now? I do not really have an answer to that question, but I know that they can also suck it. Just like me.
Men and women of our age and beyond, must feed the dreams and chase their own rainbow.
After all, dreams do not have shelf life and they do not come with an expiration date.
The writer is general manager, Mohammadi group.