From an outsider to a local
K S S Pillai
The year 1968 was about to end. When I received a letter typed in Gujarati, I wondered about its content. Some days earlier, I had faced an interview board that selected candidates for the post of lecturers in English in the government colleges of Gujarat.
As I had reached Ahmedabad by bus from Indore in Madhya Pradesh the previous evening, I had stayed in a hotel, paying ₹10 for a single room with an attached bath. The interview was held at the famous Gujarat college.
It seemed to take a long time, all members of the board asking questions. I had just passed my qualifying examination and had not much difficulty in answering them. However, my hopes were shattered when one of the interviewers asked me if I could explain the texts in the Gujarati language. Students were likely to ask for explanation in their mother tongue, he had said. I had confessed the best I could do was to explain in Hindi.
As the unsuccessful candidates were not informed of the result usually, I was curious to know what the letter was about. A friend took me to a Gujarati family to get the letter read. To my surprise, I was told I was selected and was asked to report to the government agriculture college at Navsari within a week.
The college, affiliated to the South Gujarat University, Surat, was a new one running in a hired compound. The spacious old building in the compound was used to accommodate the college office and some of the departments. Temporary sheds were constructed to accommodate the staff of some departments and for practical classes. Lecture halls were also temporary. The principal and most of the teachers were deputed from the state agriculture department.
The climate of the region was not much different from that of Kerala. The people also looked like Malayalees and were friendly. It was the birthplace of Jamsetji Tata and Dadabhai Naoroji. There was a sizeable Parsi population in the city. Dandi, where Gandhiji’s held the Salt Satyagraha, was a few kilometres away.
Though apprehensive at first, I was welcomed by the other teachers wholeheartedly. As most of them were uncomfortable with English, they were relieved that I could speak Hindi well. It soon became the language of communication with them. The presence of three cinema houses in the city, showing Hindi movies most of the time, must have played a prominent part in the fluency of their Hindi. They advised me to learn Gujarati soon and assured me of their help.
Once, the principal attended one of my lectures and later told me to learn Gujarati quickly. The word must have spread that a South Indian with a peculiar accent was teaching English.
Another day I had the father of one of the students as a guest at my residence. As anyone could enter or exit the lecture halls, I was unaware that he had attended my lecture. He confessed he could not make head or tail of what I said during the lecture, and requested me to take special care of his son, a fresh student. The next day he came with a basketful of different varieties of mangoes from his orchard. My wife reciprocated by presenting him with packets of Kerala dishes prepared by her. The annual ritual came to an abrupt halt when his son graduated.
There was a canteen, run by one Jairam, nearby. Tea and coffee were available throughout the day, and hot bhajias at around four every evening. I met most of the other staff members there.
Time has passed quickly. Now, most of my friends are my past students. Our neighbours and others have treated us as one of them. My children speak Gujarati fluently, and their friends are also Gujaratis. After living in the same city peacefully for more than half a century, my only wish is to breathe my last here.
(The author is a retired professor of English. A regular contributor to The Kashmir Vision, his articles and short stories have appeared in various national and international publications)
