Bangalore to Ahmedabad was an arduous journey in the 90s. The two cities couldn't have been more dissimilar.
Bangalore's imagery of verdant greenery, a cosmopolitan populace, gentlemanly sporting idols and the city where a million pubs blossomed, was in stark contrast to the dryness of Ahmedabad that encompassed not just the weather, but also a hardworking, business oriented people. The dryness extended to the dubiousness of being the capital of the only state in the country that had prohibition imposed upon it.
What Ahmedabad had going for it was heritage, and a slew of institutions renowned for academic excellence.
I had sleepwalked through my Bachelor's degree. Between an international student organization that had the United Breweries as its official beer sponsor, and the college rock band, capacitors and diodes stored very little energy in the cerebrum, and conducted even lesser therein. I had providence and the benevolence of classmates to thank for my degree in Electronics.
On the 36 hour train journey to Ahmedabad, I kept egging myself that the Master's course that I'd got admission for, would mean a clean break from the intemperate three years that had gone before . This would be the Alcatraz, for the delinquent in me getting ready for the purge.
It was May, 1994.
The temperature was a blistering 45 degrees. I'm not sure if I'd ever felt anything over 32 degrees before that.
The water wasn't potable. It tasted metallic.
The campus was far away from the city with nary a trace of civilization anywhere close by.
I hated the city that I had landed in.
That began to change when the rest of my batchmates began to trundle in. They were all from all parts of the country - from Tamil Nadu to Kashmir, from Goa to Delhi, from Gujarat to Kolkata, and a sprinkling of those from the badlands of Bihar, Uttar Pradesh and Haryana. They came with diverse educational backgrounds - pure sciences, applied sciences, economics, literature and the humanities. It had all the makings of a perfect storm.
There was not one without a quirk.
One slept in the glow of a zero-watt, red light at night. Another painted graffitti all over his walls. Yet another would sleepwalk his way to a 1.5l Pepsi bottle and a large pack of biscuits at night, devouring these while his roommate looked on with trepidation. One remained in a red tee right through the two years we spent on campus. One more monopolized books from the library, usually just before an exam and there was yet another who didn't go a single day, for two years, without a cold.
There's enough ammunition to write a separate blog about each of these, but this one is about my favorite quirk of them all.
Gurkeerat Singh Virk would get a local newspaper once every few months, and find a native - usually the security guard on campus, to read it out for him.
" As a student of culture and communications, it is important to have a pulse on what makes the local populace tick", Gurkee averred.
Gurkee's keen interest in all things local also resulted in him being an integral part of a team of 4, including yours truly, that went about scouting for bootleggers in our first few weeks in Dry City. Mission accomplished, there was never a special occasion over the next two years on campus that wasn't high spirited.
In the decade and a half that followed, all of us eased into life's journey, complete with its highways and dirt-tracks. By the time we re-congregated on campus for an alumni meet years later, Gurkee had gone on to become part of the leadership group of a billion dollar alco-bev group, a shining star in the research department.
In a thowback to the old days, we spent our two evenings together in front of a bonfire, exchanging tales right into the wee hours of the morning.
Gurkee seemed to be one of the very few who genuinely enjoyed their jobs. Based in Zurich, traveling extensively all over the world, combining work and leisure astutely, he spoke about the importance of loving what one does.
" I love my job so much, it's almost an extension of the kind of research I used to do while we were all on campus together", he chuckled, referring to his job in the liquor business.
"How's that?" I ask.
"Remember when I'd source those vernacular newspapers and some of you would snigger? Those were during times when I couldn't get our bootleggers to source my tipple, and I had to go to the village nearby and get their locally brewed hooch", he elaborated.
" What did that have to do with newspapers and local culture?", I persist.
" Oh, that was a red herring", he laughs aloud, " The newspapers were to run a check on if there were any hooch related misfortunes reported over the next few days - you know, death, blindness and such-like. Consumption would only happen once I was convinced that the coast was clear".
" Those were actually the beginnings of my research into human behavior in alcohol consumption. Today, I'm so chuffed that my hobby and my profession are the same".
The stillness of the night was rent by the collective gasps and the clicks of our jaws dropping.
For someone who's only a social drinker, Gurkee had stumbled upon his Ikigai long before it became the buzzword it is today.
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