On a recent airport transfer, as I debated between reading my book or getting some work done on the laptop, I couldn’t help overhear stray bits of my Uber driver’s phone conversation. Things didn’t seem alright and I organically proceeded to ask him if something was the matter.
Neither did I read a word of my book, nor did any work; like most of us I had assumed that in either activity, would be a judicious use of the time the longish drive would take – instead I ended up talking to the Uber driver for the entire hour and a quarter my intra-city journey lasted.
The minutes hardly called attention to themselves. Though that wasn’t the reward, that I’d been able to traverse a most unpleasant commute without glancing at my watch. Far from it. What this interaction did gift me, as I quickly realized settling into my seat aboard the flight, was the kind of insight, and knowledge, that years of academic study couldn’t have; compressed, authentic, from the horse’s mouth, in a fraction of the time!
This bounty of newly gathered wisdom around small-town Uttar Pradesh and migrant workforce in the national capital, their lives, struggles and modest triumphs, their hopes, fears, dreams and aspirations, their forsaken native lives, sacrificed family members, this gentleman’s wages and survival-mode existence, his ‘education’ that had falsified the promise of prosperity – each word out of his mouth encapsulated an India that I wasn’t ever a part of, and was unlikely to be – more significantly, his was a microcosm of a dismal epic-sized reality, one, astonishingly kept veiled, secret, a closely hidden & protected recipe that served and serviced only a waver-thin minority.
I digress, since this isn’t intended as a socio-political rant. That I’d gained so much, from such little time, and zero effort, got me to thinking. What I’d always known, practiced half my life then forgotten somewhere along my bigger journey, hit me like a ton of bricks.
Family + History + Belonging
Through my childhood, I nagged the two men who were keen and kind enough to give me their greatest gift – time! Both my grandfathers – my nana & dadu. Aside from being indulged in the good life (read introduction to horse racing in Kolkata, luncheons at the Oberoi Grand, tailor-made clothes at Burlington’s) and broken toys being fixed, orange bars at the Ram Mandir, dog-shows unlimited, passionate discussions on sport – from each respectively, it was their own life stories that they’d speak about at length, and I, transfixed, would in turn, question them with a volley of counter-queries. They were both vastly different people, in disposition, station, outlook, ethos. Both came from little but had taken paths that were dissimilar. My nana had moved from a small village in Bihar to Kolkata and stumbled into trading. My dadu had moved from a small village in Rajasthan and ended up in a lifelong career with the Birlas. However, this seeming disparity, I realized, was not a point of conflict, rather a confluence and a critical intersection of my own being, and it gave me entirely, my own steady understanding and sense of rootedness.
Music + Passion + Identity + Solace
My mum, albeit a ‘westernized’ 60’s well-heeled, pampered, exposed individual from Kolkata, the type of Marwari lady her own community boys had been advised to steer-clear of, in addition to rocking out to Light My Fire by the Doors, had, for a significant duration, and rather seriously, learned the Sitar from the legendary Kalyani Roy. My father, untrained formally but deeply knowledgeable nonetheless, had been a genuine lover and admirer of the Urdu language, and by natural consequence, of the Ghazal. Growing up in small-town Jaipur during my own childhood (save for holidays in Kolkata), I was enveloped in this eclectic musical-melange, that included but was not limited to Ghulam Ali, Begun Akhtar on the one hand, Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones on the other!
My parents had a terrible marriage and while copious amounts of time and energy were invested in conflict, between all the chaos & cacophony, was music, and fervid discussions around music. Together or individually, my parents would recount ragas, songs, beats, lyrics, compositions, concerts, the works! They also took me to every conceivable concert.
The result – not merely an introduction but a veritable education in music even before I could croak sa re ga ma pa! And born from that most incredible education & exposure, largely centred on ‘talking’, my own most endearing passion for music, that compelled me at the age of six, to ask them to get me a vocal teacher! Reasons I did not convert what I was once convinced was my life’s singular purpose into that, we leave for another article. Suffice it to say that music, more than the sheer delight and creative conduit it has given me, did two additional invaluable things for me. At boarding school, it gave me an identity all my own, one that even today, faculty and ex Doscos remember vividly. Second, through the numerous unsavoury phases in my life, music has been, and continues to be, my one safe-space!
Priorities + Ethos + Courage
Having had a somewhat controversial dynamic with my own father (to put things palatably), I suppose there lurked this unconscious desire for a father-figure, mentor. I didn’t realize this until I reached boarding school, where, a small yet specific set of masters, who initially struck me as most odd and strange, unfit even to be occupying the roles they were, quickly became the most important figures in my life.
These were men who were probably perceived and labelled renegades in their own families for having flouted certain norms and expectations, having chosen instead, to become teachers. Once again, with these gents, I remember infinite and vivid conversations. I would like to underscore here, that these exchanges weren’t preachy sermons directly around themes of ‘dos and don’ts’ or anything even remotely ‘principled’. Simply organic chit chat brought out these individual’s thought processes, their world views, their non-negotiable and unimpeachable loyalty to their purpose, the culture & value systems by which they led their own lives; all of this was never once eulogised or even mentioned – it was just there, implicit, omnipresent, in their actions, their conduct.
Through countless classes with my music HOD, since I had hindustani classical vocal as a board subject, less than half that time was spent learning music, a vast majority on talking about cricket, life, odd jobs, parathas! Through numerous pranks of mimicking my housemaster and sending senior boys helter skelter I realized how far he’d come on his own evolutionary journey, from small town India, going on to lead the best and biggest schools of India. Like these, each day, was filled with inspiration galore. And it was from these men, and their stories, and their way of being, that I derived my own focus on discovery, passion, purpose, and that one must develop the courage and conviction to doggedly pursue that passion, lifelong!
Agency + Individuality
Recounting some invaluable interactions and their life-altering impact, I finally come to this – talking to myself. Ever since I can remember, I spent a lot of time with myself. What perhaps many found strange was that a lot of this ‘lot of time’ was literally doing nothing! At least there was no visible evidence of it. I wasn’t reading, playing, building, rolling, climbing. I was just, with myself. Thinking. It probably began with me trying to decode the strife in my parent’s marriage. Quickly though, it was joined by a set of themes that I would continue to talk to myself about, for the rest of my life. Who was I? Why was I? What made me happy? What made me sad? What did I enjoy?
Dwelling on these questions, and as time went on, I gained a certain awareness. From that, a certain clarity. From that, a certain life path.
Had I not had those crucial dialogues with myself, I’m not sure if I would have been as aware of who I was becoming or wanted to be. Also crucial to point out that I have continued having those dialogues. Continued revisiting myself. Continued asking similar questions, even though they’ve been answered and figured out many times.
Returning to the title of this piece; The Open School then, isn’t a stand-alone brick and mortar building or place of knowledge-gathering. It ins’t some hallowed institution where we can seek admission, gain entry into a club/tribe. It is a concept. A way of living life. An Openness to the world – noticing it, absorbing it, interpreting it. And an openness also to having constant conversation. The world, its people, its experiences, is an infinite stream of consciousness, and if students engage actively with this bountiful stream, their education can become faceted, real, layered.
Today more than ever with a student generation that seems deeply embedded in devices, this openness can not be overstated. The human experience is the greatest teacher. When we retreat into the solitary and disconnected online realm, we snap that umbilic connection! Don’t let that happen.
#mentalhealth #psychologicalcounselling #lifeguidance #freethinking
Kartik Bajoria is an Indian writer, columnist, communication skills educator, and mental health advocate based in Jaipur. He is widely recognised for his work in soft skills training, parenting mentorship, and literary event moderation.
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