I love the pitter patter of rain. And as it does, every year, the monsoons mark another momentous occasion – Admissions. I feel old when I see young and oh-so enthusiastic future FY’s bounce into college to purchase forms, believing nothing could possibly be cooler than getting into BMM. I try to remember that feeling, and all I can feel is "Im in TY and I want to go have chai for the last year that I can and once its over, run as far away from BMM as I possibly can". Im afraid that the upcoming batch of FY’s is going to be even more disappointing than the last batch, and in brutal honesty, more disappointing than my own.
Why do I feel this way? The same reason I feel everything else. Because of books.
There was a phase I went through, when I thought I could write a children’s book. For inspiration and advice, I started floating through the children’s sections of various bookshelves that Bombay so lovingly houses. I was disgusted. The "adventures" of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson take up so much shelf space. Is that what little girls today are reading? Whether to apply shimmery lip gloss or wear their blue clogs to school? I started getting obsessed with finding the entire collection of Malory Towers and St. Clares and have now become so desperate, I am seriously considering asking my mother to order them off Amazon as a Christmas present. Moody Judy? Do I honestly want to read about Judy who is rude and moody, and all in all, quite the brat? It makes me cringe. I used to find solace in the children’s section of bookshops. A few days ago, I greedily grabbed "The Pig with the Green Spots and Other Stories", sprawled on the floor and devoured it, I was so ecstatic at finding "old school" children’s stories. My train of thought was triggered then. If this is the kind of thing kids are growing up reading, its no wonder that most of them grow up being so close minded and well, stupid. In my all snoopiness, I recently discovered someone say they didn’t want to join Wilson OR KC BMM, because everyone there speaks Marathi. I was so angry, I wished I had minded my own business and well, not snooped.
It makes me sad, that while I sit in my TY class, feeling older but not necessarily wiser, there are future FY’s who firmly believe that me and the people who sit around me, and in the class above me are incapable of speaking English. And so what if they speak Marathi? My best friend speaks Marathi. Two of my other closest friends speak Marathi. For crying out loud, my aunt and my MOTHER whom I consider to be two of the most intelligent and well-read people I know, speak the damn language. My mother’s Marathi is appalling, but that’s not the point. My younger brother who I worship, refuses to purchase an admission form from Lala’s. His reason? He doesn’t like the name. He isn’t applying to a college because he doesn’t like what its called. Is it just me, or is this disturbing? Since when have the "younger than me" generation become such close-minded snobs? I doubt the person who believes that everyone in KC and Wilson BMM speaks Marathi has ever been to either BMM department, attended either BMM festival (Blitzkrieg and Polaris happen to be two of the best BMM festivals) or met either of the co-ordinators or associated with the students. I KNOW my brother doesn’t know a soul from Lala’s and he’s never even stepped foot in the college.
I don’t know much about KC. But I can personally guarantee, that YES, everybody in Wilson BMM can speak English. Wilson happens to be one of the most beautiful colleges in Mumbai and can take pride in its superior chai-making abilities. That aside, Wilson can honestly wax poetic on its fabulous BMM department, with its rigorous projects and an exposure, most media-wannabe’s envy. Listening to music is PART of a lecture, for crying out loud. We graduate hopelessly in love with our college, loyal to death, well-read and with a strong base in well – everything. We can talk about anything under the sun. Politics, music, literature, cinema, people. Sound vernacular to you?
I don’t care anymore who joins and what they’re like. I’m going to bask in my last year. Happy that I’m a Wilsonian and that the beautiful college and its perfect chai belongs to me.