Special Mention-A Letter to the Institute
-By Sumit Singh,20CY20034 ,It is an ode of a Father to IIT KGP
Uttar Pradesh- 23125
20th August 2022
Dean of Students Affairs
Indian Institute of Technology Kharagpur
West Bengal- 721302
Subject: Concern of a father
Among the dunes of behests and requests piled in size much distinguished than my station, much important than myself. I extend to you an ode of gratitude and ask reprieve for my troubled soul. A concern that has been with me for quite a time, and shared by many alike, today and tomorrow. We are past the time when the colors bleeding from the spectral screen couldn’t fill the seemingly endless stretch of monochrome from their lives. Now the world is back to being a bout of blue and green, summers are warm, and monsoon is close, yet the concern lingers, and I grow weary. Will he be able to breathe again, stand tall, among the ones who came after, for whom the tragedies of the past are mere stories of old.
When the great news came, our whole village rejoiced, he became the first person to move out of this dingy countryside, a hope for many others who will surely follow the lead. Our expenditures were tight amidst the brewing storm of pandemic engulfing the world, yet we provided our son with the best
amenities we could. Some savings and mortgages did the trick. Alas, the savage waves of the pandemic robbed him of the world he was promised, a cruel mockery of fate. Days of sitting confused, alien in a world of elites, being ignored by cliques of casual distinction, are behind him. The memory is still unbearable, though. I have seen his mother’s tears sharing the same sense of helplessness as mine, heard his curt replies to our advances, futile as they proved to be. There is only so much that can be achieved alone. In the real world, as he tells now, the achievement is governed by whims of luck and pedigree. There are people in IIT Kharagpur. There is opportunity, diversity, and culture. He voices proudly with admiration when we talk. I have come to know that IIT Kharagpur is the first institute established of its kind, I haven’t seen it for myself, but I remember him describing it as a vast area running thousands of acres. He speaks more now after living there, all the cycle trips on a round road spanning kilometers encompassing the core of the campus community, appreciates his mother’s food more, has friends to count on, seniors to account and classes in the most enormous building he has ever seen. He described an event and told us that it was like a fair but much grander than any we have ever visited. Sometimes the words he uses confuse me, but he laughs it off as campus culture, I don’t understand much, but I am happy from the joy in his demeanor. Everyday he has a new tale to tell, filling the trove of memories with the experiences of life, becoming new, better in due course.
Beyond the dulled glamour of Campus magnificence, the ordeal is apparent now. The days lost to uncertainty are a grave loss, visible as missed opportunities whose ripen fruits are now unattainable. He tells us that he is fine, but isn’t that the euphemism for an unsatisfied existence, life is not the same straight path perceived by many in our place, it’s a weird maze that opens the dead-end for a selected few, a consequence of not just our own action but everyone’s. This might be me enforcing my words through his means. Even now, I am not the one whose fingers are on the keyboard, my only expertise with communication has long been dead dried, not unlike the ink-pot lost in our barn somewhere, though I will feel quite relieved knowing that my words have found the right place.