Dear Department,
Greetings from a student living somewhere between Deorali and 6th Mile, Tadong.
I do not know to which government department to address this letter. I restrained myself from writing directly to the government as that can be easily misinterpreted as challenging the ruling party. My father is waiting to be transferred to a lucrative government position in Gangtok, and my mother is on the verge of her teaching position being regularized. I can’t afford to bring the sword of governmental wrath falling on their prospective prosperity. I just addressed it to department, which can be read as any department, only to vent my frustration on a nonentity that represents a mindlessly powerful entity.
I am preparing for my Class XII board exams this March. Both my parents and close relatives have high hopes of me becoming a medical doctor—a fashionable dream for many families in India. Sometimes, I wonder why nearly everyone in this most populous country aspires to be a doctor, and yet our doctor density and healthcare system leave much to be desired. But that’s beside the point.
I must admit, becoming a doctor is a dream I cherish deeply, albeit with a certain romantic idealism. However, I am increasingly unsure of achieving it. My preparation has been far from inspiring.
My house is located in a spot where it’s impossible to escape the endless noise from the numerous winter melas held on every available patch of flat land in our hopelessly congested city. Some of these so-called flat lands are actually playgrounds—spaces where open-space-starved young people should be engaging in physical games during their winter vacation.
Bollywood songs blare from loudspeakers all day, making me wonder if I should abandon my medical ambitions and explore a career in the film industry—as a side dancer, at least. The songs are irresistibly dance-provoking. While pretending to study, I often find myself daydreaming about Bollywood stars shaking their hips in gardens, snowy mountains, beaches, and dingy caves. I even feel I have a genetic advantage for dancing—my mother enthusiastically participates in mass dances in every mela, public function, political and cultural rally while my father has been increasingly active in dancing during public rallies, too. Perhaps the Culture Department could advise me on how to turn this into a career?
A self-styled philosopher of a housie caller can be heard dispensing pearls of wisdom like, "If you go back with the five hundred rupees you came with, nothing will change for your family. But just imagine winning twenty thousand rupees—think of all the possibilities that could open up!" Honestly, if dreaming big could fill pockets, this guy would’ve retired as a billionaire by now.
My father, whose new hobby seems to be losing money at these games, comes home at 11 PM hoping to recover his losses the next day, only to find my mother waiting for him—ready to fight. Their arguments, while amusing at times, are not exactly conducive to studying.
When the melas finally ended, I thought peace had returned. It was indeed a blissful morning. I climbed up to the terrace to soak in the rare silence. The tents and rides were being dismantled. But, unfortunately, the weather was overcast and freezing—too cold to study in the open air. So, I returned to my room, determined to make the most of this newfound quietude. That’s when the lights went out. A power outage decided to ruin what little determination I had. Like most houses in Gangtok, ours is so shadowed that daytime feels like night. Can you believe we had no power the entire day?
And so, my winter vacation passed. January is nearly over, and I can only hope February brings better circumstances. For someone like me, who lacks the natural inspiration to study hard, these distractions have been convenient excuses for my academic lethargy.
I am writing such a long letter only to say one positive thing and one negative thing:
The positive? This chaotic, noisy city has taught me to find humour in my struggles. No matter how absurd the circumstances, I’ve learned to laugh, even at my own lack of progress.
The negative? In a place where noise is celebrated and silence is rare, students like me are left searching for both inspiration and focus. Perhaps someday, the government will consider how small things—like a peaceful study environment—could make a big difference for students with big dreams.
Yours sincerely,
A slightly distracted, somewhat frustrated, but still hopeful student.