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.
