Choti Choti batyen of Jalu86 [10 - 15 March’26]
Choti Choti batyen of Jalu86 [10 - 15 March’26]
Alma mater after 4 decades [1982 - 86] : After a gap of nearly four decades, a large group from our batch gathered in Jalpaiguri on the occasion of our friend KD’s son’s wedding reception. Over the years, a few of us had visited the college individually, but never before had such a sizeable group reunited at once. I had missed a similar opportunity earlier during KD’s daughter’s wedding, as my pet Daichi had fallen seriously ill at that time. This time, however, when the invitation came, I made sure not to let it slip.
With a sense of quiet excitement and a touch of nostalgia, we boarded the train from Sealdah on the night of the 10th. The journey itself felt like a passage back in time, as memories began to resurface even before we reached our destination. What followed was not just a visit, but a collective reliving of moments that had remained etched in us for decades. Here is a glimpse of the group that came together on this memorable occasion.
Jalpaiguri Road station: During the ragging period, we spent many nights here to escape the mindless ragging of those early college days. It is truly amazing that today we stand at the same station, this time accompanied by our spouses. Time has changed, and so has the ambience—the station now boasts a much larger structure, elevators, an overbridge, and a far greater movement of trains. Yet, the memories remain vivid and undiminished in our minds. We even met the Station Master in his new office; in our days, his room used to be at the far end near the entrance.
Jubilee park: This was once the farthest edge of Jalpaiguri town, where we would flock on Sundays and holidays. Set along the banks of the Teesta River, the Jubilee Park of those days was wrapped in a serene, lush green ambience. From the park, we would often walk down to the river and wander along its sandy stretches for long distances. At times, while treading on the loose sand, we would sink knee-deep into the soft riverbed—a memory both amusing and unforgettable. Jubilee Park was Asit’s favourite spot then.
Mosco Bridge: The Muscolaibari Bridge—fondly known to us as Mosco Bridge—used to be a modest wooden structure over the Karola River. Just beyond the bridge, on the right, stood the Muscolaibari Club, with whom we had our fair share of quarrels and youthful skirmishes in those days. Today, the club has grown into a prominent establishment, complete with an impressive clubhouse and a large football ground under its care. A C College still stands as it did, anchoring many of our memories.
The one-kilometre stretch from Mosco Bridge to the collegemore used to be a quiet, rustic road, lined with a few tin-roofed houses—including the well-known HALO’s house—the TB hospital, and a canopy of trees on both sides. At night, as we returned from town, faint lights from these houses and the hospital would barely outline the narrow road ahead. Rickshaws, usually carrying three of us squeezed onto a seat meant for two, would rattle along with their characteristic shrieks, making those journeys both uncomfortable and unforgettable.
Today, the bridge has been rebuilt in concrete, though the flow of the Karola River has diminished considerably. Walking down the same road with Jaga, Partha, Souti, and Sukumar, we managed to locate the TB hospital, but could not confidently identify HALO’s house. Beside the hospital now stands a massive multi-storey town hospital, while on the opposite side, a large medical college complex is rapidly taking shape—marking a striking transformation of a once quiet and simple stretch.
College More: The national highway passing through College More has now been widened into a four-lane road, significantly altering the character of the area. The small shops that once lined both sides of the road are now largely confined to the side adjacent to the College. The narrow road that used to curve around the post office has been separated by a boundary wall, and what was once a quiet stretch with just a lone hair-cutting saloon has transformed into a lively lane filled with a cluster of small shops. A small access gate now stands at the far end of this road.
The main entrance from the highway side has also changed, now featuring two gates—a smaller iron gate followed by a larger one. An additional block has been erected extending towards the main road, after which only the signature long curvature of the main building remains visible. The SBI branch is still housed in the same location within the main building. This was the very place where we used to flock at month-end, eagerly enquiring whether the MT (money transfer) from home had arrived or not!
What struck me most, however, was the relative absence of students at what is still known as College More. Even more surprising was the wait for tea—we had to stand for nearly ten minutes before it was prepared! In our time, these tea stalls were always bustling with students, and a cup of rich, freshly brewed tea was available almost instantly, adding to the vibrancy of the place!
Inside college: Stepping inside the campus felt like a true homecoming for all of us that day. We wandered slowly from one wing to another—taking photographs, reading old notice boards and hall-of-fame displays, peeking into a few closed rooms, and aimlessly soaking in every corner of the place. In some of the galleries, classes were in progress, so I had to repeatedly caution my rather bubbly friends to keep their voices down!
At the Electrical block, a few senior students came forward to meet and greet us. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that almost all of them had already secured PPOs (Pre-Placement Offers)—something that was quite rare in our time.
Finally, we reached the old examination halls—PCM, DR1, and DR2. My ever-mischievous friends immediately began inspecting the benches. And then, with dramatic excitement, Sukumar exclaimed as if he had uncovered a great cosmic mystery—“Look! These good boys also use benches to cheat in exams, just like we did!”
The polytechnic culvert: While hiring the vehicle, we already had a rough mental map of the places we were eager to revisit. So next, I asked the driver to head towards the Poly culvert—the small bridge that once connected the Polytechnic and our campus. The postmaster’s residence and the post office building along the way are no longer in use; they now stand dilapidated and worn out with time. During our lunch recess in those days, we would gather around the post office in eager anticipation of letters from home. Mobile phones were still at least fifteen years away in India, and inland letters and postcards were our primary means of communication. While the more “fortunate” ones like Khuro, Jana, Asit, and Kalyan would receive envelope letters almost every day, most of us had to be content with a postcard once a week or a fortnight. Whoever happened to pass by the post office during recess would dutifully collect letters for everyone in the wing.
The Poly culvert itself has now been concreted and painted in the trademark blue-and-white colours of the present government. In our time, it was a modest wooden bridge—one that silently witnessed many of our impulsive skirmishes with the Polytechnic boys over the most trivial issues. At one point, the rivalry had escalated so much that the administrations of both institutions arranged a friendly football match to ease tensions—an event made even more memorable as a few lecturers from both sides joined in to play!
While heading towards the hostel buildings, we took a small detour through the workshop building, the foundry shop, the carpentry section, and the old auditorium. It was reassuring to see that many of these structures are still in use, standing much as they did in our time, while a few now remain closed—quiet reminders of spaces that once buzzed with activity.
Our Hostels: “Our home away home”—I don’t quite recall who first used this phrase in our final-year Down Memory Lane compendium—perhaps Jhinge, Suman, or Bhaitu—but whoever it was,
it captured our emotions about hostel life perfectly. We had limited resources in those days, yet unlike the condition of hostels and their surroundings today, we made sincere efforts—whether perfect or imperfect—to keep our spaces clean. I still remember how Pundi, Utpal, or Buddha would regularly sweep the front of their rooms, as did a few others.
Today, however, the same sense of care seems largely absent. A telling example was SB Hall—I attempted to walk along the ground-floor front wing, but found it barely walkable in its present state. That said, SB Hall, PC Roy Hall, and JC Bose Hall have all been recently colour-washed and look quite impressive from the outside. The entrance of PC Roy Hall, in particular, stands out with the beautiful canopy of trees lining the porch. The oval ground in front of it appears lush and green, stretching out majestically towards the northern sky. On a clear day, one can still catch a glimpse of Mount Kanchenjunga from here. Over these forty years, perhaps the mountain has silently witnessed countless stories—of youth, struggle, friendship, and change—unfolding in the lives of those who once called this place their own.
Concluding: Forty years ago, we came here as young boys—uncertain, hopeful, and full of dreams. From here, we stepped out into the world, built our lives, got established in our professions, got married, raised families—and today, many of our children too are settled in their own lives. And yet, after all these years, we have returned once again to our alma mater… in search of those scattered fragments of memory.
But what does one really do with memories?
Yes, it feels deeply comforting to return—to walk through the same examination halls where our hearts once raced, especially under the watchful eyes of external invigilators. It feels strangely familiar to stand by the same windows, looking out toward the tea gardens, remembering how desperately we once wished to escape this place called Jalpaiguri. It feels grounding to walk down the workshop corridors where we toiled over our fitting jobs, or to step into the common room where, in the stillness of night, the Sonodyne music system would play Boney M, filling our young hearts with a sense of freedom and belonging.
But then… what next?
I found myself gazing at the Denguaghar tea garden, where we once spent carefree afternoons. Faces began to float through my mind—Asit, the quiet lover of nature, now distant; Bishu, ever sensitive, now consumed by the demands of life. Time, it seems, has gently scattered us all in different directions.
Perhaps I will return again—next year, or maybe after another decade. I do not know the reason, nor do I seek one. But I know this much—that the same inexplicable joy will return, the same surge of emotion will rise within me as I stand once more on the Polytechnic culvert, the oval ground, or inside Gallery-1. And surely, my heart will still beat a little faster as I step into the old PCM examination hall!
Somewhere, deep within, a permanent emotional thread now binds me to this place—silent, invisible, yet unbreakable—until the day I must take leave of this world. And like Brian Weiss, I too believe that life may offer another beginning. If that is ever granted, my only prayer to the Almighty would be this— if I must return, let me come back here once again… as a student of this very college !!!
Bye bye,
Somnath Bera
29/03/2026
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