The Economics of Food in Hindu Hostel

There are two states in which one can expect to meet a Hindu Hostelite: hungry and not-so-hungry. If Hindu Hostel were an economy, food would be its dominant industry. Of course, Hindu Hostel, like every other place, does not have one economics, but a large variety and dimensions of economics; and a lot of minor stories contribute towards building the larger picture. This piece is an attempt to capture the essence of the stories that determine the economics of food here.

In Hindu Hostel, food ceases being just food, and defines the political economy of the place. Where one generally eats – the mess, the different canteens or restaurants outside – defines the class structure of the hostel more than any other single parameter, brand of cigarettes coming a close second. It is easy to understand why. Hostelites live within a fixed budget and much of that is devoted to the pursuit of non-hunger. After the initial days as a fresher of going to eat together in the mess as a group, the dynamics of class dominate our eating preferences. In my time as a hostelite, I have lived with friends who frequented Food Station, others who ate lunch and dinner at the mess with snacks at the canteens, and yet others who ate only two meals, both at the mess. This choice is determined more by the ‘budget constraint’ than the ‘tastes and preferences’ that your friend from Economics talks about.

However, if we enter the hostel as homo economicus, eating only at the mess or only at Shankarda’s canteen or only at Podu’s, one imbibes a camaraderie in the Hostel that is inherently egalitarian. So no matter which budget you follow, there is not a soul in the hostel who is not excited by the prospect of the monthly Grand Feast. And cha at CMC in the dead of night is staple, even if fancier options are available to one. These acts may defy economic logic; after all, why will someone with the money to go to CCD, choose not to? But Hindu Hostel is that kind of a place. The sense of tradition and camaraderie eventually overpowers the class distinctions, helped along by the fact that they create the long-lasting memories that dry economics cannot.

It’s OK to be Communal

The soap opera that is the Lok Sabha elections has left its imprints on our social media timelines, TV ad-times and roadside hoardings and banners. So basically, all the places – physical and virtual – that people went to to look at beautiful women trying to get them to buy something unnecessary, has been taken over by greasy politician-salesmen trying to sell their wonderful ideas about how the country is to be governed. Talk about being worse off.

In the cacophony of noises regarding different parties, PM candidates and leaders, no one has been as discussed, as mentioned and as dissected as NaMo The Great. Now, let me make it clear that I am no NaMo The Great bhakt. I have no reason to be one. I mean, he probably feels I’m an illegal Bangladeshi living in the northeast, and so wants to deport me to Pakistan (don’t question the Supreme Leader’s logic) all thanks to my ‘ajeeb, ajeeb naam’. Now, the section of rich, upper caste Hindus who call themselves communists may sit in their libraries and call this behaviour unconstitutional and ‘against the spirit of democracy’ and all that jazz, but I don’t think such characteristics have ever deterred the ruling class in India.

Now the commies are a joke and anyway, this post is not about them. This is about their caste brethren who have hitched their rides to NaMo The Great (NaMo NaMah!). Living in India with an ‘ajeeb ajeeb naam’, I am aware of the love that fosters between Hindus and Muslims, tribal and non-tribal, linguistic majorities and linguistic minorities, upper castes and lower castes in different parts of the country. It may seem unnatural to a soon-to-be-deported-to-Pakistan liberal like me, but it is a fact that people across the world don’t like people who are too unlike them. So that religiously non-drinking/beef eating/bearded/skullcap-ed Muslim guy is on average going to be less popular than a drinking, pork-eating, nonreligious Muslim in a classroom/workplace full of Hindus. And vice versa. (If these politically incorrect and generalising statements are making you uncomfortable, you belong with the commies and certainly not on my blog.)

So it is alright to hate Muslims, to want them to be butchered and parceled to Pakistan, to want lower castes to know their place and not eat up all the lucrative IIT and IIM seats, to hate gays, to have unquestioning faith in the Hindu Rashtra, to think Hinduism is the greatest religion and India the greatest country just because you were born a Hindu Indian, to…well you get the drift. It is also alright to expect to gain from a Modi administration and so supporting him. Maybe your business interests are going to be served by his policies or maybe some distant relative of yours is expecting a plum posting there.

The Sen-Bhagwati Conundrum

There is a popular joke that God created economists to make weather forecasters look good. However, despite the amount of popular ridicule that economists and their models face in popular public discourse, especially in the aftermath of every major economic crisis, economists have contributed tremendously towards debates on crucial public policy issues that impact the lives of billions of people. India was witness to one such debate in the middle of 2013 as two prominent Indian-origin economists, Prof. Amartya Sen and Jagdish Bhagwati pushed their ideas regarding India’s development and growth through their latest books, newspaper columns and newsroom debates.

Jean Drèze’s book with Sen ‘An Uncertain Glory’ and Bhagwati’s book with Arvind Panagariya ‘India’s Tryst with Destiny’ brought an economic debate into our living rooms like never before. However, with the media’s inherent tendency to find binaries and simplifications, a lot of the intricacies of the debate presented in the respective books were lost to those who didn’t read them. While Sen came across as an anti-growth redistributionist, Bhagwati and Panagariya were portrayed as bigoted proponents of what has come to be known as the ‘Gujarat Model’, an economic system that apparently pushes the agenda of growth above all else. A close reading of the two books by this author has revealed that both these popular perceptions are incorrect, even in essence.

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THE LONG RUN.

On A Mundane Fresher Year Circa 2009

More than four years ago, I had arrived in Calcutta, a city that was very different from my cosmopolitan and easy-going hometown. Bosco educated, more confident with English than Bangla, carrying more or less a good boy image, there was obviously only one destination I wanted to be at: St. Xavier’s. I didn’t make it in. And was quite surprised to be accepted at Presidency, whose first and only impression had left me with a rare inferiority complex.

My first class made me realise that I was the only student who hailed from outside a 20 mile radius around 86/1, College Street. My little confidence with shudhho Bangla disappeared; people assumed me to be a Hindi speaker. That phase lasted a year and more; APG still makes fun of that.

Hostel admissions, I thought, were a matter of formalities, unaware that red and blue were more than colours here. Once I had overcome the awe at the faded Rajendra Prasad pIaque, I was met by two groups of people desperate to induct me into ‘their’ ward, with claims about the opposition so wide apart that I knew one, at least one of them had to be lying big time. Unfortunately for me, I had nothing to judge by. It was a stroke of luck that made me a paanch er chhele.

Political decisions were simple. I was asked if I wanted to be a stooge of the State and I said no. No senior spent hours at the quadri explaining ideological intricacies to me, nor were there different shades of independence available back then. Did I want to be an activist out to change the world? No. I had had enough of popularity back in school and had already realised it to be the two-faced bastard that it was. More importantly, I didn’t know anything about anything. My naivety and ignorance was exemplified in a question I once asked S____, “What is all the fuss about the rockstar with the stylised face on everyone’s Tshirts?” “Che Guevara!”, he replied, with a straight face.