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.

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.

Why I am Not Looking Forward to Pujos

Three decades and more of CPI(M) rule in Bengal has left Calcutta (I prefer the name over the post-colonial Kolkata which was the Bengali pronunciation anyway) a shadow of a metropolitan city. More than three years ago, I had migrated to this city from the cosmopolitan environs of Shillong in search of better academic opportunities. Better opportunities I certainly did get, and am grateful. However, over the course of these years, the city has assimilated me and I have assimilated the city. Confirmation towards the same lies in the fact that I am cribbing about the city in puro Bangali style today.

Having lived in a small city throughout my childhood and adolescence, and then spent a significant amount of time in a metropolitan city, I suppose I am well placed to say that Calcutta now resembles a giant small city today. Small city, of course, in terms, of the advanced opportunities for growth that the city affords its citizens. I would have many sympathisers among my readers if I rhetorically stated that ‘nothing happens in Calcutta‘. Indignants Calcuttans may point at the recent Poets of the Fall concert or simply say that ‘amra alada’ (we are different). But that does not discount the fact that the lack of industrial activity in the state has left its once-proud commercial hub of a capital rather insignificant. In its place, upstarts like Bangalore, Hyderabad and Pune have run away on the fast lane towards claiming themselves as one of India‘s few metros.

The problems are to do with faulty economic policy, among others. To maintain a false sense of empathy towards the teeming poor of the state, the CPI(M) embarked on an irresponsible spree of populism. Consider the transportation scene in Calcutta today. The last bus fare hike took place on July 1, 2009, when a litre of diesel would cost Rs 35.03. A typical bus can take you from one end of the city to the other for not much more than Rs. 8. Which is great to hear, but then, fuel prices haven’t exactly been stagnant over the past few years. They have risen steadily to Rs. 44.76 now, a rise of 28% in three years. But fares have remained stagnant under pressure from governments not having the balls to take hard decisions. Instead, bus operators have been subsidised for years at the cost of who else, the public exchequer! I would have even accepted this elaborate process of progressive income redistribution had its economic fundamentals been sound. On the other hand, West Bengal today has an astronomical debt of Rs. 1,92,000 crores (as in 2011). The cost of populism fed to the masses in the name of socialism, you might say.