Rourkela - My hometown, Your hometown

It has been more than a year since I have been to my hometown. There is a great Italian movie called ‘Cinema Paradiso’. If you have not watched it, I highly recommend it. The reason I mention this is that one of the messages of the movie is that if we have to become something in life, not just successful, but maybe just our true selves, we have to venture far from where we were born, from our land, from our people. For the majority of my life, fortunately or unfortunately, I have been in Rourkela only. It is through uncharacteristic initiative that I am far from it now for more than a year. But as I dust the hesitation off the fingers hitting the keyboard now, I can't help but write about Rourkela.

I am not the most adventurous explorer of the city as compared to what some or a lot of its current and former inhabitants may have been. But that doesn’t mean I can't write about it. This is not going to be a wikipedia article. It has a steel plant. The first public one in the country. But the academic and geographic details are far beyond my knowledge and calibre to put on paper. So what do I write about it?

It has a ring road true. The only major arterial road. For a city of its size, it only has one working traffic signal. I always wondered why. But nothing major happens on this ring road. Except perhaps the parade of plant workers going to and returning from the plant in droves at designated times of the day. That's quite a sight. But the major events happen on the smaller inconsequential roads.

There is that road leading to my school. It has been more than a decade since I left my school. It seems alien to imagine now but someone even today must be going there today in that same blue and white uniform to write another chapter of the happiest days of his life. Perhaps he is looking forward to the games period. Perhaps to play football, or perhaps just to watch from the gallery or perhaps just to bunk the school. Perhaps he is dreading the PT period by Gattu sir. Perhaps he is looking forward to history lessons from Rana sir. Maybe the history or maybe the inaudible but animated curses which he hurls at students who behave in a way that deserve those curses. If he is someone like me, he will not be worried about P C Mohapatra sir asking, no announcing, no threatening everyone to ‘Speak in English’. I dont know whats the deal with today’s children and parents being able to converse in English right from perhaps the mother’s womb. But in my time, in my public school, English speaking had to be shoved down the throat for it to become in the least a habit, and in the most an achievement. I have utmost gratitude for it though. Maybe the rider in our story is looking forward to Biology class today as he has reached class X you know. I wonder who will get beaten in his class for betraying a smile. I hope no one gets expelled from the most entertaining class of the year. The last thing this rider of ours will want now is to reach late and then I leave it up to him to face Basanti Mam or Samantary Sir, whoever is there to greet him with garlands of sticks and rhetorical questions at the gate for reaching late. That should be enough about the lane leading to school.

There is another road which leads to Koelnagar. There must still be someone today going there with bags full of books and even the heavier weight of IIT or AIIMS expectations. Those who crack those will be counted on fingers. Those who truly crack from within though will be forgotten. By people, but perhaps not by those streets. I don't know what's the reality these days but I guess even today the most secretive of those streets still feel shy of the ones whom puberty has just blessed uncontrollable hormones. Gen Z would perhaps use the N word here. 

My city, like few cities in India, has a prestigious college called NIT Rourkela. The ones before mentioned, who could be counted on fingers, land there. But my city, like most cities in India now, also has several other colleges where the ones who crack from within, either because of their disappointment or the disappointment of others around them, go to heal through lifelong friendships and memories. But that's too dense a story for the page we are on now. For another day maybe.

Rourkela may not have gifted any unique food items to the country. Few cities in this country can boast of that credit. But you will definitely find the best version of each food item in my city. Be it the roadside manchurian or chowmein. Be it gupchup or what is commonly known in the country as golgappas or in instagram as water balls. Any roadside stall would do. But if the adults want a serving of memory too, they go to Sector 5 or Sector 18. Chilli chicken could be found everywhere too. But my family is partial to the one served in the German club. 

The grandest of festivities in my city is of course Durga Puja. You would find the most imaginative of pandals in each sector as each sector is trying to outdo the other. Everyone of course wears the best to ride the various ferries and eat the best of the food. It is the most fun one can have as a kid. But as one grows up, it hits the hardest as there are no more friends or siblings around to roam all the pandals or click pictures in front of. Same is the case with parents whose children are far off in the US or Europe. They may as well be on Mars.

There is more to write perhaps. But if you have reached till here, then it means I have bargained more attention from you than the average KPI of a social media. A country is made up of its cities, towns and villages. And those are made not by the buildings but the people who reside in them. What do those people do, think, eat, or celebrate. It is the collective breathing and the activities that binds those cities and forms the real or made up memories in its residents. It is this that gives those cities and hence, the country its identity. It doesn’t matter that my city is called Rourkela and yours is called something else. No matter how many times names change or are changed, the identity of the city remains the same. Because identity is not written by just one person writing a history book but by all the people living and breathing in those cities. I hope this article has brought back fond memories of your hometown and whether it is a big popular one or a small inconspicuous one like mine, I hope you would have found some similarities. 

Happy Independence Day!