The Netarhat School was a sterling example of the most egalitarian institution that has ever existed in the country. The selection was purely merit-based, no rich and poor divide, nothing populist like Below Poverty Line, or the Socially Deprived - sheer merit. Of course, there was this reservation for SC/ST, 8 out of 60 seats, which was mandated by the Constitution. But, once selected, nobody knew the other friend’s caste or economic status. Even today I don’t know the caste of most of my batchmates except of those, who have surnames that suggest their castes. My parents decided that l would remain without a surname. My singe-word name gave me a lot of problem later in life, while filing up forms, buying air-tickets, or applying for visas. But I kept it that way - a single word name.
Some students were from very poor families, who were in the “ka varg (क वर्ग)”. They had their tuition and living expenses waived and even received a modest pocket allowance, which was passed on through the Ashramadhyaksha, so that they could buy toiletries and tidbits like everyone else. So we didn’t know which one of our friends was in which economic category unless someone probed, and there was no reason to probe at all. Books and stationery, even the ink for the fountain pen was free for all. Identical uniforms were distributed by the school to all students. Those in more affluent categories had a bill sent discretely to the parents.
There were only three luxuries allowed, if one can call them luxuries on a forlorn, forest covered, plateau. A bicycle, which none brought, simply because of the logistics of getting one from the plains to the plateau. An alarm clock, which my parents bought for me, many semesters later, one of for a princely sum of sixty rupees. It, however, remained a mere showpiece since the life in the campus, from morning PT to the bedtime bell was a clockwork anyway. My alarm clock would often stop due to not being wound regularly. A wrist watch wasn’t permitted.
The third item was a camera, which was a surprise since it was a real luxury those days. The rule makers of the school probably thought that young minds should learn to appreciate and capture the beauty of the nature around them. But, since no good cameras were available anyway, my mother bought me an Agfa Click III for all of fifty six rupees. Not a rich possession, just a humble box - no focussing ring, no aperture setting, no shutter speed adjustments - just point and shoot and pray for the best.
Every semester I would be given a single 120-size film roll by my mother that could take only twelve shots. The youth of today, who can click a hundred photos in an hour, won’t understand what it was like to wait for the exact moment to press that shutter and how to sadly let many such moments pass. After-all the film roll of 12 shots had to last all of five to six months. The film would be developed and photos printed only when one went home for the vacations. Until then one didn’t know what was captured and who was in the frame.
That the Netarhat School has turned out the brightest of minds, who became civil servants, bankers, doctors, philanthropists, and engineers of the highest calibre is well known. What is not known how a bunch of young minds, protected from the toxins of casteism, flaunting of wealth, free from complexes, social, academic, and economic, could all grow into capable and sensitive citizens, albeit a bit naive as well. But, why only sixty students a year, and why only one such school? Well, good things come in small doses.
—-ooo—-
