In 1997 two-thirds of a residential block of six was converted into housing for women on campus at St. Stephen's College, Delhi. This article was published in an anthology of writings by Stephanian Alumni called 'Stephania Unplugged' in 2023.
Dingy corridors, thin layers of dust, and a fair number of cobwebs everywhere. This was Allnutt South on the day the admission list was out with an (R) in brackets by my name. I was overwhelmed. It was going to be fantastic.
A few weeks later 40 or so of us women moved in to far less dust, just a wall dividing us from the last few men still in the extension. We trooped in to the mess for the first meal together and sat along the tables near the right wall. Everyone else stopped and turned to look at us file in, even those at the high table. The seniors knowing what a change this was. The first years possibly just curious. We gradually spread ourselves out across the mess, JCR, and campus, and soon the newness of it all for everyone, was gone.
Ms. Sharma, the first lady’s residence matron, tasked with ensuring us motley group of women were kept safe (which we could do ourselves, thank you very much!), ever close and watchful must have gradually relaxed too I suppose. We all had our share of differences with her over the years, especially outraged at being locked in every night at 10, but the years have also softened my memories to something of fondness.
Calcutta connections abounded. I arrived at college knowing a fair number of seniors and a few batchmates. Week one, my roommate Parismita and I were accosted by a senior in the main corridor who demanded to know our names. On hearing mine, he sheepishly said his mother had told him to look out for me so ragging was out of the question! Mihir and I spent many Sunday mornings in that same corridor waiting for our parents to call on the lone phone on campus, after which we’d head to the cafe for breakfast and numerous cups of tea.
I rarely ate the mess breakfast those 3 years but the porridge remains a favourite memory. And the custard…yum!!
Waiting in the corridor wasn’t necessary when we got a landline in the block to receive calls only. The little STD/ISD booth on campus wasn’t made redundant yet, always crowded and hot, for short whispered conversations.
Whispered conversations they weren’t when the Calcutta contingent travelled in a large gang on the Rajdhani back and forth for the holidays. During term time travelling within Delhi wasn’t as simple as I would imagine it is these days with the metro. For the rare trips into the city, clambering onto the buses or squeezing into autos sufficed, and on some occasions most comfortably, piling into the day-scholar friend’s car. Thank you, Sana! I never missed going out as much as I thought I might. Campus felt enough.
It wasn’t all about Cal connections. I was luckily at the intersection of many communities: the Mallus from my mother’s side, dance and Shake Soc., choir and the piano, table tennis and the JCR, mince and the ‘nimbu paani’. And our tiny Allnutt South community, like a little Gaulish village, together in sickness and health, disappointment and success, conversations reinforced with semi-cooked Maggi, everyone equally annoyed when the heaters were confiscated one winter because someone laid wet underwear on theirs and started a fire. It must be quite different now with the ladies spread out across the campus with no access to each other past lockdown…
The access the men had to each other, and as more than rumour had it, the easy access women had to the men’s blocks must still remain. So, did any men get into the Fort Knoxx that was Allnutt South? Maybe!
Shaneel Mukerji
English Honours, 1997-2000
