Dad, are you going to school?” my son asked. Oxford wasn’t just a campus—it was a crucible of unlearning and rebirth. Collegiate life at 40 is not what I expected.
It wasn’t the bow ties or champagne towers that lingered. It was the glance across candlelight, the weight of tradition, and the silent music of belonging. Oxford balls are rituals in velvet.
Kolkata wasn’t just my first metro city...it was a classroom. From St. Xavier’s College to street food by Victoria, this is a tribute to the formative chaos of my youth in Bengal.
We remember the smell of chalk and the sound of bells, but seldom the walls. This post revisits how my school’s architecture shaped more than lessons...it shaped imagination and poise.
I stood up. And they voted. This blog captures the story behind my first public election at Oxford...why I contested, how I campaigned, and what it felt like to win.
Some cities whisper… Varanasi chants. BHU was more than a campus—it was a calling. A life moment carved in sandstone ghats, eternal rituals, and quiet conversations with the divine across time.
St Vincent’s wasn’t just a school… it was a rhythm of whistles, prayers, and playground dreams. These Bengali reflections trace the roots of a boy who’d one day write them down.
They debated like poets, challenged like monks, and comforted like old friends. We weren’t just students...we were seekers. This is where we found each other.
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