Calcutta Diary

It was the late 1940s or the early 1950s,    India’s was about the most glamorous    name in what passed as the comity of nations. The non-aligned movement was beginning to display its clout, the average Indian citizen had reason to believe he or she was on top of the world. At least those amongst them who had a minimum degree of awareness of global realities had not the least doubt in regard to the stellar role awaiting their country in the United Nations and elsewhere.

Bunches of young Indian graduate students were flocking to the Oxbridge universities of Britain during those years: These youngsters were a part of the Anglo-Saxon world, and yet they were not. Several of them hailed from elite Indian families, some depended on scholarships or grants. They brimmed over in self-confidence. They knew which direction their country was going and they too along with it. After Oxbridge, they would in due course return home to civil service assignments, a few would fill prestigious slots in the up-and-coming universities. What is most remarkable, not even a minuscule minority of this lot ever dreamt of staying back in Europe or America to build a career there. India had just received her independence, she was the cynosure of the world’s eyes, she was the land of vision. The youngsters scampered back home, the home was the world.