Of history and professors keeping it immortal

I studied history in college and loved it thoroughly. Many felt it was a peculiar, boring choice given I could potentially have selected another course. But I didn't get English in a college to my liking. History was the only other thing I wanted to study, so I enrolled for three years of the stuff at Delhi University's Hansraj College.

Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to share the gems that were passed on to us in those dingy classrooms. I speak not of historical facts and chronologies that you can find anywhere. I am referring here to the unparalleled spin our professors put on it thanks to their eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. You'll understand why I don't mention names here. I remember all these professors very fondly. They injected life into history lessons like few could manage. The students were so busy stifling smirks, giggles and guffaws that the classes whizzed by year after year. Never a dull moment.

Let's begin with the ancient Indian history teacher in our freshman year. He wore clothes flashy enough to give Austin Powers a complex. We'd rarely look at his face because we were mesmerised and dazzled by his favourite canary yellow tie that seemed aglow with mild radioactivity. And the checks on his loud plaid jacket, heaving on a hint of a potbelly, were almost hypnotic. But his most striking feature was the ability to make just about anything sound like total sleaze. "The Vedas are ancient India's biggest contribution to universal knowledge," he might be saying in his deep baritone. But it sounded like the narrative of a B-grade soft-porn film. It mattered not what he said. The lilt, diction, voice and delivery had this baffling effect of making it sound very, very dirty.

For medieval Indian history in our second year, we had the most absent-minded simple soul as a professor. A wonderful and kind man, he was unfortunately blessed with a very exaggerated Indian accent. What I will never forget are the lessons on the Slave Dynasty that once ruled Delhi, much before the Mughals. "Iltutmiss bilt a tomm for himself. But hij sunn Nassruddin Mahmud pre-decijed him and was entommed in that tomm," he told a very confused class one morning. For those not conversant in Indian, let me translate - "Iltutmish built a tomb for himself. But his son Nasiruddin Mahmud pre-deceased him and was entombed in that tomb."
Can you imagine keeping a straight face through a year of this? I frankly don't know how we survived gems like this and "bullbush domm" (bulbuous dome, while discussing Islamic architecture).

For European history the same year, we had a cantankerous old professor who always looked like he was at death's door. On occasion we actually got extremely concerned he'd passed on seated in class when he didn't stir for several minutes together. Anway, when he got going, he was difficult to understand. It sounded like he was speaking through a mouth full of marbles. And the day he discussed Catholicism and the Vatican, we were left mystified. He kept grunting about the Pope and his Pepsi. It took us quite a while to figure out he was speaking of the Pope and his papacy.

But you know what? Had it not been for all this, I'd probably have forgotten entirely about my history course through college. These professors left an indelible impression and made my years at university immortal.