"Pradip, can you do something for me?"
"Yes, Sir, I can."
"How can you say you'll do it without even knowing what
it is?"
"Sorry, Sir, I'll try. What is the task?"
"--- Go to this shop and buy a six-inch screwdriver for
me. Here's a piece of paper with the description of the screwdriver written on
it. Make sure everything matches."
"Sir, does it have to be from this particular shop?"
"Yes."
"What if they don’t have it there? Should I get it from
another shop, Sir?"
"No. Bring the receipt along with it."
Taking the paper and a fifty taka note, I left Professor
Pramanik's room.
The time I’m referring to be a period when very few people
truly liked Professor Pramanik at the university. I haven’t seen many
professors in Bangladesh as strict, straightforward, and brutally honest as
him. It’s not easy to like those who always speak the truth. We tend to appreciate
truth-tellers only as long as their truth aligns with our interests.
At that time, I had just graduated with my honours degree.
The ghost of rationality had started haunting my mind. So, adopting the
principle of “Love the hard truth; it will never betray,” I began my research
lessons under Professor Pramanik.
Following his instructions, I went to the specific electrical
hardware shop and bought the exact screwdriver. It cost nine takas. Back at the
university, I handed him the screwdriver, the receipt, and the remaining
forty-one taka, then asked, “What’s the story behind this screwdriver, Sir?”
With a deeply disappointed look, he replied, “Just a simple
fact-check.”
That was all I could get out of him.
A few days later, I found out the story from another source.
The electrical hardware company that had won the tender to supply equipment to
the university laboratories had quoted a price of forty-five taka for a
six-inch screwdriver. The same company’s shop sold me the same screwdriver for
nine takas. Since Sir was on the purchase committee, he conducted this
fact-check. I don’t know if he managed to fact-check other items as well. He
protested and refused to sign off on the purchases. The result? He was removed
from the committee.
Thousands of nine-taka screwdrivers were purchased at
forty-five taka each—for the purpose of imparting knowledge to us. And that’s
how, in the true sense of the English term, we were screwed.
Even today, so many years later, I see the same situation.
The names and colours of the tents have changed, but everything inside remains
the same. Now, books worth five and a half thousand taka are being bought for
eighty-five and a half thousand taka. Imagine the level of wisdom we’ll gain
from reading such expensive books! But I wonder—where will we store all this
wisdom?
31 August 2019
Link: https://bangla.bdnews24.com/bangladesh/article1659876.bdnews
