I’m grateful for the privilege of this experience. For the privilege of being forced out of ignorance and into bliss. A bliss of worldliness, experience and the occasional fumbles that teach you some lessons which stick around for quite a while.
There is no better way to experience this bliss than from the capital of the empire upon which the sun never set, the empire which embraced its ignorance to the futility of conquest, yet derived its very bliss from it.
If you still didn’t guess, I’m talking about Great Britain.
Though their empire burst a lot of bubbles during their peak — personal and moral, during my time there, however, they only burst about three of my bubbles, and frankly, I couldn’t be more glad.
Language
Up until the day I landed in the UK, I often took pride in my English fluency. Hailing from an IGCSE background(which is considered quite uncommon here in India), I was exposed to a lot of analytical and technical skills when it came to reading and writing English the way it was intended — the british way, and eventually, in order to keep up with the increasingly difficult coursework, my range of vocabulary had to keep after a conscious effort to engross myself in the fancies of the language.
As a result, I was particularly confident in my linguistic skills, especially when I compared myself to my college friends — many of whom hailed from Indian boards which often preached less nuance in their English.
However, from the second I boarded my flight to London, the insecurities began to creep in, and sooner than later, I found myself questioning my control over the very language that I’ve been speaking since the day I uttered my first word.
The British are eloquent — their control over their speech and language was nothing short of admirable — from their clarity in conveying their ideas, thoughts and opinions, to their flow of speech and finally to their profound vocabulary, emotive language and idioms.
Moreover, their accent and pronunciation was radically different from what I’d been exposed to, and with every conversation I had with a local, I found myself trying to imitate them. Of course, I must have sounded like a fool, but at the end of the day, each conversation where I consciously forced an unnatural accent and mindfully enunciated myself made me feel miles more confident as I eventually somewhat got the hang of it.
By the end of the trip, I found myself with a few key takeaways as I observed the pioneers of the language effortlessly wield their words like a sword, but most of all, one stuck with me more than the others: The use of an eclectic choice of vocabulary added so much more life, meaning and value to each sentence they spoke and I often found myself lost amidst a sea of words as I scrambled to derive their meaning from the context of conversations, when in reality, to them, they were nothing short of rudimentary.
And with that, my first bubble of the trip was popped.
People
The popping of my second bubble was quite vivid; I remember standing in the bustling Waterloo terminal, amid a crowd of people, all shuffling about with such intention and clarity in their steps. I stood there clueless as I swivelled my head towards the group of black screens dotted with gleaming yellow text as they looked down on us commuters with contempt in their vibrant glow.
Nevertheless, the city’s commuters carried an aura of their own — one of purpose, personality and deliberation. It felt as though I could spend my whole day standing there and observing each one of them, from the businessmen that shuffled around in prim and proper suits, bearing shiny black briefcases as they carried themselves with their pretentious pride and ego, to the classy middle aged, who strolled along in leather jackets and extravagant sunglasses and finally to the occasional eye catcher who wandered around in quirky outfits and a cloak of eccentricity, each one of them had their own story – the sonder was real.
Ever since my return from London, I haven’t been struck with such energy again. My city feels greyed out, our citizens amble about with the life sucked out of their faces, and the crushing atmosphere keeps me feeling not much different.
From ambition to curiosity to the pure enjoyment of life, everything feels a touch more muffled, and I find myself craving what was a fleeting experience, as something more permanent in my life.
Wisdom
In the country I live in, the top rung of STEM education is reserved by a group of government institutions called the IIT’s(Indian Institute of Technology), whose entrance is judged upon the basis of a formidable exam that has taken countless lives, both mentally and physically — the JEE(Joint Engineering Examination).
Furthermore, it doesn’t get any better once you’re actually in. In fact, these colleges are often the very colleges with the highest count of suicides among the country’s several educational institutions.
Two cities. Two universities. Thousands of years of culture and history.
That was enough to crush any form of ego and pride I had in myself when it came to my education.
As I walked through the arching, archaic buildings of Oxford, there were only two emotions running through my mind. Desire and regret. An intense burst of desire ran through my consciousness as the sight of these premier colleges burned through the depths of my pupils, imprinting itself onto the crevices of my brain. This was also followed by immense regret — regret for the fact that I didn’t try hard enough, regret for the fact that I wasn’t here not just for this moment, but for 3 of the most memorable years of my life.
Strolling around the two colleges felt utopian. The crowd of smartly outfitted youngsters huffing and puffing their way through the high street of Oxford contrasted with the cosy, warm students who frolicked around Parker’s Piece, soaking in sunshine and punting their way through the canals of Cambridge. The two were so distinct yet ultimately so very indistinct. The difference was in their way of life; Oxford on one hand felt magical and rich in history with the hundreds of folklore behind each college, Cambridge, on the other, felt homely and quaint, yet that’s not to say that it didn’t have its own touch of history; however, the two were both breweries of the same drink – Knowledge. A drink that I had never seen brewed this way before.
PLOP!
With that, the third bubble too burst.
Now burst your bubble
Hopefully, the next time I’m writing an article, I will have had a lot more bubbles burst, and it will be fun to look back and rank the most memorable bubbles burst.
Since I have to give this article a conclusion, I’ll let you off with a fun piece of advice: go and burst your bubbles. It’s like a fun little game, and at the end of it all, you’ll at least be left with some experiences that change your world view.