University College, London (and I)

For most of my friends back home, I was the first person in their immediate social circle to be going abroad to study. I am sure most people from India at UK/US/EU universities would have had friends back home eager to hear stories of how different education in these countries is compared to India. I am guilty of not having kept my promise of writing them with regular updates, due to time constraints and the differences in time zones that prevents me from calling them when I am free in the evenings.

To my defence, an article written now will be better than one I might have written straight after landing as now I have a much better picture. Secondly, unlike my previous article (www.ritvikc.com/ukweekone/) which was a general overview on my time here, this article will be exclusively on my university experience and academics, and their comparison with those in Delhi/India. Thus, I hope that this long due article compensates for not actively staying in touch with classmates back home.

Just like London, my experiences at UCL have had their share of positives and negatives. If you’d rather read only on academics, feel free to skip to paragraph 15.

I will start with the library, the first place in UCL I felt welcomed at. There being ~20 libraries in UCL, I have used only five (not too bad, is it?), and have had an absolutely great experience there. I felt intimidated at first in the Main Library, shrouded in a fancy Graeco-Roman style building. The formalities of getting the barcode of one’s identity card scanned at almost every check post made it appear a heavily guarded zone. In the University of Delhi (DU), the university library was something like a public library with anyone coming in and out. There was sometimes a security guard outside who checked your identity, but I often saw people who had studied at DU ages ago simply coming in to sit and prepare for the Civil Services exams. Such is not the case at UCL, perhaps for good reasons.

The usual process of finding a book at the Central Library in DU was circuitous and started not with finding a book, but a library staff member. This exhausting process took anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours because most of the library staff were busy behind desks, doing clerical work or treating themselves to samosas and chai or both at the same time. Above all, most of them were really old and were not prone to leaving their seats. Inertia like this also stemmed from their comfort of the knowledge that government employees can never be fired. You were bound to take at least three hours in the library if you ended up during their lunch break. They might even ask you to operate the computer as they could not figure out anything.

This is not too say that there were no young, computer-savvy, helpful staff members, but they were far outnumbered by geriatrics. I can easily recall having made friends with some bhaiiyas and didis (‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’, as one calls people of their age group in India) who would help me out in finding books because of the sheer impossibility of doing it alone. Because the bhaiiyas and didis were helping so many students, it was difficult to get hold of them. They never failed to remind me how I can never search for a book without their help as they were trained in library sciences and I was not. I never quite understood how even the young ones found this method sustainable: one staff member per hundred students in a library so insurmountable.

Finding books has been surprisingly smooth in libraries in the University of London/UCL. Often, the first thing that greets you when you enter any UCL library are small booklets and pamphlets on its online resources, how to find books, using its computers etc. But the most important thing that you’ll find at the entrances are specific library maps, which make navigating really easy. However, I must admit I didn’t look at these very thoroughly when I first entered the UCL Main Library or my Institute of Archaeology library. On my first day at the Main Library, I had felt ill-at-ease with searching and finding books, especially as the first thing I noticed apart from a meaningless marble statue was an array of 32-inch computer screens. At DU, I was so used to barging in straight to the issue desk and asking for help, and usually there weren’t that many people in the queue. At UCL, the issue desks had reasonable queues with retractable belts separating them, making the very thought of going straight and asking for help seem improper.

I realized in a few minutes that that was not really needed. The process was pretty much automated, and one normally went to the issue desks only if the computers didn’t behave the way they were meant to. Looking at the reasonable queues at the issue desks, it seemed that it was not a rare occurrence. Nonetheless I tried figuring out the computers and realized a couple of minutes later that they followed a very straightforward algorithm. My next step of finding a book was a breeze, and took me barely five minutes to find and issue it using one of the available computers. In an hour, I was proficient enough to help other students. By next week, I learnt I could do all this from my own PC too. My experiences of finding books at other UCL libraries has been equally great.

I feel the primary reason why finding books at any University of London library is easier is not that they use computers extensively, because they used computers even at DU. Instead, and I say this even as I am not a student of library sciences, it’s their alpha-numeric way of classification and intuitive style of arranging books in shelves. DU and most other Indian universities follow a way of classification and arrangement that uses only numbers separated by colons and semi-colons, which is so outmoded I was never able to understand how the DU Central Library functioned. This is a shame as it has a great collection and a really good library if you just want to take a stroll and if running into never-heard-of good books is all you’re looking for.

In conclusion, I can only think of two small suggestions for UCL libraries. While I was able to figure out the computers largely because I had gone through the ISD website carefully before landing in UK, I found many students struggling with them – even English speaking ones! The only solution to that is to put even more leaflets near each computer telling students specifically which barcode and PIN they need. Secondly, what about removing some of those marble statues and putting some helpdesks with actual human beings (or computers) in their place? I can already imagine people from the archaeology department up in arms against that.

As the above section on libraries already covers most essential points, I won’t dwell much on the efficiency of the administrative staff. Clichéd as it may sound, UCL’s administrative staff is really helpful, apart from being efficient. Most of them are, in fact, student volunteers. This reminds me of a quip by a fellow Indian student at an American university who said that ‘at a good university, the student is its most important part; at a bad university, anybody but the student is the most important thing.’ At DU, the administrative staff never missed an opportunity to show you how much obliged you were. For instance, at UCL, my process for getting an identity card was largely hassle-free and was printed almost instantly. In DU, this would have required filling multiple forms, proving your identity and standing in multiple queues before you got an identity card after a fortnight of application. In a fair treatment, it should be noted that there are other Indian universities whose administration is much loved by their students. Indian Institute of Science, Mumbai University, Bangalore University come to my mind.

UCL, and I suppose most UK/US/EU universities are remarkably well-planned. In India, students never needed to carry a planner. In fact, to most Indian students, a planner will be something alien. This is so because at Indian institutions, assignments are given when convenient and the topic decided when the professor is ready for it. Usually, the professor announces the assignment topic in the class, all students scribble it down in their notebooks, and the professor tells the deadline that is usually three-four weeks from the date of announcement. Some professors, a little more professional, print out the instructions and pin it on the notice board. The deadline and the topic usually stays in recent memory of the student and keeps coming up in conversations. Hence, no need for a planner.

Western universities seem to have dispensed with this method altogether. You will find an elaborate calendar for each course already uploaded on the UCL website three years in advance. At the time of writing this article, the UCL website has calendars already-made till 2021. By the way, I doubt if many students have come across this. Instead, on the first day of each class, a student handbook will be given (and uploaded-online) for that module/course which will contain details of all assignment topics with respective deadlines. These never come up in conversations. Nobody discusses these because it’s already there in the handbook. The handbook also contains details of all lectures: their timings, venues, themes etc. Venues for lectures keep changing because of dearth of space and because different professors take different lectures even for the same module. At DU, in the rare occasion you did not see your class in the expected classroom, you just traversed the whole length of the department which was no more than one floor. It’s cumbersome to check handbook PDFs first thing in the morning every day, especially as you are in a hurry. For this reason, it’s essential to buy a planner. There are plenty in the market for every imaginable profession: students, accountants, engineers etc. A good one won’t cost you more than £5-9 (~₹400-800). I bought mine after spending a month here, and it’s been a lifesaver and worth every penny. I wish I had bought it earlier! If you are an Indian going abroad to study/work/travel, do not try to save money on a good planner when you arrive.

Before coming here, I was pretty comfortable with the Indian system. But I feel the Western system is better. I believe the Indian system leaves a lot to chance: the ability of a student to note down the topic or his presence in the class. Since everything is already pre-decided at a UK/US university, you can rest assured about what is coming up and start working on it as soon as you wish.

In India, middle-aged to older professors get offended if you open your laptop/tablet/phone in the class and will summarily ask you to keep it inside. During professors’ lectures in India, students used to take out their phones quickly to click pictures of the PowerPoint slide and keep it back as quickly (I never did this, though, I was a little laidback). All this action took no more than one or two minutes. The professor used to look away during this, as if to avoid being offended and to show how much they had to adjust in these modern times. One doesn’t need to do that here, for professors upload their presentations on the university website at least one day before the class. In fact, you are expected to peruse the PowerPoint before you come to the class. Again, it is so much better you don’t have to play hide-and-seek games with the professor.

But there is another aspect at British universities that requires you to play hide-and-seek with professors or peers. At an Indian university, the professor used to distribute answer scripts to students. As soon as the distribution began, a parallel chatter used to start among the students that went ‘kitne aaye? kitne aaye?‘ (‘how much did you get? how much did you get?’). The professor used to discuss everybody’s marks in the class and the mistakes they committed. This gave everyone an opportunity to learn from others’ mistakes. There used to be no misgivings among us about it – it was a very frank and honest business. At a UK university, you have to tread very cautiously while doing so. Asking someone’s marks straightaway will beget a facial expression as if you’ve just asked for their kidney.

The process of seeing a professor here is also very circuitous. Here, one witnesses a massive cultural variation. In India, knocking on a door, especially that of an elder person, is considered extremely impolite and rude. Most professors have glass doors to their rooms. You are expected to see through the glass door if the professor is busy with a colleague or a student. If it’s a colleague, you simply trace back your steps. If it is a student, you are expected to sort of guess the body language. If it’s apparent there’s an academic conversation going on, you are expected to come in straightaway. The professor will think you are so interested in studies you are looking forward to learning from the conversation of another student. This is impossible at a British university and it landed me in a very embarrassing situation at UCL.

Once, I went to a professor to discuss my essay. One of my classmates had already arrived a few seconds before me. I entered, following the norms of the country I had left. Neither the professor nor my classmate noticed me coming. I felt awkward. To make matters worse, the professor asked my classmate to shut the door to my face. Surprisingly, when my chance came to enter, the professor was grinning ear-to-ear upon seeing me, as if oblivious of what had happened. My expression, I am sure, was that of bewilderment over what had just transpired in the previous ten minutes. It took twice for this incident to happen before I learnt that discussions of assignments between the professor and the student take place in absolute secrecy. Students are pampered into thinking their privacy is paramount in these matters (this is absolute nonsense).

As it happens, most professors at UK universities have a wooden door that has a small glass window. Glass windows are usually covered with strip cartoons, photographs, small notices (“I won’t be available on this day blah blah”) etc. A professor cannot do this at an Indian university or he won’t be taken seriously by his students. Anyway, since those glass outlets are covered with cartoons etc., one can’t see if anyone’s inside. If you knock on the door and here a ‘come in!’ from the other side, you are good to go. If you don’t, either the professor is absent, or in conversation with another student. This is where matters get murky. If the professor is not in, you sure are not going to wait. If he is in conversation with another student, you might as well wait.

It took me a while to realise how much you have to rely on your ears in situations like these. You are expected to hear sounds of hushed conversations. Can you hear them? Then wait outside. But what if the room is occupied by two-three professors and the sounds you hear are not from the one you wish to meet? During your first visit to the professor, notice the placement of each professor and the computers. Next time around, hear the sounds of clicking of the keyboards or how close or far the verbal sounds are. That will tell who’s there and who isn’t.

Before I move on to the nuances of hard core academics, I’d like dwell on an overall healthy culture I have noticed. There are some people in my programme that are more than fifty years of age. Nobody makes fun of them and nobody discourages them. This would have been very difficult to imagine in India, because of relatively stricter notions of age appropriateness. Even I am guilty of criticizing some older students in my class in India who were only ten years older to me: ‘why didn’t they study before?’, ‘why are they making the classroom more sluggish?’, ‘why couldn’t they wait before raising a family?’ and so on. What I did not realize is that they were doing something incredibly brave. The >50 year old people in my class are not at all sluggish, and academically quite active. They contribute significantly and do not take anything non-seriously, even as they know they are doing this just for their interest. I find it something healthy, that age barriers have truly been shed.

Another good thing about having old people in your class is that they have a better music taste, compared to younger ones.

Then there is this notion of flexibility. If you are an Indian student reading this, please note that the notion of Western universities being more flexible than Indian ones is more or less a misconception. It might be true at the undergraduate level, but at the postgraduate level, it mostly remains on paper. Every postgraduate student knows taking papers from another department will be shooting yourself in the foot because of the difficulty of coordinating classes and different assignment systems. It will be difficult not only for the student, but also for the professor. Even switching to another paper within your department mid-term is fraught with risks. Instead, you have what they call ‘sitting-in‘. Students who have the nerve may take more than 45 credits per term if they wish, otherwise they can simply ‘sit-in’ a lecture. This normally does not mean they are exempt from most assignments, it only means their performance will not add to the final mark. However, what I found praiseworthy was that even some professors are sitting in on papers by some of their colleagues.

If you are an Indian student coming to Britain to study, you might be shocked by the appalling standards of English spoken in the UK, even on university campuses. Indian school students are punished severely and shamed in front of the entire class for committing spelling or grammatical errors. When I was a student at an Indian school, getting beaten up was not uncommon for getting your spelling or grammar wrong. This was despite the fact that English was not our first language. On the other hand, I have some professors at UCL who cannot distinguish between ‘complement’ and ‘compliment’; ‘principal’ and ‘principle’, ‘practice’ and ‘practise’ and so on. Why were we expected and forced to be perfect in a language that is not even spoken properly by its own native speakers? Let alone British students, even British professors! Taking liberties with English is classy when you are English (and white), and trashy when you are Indian.

Time to dive in to academics. You may find this portion specifically related to archaeology/liberal arts, and of no interest to you. In that case, fair enough and click here. If you’re still not feeling sleepy, feel free to read on.

Archaeology education in India is of two types: those that takes place in History departments and another takes place in archaeology institutes.

Almost all Indian universities have History departments with some great and some not-so-good faculty (read www.ritvikc.com/humanities/ for a detailed overview). They usually have one professor who teaches archaeology. But such professors are not trained archaeologists, and are instead historians. Let’s call them Type 1 for convenience.

There are few universities in India that teach archaeology. Those that do, do so largely at the Master’s level and don’t have an undergraduate programme. Almost all of them are not Master’s in Archaeology, but are ‘MA in Ancient Indian History, Culture and Archaeology,’ colloquially known as AIHC programmes. Let’s call these Type 2.

In both Types 1 and 2, with few exceptions, one will see their approach towards archaeology is largely theoretical. They are not great interpreters of mathematical modelling or other natural sciences applied in archaeology. They  tend to focus almost exclusively on historical archaeology (i.e. archaeology of human history post advent of writing and script). In that sense, they do a good job as historical archaeology uses a lot of written texts to support itself. By doing so, they provide a useful channel for a two-way exchange of information. I still remember a module on historical archaeology I did in MA History at the University of Delhi as a memorable one.

The other thing you will notice about Types 1 and 2 is their obsession with South Asia in whatever they do. Their employment of scientific techniques, if so whatever, will be only for Indian sites. There is no problem with this, except that it translates into teaching and research as well. Much of the thought applied to scientific techniques in the context of Indian archaeology tends to be tubular in its vision, either focused solely on that technique or that geographical area. More often than not, results from these exercises are deployed for petty debates and proving this or that theory wrong.

In terms of teaching, both Types 1 and 2 focus excessively on memorizing (like every Indian education setup ever) dates and chronologies, types and sizes of pottery etc. This is essential, but it should take you ahead into developing insights and not see facts and figures as an end in itself. These broader insights may be offered in the Indian classroom, but only in passing. Indian educational institutions rarely bother themselves with anything beyond memorizing. On the whole, after the initial rush of excitement, the curricula starts becoming tasteless, even unpalatable.

My experience at UCL IOA has been anything but. I’ll take an example: pieces of pottery used for dairying have been found since forever in Europe, Asia, Middle East etc. What an Indian classroom will do with it is show-and-tell that a potsherd used for dairying is what you see. You’ll be expected to memorize the places and times these have been recovered from. The way this was presented at UCL was really refreshing: not only were the potsherds contextually dated, but also considered for lipid analysis to see if lipid remains were indeed sourced from milch animals. This was then used to fit into the overarching question of how humans evolved animal husbandry practices, and how (or if) they diffused and developed over time and over different geographical areas. Do realize that lipid analysis is a fairly recent concept, so potsherds excavated in the Seventies and Eighties were recalled and summoned to be subjected to this new method. This kind of an outlook is only possible when you shed your eye halters that compel you to look at only one country.

Most archaeology articles that were given to us to be read at University of Delhi were great. But hardly any of us could really get through the methods to realize its relevance. Primarily, this was because our archaeology professors, by their own admission, were not trained in those methods so could not really help us with that. With only two months at UCL, I am able to extract thrice as much information as before from each article because I now mostly understand precisely what they are trying to do, and what they are trying to achieve by doing it.

The other aspects are the tools at my disposal, not just in terms of laboratory work. At the University of Delhi, in late 2014, a very well-meaning professor told me ‘Ritvik, you write like a journalist, not like an academic.’ I knew he was absolutely right, but I could do nothing about it as he left it at that. Having written largely for newspapers up till that point, I was not able to understand the difference between journalistic v academic writing. I was not surprised when I got the same comment at UCL. But I was pleased when they organized workshops for students like me to tackle that with specific tips-and-tricks and make it seem less daunting, and I did better in my next assignment.

This is really important when it comes to plagiarism. In the first week at UCL, we were thoroughly sensitized (or desensitized!) to plagiarism. There were repeated sessions telling us what plagiarism is and is not, and how to avoid it. I can vividly recall one of my classmates at DU being penalized for plagiarism. The penalization was right, but misplaced. Most professors in Indian universities gave you more marks if you parroted their articles or texts. In an environment that encourages this, one lone professor punishing plagiarism, without giving the right tools to avoid it, does nothing but mess up the student. Another commendable quality about writing here, which I am enjoying so much, is that they provoke you to think critically and broadly. If you don’t, they point out the exact loopholes in your writing. This is a sea change from my previous set-up where most (though not all) student essays were expected to be a roster of statements by notable people in the field.

Ending on a non-academic note, there are two things I did not like about UCL or British universities in general. The first is political. It is very common to see, while walking on the campus of any UK university (I have been to SOAS, Birkbeck, KCL and LSE during my time here), posters demanding disintegration of other countries. Among other things, there are plenty of posters asking for the independence of Catalonia from Spain, or making people feel guilty for not donating money to Rohingya Muslims. I won’t delineate why these posters are deeply flawed, but I doubt if they will put up any poster demanding secession of Scotland from the UK, or be as large-hearted had the Rohingya Muslim refugee crisis affected them as badly as it has India. The answer will most likely be in the negative. So, why poke your nose into home affairs of other countries?

The next is the system of candidate numbers. UCL does not have a lot of red-tape, but the system of candidate numbers is an exception. Candidate numbers are issued so that professors can mark students’ papers without bias. Had everyone got the same assignment topic, I could have understood its point. But when every student does a different topic, the identity of the student is no secret and one can tell the author of an essay solely by the topic. Also, after a while, somehow everyone knows everyone’s candidate’s numbers anyway. I feel it’s defeating its purpose, and merely adds pretence to an otherwise normal act. I would like this system to get expunged, but universities like progress. The only way to make it achieve what it is meant for is to generate candidate numbers spontaneously before each submission, exactly like one time passwords.

I feel I have discussed both positive and negative aspects of English as well as Indian academia. Thanks for reading! If your views are contrary or if you want me to discuss some other aspect, do write that in your comment. I will keep updating this article whenever I find it appropriate.

– Ritvik Chaturvedi

This article was first published on Mon, 18 Dec 2017. It has been updated twice since. Last update: Fri, 26 Jan 2018.

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