There’s a one kilometer long stretch outside the main gate of Banaras Hindu University (BHU), which shares its name with the lovely island just south of the Indian peninsula. Historians believe that the neighborhood-marketplace called Lanka was christened so by one of the former kings of Kashi (the old name for Varanasi). The regent believed that his fort-palace in Ramnagar, across the river Ganga, was the rightful abode of Lord Rama, and it would be the stage for the magnificent Ramleela – a month long re-enactment of the epic Ramayana; while his arch-enemy Ravana’s kingdom would be located on the opposite bank of the symbolic strait that separated the two kingdoms.

Having been born and educated in one of the most ancient cities in the world, I have got accustomed to hearing countless mythologies and stories about its numerous temples, saints, pilgrims, writers, musicians and teachers. This is where my roots lie. On the other hand, it was the incessant nourishment and stimulation provided by the city’s traditions which enabled so many learners, like myself, to grow their green shoots and attempt to make a difference in the wide world.

There are few records about Lanka prior to the foundation of one of the finest centres of learning, BHU. Bookended by the gate and statue of university’s founder Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya and another gateway dedicated to the 15th century mystic poet-saint Guru Ravidas, the marketplace is emblematic of the forces of change that have propelled India in the 21st century. My earliest memories of this stretch of road are those of sticking my head out of the sunroof of my father’s Austin, visiting the small grocery stores where my parents would stock up; and wondering why the many bookstores lining the road scarcely had any volumes appropriate for kids of my age, such as Commando comics. 400 page textbooks about organic chemistry, microbiology, industrial psychology and the history of the Medieval Ages were of little interest; the best sweets shops were further afield, in the older part of the city.

There are few records about Lanka prior to the foundation of one of the finest centres of learning, BHU. Bookended by the gate and statue of university’s founder Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya and another gateway dedicated to the 15th century mystic poet-saint Guru Ravidas, the marketplace is emblematic of the forces of change that have propelled India in the 21st century. My earliest memories of this stretch of road are those of sticking my head out of the sunroof of my father’s Austin, visiting the small grocery stores where my parents would stock up; and wondering why the many bookstores lining the road scarcely had any volumes appropriate for kids of my age, such as Commando comics. 400 page textbooks about organic chemistry, microbiology, industrial psychology and the history of the Medieval Ages were of little interest; the best sweets shops were further afield, in the older part of the city.

By the time I finished high school and entered the university, Lanka had shed its laidback character and metamorphosed into a bustling centre of private enterprise. The demand for new services originated in the university itself. The biggest hospital in this part of the state – located within the campus and staffed by doctors from its reputed medical institute, could no longer provide adequate diagnostic services and medicines for the large volume of patients it attracted. Like creepers growing out from the trunk of a gigantic tree, these shops did roaring business (and continue to do so). Countless fast food, ice cream, and snack shops sprung up as BHU’s students craved for greater choices in their food, to escape the boredom and blandness of meals in their hostel mess.

Meanwhile, the neighbourhood where my father built our home, not far from the university, was getting radically transformed from a quiet haven for retirees, to a busy, noisy, young enclave. The trigger: a coaching centre for school students aspiring to enter BHU, the Indian Institutes of Technology and some of India’s top medical colleges. Founded by three ex-BHU faculty members, JRS (Jha, Rai and Singh) Tutorials kickstarted an entrepreneurial frenzy and created an entire ecosystem from its roots of enabling aspirants to crack the highly competitive entrance tests. Today, thousands of students flock from all across the states of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, to undergo grueling classes, mock tests and sometimes personal coaching. On the heels of JRS, some twenty more coaching centres sprung up. They acquired the properties of the retirees, replacing their modest homes with classrooms and hostels.

Many homeowners saw the immediate business opportunity, building one or two extra floors, partitioning them off to create dorms, and hired cooks to provide meals to the students. Every now and then, someone clangs the gate of our home, while my mother sits in the verandah, asking her if she has room. Food, snack, fruit and drink stalls offer an incredible variety of cuisine, from pizza, burgers, hot dogs and sandwiches to dumplings, noodles and fried rice, to dosas, idlis and kathi rolls, in addition to Varanasi’s famed chaat. There’s even a couple of tiny shops selling chilled beer, and small measure bottles of cheap rum, whisky and vodka. Mobile phone shops offer low-end phones and SIM and top-up cards worth barely 50 cents. ATM machines offer the students the convenience of dipping into their parents’ hard earned income at will. Advertising kiosks on lamp posts showcase the latest success stories. These are the 17-18 year olds who have secured top ranks and coveted positions in the best engineering and medical schools, and rewarded with cars, motorcycles, laptop computers by their coaching institute. That is the dream that millions of young are chasing, and it is hard to tell how much they are being nurtured by their teachers. The shoots are growing, albeit in an unruly manner. Many will wilt in the heat of competition.

Meanwhile the teachers and founders of Varanasi’s coaching institutions have gotten wealthy. Two decades ago, they would come to teach on their motor scooters, often a modest Bajaj. Now, they are arrive in expensive SUVs, flanked by an armed guard. Their wealth has made them juicy targets for the city’s underworld, and some are known to give in to the extortionists and pay protection money. But the allure of financial gain has not yet become so powerful a draw for university professors: there is significant prestige associated with being at a top institution.

A rising tide lifts all boats. The spirit of entrepreneurship is infectious. Lanka, the coaching classes, Varanasi are all so emblematic of social change that is buffeting modern India, indeed modern south Asia. Ours is a deeply traditional society that is coming to terms with the opportunities that our interconnected world throw up. The roots remain deep. It is up to the leaders in business, academia and politics to ensure that the tree receives the right nourishment and climate for all to grow and bear fruit.