September to December 1993
Unofficially, but true to tradition, the onset of Spandan signals the end of ragging and other fun and games and the start of serious reading and mugging. All batches have exams in December-even us, the Baby Juniors who have an Internal Exam called "Terminals".
Once, an attempt is made to rag me but it is aborted when someone says "Forget it man, Spandan's over". However, my class is still not up to full strength so that means that some new guinea pigs will soon arrive.
One type of ragging that is still happening, however, is the "Record". This consists either of drawings (Anatomy) or experiment write-ups (Physiology and Biochem). The lazy seniors, already pressed for time due to upcoming exams get a Junior to sit tight and finish their Records and often this is achieved only during a Night-Out. Numerous serious sounding threats ensure that Records are completed by deadlines. The problem with this is that many times, the junior's writing is so different or so awful that it has to re-written, often by another junior.
Seniors are divided on this aspect of ragging. For many, it crosses the boundaries of ragging while others couldn't care less. One just has to be lucky. And I am. I dodge the Record Ragging.
Unofficially, but true to tradition, the onset of Spandan signals the end of ragging and other fun and games and the start of serious reading and mugging. All batches have exams in December-even us, the Baby Juniors who have an Internal Exam called "Terminals".
Once, an attempt is made to rag me but it is aborted when someone says "Forget it man, Spandan's over". However, my class is still not up to full strength so that means that some new guinea pigs will soon arrive.
One type of ragging that is still happening, however, is the "Record". This consists either of drawings (Anatomy) or experiment write-ups (Physiology and Biochem). The lazy seniors, already pressed for time due to upcoming exams get a Junior to sit tight and finish their Records and often this is achieved only during a Night-Out. Numerous serious sounding threats ensure that Records are completed by deadlines. The problem with this is that many times, the junior's writing is so different or so awful that it has to re-written, often by another junior.
Seniors are divided on this aspect of ragging. For many, it crosses the boundaries of ragging while others couldn't care less. One just has to be lucky. And I am. I dodge the Record Ragging.
I was less than a month old in College and already I was beginning to get overwhelmed. Homesickness, ragging, the rigours and joys of Spandan and the sudden departure from home food were weighing on me. I was fortunate, however, that I had a great roomie and classmate, Ashley, with whom I could share the trials and tribulations of daily life. It also helped that he wasn't passing any tests either.
After Muthu (the guy who's love letter we destroyed) left our wing pretty much right after Spandan, Chandan and Phani, my classmates, moved in next door and they were a very interesting combination. Chandan, whose last name is Shaw is sometimes from Bihar and sometimes from Bengal, depending on where his ragger is from. Phani, (and my attempts at punning his name repeatedly fall flat) is from Andhra, and therefore a Gult.
Every morning, I see Phani doing something to his hair, styling it very carefully with a unique round comb. He spends about half an hour doing just this and whistles some Gult movie tune all the time. The performance ends with a few stylish kicks and moves that I am told are the trademark moves of some famous Gult actor, but much to Phani's dismay, I have never heard of him.
Rahul lives on the other side of my room and things are looking up with him. We are in each other's room most times-he searches for food and I search for company. His roommate is a Day Scholar and since the typical Day Scholar would rather be at home than here, Rahul often has the room to himself.
Rahul knows some fantastic sounding curse words in Hindi and we spend some time practicing these on each other and my 3 classmates. In one of our chat sessions, he reveals that when we had met in his house before I had officially joined, he thought I was prime ragging material. I tell him that I thought his "Water diluting gastric juices theory" was bullshit. The fact that I can say this to a senior without getting bashed up is a sign of progress.
In the meantime, Ashley and I set up a strategy to keep tabs on the minimum 75% attendance limit required for each subject. This is a tough number to achieve for me because I am perpetually waking up late. Ashley and I take a black permanent marker and draw up a table on the inside of the cupboard door. The table has names, subjects, dates and if we were marked present or absent. "Marked" is a necessary modification because it is possible for one to be present for a class but not be marked on the register. In Biochemistry, this happens in Dr S's class so we just bunk if we might be getting late. We keep tabs and bunk if above 75. It's a simple enough strategy.
My side of our small room is also getting dirtier. Ash's side is cleaner. This doesn't overtly bother me and as long as my dirt doesn't cross the invisible dividing line, he is fine too. The floor seems to be lined with a fine grain-like dust which we call "grit"-a term devised by Ashley. This is regularly cleaned but the cleaning is limited to the grit. For the rest, a combination of entropy and apathy ensues. We each have a bed, and our own mattresses with a chair and a table each. There is a small stool too, whose purpose baffles me. A wall cupboard each and a board with light and fan switches completes our little abode.
Ashley and I spend hours trying various interior decoration arrangements. The beds are sometimes in an "L" shape and sometimes form a "V" such that the space between them is entirely useless.
I pop into Vikrant's room, four doors and a bathroom down now and then and he is often on the guitar. He listens to a lot of Neil Diamond, studies Harrison's non-stop and always has an encouraging thing to say in his usual frank way. We speak about Chandigarh, our families, how his father treated my grandfather for cancer and how I should read and mug. Often, Shom or some of his other classmates drop by too and they head out for a drink.
Vikrant has a red Yamaha RX 100 on which we often head out to shacks, for some tea, his cigarettes and some peace.
Shom, in the meantime has shifted to the wing in 215 and we start talking a bit more. He still refuses to recognize me from the Patna flight but that's OK now. Bong is in 216 next to Shom. A Gult called Chinta is in 214, and 213 is occupied by a slightly reclusive senior called Nitin. All of us meet at least once in a day, sometimes in each other's rooms but usually in the bathrooms.
Now that I have a bit more freedom and the terror of being accosted by seniors everywhere has passed, I notice my surroundings a little more. There are the shacks of course. Where the shacks end, there is another tea/biscuit place mysteriously called "Stop Snacks". It's just a few steel chairs and tables with someone making tea on a gas stove but it has 2 tallish trees and we call it "California".
Towards the Tamil Nadu border side of the shacks, there is the Govt. Guest House where Dad and I had stayed before I joined and where I had received my Emergency lessons in washing and folding clothes. Next to this is the cafe, called, in typical Pseudo-French style, "Le Cafe". It's not much of a cafe and it's definitely not French but it becomes a haunt for eating noodles and fried rice with large doses of tomato sauce to disguise the taste.
The days pass by with classes in the day and gossip sessions in the evenings. Tests loom on the horizon and we open books in earnest for the first time. My birthday is approaching. I am settling in.
In the meantime, Ashley and I set up a strategy to keep tabs on the minimum 75% attendance limit required for each subject. This is a tough number to achieve for me because I am perpetually waking up late. Ashley and I take a black permanent marker and draw up a table on the inside of the cupboard door. The table has names, subjects, dates and if we were marked present or absent. "Marked" is a necessary modification because it is possible for one to be present for a class but not be marked on the register. In Biochemistry, this happens in Dr S's class so we just bunk if we might be getting late. We keep tabs and bunk if above 75. It's a simple enough strategy.
My side of our small room is also getting dirtier. Ash's side is cleaner. This doesn't overtly bother me and as long as my dirt doesn't cross the invisible dividing line, he is fine too. The floor seems to be lined with a fine grain-like dust which we call "grit"-a term devised by Ashley. This is regularly cleaned but the cleaning is limited to the grit. For the rest, a combination of entropy and apathy ensues. We each have a bed, and our own mattresses with a chair and a table each. There is a small stool too, whose purpose baffles me. A wall cupboard each and a board with light and fan switches completes our little abode.
Ashley and I spend hours trying various interior decoration arrangements. The beds are sometimes in an "L" shape and sometimes form a "V" such that the space between them is entirely useless.
I pop into Vikrant's room, four doors and a bathroom down now and then and he is often on the guitar. He listens to a lot of Neil Diamond, studies Harrison's non-stop and always has an encouraging thing to say in his usual frank way. We speak about Chandigarh, our families, how his father treated my grandfather for cancer and how I should read and mug. Often, Shom or some of his other classmates drop by too and they head out for a drink.
Vikrant has a red Yamaha RX 100 on which we often head out to shacks, for some tea, his cigarettes and some peace.
Shom, in the meantime has shifted to the wing in 215 and we start talking a bit more. He still refuses to recognize me from the Patna flight but that's OK now. Bong is in 216 next to Shom. A Gult called Chinta is in 214, and 213 is occupied by a slightly reclusive senior called Nitin. All of us meet at least once in a day, sometimes in each other's rooms but usually in the bathrooms.
Now that I have a bit more freedom and the terror of being accosted by seniors everywhere has passed, I notice my surroundings a little more. There are the shacks of course. Where the shacks end, there is another tea/biscuit place mysteriously called "Stop Snacks". It's just a few steel chairs and tables with someone making tea on a gas stove but it has 2 tallish trees and we call it "California".
Towards the Tamil Nadu border side of the shacks, there is the Govt. Guest House where Dad and I had stayed before I joined and where I had received my Emergency lessons in washing and folding clothes. Next to this is the cafe, called, in typical Pseudo-French style, "Le Cafe". It's not much of a cafe and it's definitely not French but it becomes a haunt for eating noodles and fried rice with large doses of tomato sauce to disguise the taste.
The days pass by with classes in the day and gossip sessions in the evenings. Tests loom on the horizon and we open books in earnest for the first time. My birthday is approaching. I am settling in.
Bugger, this is VERY good. You have written this in a very JK Rowling style, which makes for interesting and snappy reading. One waits with bated breath for the next installment, even though I know virtually all that happened, having been a part of it all. This is perhaps your best effort yet in style terms, although content-wise it may not add too much to those of us familiar with it.
ReplyDeleteKeep at it dude, you may have something pretty good on your hands if you persist.
G,
ReplyDeleteI thought you would elaborate on "Post Spandan Sickness Syndrome".
Nishi great stuff. Do you remember a shop with '"snakes" written on it's name board, near Singham wines? (it could be my state-dependent memory here, which may not be entirely rooted in reality).
ReplyDeleteAlso read with interest your recollection about things weighing on you! I seem to remember different - was it the other way round (no pun intended), with your never-ending box of sweets from home?
Look forward to the next instalment of your chronicles.
@Chetan....Bugger, it may sound like JK but this is My style. :)
ReplyDeleteAlso, the primary aim of all this is for me recollect stuff. and obviously all of this will be familiar to everyone. But makes for a good trip back..:)
@Anon:
ReplyDeleteI did forget to add that part. I did allude to it briefly in the first line but while writing, but just skipped it. I should jot down what I'll be writing about but that's not MY style..:)
It just flows when I write and so I sometimes forget to add stuff.
Thanks a lot
@Muthu: Singam for me happened much later. Sweets aside, it was overwhelming
ReplyDeletei think this was the stage when i saw your room on our visit to pondy .lost my sleep....
ReplyDeleteNo Mom, that was much later. ..;)
ReplyDeletefaster la update. i want more post!
ReplyDelete