My First Love Letter :)

College life is an excellent and cherish able period of one’s life. Fresh surroundings, new people, new ambience, sense of freedom, sparkling thoughts churning in the mind, feeling of being the architect of one’s destiny, it is here where the foundation of one’s future is laid. It’s the time when all the emotions lose free as the immense energy of the fresh youth knows no bound. And no wonder, half the world’s love stories, whether enduring or wilting prematurely, bloom here. Well, when prettiness and charm are not scarce, Cupid has number of ways to claim his prey. You see many girls, you like some, you appreciate some, but some of them strike deeper. Suddenly you have a feeling that there is something that’s pushing you towards her, quite unintentionally, and before you realize, you find you have fallen in love. Now whether it’s just a crush, a silly infatuation or some real stuff, it’s difficult for you to decide, as if asking a drunkard to decide whether he has had it enough!

And once, cupid has certainly knocked his victim down, the symptoms of this disease start appearing. Love has to be expressed. A proper (and safe! and reliable too!) channel’s required. What possible options the new patient of loveria might have? Well,

a)Go and propose the girl, if you have the guts enough (won’t use the phrase ‘the man enough’, as in this situation many he-man kinda people catch the diarrhea of guts)

b)Send her a love letter. Use her closest friends. (in the new millennium, even e-mails can be used)

c)Play it safe. Don’t propose her at all. Keep your feelings hidden till the judgment day.

d)You are a dumbo! You can’t think the way out. Use a lifeline -Phone a friend, I mean consult a guy who you can trust, who has good reputation in handling the dangerous situations, who has an innovative mind. In short, a love guru!


I believe the option c) is the most widely chosen one, even though not a popular one. Anyway, this story is not about this. Because no story can be created with this. And if I tell you this is the climax of this piece, you are going to close this webpage, calling me names. Well, don’t worry. I am not a Devdas-kinda storyteller.

We had a very cool gang of friends. Well, everyone thinks his group at the college as cool. We are not the exceptions. There was all kind of animals present in our zoo. The Artists to the sportspersons, the Macho men to the fattoos, the beauty queens to the battle-axes. We were close, liked spending time with each other and enjoyed hanging out together. So what a big deal if this closeness turns a bit closer and someone finds himself getting clean bold by some close one. Sunny was the macho man of our batch, a rough and tough guy with a towering personality, fearless, always ready to have a duel with anyone who happened to cross him. He was a terror among the juniors and a much sought after guy in all intra-college group duels. And quite contrary to his personality was Kittoo, the beauty, a smart and dashing girl of our group. Like a typical love story, first they got close (in proportionate to the number of SMSes exchanged daily), then sunny drew closer, started talking more and more about her, increased the frequency of visiting her with innovative pretexts and one fateful day he found that he has, finally, fallen in love with the sweet girl named Kittoo.

Did I mention the names of the protagonists of my story? So, you must be wondering then, what I am doing here? Begani shadi mein Abdullah diwana! And how can the title of the story be ‘My first love letter’? It should have been Sunny’s or Kittoo’s. Well, have patience for a while. If I will tell you everything now itself, the why I wasted my entire week planning this blog?

Well, this kind of news spread in the boys’ hostel like wild fires. But somehow it never reaches to the person who it’s actually intended for! And how poor Kittoo might come to know that she has claimed yet another victim, once again! The adolescent love has to be expressed. It has to be declared. It needs proper channels. And it is the toughest part of all the love stories. Not a different story here. As mentioned above, our dear Sunny has four options from now. Sunny was, as I mentioned already, a macho man of the gang. But this virtue does not necessary qualify him for the trophy. Unfortunately each time he planned to go ahead, he showed the symptoms of that popular disease – ‘diarrhea of guts’ one. There was no one in his eyes among the Kittoo’s closest friends who he could have confided. So the option b) is also ruled out. He was too stubborn to make a compromise with the destiny. Now only the last option was left for him – to have the services of a love Guru. He waited for some days, but when maintaining the status quo became annoying and he ran out of the patience, he looked around, tried to find a reliable, trustworthy and veteran master of this art, and to my worst surprise, zeroed in on me.

I could do anything but playing a love guru! Ok, he could have relied on me, as we were close friends, but I did not have any experience in this Dil ka mamla kind of stuff, certainly not that of matchmaking. But he pleaded before me and slowly convinced that I could do it. Now after all, each one of us is born the same. It’s only the upbringing and the response to the surrounding environment that makes us what we actually are. All of us have many hidden qualities. It needs only a Jambawan to wake the Hanuman inside us and introduce us with our own dormant skills that we have been unaware of, so far. After a good number of flattering sessions I had been convinced that I could do that and I was the only living skilled person on the entire planet who had the capability to do it.

Well, we planned the strategy. What about drafting a love letter? From the time unknown, it has been the popular medium of expressing the love.
Rukmani did it to Sri Krishna.
Sanyogita did it to Prithvi Raj Chouhan.
Bhgyasree did it to Salman.
So, Sunny should do it to Kittoo. As simple as it is.

But how the love letter be composed? Sunny, the macho, did not have any taste of appreciating the romantic poetry. He could have given a lengthy discourse as how to plan the next thrashing of the opponent group at the college. But winning this battle was nowhere his cup of tea. So who will do it on behalf of him?

Not me, off course!

What? It’s me? Never! May be some misunderstanding.

Oh! Really? It’s me! But how it’s possible?

He could rely on me, but I had never had an experience of doing these kinds of things. I simply could not do that. Definitely not. But who can avoid the destiny? Jambawan theory back into the action and I was game. Now there was no turning back as his confidence level in me and my own prestige both were at stake. I woke the hidden poet inside me up. How to compose a love letter? I had written leave applications to the teachers. Written long letters to the family members, to the friends, but love letter is completely a different ball game. How to begin? Perhaps praising the beauty is a safe bet. All the girls like getting flattered up for their beauty, no secret. Let’s begin from here. Hmmm!

I let lose the horses of my thought and creativity! How to put her beauty into words. First line that I penned was – ‘your face is like the blossoming lotus in the light of the rising sun!’

Wow! I am the best! Sunny was right. I can do it. Come on buddy! Go for some more! Hmm!

‘It gives the soothing feeling like the shadow of a big banyan tree, but it seems like it’s hiding a lot of feeling like a dormant volcano of emotions that may erupt anytime. Your face is like a calm pond but beneath whose surface fierce crocodiles are lurking. It has a lot to say, but waiting for something, for someone.’

Sunny went mad- “Yaar Babba! Why are you wasting your life in doing this damn computer engineering thing? Go for the arts, bhai! Consider taking up writing.”

Hmm! I would give it a thought once I am done with it. Flattering works. Followed by some more jumble of words, I ended it with following lines.

‘I have so much to tell you but I have never been good with words and I am not sure whether words would be able to do the justice with my feelings. But I have bared it all whatever I had to. Now the ball is in your court. Either respond to my feelings or just ignore it as a pebble on the road.’

With the copied lines, hackneyed phrases, cocktail of different thoughts, I put all my literary knowledge earned in the 12 years of schooling. And finally whatever was the outcome, I was not completely discontent with that. Agreed, my maiden attempt looked too poetic and unworldly, but not that bad. And who cares the means, the outcome justifies the cause.

Tough part was done. Tougher one was lying ahead. Now who will deliver this master piece to its destination? Off course, not Sunny! Had he the guts at the first place, won’t he have proposed Kittoo, in a true cavalier way, bending on his knees, red rose in his hands? What was the need of any third person? So, what next? Billi ke gale mein ghanti koun baandhe?

What? No! Not again! Not me!

But Sunny’s pleading eyes did not leave the chance of any logical argument for me. I was disarmed. The logic goes as I had put so much effort already, and then was it justified to go it wasted? No! It was no longer only his mission. Even I had joined it as a stakeholder. And who else could he trust for this sensitive thing? Well, I had no choice but to play the sacrificial goat. But a well foolproof strategy was needed to be planned. It was our last year at the college, and we were exchanging the slam diaries. Kittoo’s diary was with us. Sunny put everything in the diary. I collected all the exchanged diaries and delivered to Kittoo.

Few days passed on, quietly. One fine day I got the call from Kittoo and was invited to her flat on a quite innocuous pretext of having tea. When I reached there, a heap of queries was awaiting for me. I was served tea and bombarded with the questions. What’s the meaning of all that in the diary that I delivered?

I put the straight face and told boldly – ‘It means what it means. You don’t need an Einstein to crack the implication of the words. Sunny wanted to bare his heart and I have simply delivered it. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

Why should I panic? I had nothing to lose. And I also explained the context of everything in detail. You won’t believe, it worked. Putting the same soothing – blossoming lotus – rising sun smile, she said – ‘Ask Sunny to call me.’

What else you infer from this. You know these girls. They never put it straight. They take time and enjoy annoying the guy. Some great man has said – ‘If a girl says no, it means may be, if she says may be, it means yes, and if she straightforwardly says yes, then she deserves not to be a girl!’

Oh man! It appeared so easy; I was needlessly taking the load. Sunny was right, I had it inside me. Wow, I was a certified love guru, now.

I returned back triumphantly and informed Sunny about this daredevil. He got mad and offered me a chicken party at a grand restaurant (grand from the point of view of a jobless undergraduate engineer). I still regret the moment I politely declined the offer showing the magnanimity that I would accept it only when he will get her signature on the dotted lines. Anyway, I was waiting eagerly for the D-day when our Sunny will go to meet her. Settling everything I set off for my hometown on a planned vacation, with a sweet feeling of achieving something. At that time I had no idea what was lying ahead for me.

After one week, I called Sunny from my home and inquired about the outcome of his meeting. Contrary to my expectations, he said that I was wrong and I misinterpreted everything. She did not have any feeling for him and she took the letter as a joke. I was aghast. No way. I can’t be such a bad mind reader. Actually there was no need of mindreading at all. Everything was quite obvious. There must have been some misunderstanding. Okay, no problem. Let me get back, I will set everything right. After all, now, I am an experienced person in dealing with these kinds of matters. But to my utmost surprise, he asked me to forget this matter for good. I got confused. Everything seemed going haywire. I was not getting anything. I tried calling Kittoo, but her roommate picked up the call and informed me coldly that she was not available. Nothing seemed working. I had no choice, but to wait for returning back to Bhopal.

Once back, I met sunny and inquired about this entire goof up. He told me that he is no longer interested in Kittoo. Both are not made for each other. Their frequency level did not match. And also asked me to put this story to an end.

What was going on?
Was he the same guy I had left not long back who was so desperate for her. What happened in the few weeks that changed everything?

But how could I leave everything like this. I had invested so much in this melodrama; I had been made a forced stakeholder, I was the scriptwriter of this movie and I could not allow it to get flopped at the box office. My newly gained prestige was at risk. No. No way. I could not leave it in this way. I was the scriptwriter and I had put a happy ending – hero and heroine meet and they live happily thereafter, forever. I had made no room for a villain in the script; I had to look for what went wrong.

I caught hold of her roommate and requested to give me the full account. She said to me in a somber stone – ‘You should not have done all that. It’s not done.’

What had I done?

‘When sunny was not serious about Kittoo then what the right you had to play with her sentiments. Why did you play with Kittoo’s slam diary and her heart?’

Playing with the slam diary? What she was saying? Did sunny let them know that it was me who wrote all that, but what was wrong in that? I did everything with his consent. I was not getting anything in return (just forget about the chicken party please, for now). Seemed within few weeks everyone had gone mad or perhaps it was me, myself. Seemed there had been a great misunderstanding. Okay, I need to play the peacemaker and sort everything out.

‘I need to talk to Kittoo. I will set everything right’.

‘Kittoo is out to her hometown, and FYI, she does not want to talk to you, anymore’.

Damn! What was going on? Sunny was not interested in Kittoo, but he was very much, before I left after delivering the letter.

Kittoo does not want to talk to me, but she was wearing that soothing blossoming and blah blah smile on that day. Wasn’t that for real?

Some link was missing. Kittoo had gone incommunicado. But Sunny was there. I needed to catch him and get the missing link out of him. I got his neck and asked him to explain everything in detail, not miss a single uneventful thing, from the day I left to the day of my returning back. He thought for a while, contemplating as what to do now. Then suddenly he made up his mind and poured out -

‘I am sorry. When I called her that day she asked me in a stern voice as what all I had sent her with the slam diary. I lost all my courage and told her that I knew nothing about what was put in the diary. I handed it over to Babba and I don’t have any idea what all he put into it. ‘

‘What! You said you did not know anything and all this I did on my own? How dare you?’

‘Hey! I am sorry, bro! Please try to understand my predicament. She talked in such a terrible manner, that I forgot everything. What could have I done? I had to save my skin.’

‘You dumbo! So you traded your skin with that of mine? Did you ever think for a second about the possible outcome? Do you know what she is thinking about me? She is not even talking to me, and had left my slam diary untouched.’

‘I am sorry bro, please try to understand. Main kya karta?‘

I was speechless. I did not know how to react. Have pity on this dumb macho, sympathize with the embarrassment that Kittoo felt, kill sunny in cold blood, or just laugh at my situation. I donno, perhaps you can tell me better. That was an end to my prospective part time career; I never played the love guru again. No need to mention about the lost opportunity of the chicken party!

So friend, this was the story of my first love letter. How was it? Not good. Common! Why on the earth you expect all the love stories to have a happy ending? It was a true account, not a Yash Chopra – Karan Johar movie. And quite contrary to the reel life, in the real life the scriptwriter cannot twist the story anytime to suit the public demand. I did my best to produce an ending that you might love, but seems I was not good enough. Wait, why I am blaming myself for everything that went wrong. What about the ‘chivalry’ of Sunny baba, and what about the stubbornness of dear Kittoo who did not give me a chance to explain. Even the worst possible criminals get the chance to put his side of the story.

Postscript:
Well, the beautiful and colorful college days. All seems only yesterday’s stuff. Kittoo and I patched up soon. We decided to forget everything. Sunny and me are still good friends as we had been always. We left that part behind and marched forward in the life. Today after many years when I look back, I recall this piece of past as one of the funniest part of my life. I and sunny still talk about it and the blame game is still on. Kittoo is happily married (to someone else, some lucky chap). The life moves on. I never tried playing valentine again, but if someone like Sunny needs me, I am still ready to help him out. Only this time I am going to get my chicken party in advance to be on a safer side ;). We learn from our past mistakes. Am not I an experienced love Guru, now?

Those Ragging Days!

Pile of books, coaching classes, number of competitive exams, selection and rejections, Dad’s hard earned money, Maa ka vishwas, with lot of promises made to oneself to excel the academics, fresh enthusiasm of settling at a new environment and after all this, when one makes an entry to the stage of the engineering college, he finds the hard truth of the life waiting for him, just like an alligator waiting patiently for the prey ! The hostel days are one of the most cherished parts of the life of an engineer. The feeling of being oneself, independent, unaware of the tough challenges ahead, that cool circle of lifelong bosom friends and the number of adventures. But at the beginning of this fruitful journey, lie the first three hard months, perhaps the hardest one of its kind, so far. Off course the dreadful ragging days!

Those memories of the initial days are still afresh in my mind like a movie, a horror movie, actually. Along with Dad, entering to the Premises of the college building, with all the mark sheets and required documents going through the admission formality. While I was standing besides the clerk doing the paperwork, a girl along with her friend entered into the room, asked something to him, and then turned her gaze towards me. She observed my body language for few moments, then pulling a mysterious smile she reflected to her friend – ‘ Lagta hai naya murga hai’(‘looks like a fresh scapegoat’) and left the room quickly, leaving me puzzled, deciphering the meaning of her smile and comments. Casting of the horror movie had commenced.

After the admission formality, the next challenge was to get accommodation at the hostel. We reached the hostel and asked for the prefect. Everyone was very friendly and cooperative. They arranged the room, helped us carrying my luggage, locating the shops for purchasing the stuff for the daily use. My seniors kindly let me know that I need not worry about anything as they are there to help me for anything I need. I felt lucky to have such helping seniors. They served Dad and me the dinner and then Dad left the hostel and the city, satisfied with everything.
‘Kabhi Khushi’ part was over. Now only lot of ‘gam’ was waiting for me.

As soon as Dad left the hostel premises, the same kind and helping senior called me, but this time his gesture was not the same. Dr Jekyll had suddenly turned into Mr. Hyde. He addressed me very rudely as “Abe junior!” and ordered to reach the room number thirty three, quickly. I reached the room, opened the door and observed some ten guys sitting on the bed and on the chairs around, while around twenty guys standing in a queue, heads down, fully clothed, even shoes on, in the hot September of Bhopal. As I opened the door all gazes turned towards me, and suddenly as if two bombs exploded in quick succession. The victims of the first blast were those twenty poor guys standing in the queue. One of the seniors hurled abuses on them as on whose permission they dared to move their heads up! The target of the second blast was, of course, me. How could I be such an ignorant nerd to dare to enter to the room without asking for the permission! This was just the trailer of what was going to be there like. It was 8 PM and we had to stand in the room till 4 AM doing various ‘co-curricular activities’ to ‘break the ice’ among all the batch mates and between the juniors and the seniors. At the end, one of the seniors kindly informed us that we were supposed to get ready for our first day of the college by 7 AM as 7-8 PM slot for using the bathrooms was booked for the seniors. And also, from 8 AM to 10 PM, we are supposed to dress up in ‘full funda’ that is full sleeve shirt, trouser and shoes and supposed to greet every senior whenever we meet them and much other blah blah.

Life was really tough for the three months. We had to walk on a tight rope and each slip cost us dearly. We had to get ready by 7 AM and from 8 AM to 2 PM we had to attend the boring lectures at the college. Evening was spent in compensating for the sleeping hours wasted in the last ‘late night’ ragging session and charging oneself up for the next one. Most dreading part was the weekend bonanza! It was called ‘GR’ - General ragging in the college lingo. We used to cook up innovative ideas to give it a slip. Most common was to request a break on ‘medical ground’. Headaches, back pains, weaknesses, loose motions – all the ’intangible’ ailments were in high demand. But the seniors were not so naïve - after all one year is not a big time to forget all the tricks they had themselves applied for their sake. We invented our original ones. One guy put up the fact that his uncle in the same city has planned ‘Mata ka jagrata’ for 2 months and that too on the weekends and he is the most sought after guy in the jagrata, perhaps more than Mataji herself! A good one! Even seniors are afraid of Gods, no! It’s quite another thing that once the ragging days were over, his uncle or any other relative in the city never planned another jagrata, for quite obvious reasons. Another one caused his grandma sick and hospitalized. Yet another guy let the seniors know that his neck had recently been operated so he was not in the state of standing slaps. One guy used to visit his girlfriend on weekends. It was only at the end of the ragging days we came to know that he did not have any girl in the city and he used to stay at the hotel on the weekends! During one of the ragging sessions, one guy had the attack of fits. All the seniors got nervous that day and the guy whose slap had apparently caused all this had got Goosebumps in his sinner hand. Only after couple of days, all the juniors, during one of our secret meetings were saluting ‘the fits guy’ for such a realistic performance. If someone compiles only all the excuses invented by the juniors during the ragging days, a new book ‘Guide to 100 quick and witty excuses for the dummies’ could be written.

The heads were always supposed to look down, at the ‘third button’ of the shirt. Looking at the eyes of the senior was a great offence. We had to greet every senior anywhere without looking at their faces. We used to greet the legs! This caused great confusion sometimes as while walking through the corridor, frequently our greeting unexpectedly used to come across another simultaneous greeting. Then we used to realize the goof up, finding one of our poor batch mates only. Or sometimes we used to greet the dhobi, cook or the security guard of the hostel, I mean their legs. And unknowingly addressed every shopkeeper or the autorickshawdriver as ‘Sir’. Hard times, you know!

We were supposed to follow the orders word by word without raising the eyebrows and not supposed to apply our own brain. Repercussions of slight deviation from the rule book were severe. Sample –
Senior – Did you bring my breakfast?
Junior – Yes sir! It’s kept at the table.
Senior – This much of halwa? What do you think of me? Am I supposed to eat all this alone?
Junior – Sir! You can share this with someone else.
Senior – Teri to! You dare to give me suggestion? Trying to be over smart? First you brought this much amount of breakfast? And now trying to cover it up!
It was followed by a bonus weekday session of GR for the entire batch for the sin committed by the one guy. Partners in the tough times.

All the seniors need not be the same. Some might be funny by heart and the some other the avatar of Changeyz Khan. But the cocktail of the both creates an unexpected impact!
Reghe sir asked me to boil the milk for him and left the room. Sharma sir entered the room after some time and inquired whose milk it was. I replied – “its Reghe sir’s milk”. Sharma sir quipped – “Reghe’s milk! You milked Reghe?”. I quickly corrected myself – “sorry Sir! It’s Cow’s milk”. Sharma sir left the room smiling. Now, entered Soni sir. The same question was thrown again. Now I was an experienced guy. I was not going to allow anyone to pull my leg again. I replied with confidence – ‘It’s Cow’s milk, Sir”. Soni sir lost his patience – “How dare you! Trying to be smart with me? Don’t I know its cow’s milk? You damn filthy little slug!” I quickly discarded my newly gained experience and said “Sorry sir! It’s Reghe sir’s milk.” Soni sir left the room with the warning – “I have been observing you for quite sometimes you wretched one! One more time, if I caught you crossing your limits, I will not spare you in the state of being able to stay in the Bhopal city anymore. Mind my words.” Tough times, friends! Ragging days are really tough.

But after all the hard slaps, punishments, fundas and many other brickbats, who says we did not enjoy the ragging time. There was much more to gain as well. We learned how the unknown people from different parts of the country come together and join in the struggle for the survival at the new place. There are no Punjabis, biharis or Bengalis. All belong to the same lot – the oppressed class and waging the silent satyagrah against the privileged class. Like a true Gandhian, they stand all the injustices, but never hit back. Simply because they don’t have any option. I remember one such incidence when after an hour long leg pulling session, one senior sympathetically asked me if I am feeling it bad. I replied in negative. He gently said – “Even if you are feeling bad, what you can do?” and the ugly chorus of laughter followed.
They share the funny moments, they share the heavy time. Some quit in the mid way; some survive the hardship to the end. Trying times and the common enemy make them come closer. And it’s the beginning of the lifelong friendship. Is not the old saying – “friends in need are the friends in deed?” Ragging days are the time when one needs the supports of the friends the most.

And the most welcome part is the welcome party. The day of redemption! The day when the slaves are liberated from the shackles, and fly like a free bird – I wanna live up my life once again. The real hostel life sets in motion. All the Ravans and Mahishasuras suddenly turn into nice and cool guys. Greeting habit takes time to fade. Within one year it’s very difficult to imagine the guy sitting beside you and sharing the evening tea might be the same one who had slapped you 20 times on each of the cheeks, not very long ago. Someone has said (if no one yet, then please credit it to my name!) – ‘It’s the night that tells us how bright is the day.’

Did you enjoy this piece? You can’t if you have not passed through the same journey. It’s something which cannot be expressed through words. You have to feel all this yourself, the stress, the trauma, playing tricks to save our skins, the kindling hope in the darkness – one day everything gonna be alright, and ultimately the day of deliverance. And if you have been through this, this will be a déjà vu experience for you.