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.