Sanjoy, the rebel.

Vijay did not show any interest in why Mohan and Bhaskar had vanished with the girls, or in what they might be doing was not only because of his basic lack of interest in such things, but also because he was leaving for his place that day, the day being Saturday. I remembered that he had packed early in the morning and had brought his airbag to the department. He had left it under the care of the peon of our department. He said he would return on Monday morning and climbed into the city bus. I stood in an unbearable feeling of solitude at the university bus stop, not knowing what to do. I cursed Mohan and Bhaskar under my breath as I scurried towards the hostel.

The rain that had stopped in the morning was making reappearance. The sky was gathering gray-black clouds in heaps. Passing through the turnstile to the botanical gardens, I was not sure I wanted to go the hostel using this shortcut. But even before I could decide, I was already walking under the shade of huge banyan trees. It suddenly started raining heavily and trees were not enough protection to me even though they had covered the sky over my head like an awning. I did not care to flick open my umbrella and the rainwater passing through the gaps in the branches of the trees fell on my head and shoulders. The first few drops of water trickling through my shirt startled me. The botanical gardens continued to attract me, yet it was mysterious and intriguing.

When I reached my room, I remembered that I had not gone to the mess to have my lunch. The mess in the hostel had closed down due to the losses the owner had incurred. I tried to forget that I was hungry and emptied half a jug of water down my throat. After changing, I lied on my bed, once again thinking of my solitude. Envy deep down in me, began to grow and I hated myself for being jealous of my own friends. Are they really my friends? Of course Bhaskar just followed Mohan wherever he went, whatever he did. He shared every moment with Mohan. But is Mohan really my friend? If he is, why doesn’t he behave like one? Why do girls choose him over me? I am fairer, more intelligent, more accomplished than him. Am I unapproachable? It can’t be that the girls approached him. He must have approached girls and must have charmed them. He is not even as funny as Bhaskar is in his conversation. Perhaps I cannot reach out to people. The train of thoughts just rushed through my head, till my heart began to ache. I wanted to change the line of my thoughts. But the same thoughts kept nagging me again and again, until I fell asleep.

I was still engaged in dissuading myself from self-disparagement, when I was again startled by the coldness of the water that I threw on my face later in the evening in the washroom. I cursed myself for not choosing hot water to wash my face. After deciding to go to the city even if alone, I got ready and came to the common TV hall to have a peek at the newspapers.

There was a guy reading the Deccan Herald at the wooden stand. A couple of guys were watching TV. I went to the newspaper stand and before I could find what I was looking for, the guy reading the newspaper asked in English, “Hello, You need this paper?”

He was a tall and lean guy of about twenty-three years, fair with sharp features. He had a pronounced nose, prominent chin and his accent was much different from the people of Karnataka. He was wearing blue jeans and a full sleeved beige but striped shirt. He was one of the guys you find on the campuses like that of an IIT or JNU. “No, thank you! The Kannada newspaper will do for me,” I replied.

“Looking to go to a movie?” he persisted.

“Not really, I am waiting for the bus. I got ready a bit early. There is a bus going to the city after 15 minutes.” I said without lifting my head from the newspaper.

“I am Sanjoy Bannerjee. I have come here to gather some information for my dissertation,” he said with aplomb, extending his hand. I had to shake hands with him and say, “ Harsha, studying for my master’s”. I was astonished at how some people strike conversation or make friends without any effort. He was one such guy, with a very friendly smile. He could easily put anyone at ease.

His name could have been Sanjay, but the Bengali people pronounced it as Sanjoy. I did not know whether they wrote too similarly.

“Which subject?” he enquired. “Political Science.” My reply was a monosyllable. I did not ask him his subject.

“You know, I have been staying in this hostel for the last fourteen days. Tomorrow I will be leaving for Calcutta. It seems the mess is closed down in the hostel. Perhaps, we can have dinner together in the city. I know of a very good hotel. Damn cheap compared to other hotels. Would you care to join me?”

After hardly a few minutes since introduction, the guy was already inviting me to have dinner with him! He was really wonderful, I thought. He abounded in what I lacked, social skills. He continued to amaze me. Without a second thought, he took it for granted that I could accompany him to a cheap hotel. He was confident that he could charm me to take to a cheap hotel even if I were the richest man in the town. After only a bit of hesitancy, I followed him to the bus stop just when the bus was taking a U turn before standing still.

“How did you like this city? And the university?” I asked him sitting at the aisle while he sat by the window.

“Umm I liked it very much. Such a calm and quiet town. The scenic beauty is marvelous. No hustle-bustle, no hurry. The pace of life is endearingly slow compared to my own place. It is called ‘a pensioners’ paradise’, isn’t it?”

“I have heard people call it so. But the pace is gradually picking up, because its twin city Hubli is expanding towards it.”

“Yeah that is happening with most of the towns these days. But the university campus is one of the most beautiful campuses I have seen. It was as if living with the nature for the last two weeks for me. Now that I have completed my work, I am feeling sad to leave it.”

“How come you are staying in the hostel? Why not at the university guest house?” I found myself asking.

“The guest house is not meant for research scholars. Only teachers and other guests stay there. It’s pretty costly too. I have been staying in the hostel as a guest.”

“Seen the places around here?”

“Ah, not much to see nearby. Last weekend I had been to Badami and Aihole”.

He chattered continuously till we reached the city. When we got down he asked, “Why don’t we have drinks before dinner? Liquors are strictly not allowed in the restaurant we are going”

I nodded in agreement. He took me to a two-storied building right behind the petty shops near the city bus station. The hoarding over the entrance read ‘wine shop’. “It is only a shop, not a bar,” I cried. But he said, “Just follow me. They serve here at the retail price. Moreover, you will get soda and snacks free of charge!”

I followed him on the stairs opposite the cash counter of the shop. The stairs led us to the first floor where I could see a hall of moderate proportions. There were folding tables with plastic chairs around them. We sat near the window under the ceiling fan. The air was slightly tinged with cigarette smoke. Some men sitting at the far end were getting raucous. On another table, a man was sitting alone in a melancholy mood, and suddenly he drank the whole glass of red liquid, gathered his bag and left.

Sanjoy ordered a whisky called ‘Royal Scot’. It could be easily mistaken for scotch but it was an ordinary, cheap whiskey. A boy of about fifteen brought the sealed bottle containing a quarter, which was 180 ml and two bottles of soda water. The green soda water bottle had a marble at stuck in its neck, pushed upwards by the pressure inside. When he pushed the marble inside with his forefinger, it released the pressure with a hissing sound. He opened both the bottles, placed them by the side of a small plate of salted chickpeas. As he left, Sanjoy said, “You see, you won’t have to pay for these items.”

The liquor was very strong, tasted bitter and soon left me groggy. I was already light headed due to skipping my lunch. I ate a lot of chickpeas to slow down the impact of the drink. “Only an hour ago, I did not know you. Now I am sitting with you having drinks. How can you make friends so quickly?” I asked Sanjoy.

“Honestly, I have never thought of that. May be I just smile and talk. May be I have an irrepressible urge to talk. I am indiscriminate as to whom I am talking to.”

“I think that’s great. It takes me hell lot of time just to say hello to people.”

“Even that can be very helpful, you know, in avoiding wrong people. Selecting the right ones to talk to.”

“True, but it leaves you with very few friends.”

For a while we talked about the politics of his state, West Bengal. He was very appreciative of the Leftist Party but at the same time critical of some of the issues of which I had no idea.

He gulped down three drinks in record time. I could manage only one and a half. When the bill came, he said he would pay and I would have to pay for the food. I felt guilty, for somewhere deep down, I had a feeling that he was conning me to get his evening paid.

The hotel he took me to was not very far off. It was on a small road leading to the residential area just behind the main bazaar. The hoarding over the building read ‘Hotel Diamond’. The entrance led to the counter located in a hall of which two partitions had been made. One portion was open hall; the other portion was further partitioned into two rooms, each room containing two tables. We sat in one if the rooms. There were wooden chairs and tables, the top of the table coated with glossy synthetic material. The ambience was good, the air filled with the odours of incense stick, cooking meat and biriyani. It was apparent that establishment belonged to a Muslim owner.

Sanjoy ordered the food without consulting me. A small doubt was lingering in my mind. He ordered mutton masala and rotis and a plate of biriyani. The food was delicious and sumptuous but the doubt in my mind kept recurring. After washing our fingers in the finger bowl, I finally gathered myself to ask Sanjoy whether it was beef that was served here. I expected him to be either apologetic or defensive, but he was neither. He simply shrugged and said that despite being a Brahmin, he didn’t mind it as long as it was delicious and available at an affordable price. Indeed, he was more rebellious against the established norms than I was. He showed it in his actions. Well I will be damned if anyone knows that I had had food here, and enjoyed it on the top of all, I thought.

When we got off the bus near the hostel, he thanked me, gave his address and asked me to keep in touch. In fact, I should have been even more grateful to him, for since I had met him, I had thought of Mohan and Bhaskar and the girls not even for a while.

Not until I reached the corridors of the first floor and found Mohan and Bhaskar puffing away their cigarettes near the banister.

Growing Patterns

The third roommate began to move his things shortly thereafter, but very gradually. First to disappear were his books, then the bucket and mug vanished. There were two cupboards in the room, one of which he had taken custody of and kept it always locked, with the key tucked to his key chain, which he carried all the time, even while going to the bathroom. I soon found it unlocked and empty. One evening, after returning from the department, we found that his bed too had evaporated. Neither Vijay, nor I cared to ask him where he was moving all his things. Finally, the only thing that he retained was his key to the room, which he never used thereafter. I had been sharing a cupboard with Vijay. Now I was free to occupy the one emptied by Jogesh. Now there was sufficient space in the room, and no unfeeling, inane irritations to deal with in the mornings. The mornings were serene and silent. It was now that I began to feel at home.

At the time of my admission, I had opened an account in one of the banks on the campus, and had deposited six thousand rupees, enough to cover my expenses for the whole year. But for all others, the first week of the month was a period of waiting for the Money Order to arrive. They would visit the Post Office every day to enquire whether the MO has arrived. Mohan, Bhaskar, Virupakshappa, and Suresh waited for their monthly allowance while Vijay went back to his place once a month to collect his. Hence, the first week was celebration time for Mohan and Bhaskar. After paying all the dues to the mess and the canteen, they would rush to the city every evening for partying. For some reason unknown to me even to this date, neither I not Vijay were invited to accompany them. I concluded variously, that they continued to think I was an outsider because I did not share their undergraduate experiences; that my introvert, reserved, taciturn personality traits were unsavoury to them; that there was a sea of differences in our backgrounds, habits, culture, and outlook; that they didn’t like me at all, etc. At times I felt desolated, and craved for their company, their gossips, their grins, their jokes, the fun, and their laughter. At the same time, I kept cursing myself too for not being able to at least enfeeble the hard shell around me, so that someone can pierce it.

Another of my classmates, Madhav Nayak, was the only person who knew that I had deposited so much of money in the bank, as he, on the suggestion of the clerk of the department, had accompanied me to the bank to assist me in opening the account. As an account holder, he could introduce me to the bank, by signing in the application form. Early one evening, he came to my room, and called me out to discuss me something in person. When I met him in the portico, he quietly said that he has not received his monthly allowance due to some reasons back home, and that he needed five hundred rupees urgently. He said he would return the money as soon as possible. It felt very strange to me. He had studied in Dharwad itself right from his high school days, and undoubtedly had lots of pals. Why should he come to me, of all the people, to ask for a loan, when I barely knew him? It was very difficult for me to say no; for I couldn’t tell him I didn’t have. Even more difficult for me was to invent a lie. It took me sometime, but finally I told him that I would not be able to give him money. He felt offended, and it showed on his face. He left without a word, but later he never talked to me. I found out later that he was habituated to borrowing money and not returning it. Fortunately, he did not stay in the hostel and after a couple of months, he gave up pursuing the course itself.

Days began to assume a pattern. I got used to the overcast sky, constant rains, at times, torrential downpour and slight drizzle, at others. The landscape around the hostel, in fact the whole campus became green. Reddish muddy water flowed incessantly in the drains and trenches in the campus. The grass grew taller and taller in the botanical gardens. The rainwater dripped from the leaves of the trees and flew onto my face, while passing by the side. Cold winds blew, never violently, but there used to be strong winds, brushing my hair, and fluttering my clothes. I liked the wind very much, for it made me nostalgic. It was soothing, comforting, and freshening. I liked to wear sweaters of different colours, not because of the cold, but I thought I looked better wearing them. I had a special liking for the military green pullover with white stripes that was loosely knit and allowed the passage of air through it.

Evenings were even more enchanting. It would be dark sometimes as early as five thirty. With Vijay constantly at my side, I used to enjoy my ride in the city bus sitting by the window, my ritual drinks, and returning to the hostel late in the evening. Vijay and I did miss the company of Mohan and Bhaskar for most of the month. But for a few early days of the month, we did go with them. Those were even happier evenings, and gradually we had become close friends. Now everyone in the group was addressing me in singular. But I made it a point never to ask Mohan why he would not ask me to be in their company at all times, all the days. Vijay and I reassured ourselves that we didn’t need to be always depending on the rest of the group, for we were a group unto ourselves.

I came to know that the huge auditorium and a couple of rooms annexed to it constituted ‘Gandhi Bhavan’, that it was the department of Gandhian Studies, offering post graduate diploma courses in Gandhian Studies. In the final year of my graduate class, we had a lesson in Basic English called “And Then Gandhi Came”, an excerpt from the Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru. The professor who taught us Basic English was a vociferous critic of Mahatma Gandhi. Ideologically he was in the right wing. When he started criticizing Mahatma Gandhi and also Nehru as his protégé, for all the ills facing our country, I couldn’t contain myself. I basically believed that the teacher should be ideologically neutral, at least in the treatment of the subject matter in the classroom. He should refrain from imposing or canvassing his own ideological leanings. Although I was not well read in Gandhian philosophy or ideology, I had been a keen student of the Indian national movement. I defended Gandhi and Nehru so vigorously in the argument with the professor that ensued and continued for nearly four days, that the professor had to concede his defeat in the open classroom. However, the victory had not been sufficient for me. I wanted to study Mahatma Gandhi, his life, his work and philosophy to be able to answer many questions that the professor had raised, to which the answers that I had given had not satisfied me. I enrolled for the course and started attending the classed in the evening.

I had always been found of music and always wanted to unravel the mysteries of the Indian classical music. I found out that the department of music and fine arts was also offering a certificate course in the Hindustani Classical Vocal music. After a simple test of recital of notes along with the harmonium, I was admitted and started attending the classes in the morning. Thus a day’s pattern was music classes in the morning, Masters’ classes during the day, diploma classed in the evening and finally visiting hotel Prince, later in the evening. On Sundays, when most of the boys were washing or pressing their clothes, or visiting their relatives, our gang relaxed till eleven in the morning, and then we usually went to have gin and limewater near Modern movie theatre. We used to watch English movies after a couple of drinks, and then have lunch with some more gin before returning to the hostel for siesta. Evenings again were spent at Prince.

That the pattern would not remain the same for long was lingering in my mind like a premonition to me. It started with the music class. I had a session of one hour each day, on all weekdays. But it was a common class for three students, two girls in addition to me. For the first couple of days, I was to sit on my knees holding upright the tanpura tuned to D, recite the notes in succession while strumming the four strings of the tanpura one after another, with a brief pause after the fourth string. It was so painful sitting on my knees, that I could not concentrate on the clarity of notes. I could not understand why they were making an experience supposed to be full of pleasure and bliss, an unmitigated painful one! Just when I was getting used to bearing the pain, we were introduced to two ragas, Bhoopali for the first three days of the week and Durga for the remaining days. It was indeed very easy for me to understand the structure of the ragas, and I could recite them with ease and without going off-key. But for the other two girls, it was an impossible task. The third note of Bhoopali is ga and that of Durga is ma. The teachers would struggle make them catch the right note because after three days of Bhoopali, they could not go up to ma. By the third day somehow the teacher teaching Durga would be successful in making them sing the correct note, which is ma but the teacher teaching Bhoopali on the fourth day would raise his hands in exasperation after trying to make them sing the correct third note which is ga!

It took me only hardly a few minutes to sing the correct raga, but the remaining time I had to spend watching the girls struggle, and the teacher despair. I wanted to have some more attention of the teachers but it was not to be. After somehow learning three ragas, I just gave up attending the classes. Much later, I heard that the girls also had dropped out!

However, I persisted with the course in Gandhian Studies, for it was pleasure attending the classes there in the evening. Majority of the teachers were retired teachers, librarians, activists who were working as guest-lecturers. I read and reread The Story of My Experiments With Truth and Hind Swaraj, spent a lot of time attending discussions, seminars on Gandhian philosophy. But my approach to the Gandhian Studies was more with head than with heart. For at least a couple of years during my graduation, I had been highly influenced by Karl Marx, and considered myself a Marxist until I overheard a highly reputed intellectual comrade calling a peon of our college “a silly, worthless peon”, after a minor scuffle with the latter. I felt he was identifying himself with the class of haves and addressing the peon, a have not with perceptible scorn when he was required to identify himself with the proletariat and start a class struggle. For quite sometimes I had also been attracted by the utilitarian philosophy of J.S.Mill, and pluralist philosophy of H.J.Laski. Since childhood I had been an atheist, and later an apostate. I rebelled against all regulations; even the self imposed one, just like Jean Jacques Rousseau! In the end, I had turned into a much-confused youth, absorbing influences from various quarters. The best thing about me, according to my own assessment, was that I was like a sponge, absorbing ideas like a sponge absorbs water. I was open to all new ideas, ideologies and philosophies, but never ever committing myself to one particular thought. If someone tried to convince me, I would oppose it tooth and nail, gathering all the strength of the facts and ideas contrary to the one that is being pushed. But never would I argue for the sake of argument, if there were fresh insights that are logically coherent present in the idea or ideology.

The classroom lectures seemed to me like unavoidable rituals. Most boys were pretending to be attentive, being afraid of the teachers, not understanding much of what was being said although it was all in easy comprehensible English, some boys stealthily ogling at the girls from time to time when the lecturer is writing something on the blackboard, giggling with co-benchers on some silly joke. One of the professors used to keep a book on the lecture-stand and read long winding verbose sentences without caring to know if anybody understood it. He had developed a special skill of reading from the corners of his eyes without letting the audience to know that he was in fact reading. I could easily make out what he was doing since I had purchased the same book and would read it before going to the class.

One day when Vijay and I entered the lecture-hall, I found that Mohan and Bhaskar were talking to the girls. So far the boys had never talked to the girls. When did they make acquaintance with the girls, I had no idea. I had seen all the girls but had taken no notice of even one of them. Except perhaps Nirupama Vannur, who was about five-two, curvy, wheatish complexion bordering on the darker side, oval face, arched eyebrows, and succulent lips. She had an air of unmistakable small town background, midway between rural and big city. It showed in her behaviour, in her clothes and sandals. Though she couldn’t be called extraordinarily beautiful, she was very attractive in her own way. The other girl who always stayed with her always wore saris of different hues. She was very fair, and a bit thickset. She had a round face and a short nose on which she wore a tiny gold nose stud. She still retained some of the pudginess of childhood and sometimes I thought she looked like a retarded person. When she was answering the roll call, I learnt that her name was Vani Moraba. She too hailed from the same place as Nirupama.

Yet another girl was obviously a city-bred modern looking girl, Saroja Hublikar. She was short, about five feet, and wore skirts and chudidars. Denim skirt and a sleeveless t-shirt was her favourite dress. She was neither fair, nor dark. Some times she could be found with a gold rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Kalavati Khot was the girl who had spoken in the Inaugural Function. She too was a small town girl, very skinny, and liked to flaunt what she thought were her virtues, obedience to the teachers, industry, and self-righteousness. The last girl was a localite, Kavya Kabadi. She had been a classmate of Virupakshappa at graduate level. She spoke little, was about five-three, fair and good-looking. But I felt that she always tried to conceal her good looks and keep a low profile.

Now Mohan and Bhaskar were talking to Nirupama, Vani and Saroja. I was sitting at the last bench along with Vijay, and could not hear what they were talking. But obviously, the girls were giggling at something Mohan said. Later, just after the professor left the classroom, Bhaskar and Mohan vanished with the girls. It left an awkward pain of envy in my heart. “Damn!” I said to myself and saw that Vijay was unaffected as usual.

Third Roommate Fixed!

When we reached our room, the third roommate Jogesh seemed to be fast asleep as usual. He certainly feigned to be in deep slumber, for he did not even stir by the noise of the opening and shutting of the door. We changed before slipping into our beds. It might have taken hardly more than a minute for Vijay to doze off; I could make it out by the steady sound of his breathing. However, sleep was miles away from my eyes. Even the liquor was not helping. It had always been the same with me since my childhood. If anything unsavoury happens, however frivolous it might be, I keep mulling over it again and again, till it encompasses the whole being of me, and stays so till the time takes over and heals it. I wondered it happened the same way to any other person.

The next day, again I was woken up by the sounds of ‘aaak thoo!’. Although I never had hangovers, my head was still a bit heavy. It might have been due to lack of sufficient sleep. The third roommate was stalking from the cupboard to the window and back again to the cupboard. As he approached the window, he would try to cough loudly and try even harder to bring out the phlegm. After spitting, he would begin stalking again. I was reminded of the jackal I had seen stalking impatiently in a similar manner, in a zoo long back.

I did not see either Mohan or Bhaskar in the canteen. Vijay and I had our breakfast and decided to stay in our room till it was time to leave for the department. Just as we were leaving the canteen, Mohan and Bhaskar entered. “Hello brothers!” Mohan shouted with a broad grin. I tried to smile back. Bhaskar put his arm around Vijay’s shoulders and asked, “Already had your break fast? Why don’t you sit with us and have one more cup of tea?”

Vijay said,” We will sit, but won’t have tea.”

We sat at the table. I was not still smiling but it went unnoticed. Just as Mohan and Bhaskar began eating avalakki, there was some commotion on the portico adjoining the canteen. It was the sound of a roar of laughter and many guys yelling simultaneously. Presently two guys, who I recognised to be our seniors in the department, appeared at the entrance. One was well over six feet and athletically built. The other was of average height and a bit obese.

Mohan laid his plate on the table and got up. With folded hands, dramatically, he said, ”Namaskar anna, I know what you are up to. Please don’t return my greetings.” Both of them laughed. I did not comprehend what it was all about. “Please take my namaskar also, and keep it yourself!” Bhaskar said, munching his breakfast.

The two seniors sat at the same table, and a boy working in the canteen brought them tea and cigarettes. The tall guy offered me one and lit one himself. “You are Harsha from Belgaum, aren’t you?” he asked. I nodded agreement. “I am Kotresh and this is Sharan.” I shook hands with Sharan.

“So, How many people have accepted your namaskar?” Mohan asked with a smirk.

“Haha..ha” Sharan left out a laugh. “Most of the hostel is covered. Only the professors are left out” said Kotresh with a wry smile.

“Has Shivakumar approached you?” Sharan directed a question to me. He watched my face and understood that I did not know who Shivakumar was. He said, “Shivakumar Saradgi is our classmate. He wants your help in getting his notes translated to Kannada. He will contact you soon.”

In the first thing, the whole discussion about namaskar was intriguing, and a senior seeking my assistance in translation was even more so.

I wanted to ask what it was all about, but soon I could see it myself. Another classmate of ours, Suresh Hiremath approached us. Kotresh stood with the corners of his lungi in his hands, and joined both his hands, lifting them up to his face in the gesture of salutation, and said “Namaskar saar”. Along with his hands, his lungi was lifted and he wore absolutely nothing below it. Suresh had a full glimpse of his dangling tool!

“My God! What have you shown me the first thing in the morning, even before I paid obeisance to our kuladevata!” Suresh burst out in a dramatic tone but with he was feigning anger. Everyone laughed loudly.

Shortly, the seniors left all of us still smiling. Amidst all this I had quite forgotten my feelings about the previous day’s incident. Bhaskar said, “You should never enter Sharan’s room early in the morning. If you knock his door, he will open it only to reveal that he is stark naked. Once the hostel clerk went to his room to remind him to pay his hostel fees; he came out running at a leopard’s pace and kept running until he reached his office” There was even more laughter.

“I have heard that there was another person who was nastier than our seniors, in the hostel about a couple of years ago. The moment he entered the hostel, he would be totally nude. All his roommates vacated and left. He would go the bathroom and come back wearing nothing. He would take bath in front of the hot-water tap, completely naked, when others would be waiting in the queue to get hot water!” Mohan said.

“All other hostelites thanked god that he went to the mess or canteen fully dressed!” Bhaskar added.

It was an uneventful day at the department. We attended all the lectures together, but after the last lecture, just as I went into the washroom to loo, I saw Mohan and Bhaskar leaving hurriedly! Again without caring to tell anything to Vijay or me. It was frustrating.

                                   * * *    **    * * *

When Vijay and I returned from the city at 10.15 pm after rigorously following the routine of one and a half drinks and chicken mughlai, our third roommate, whom we had already nicknamed ‘yaakthoo’, was not asleep, breaking away from his usual habit. He looked at us as if we were intruding his privacy. He fluffed his pillow, dusted his bed with his cheddar, went to the window, spat out with that abominable noise of his, and sat on his bed. He took a book, and began reading it. I felt uneasy, and I could bet that Vijay too was not very comfortable.

I changed to my Bermudas and t-shirt. Just as I was sitting on my bed, the door opened with a big thud and there stood Mohan, with Bhaskar and Viru in his wake. “Good Evening sir! How are you two doing?” Mohan almost hollered at the top of his raucous voice, raising his right hand in mock salute, with a tinge of dramatics.

“Please come in. It seems the party is stiff today” said Vijay. All of them entered and Mohan sat on the bed beside Vijay while the other two took chairs.

“So, mama, what is going on?” Bhaskar asked Vijay intimately.

“What have you been drinking man? The whole room is filled with the smell of your drink” Vijay said. Indeed, the odour of rum, wafted through the air. I could recognize it quickly.

“We had been to Big Boor’s room. The fellow does not drink, but keeps a full bottle of military rum. We just emptied it so that he can use the bottle for some other purpose.” Bhaskar said with a slur.

“Harsha’s eyes are red and the cheeks are glowing. What did you have?” Mohan queried desultorily, but without waiting for the reply, suddenly turned towards ‘yaakthoo’, and said in a loud voice, ”Oh, this is your third partner! You are from history department. Aren’t you?”

Now the third roommate was feeling somewhat awkward and replied in a low tone, “Yes”.

“What? I did not hear you man. You have a voice of a girl. Hmmm…what was your name? I heard your name from someone.”

“Jogesh” just as Vijay was volunteering, Bhaskar intervened, “Yes Mohan brother, not only his voice is like a girl’s, he has very sparse hair on his face!”

The third roommate had turned white with fear. But Mohan continued without taking note of it. “Oh. His name is Jogappa. Isn’t it?”

Those who became hijdas in dedicating themselves to Goddess Yellamma of Saudatti are known as ‘jogappas’ in this part of the state. Mohan was deliberately calling Jogesh as jogappa, meaning effeminate man. Both Mohan and Bhaskar had begun enjoying teasing Jogesh and causing a lot of consternation and panic to him. He had started sweating profusely although it was a cold, rainy evening.

“I think this weekend we are going to have a seminar in the department”, I tried to change the subject.

“You may present a paper. We are not going to do that sir,” Bhaskar replied. But Mohan quickly grabbed another opportunity in this and said, “ See this Jogappa is very studious. Look at him. He is studying even now. You have a seminar in your department?” This was addressed to Jogesh.

“No. We may have one next week.”

“Oho! And you have already started your preparations? Very nice! But your voice is not loud enough and we don’t have microphones in the department. Do we? Your voice is too feminine.”

“He has lost his voice due to a lot of spitting, it seems.” Bhaskar added fuel to the fire.

“Oh, Yeah. You are right. He spits a lot. You can hear him from anywhere in the hostel. What do you eat man? Cow dung? Why you need to be puking all the time?”

“May be it is morning sickness Mohan” Bhaskar suggested, with a wide and wry smile. Virupakshappa left out a roar of laughter.

“When we had first joined college, Bhaskar did not know what is morning sickness. Can you imagine what he did?” Mohan said with amusement. “There was a girl in our class who somehow got very close to him. For some time she used to be depressed and looked very glum especially in the first hour of the college. He asked her if she was having morning sickness! She stopped talking to him thereafter!”

“On second thought, I think she ditched him because she had a crush on the other guy, Narendra Swami. One night, we went to his room and beat the shit out of him and warned him not to speak to her. We never saw them together.”

“No man, she was not having anything with him. It was just my mistake. He was only helping her with her physics.” Bhaskar replied with a protest.

“Whatever, but it proved too costly to him.” Mohan said with glee.

“You see, we are gentlemen during the day time. It is only in the evening, that too after a couple of pegs, that we cease to be gentlemen and become real men. You see, the next day in the morning we met him,” said Bhaskar.

“Yes, we did meet him the next day to say sorry,” Mohan added, “Because we are gentlemen. We always have been. I told him very frankly, ‘See boss, forget what happened last night. Such things happen by mistake. Say you forgive us. Let’s be good friends’”

Bhaskar smirked and said with mock sympathy, “Yeah, Then you asked him to eat some sweet with us in the college canteen, just to prove that he had forgiven us. Then you proceeded to make him eat six plates of shira. The poor fellow had to pay the bill too, while he was almost on the verge of throwing up!”

“By the way, shira is available in the hostel canteen?” Mohan asked, ogling at Jogesh. All the time he was looking and feeling like a clown.

Virupakshappa tried to change the subject of conversation by observing, “ This room has a very good ventilation man. It’s very cool and fresh here. The backward portion of the building obstructs the flow of air in my room”

“Indeed,” Mohan agreed, “ We must come here every night and chat with you guys till we are sleepy. Hope Jogappa won’t mind.”

“Why should he mind?” questioned Bhaskar rhetorically, “ He too is a friend of ours. Aren’t you?” He was barely able to conceal irony in his tone.

All of this was bewildering to Jogesh and he had come to realise that is directed at him. He, for a moment, did not know how to respond and the moment he opened his mouth to say something, Mohan said hurriedly with a deliberate lisp, “Who cares if he minds? “

“That reminds me of another funny incident,” Bhaskar began to narrate it.

This went on and on for a couple of hours and I could imagine how grueling this must have been to Jogesh. By the time the boys left our room, it was almost two in the morning.

Next morning, miraculously, Jogesh did not cough, or make disgusting sounds. He did not even go near the window.

“Thanks Mohan,” I said when I met him in the canteen later,explaining to him how Jogesh's behaviour had dramatically altered. Bhaskar said with a grin, “ You know something? There was nobody called Narendra, nor was there any girl.”

Mohan too grinned, “ We did not beat anybody or took anybody to the canteen to force him to eat sweet. Nice story, wasn’t that?”

Perfidy

“Come on, what are you pondering about Harsha?” Bhaskar shouted. I realised that I had again withdrawn myself into my cocoon, brooding about my deep-rooted desires and wishes.

“Oh! It’s nothing in particular.” I replied.

“I was telling you how studious Virupakshappa is. He has already collected many books and notes. He has already started studying every evening.”

“It’s not true,” protested Virupakshappa, “I have nothing better to do in the evenings. That’s why I am just reading.”

“Who else has come to our department from your college?” I queried, just to participate in the discussion.

“One guy, his name is Umesh Melligatti and one girl, Kavya Kabadi. He is not staying in this hostel. He has rented a room in the city. Kavya is a localite.”

“You mean the one who is tall, fair with two braids hanging behind?” Mohan asked.

“Yes. You are right. She comes from a very orthodox family. Not a highly educated one, but good family” replied Virupakshappa.

“Hey come on, Viru. We are not having any designs on her. Okay? You seem to be concerned about her!” Bhaskar said as if he is unravelling a secret.

“No sir. I am already engaged to a girl from our place, a distant relative of ours. I want to get a job as early as possible. Whether I get a job or not, my parents have decided to have my marriage this summer.” Virupakshappa said with some amount of blush.

I was surprised that he was going to marry that early. “Don’t you think you are too young to get married now?” I asked.

“I do think so. But my parents don’t”

“Ah, lucky fellow. Why aren’t my parents as wise?” Bhaskar chuckled.

“Because you have an elder brother still waiting to be married!” Mohan reminded him.

“In fact, the first one marry should be me. I am a couple of years older than all of you.” Vijay said. “Nobody is asking me, who will care to ask you?” he added.

This discussion went on and on for quite sometime, till Mohan said he would get ready to go the department. Both Mohan and Bhaskar dressed. They dressed very neatly, and too formally always. Only I had started wearing the Baggies, the latest fashion then. They wore leather shoes polished till they shone like diamond. I wore sneakers. After a while, we left for the department. Since still much time was there, we went to the library canteen, had another cup of tea and pulled another cigarette. This time Mohan and Bhaskar were sharing a cigarette. It was while drinking tea that we decided that thereafter, we would be sharing every bill equally as none of us were earning. I began to feel like I was a part of the group.

This feeling was not to last longer, or at least I felt so later in the evening.

                                      * * * *** * * *

Another day in the department for others, it was my second day. Faces in the department began to look familiar. There were three lectures, with an interval of 45 minutes after the second lecture for meals. We went to the Students’ Home mess together. Mohan and Bhaskar had purchased tokens for the whole month. They suggested the same to Vijay and me. Vijay also followed the suit. But I didn’t, for I wanted to avoid eating there as much as possible. It was only the second meal for me, but I had already begun to hate it. Not that the others relished it. But they were able to eat it without any grumble.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that Mohan, Bhaskar and Vijay had opted for the same optional course as me. It was ‘Parliamentary Institutions’, taught by a professor with shining head and bright eyes. He was well read but was not very articulate. He came to the class with a huge pile of books and papers, but referred only to the notes he had scribbled on the paper. It would be an understatement if I say that he went about delivering his sentences at a snail’s pace. There was such a huge gap between two sentences that he uttered that I could have made a couple of copies of his lecture verbatim. While saying something, he stared at us; and after the completion of a sentence, he would stare at the roof. It was all a grim matter and there was not even a hint of wit and humour. Especially, in the afternoon after a meal, however insipid it might have been, his lecture lulled us into doze and it required quite an effort to stay awake. If it had been a large class comprising hundreds of audience, I could have safely dozed off.

As decided earlier, Vijay and I went to the office of the department to collect our identity cards. When we came out, I was dismayed to find that both Mohan and Bhaskar had vanished into thin air. We looked for them in the lecture hall and on the staircase, but they were not to be seen. “Anyway, let’s get back to the hostel” Vijay suggested at last. I concurred silently.

I was disappointed by the sudden disappearance of Mohan and Bhaskar. Vijay, however, did not seem to be least bit affected. We silently started walking back to hostel through the botanical gardens. Although it was sometimes after four in the evening, as the sky was covered fully with dark clouds, the botanical gardens looked even darker and gloomy. The water was dripping from the leaves of the trees and shrubs. The grass was also soaked and was wetting our pants below ankles. I thought, may be everything looked very dismal to me because of what Mohan and Bhaskar did. It is nothing less than abandoning…nothing less than perfidy. Why was I so demanding? Why friendship, especially mine, so demanding?

The ground was wet and at some places, small pools filled with muddy water had been formed. We tried to walk on firm ground and on the grass, wherever we doubted the soil to be not solid enough to withstand our weight.

I broke the ice at last, just as we neared the other end of the botanical gardens opposite our hostel. “ They shouldn’t have done like this!” said I.

Vijay looked up with a question mark writ all over his face. “What?” he queried.

“At least they could have told us before going. Would we have come in their way?”

“Hmmm”

After some time he asked, “Do we need to depend on them?”

“Not at all. It just that their behaviour is a bit objectionable. Lack of courtesy. That’s all!”

We silently reached out room. The third roommate Jogesh was not there, thankfully. After changing, we just lied on our respective beds.

I was still brooding over the same thing. How could they do it? Bloody we were sitting together in the same class. It took hardly a couple of minutes to collect my ID card. “We have some personal work. See you later in the evening” would have sufficed. I wouldn’t have meddled into their personal matters, just as I wouldn’t have permitted anyone to meddle in my personal matters. Vijay started snoring slightly. He is unconcerned. It seemed to him petty and trifling. I began to feel envious of Vijay.

I could not remember when I too slipped into slumber. When Vijay awakened me, I saw through the window that the sky had grown darker. I looked at the table clock. It showed ten past six. “Have they come back?” I asked Vijay. “Not yet” he replied with a blank face. “Shall we have tea?” It was more a suggestion than a question. “Yes. But in the city, not in the hostel” I said coming to a decision abruptly. Vijay was a follower, never a leader. He agreed without a word.

“This is the famous Subhas Road, where all boys come to watch the girls and the girls come to be watched.” Vijay said pointing at a straight avenue when we reached the water fountain located in the triangular shaped walled area. We strolled down the road, and I made some purchases in the adjoining shops. Though it was not raining, it was not comfortable walking on the dirty edges of the road, or on the pavement on which muddy water was stranded here and there. When Vijay suggested going back to the university to have dinner, I remembered the insipid food that is served there. “Since we are already in the city, why don’t we have dinner here itself?” I said. He agreed with a “Humm..”

I took him to a small hotel near the city bus stand. The name of the hotel was ‘Prince’, with ‘veg and non-veg’ painted below. There were about four ‘special rooms’ apart from a small hall. Although it was not licensed to serve liquor, every one seated there was having a glass filled with brown liquid on his table. I imagined Mohan and Bhaskar having drinks in another hotel, that very moment. I decided that I should not be left behind. When we were seated in a special room, the first thing I did was ordering one and a half pegs of Old Tavern with soda water. The food was very tasty and the costs were affordable. The chicken mughlai with butter nans were as good as they come. Half a plate of khushka, the biriyani flavoured rice indeed felt great. The service was quick and we could catch the bus at ten back to the hostel. At that time I could hardly foresee that this was going to be my routine for a long time to come!

The Third Room-mate

“Who were those guys?” I inquired the moment we reached the first floor.

“They were our super-seniors in the college. Tough guys. The dark one who talked to you is Sadanand Mane. He has finished his master’s in Sociology and now he is doing MSW. The tall fellow has finished his M.Lib. Another persons who looks like a wrestler is Javed; he has left his job as a security officer in some private industry and is now doing MSW.” Mohan said.

“It is not ragging what they are doing today. It is their routine. Every now and then, they entertain themselves like this. Last week, after midnight, they were knocking the doors of all rooms. If the light were on, they would scold the person for unnecessarily burning the electricity. If it were off, they would accuse the tenants of being lazy. ‘Have you come here to sleep, you creep?’ they would shout. ‘You better study, sonny, your parents are toiling like donkeys in the farms to keep you here and you are dreaming of pussies in your warm bed?’ They kept doing this for quite a while.” Bhaskar added.

“What if somebody complains to the Warden?” I regretted the moment I asked it. It was very naïve of me. “Bhaskar laughed before saying, “ Nothing happens man. It won’t help. They are more close to the Warden than all others. The Warden would want to keep them in good humour as long as he can. After all these are all minor irritants to the university authorities, so long as they are restricted to the hostel.”

“Ok. Let us call it a day,” Vijay suggested. We all agreed and said good night to each other. Vijay and I walked towards our wing.

I wanted to knock at the door of our room, but Vijay just pushed it. The door was open. Our third roommate was fast asleep.

I was awoken next morning by some strange sounds mixed with those of the opening and closing of the windows with a bang. I got up and sat on the bed. Vijay was not there in the room. The third roommate stood by the window, and was spitting out. There was only a towel wrapped around his waist. He was a short, lean fellow of a complexion that could be said to be a shade lighter than dark. He had already bathed, but still looked as if he had bathed a month ago. Above that he was trying to bring up the phlegm by making sounds that one makes when about to puke. Abominating. I thought. I also felt he was overdoing it deliberately. There are some people whom you begin to hate on first sight, just as you may like, or fall in love at first sight. He obviously belonged to the second category. Although he saw me getting up and sitting on the bed, he did not even smile at me. He totally ignored my presence and went about his business as if nobody was witnessing him. He continued puking and sitting through the window for some time and later went out of the room with just the old towel hanging around his waist. What the hell! I couldn’t help getting angry.

The door opened and Vijay entered saying “Good Morning partner” with a smile. I felt better that at least Vijay was there with me in the room. How can you stay in any place with oddly behaving strangers? “There is a queue for hot water. You better come along. I will show you my bucket in the queue,” he said. “Thanks man. Yesterday, we should have first purchased the bucket and the mug in the market.” I said gathering my clothes and toothbrush.

There was queue not only for hot water, but also for getting into bathroom. There were about 6 bathrooms for each wing and the same number of toilet blocks. A huge water heater was installed in the bathing block and we were supposed to fill our buckets from the tap jetting out of the water heater one by one. There were only a couple of buckets ahead of mine. The guys in the bathrooms were singing loudly, yelling would be more appropriate. One guy stood before the large mirror making faces and examining every inch of his face, while simultaneously scratching his groins shamelessly. Oh my! I was going to have to live with all these people! I left out a deep sigh.

When I got back to my room, Vijay was already dressed in a full-sleeved shirt of cream colour, tucked into a dark pants. Our third roommate entered along with another boy, a frail, dark fellow wearing a Kurta over his pants. He ignored both of us, again went to the window, pushed it open with a thud, and “yaa..aak..thoo!” he spat. There was frown on Vijay’s face and I too scowled. But there was a satirical grin on the faces of our third roommate and his friend.

I dressed silently and wore my shoes before spraying brut to my armpits and collars. The third roommate made a crooked nose as if he smelled something fetid. Vijay and I collected our keys before leaving the room.

“What is the problem with him? Who is he?” I asked Vijay.

“His name is Jogesh Gaudar. He is from history department. I don’t know what is wrong with him. But it seems he is a nasty fellow.”

“He is so frail and effete that he can’t even stand a simple punch. He will have to be carried straight to the hospital. But the way he behaves, I would love to kick the shit out of him.” I said, as if I were used to bullying, by punching and kicking people.

“I know you would, but it is better if you wouldn’t”

After some thinking, I added, “May be he doesn’t want a third person in the room. May be he is resenting my coming.”

“No, I don’t think so. His behaviour has been the same even before you came.”

“How can you tolerate the bastard?” I asked with some rage.

“Can’t help. I just ignore him. I have been spending much of my time outside my room” Vijay was calm.

We reached the hostel canteen. It was a rectangular hall huge in proportions. The portion at the end was converted into kitchen with a counter. The smell of Poori-bhaji, fried rice, upama and tea wafted in the air. Mohan and Bhaskar were sitting at the table near the counter. There was someone else with him. In fact, two were there. One was a guy of medium height and average looks. His eyes displayed a perpetual feeling of eagerness and humility. Another person was tall and well built, somewhat on the side of being obese. He had cheeks that were well filled in.

As we approached the counter, Mohan raised his right hand to greet us. We paid to the proprietor for the plastic tokens, after producing which we got our plates filled with upama and a cup of tea each. We joined Mohan and others at their table. “This is Virupakshappa and this is Suresh Hiremath,” Bhaskar introduced the other guys. “ They are also from our department,” he added. I introduced myself to them, without shaking hands since my hands were not free. Vijay already knew them.

Virupakshappa was the taller one. He was from Raichur, but he had finished his graduation in one of the reputed colleges of Dharwad. Suresh was from some village near Ranebennur, and had studied in Ranebennur. He had taken a break for a couple of years to work with his father and elder brothers, helping them run a canteen in Haveri. They were roommates and their room was immediately next to that of Mohan and Bhaskar.

Bhaskar had finished his breakfast and had somehow gotten hold of a newspaper. He was reading it with rapt attention and at the same time taking sips of tea. Mohan saw that Vijay and I were fully dressed, ready to go the university, and commented, “Why are you ready so early? We have a class at 11.”

“We have nothing better to do. So we just got out” said Vijay.

“In fact, we are escaping from the vulgar behaviour of our third roommate.” I said.

“What is wrong with his behaviour?” Mohan asked.

Vijay was unwilling to reveal anything and wanted me too to clam up. But now that I had opened the matter, he had to join me in describing how Jogesh had been irritating us.

After breakfast, we went to Mohan’s room and lighted cigarettes. Vijay, Virupakshappa, and Suresh did not smoke. They had all become close to each other and addressing each other in singular. However, all of them addressed me in plural and I too kept addressing them in plural. In English we do not have any such difference. Only you start addressing the other person with first name if he is close to you. I had, somehow, always resented somebody addressing me by my first name, or talking to me in singular. I had only two friends back in Belgaum who could talk to me in intimate terms, because they had been my classmates in the junior college. It never occurred to me that I had a difficulty in socialising, nor did I ever even consider it a problem.

It is indeed very difficult to say, when this hubristic attitude affected me. At times I felt that it was a classic case of superiority complex with deep roots in the awareness of some foibles in me. But I would not, nay, could not confess to it and try to change it. It must have set in when I joined the junior college, where I soon discovered that I was far too much grown up to be in the company of the boys. I had read so much already while in the junior college, while other boys could not even write a sentence in their own mother-tongue, without any mistakes, either spelling or grammatical.

I was the only one to have opted for arts courses despite having scored seventy plus in the matriculation examinations. It was totally against the trend. Everyone wanted to join the science courses with an aim to become either a doctor or an engineer. Luckily unlike the other parents who were pressurizing their children into becoming doctors or engineers, my parents trusted my abilities and endorsed the choice I had made. I would never do anything, which I was not sure to do properly and more importantly, do it better than others. I knew that I would have made a very bad doctor, or a very bad engineer. Even if I did succeed, I would be nothing above mediocrity. I was interested in language, literature, history, music, geography and philosophy. I was to discover later, that I liked political science better and could excel in it.

By the time I joined the degree college, the fact that a degree in arts is hardly sufficient to get me a proper job had dawned upon me. But it was the pursuit of knowledge, hunger for reading more and more, desire to stand out of the crowd, propelled me into the whirlpool of beliefs, inhibitions, predilections, ideologies and ideals. I was abnormal, though I thought at the time, that I was above normal, the normal being the pursuit of material happiness.

When all other boys were indulging in earthly enjoyments like wearing fine, trendy clothes, racing on bikes, pursuing girls, going to tours and picnics, I had denied my self all mundane pleasures. I felt this hedonistic life style was not worth pursuing. Allthesame, though I could not even confess it to myself, I did have the feeling of jealousy. While I pitied their ignorance, looked at their lethargy and mediocrity with disdain, I also felt left out…far behind, sometimes. The intellectual eagerness that was intrinsic to my nature, my industry, integrity and intelligence caught the eyes of my teachers, but the other students, with a very few exceptions, were blissful, joyous, and unmindful of their future. Today is what we have, who has seen tomorrow? And anyway, who cares? This was the outlook prevalent. Why did I need to be an exception? True that I liked the appreciation that was bestowed on me by the teachers, parents and relatives. Sometimes, even by a few classmates. But I was not in the mainstream. I wanted to be in the mainstream. At least now!

Stop all self-adulation. Be gregarious. Belong to a group. I kept telling myself.

Ragging...?

The last stop of the bus was the main bus stop of the University, near the main building and from there we would have to walk up to the hostel. Pavan took our leave saying “Good Night” and walked down towards the residential area adjacent to the University. He had not decided to take admission to the hostel and had continued to stay in a rented room, not far away from the University. “Just a cigarette away”, he said when I asked him how far was his room. I observed him going away to find out if there was any staggering, but he was erect and steady.

“Let us take the shortcut,” suggested Mohan. It meant going through the botanical gardens in the dark. The main gate of the botanical gardens was closed but there was a turnstile alongside through which we could enter it. Though there was some moonlight, for a considerable length on the path, it could not reach the ground since the thick growth of trees, some unknown and some common ones, impeded its penetration. During the day time, we could have read all the strange sounding botanical names of the trees, inscribed on the plates nailed into their bark. Now they stood in the dark making various shapes against the sky. I had always been afraid of the dark, since my childhood, although I would not have confessed it before anyone. Now I had the company of a couple of guys and it was reassuring. We had to walk in a single file, for the path was narrow and it was not wise to walk on the grass in the dark. I walked behind Mohan and Bhaskar and Vijay followed me.

“It is such a safe and nice place… I wish Mosquito-coil were here with us!” Bhaskar said with a slur. “Brother, it may not be as safe as it looks”, Mohan replied. We broke the file when we came out of the cluster of trees, as the path was also wider now. But still I liked to keep myself in the middle.

“I think, shortly we are going to have the elections to the post of GS”, Mohan said, “ Ramesh Patil’s group contacted me yesterday. It seems he wants to be the GS.”

“Yes, he can afford to be GS,” said Bhaskar.

“He could not compete with Naik’s group in the college. He was no match to him. But luckily, Naik has vanished. He can spend a lot more it is necessary here. Only CR’s will be voting. And there are hardly about thirty of them.”

CR meant Class Representative and GS stood for General Secretary. “Who is our CR?” I asked.

“God! Don’t you know? Of course you were absent when the elections were held. It is none other than Mohan,” Bhaskar replied.

So I had missed the elections to the CR. Wouldn’t have made any difference, for in any case I would not have contested. “In fact, it was unanimous. Nobody contested his election,” Bhaskar added, somewhat proudly.

“Of course,” I said, “ You people are more or less localites. None of the students coming from other places would have cared to contest,” I said and hurriedly added, “ Nice to know that he is our CR.”

We reached the gatelike structure at the other end of the botanical gardens and passed through it one after another. When we reached the patio leading to the main door of the hostel, we found that several students were standing in a queue before it to enter. “Ah, seems some kind of trouble,” gurgled Vijay.

I could see what was happening there clearly, when I reached the main door. On the box kept at the entrance, was sitting a dark man with brush moustache, covering some part of his upper lips. His eyes had reddened and the cheeks were glowing. Apparently he was drunk. There was another guy sitting by his side. He was tall and fair and had a build like a wrestler. He had good-looking features, but his eyes were half closed as if he was intoxicated. Yet another guy was standing opposite to the entrance. He had a towering height, but was lean and had wheatish complexion. He too was obviously drunk and held a long rod that might have been made from a stem of a shrub taken from the hedge. There were a couple of other guys, wearing lungis and t-shirts, constantly supplying the leaders the cigarettes, matches, water etc.

In the queue were all the junior students, the newcomers, with anxious, nervous faces. One student, who was hardly five feet, and thin as a lamppost, was singing the national anthem. I could make out that it was some sort of ragging. The moment the student, who was singing the national anthem made a mistake, the tall guy used the rod on his buttock. The poor fellow cried out in pain and said, “Sorry sir, I will learn it properly!”

“You better learn it properly. You are a graduate. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself that you are not even able to sing our national anthem correctly?” The other guys tried to stifle their laughs. “And,” continued the guy with the rod, “You must stand in attention when you sing the national anthem. Don’t you even know that?”

“Namaste sir!” Mohan greeted the dark guy. “Oh, Mohan. It seems you guys have had a party it seems,” the fellow replied with a friendly grin.

“It was a small get-together. We had inaugural function today.” Said Mohan, while Bhaskar also greeted the leaders. “ This is Harsha from Belgaum.” Mohan introduced me to the leader. “Oh I know him. Only he doesn’t know me,” said the leader and shook hands with me. I was astonished as to how he could have known me. But he added, “ I know your parents. How is your father?”

“He is fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I think you are going to get the Gold Medal for topping in the undergraduate examination”

“So I have been told”

Mohan barged in, “ You please carry on with your entertainment programme sir, Good Night!”

As we all starting climbing the stairs, we heard the command “Next!”, then the next guy starting to sing “Janaganamana.” “No, stop! Who asked you to sing national anthem? I want you to sing our national song.”

First Party

I must have finished my first large. All of a sudden, I began to hear the voices of my companions as if they were speaking from a distance. It meant I had started having the kicks. I remembered the first time I had taken the drinks. It was on the New Year eve a couple of years ago. A friend of mine who had been to Goa had brought Cashew fenny, a very popular liquor there. He wanted to taste it but was afraid to do it alone. Therefore he had invited me and another friend of his. He stayed in a rented room which was cramped with a bed, a folding table and an old wooden chair that was squeaking whenever somebody sat on it. The three of us had decided to sit on the floor after making space by pushing the furniture to the corner. Prior to that I had some experience of drinking beer but I had never taken hard liquor. It was a full bottle and the host had acquired three small glasses made of stainless steel. We could not dilute the liquor properly with water. To show them that I was very brave, I went on drinking glass after glass and loudly announcing ‘second‘, ‘third’ and I think the last one remembered was the ‘fifth’. Next day when I woke up at eight in the morning, I was lying on the floor and the room had a fetid smell. Later I was told that I had thrown out almost everything that I had drunk. Since then, I remained too cautious while consuming liquor. If I must have it, I limited it to one and half measured pegs.

But here the members of the group were unconcerned of the consequences and were enjoying their drinks, shedding more and more of their inhibitions and were also becoming more and more intimate with each drink. I still felt an outsider and the cocoon that I had woven around myself was still in place. I was straining to break out of it, but it still held strong.

They were all talking about their college days, their teachers, the girls, their hometowns or villages, teasing each other, giggling, grinning, and at times letting out a roar of laughter. On the other hand, I was slowly recoiling into my cocoon, becoming more and more taciturn, and only adding a few words at the edges. The taste of the drink was now less bitter than it was at the start. Vijay was busy in devouring the peanuts as if he was not going to get dinner tonight and he would have to do with peanuts alone. By the time they had finished three drinks each, I gulped the last few drops of my first one and Vijay finished two plates of peanuts.

Pavan started pouring the drink in my glass, but I stopped him before he could pour a Patiala. “ You drink too little”, he said filling the rest of my glass with soda water. “How come you drink it neat? Not even on the rocks?” I asked him. He just smiled in reply.

“He always drinks like that. We have told him many times that it is very harmful but he doesn’t care” Mohan said with some concern. “Yes, it burns your intestines and that may cause ulcers” I said addressing nobody in particular. “Ok, if you insist..” Pavan poured some water into his glass.

Once again, I began slowly sipping my drink and now the conversation had become loud. Butter chicken and tandoori rotis were ordered for dinner and Vijay opted for vegetarian food. Vijay was now munching potato chips. Bhaskar and Mohan had hardly touched either peanuts or potato chips. I was using them in between my sips to lessen the bitter after-taste of the liquor. Pavan seemed to be enjoying the taste of liquor itself. They were now discussing the agricultural operations, the prices of cotton, onion etc. I knew so little about all these things that I could hardly contribute anything.

All of them had strong roots in the villages they had been born and Bhaskar was particularly very appreciative of how hard Mohan toiled in the farms during their vacations. They had lived in a city for the last more than five years. The city had changed their dress, their habits, their language, but not their love of the villages they hailed from. They wanted to escape from farming and rural life; but could not refuse the inevitability of going back to it, should they fail to secure a job. He said that most of his friends have become ‘IAS’. “It means Indian Agriculture Service”, he explained with a wry grin.

“At least you have lands to fall back upon, in case you won’t get anywhere with your education.”

“Too many people are already dependent on it man. At least I don’t hesitate to work on my land. Many guys who have got degrees are neither fit to get a job, nor willing and capable of working in their farms. If your land is not irrigated, it can not support you and your family”, Bhaskar replied.

“At least some of your family lands are irrigated. You till your land with tractor. You own a tractor. Ours is a completely dry land. If the monsoons fail, we got nothing” intoned Vijay.

“Hey, Come on guys. Let’s now have food.” Mohan said.

We all started eating silently. I had not eaten well in the afternoon and was famished. I could easily make out that the chicken was not afresh. It acquires a subtle change in the taste when the boiled chicken is refrigerated. I said so to Mohan, who agreed. But Bhaskar and Pavan could not find any fault with it, for they were basically vegetarians at home. They would never dare eat chicken or even egg in their villages, not to speak of their homes.

By the time we came out of the restaurant, it was already ten. We started running towards the bus stand, which was not more a hundred meters away. We were able to get into it just in time.