Rigging the Ragging
What it means in Kolkata:
Rigging: Fixing elections by casting false votes. Losing parties have accused the winners of rigging elections ever since Man (or is it just India?) learned to vote!
Ragging: A form of psychological or physical torture employed by old students of educational institutions to ‘welcome’ the new ones.
College: A mean battlefield if there ever was one…
“It was nothing short of a nightmare. Waiting, sweaty and putrid in those merciless trenches of haunted souls. Each waiting one’s turn to face the music; the harsh melody of a creeping persecution. The waiting souls were stuck in a nightmare in the middle of the classroom. The earth boomed… a manic reminder of life existing outside the realm of their trenches, the faint notion of hope surviving outside their hearts that were filled with an inexplicable claustrophobic dread. Heavy fire continued to fall on them, narrowly missing each by a whisker. But they knew their turn was coming. No one would escape the wrath of the second-years, absolutely no one! They crouched into corners, distinguishing seniors of every caliber; of every recognizable acts of cruelty they were capable of committing.
Each first-year laid hold of his things and looked again every minute to reassure oneself that they were still there. The bags reminded them of home, of the soothing love of their mothers, of the blissful indifference of their fathers. The dugout heaved, the seniors roared in mirth, their superhuman features flashing before the first-years’ frightened eyes. The newbies looked at each other in the momentary pauses between killings, and with pale faces and pressed lips shook their heads.
Every student was aware of the heavy tortures tearing down the last defenses of their peers, rooting up their souls and demolishing their outer façade of courage. When a shell happened to skirt by them, they shut their eyes in silent horror, the furious blast seemingly like a blow from the paw of a raging beast of prey. Already by half an hour, a few of the new recruits were green and appeared nauseated. They were too inexperienced…”
The boy sitting next to me was reading a book called ‘All quiet on the western front’. Now, I have never even heard of this book before, but I did spot a couple of guys (and girls) take a look at it and nod their heads appreciatively. I didn’t know back then that first day in college was all about making an impression on your peers, your supposed ‘friends’ for the next three years. So I’m not convinced what prompted the boy to bring the book all the way down to college and start reading it in class; it could be that he was halfway through reading it (As he still maintains to this day) or it could be that he was just trying to show off. Nevertheless, the surrounding ‘awe’ proved quite contagious since the guys around me started rather their rather pitiful efforts of chatting up with this ‘studious’ guy.
Now, let me clarify a little about these ‘guys-around-me’s. In a class of nearly 100, 60% stood out for some reason or another. I mean, it was either that they looked fresh as a daisy (the girls, mainly), some were glaring embodiments of ‘nerdhood’, armed with dizzy specs (you know, the ones with the fat lenses. The ones that can give you dizzying fits if you try them on for fun!) and ‘lost’ expressions on their faces while others stood out in their ‘chic’ attire. Take for example this ‘western front’ guy. He wasn’t handsome in any way, and quite fat on top of that. But then, he had a blue t-shirt on that said, “80% of the population believes in God. The rest believe in ME”. And then his denims and sneakers, and dark sunglasses tucked on the hem of his t-shirt, provided him with a ‘personality’, if you will!
Now regarding ‘people-around-me’s- the 40%, (To which, I guess, yours truly belonged to), they were somehow too ‘plain’ to stand out among the rest! As explained by this very same ‘western front’ guy (Oh well, he HAS a name… Joy Mukherjee) a few days later in a cafeteria, it was, “Evident from the way you guys dressed that you came from the countryside (Joy apparently has a lot of relatives in villages, so he gracefully calls it countryside. So pretentious he is… no wonder he got into trouble at the Embassy… but that’s another story!) I mean, okay… maybe I’m not a fashion expert, but still… those ‘terricoat’ pants with those awfully big, almost knee-length cotton full shirts, what were you guys thinking? Carefully combed and oiled hair parted on the side… Huh! No wonder the seniors picked on you!”
So now you know the seniors picked on me, huh? “The prince of his little hamlet, the ‘Anirban-babu’ of Jibonpur who commanded so much respect in his native territory, got mercilessly ragged by his seniors in college. Aww…” even to this day, Joy likes to remind me of this whenever he finds that I have some reason to be really happy! But then, he tends to forget the whole story, which isn’t that awful… or else why would you think I would even think of telling it in the first place?
In any case, let me follow a proper order here and start from the beginning. So in a really long week, I came to the city with my maternal uncle (who was supposedto stay with me in this big, bad city), got stuck up in a haunted apartment (Thankfully, I haven’t seen any ghosts… yet!), and then, in a bizarre turn of events, my maternal uncle somehow reunited with the love of his life, got married and is off ‘honeymooning’ now… all in a week’s work! The only plus of that whole incident (apart from the fact that it was really great for my uncle blah blah) was that I got acquainted with a girl called Nandini, who happened to be my uncle’s niece-in-law (that actually meant we were brothers and sisters, in some weird way), and who is starting her majors in Economics from my very own Asutosh college this year.
And it was interesting how she recounted the whole Eco department ragging later that day.
“I mean, I wasn’t really scared.” She clarified, sifting through a winding maze of t-shirts in a huge departmental store in Esplanade. “I knew ragging has been declared illegal in the whole country. I could drag anyone to court if they so much as dared lay a finger on me! Believe it or not, I was actually preparing myself to punch a guy in the face or come to the aid of someone who might be suffering, you know…”
I nodded obediently. She was evidently quite fond of talking… a lot! And I was still reeling from the shock of the whole day to speak very much, not to mention the fact that I’m really not very comfortable talking to girls… or in their presence, even! And this one was pretty good-looking, on top of that! Her ponytail, dark-framed glasses, chubby chins were enough to make anyone go weak in the knee. And I was only barely getting hang of the whole ‘brother-sister’ thing as well!
“So, anyways, they started picking us out one by one. And then they called me. They asked me my name, where I was from, what were my hobbies and all that crap. And then they asked me to do something…” I looked enquiringly, “You know, to sing, dance… whatever. And I said I don’t feel like ‘performing’. They didn’t pester, but then a girl… I loved her top, it was a white one with tiny speckles of blue, and I love white… anyways, she asked me to propose some guy from amongst the seniors. And when I said, defiantly, that I didn’t find any of them attractive enough to propose, they grinned and let me off.” She sounded almost disappointed. I didn’t know what to say as she busied herself with picking a black and then a dark green t-shirt. She pressed them against me and said, “Will look fine on you. You really need to do something with the hair, though!”
“Anyways,” she continued, as we headed for the area where they displayed men’s jeans. I was sort of getting confused in all the lanes and by-lanes of garments in this store, but Nandini deftly made her way through the puzzle. “What I found really annoying, though… and the reason I’m annoyed is coz I could do nothing whatsoever… well, there is a guy in our class called Abdul, and he’s the shy type, you know! Kinda like you, I guess.” She gave a little laugh. “Anyways, he was called. They asked him his name and he said Abdul something… I really don’t remember what! And the moment they heard Abdul, one of the guys whispered something into the other’s ear… and then that white-top girl joined the conversation and eventually, she said to him, ‘You can go’. Can you believe it?”
Firstly, jeans smell funny. I mean, you may never have noticed it since you wear them everyday, but they smell really awkward to someone who doesn’t have the habit of wearing them all the time. And the mountains of Jeans trousers in that place were making me rather bleary.
“What?” I blurted out!
“Exactly!” she agreed with me (WOW!), “I mean, what the hell? You ostracize that guy just coz he’s Muslim? He was looking so taken aback… I think he felt sort of ashamed today because of his religion, which is so unfair… It was pretty evident why they didn’t pick the burkah-wearing girl and right when they heard that the guy’s name is Abdul… Bam! They let him off!”
I was even more confused. “Wait… isn’t that good for the guy? I mean, you’re rooting for the guy, right?”
Nandini looked at me as if I was an alien. And trust me, girls have given me that look a million times in the past. So I’m pretty skilled in determining which stare is ‘an alien stare’ and which one’s, umm… let’s say, ‘a chimpanzee stare’ (Trust me, you don’t wanna know what the latter is)
“How is that Good for the guy? I mean, those guys, our seniors, weren’t really ragging anyone. They didn’t force us to do stuff, unlike your seniors (she sounded as if I deserved what I got!). So it shouldn’t have been hard for them to… I dunno, ask the guy to sing or something!”
No, I still didn’t get her. “The seniors thought that if Abdul accidentally took anything badly, he might report to the authorities or something. And then they would be accused of religious discrimination!” Boy I had landed upon a strong word! I was on fire! And all this in that jeans-infested area… kudos to me!
“Okay…” Nandini began slowly, “So lemme get this straight. You’re saying the seniors were right to religiously discriminate Abdul in order to prevent him from accusing them of religious discrimination?”
As convoluted as the sentence was, I actually did get it! Not ‘ragging’ him was discrimination too. Funny thing this “religious discrimination”: that day it “saved” Abdul from a little trouble. But that one time during Nandini’s visit to Lady Brabourne College… but that’s another story!
“Well…” I fumbled for words, “Okay, you’re right!” I conceded. I wasn’t the debating type. It was Joy who loved to debate, but then we didn’t know it back then, since Joy was yet to become our friend.
And friend or not, I just love recounting what Joy felt before and after he was ‘ragged’ dry (or should I say, weight? That is meant to be a pun on ‘wet’, I’m clarifying since I’m absolutely sure no one will get it!) by our seniors! I mean, Joy was kind of a douche (he still is on some level, I guess), and since he gloated on my misery 24/7, any event that marked his ‘fall from grace’ is a memorable event for me!
Actually, the ragging didn’t start the moment we entered our classes. Firstly, it took a while to find our respective classrooms after carefully scanning the brilliantly complicated class routines. Then we took some time to settle down… Most of the 40% took their seats as far away from the ‘oversmart city girls’ as possible. Indeed, some of us did try to show a bit of smartness; tucked their shirts in, placed their fingers stylishly on their leather belts and chatting up girls! And they were mercifully ignored. After all, everyone was too worried about the ragging and the pressures of the first day of class to bother to mock the villagers. In their defense, they had three years to do that!
And then, Joy arrived, in all his pomp and glory (Actually, he was so fat, no one could ignore him!) And he had on him that ‘book’ (what was its name again?), advertising the fact that he had chosen to major in English (Is that the first time I’m mentioning the subject I’m majoring in?) And he somehow found the two empty seats beside me too tasty to give a miss and decided to rest his awfully fat butt on them!
After a while, a teacher arrived. She was on the cute side (and my guess is under-30), and as I began wondering whether she was cute enough to make me stammer when I talked to her, she started taking the attendance! I didn’t fumble (although many of the 40% accidentally said, “Present Sir!”), which was a relief. After a while, she began picking us up randomly and asked why we had chosen to study this subject!
Now, there was a reason why I hid behind Joy at this point (One good thing about Joy: you could really hide very well behind him!) Firstly, I was afraid that if I tried speaking to this woman, I’d probably stammer. And then there was a really good chance she wouldn’t like my ‘reasons for taking English’ either.
Okay, so I was fairly good in the subject in my High School. Used to get above 70 every single time. But as it turned out, being good at Grammar alone didn’t make someone good in English (It was a lesson I was yet to learn, but that’s another story!), and I couldn’t speak very fluently in that language as well. I had to collect my thoughts in Bengali, translate them and then throw it at the listener. So if someone called me, “You’re an ass!”, I’d firstly process it in my brain, understand the hidden connotations of that fine compliment, prepare my response, translate it carefully, recheck the translation to eliminate any grammatical errors and then reply after a while, “No, You’re an ass!” by which time, there’s a fair chance the person my words were intended for was off on a date with his pretty dumb girlfriend, since I’m very sure that no guy that calls me an ass can ever get a smart, proper girlfriend!
Serious musings aside, the REAL reason why I had taken English up as my Majors subject was because my father wanted me to. Studying “English” still has a fairly magical effect on some people from where I come from, and they tend to roll their eyes in awe at the prospect. My Baba wanted to see that on people’s faces. But I guess it would be a pretty lousy reason to give to a teacher!
Anyways, the topic shifted from ‘why’ to ‘what authors’ (Some really weird names crept up. There were some known names among the sea of unknowns like Dickens, Rowling, Jane Austen, Rushdie. But I knew Rushdie because his ex-wife, Padma Lakshmi, was pretty famous for all the wrong reasons!) to ‘what movies’ where I completely lost track of proceedings. I’ve never really watched English movies per se… well, it was true that I had watched Titanic (who hasn’t? Especially that one scene where… nevermind!) but then, that was probably the only English movie I’ve ever seen… and Jurassic Park… and Evil Dead! Hmm… pretty long list! But quite frankly, some of the names some guys said didn’t even sound English! Like something called ‘Kurosawa’ and ‘Kiarostami’, then ‘Kim Ki Duk’. Don’t these people watch Hindi movies like normal people do?
Months later, I would actually go on to realize that the mention of all these foreign movies, great authors crap was yet another way of making a grand first impression upon the minds of the teachers and one’s peers. But I didn’t know that back then, and I was indeed, awfully impressed…
“…meaningful movies,” A guy in the front row was saying in a perfect diction. He could win debates, that one! “Works of great artists such as Ingmar Bergman, Akira Kurosawa, Luchino Visconti, Satyajit Ray (I know him!)… those are works that appeal to a thinking mind’s inner senses on a profound level. When I see everyone around me (and he motioned towards all of us… 99%) wasting their precious eyeballs on third-rate Hindi movies like… (He mused disdainfully for a second) Dhoom 2 or whatever (I later learned that the guy, Indranil was his name, was a great fan of Hrithik Roshan) I feel pity for them. They know not what they’re missing.”
Now, at this juncture, almost surprising everyone in the class, (who were listening to the guy with silent anger raging inside them… who says I’m not good with words?) Joy, big fat Joy, stood up and said, “Excuse me, Ma’am, I don’t quite agree with what is being said.”
And how Joy went on to defend Dhoom 2 and got the momentary respect of the ‘insulted’ of our class is a story which you must ask Joy to recap, since I’m not here to advertise him! He has got his very own blog to do that for him! But it is worth mentioning, though, that Joy was indeed the very first person to introduce me to the likes of Kurosawa and Chris Nolan, and I later learned that he never really liked Dhoom 2 either. But then, there’s a hell of a lot of things Joy never liked but pretended otherwise; sometimes he had to… sometimes his nature compelled him to… but they’re different stories.
So as the teacher took leave, the underlying tension surfaced again. And the anxiety reached a crescendo as we caught sight of a bunch of slightly older-looking kids making their way into our classroom.
They basically preferred samples from every group of people: the nerds (they told one to break-dance. In all fairness, the guy tried, and failed miserably!), the over-smarts (Same routine here: and the guy, with a plunging hairline and chinos, rocked to the tone-deaf singing of a peppy Hrithik item number) and of course, the dumb ‘multicolor-haired’ blondes. A red haired girl couldn’t say the name of the Prime Minister of India. A brown haired one said ‘Malls’ when she was asked about the thing she couldn’t live without. A dark haired one actually said, ‘Yes’ in all seriousness when a serious guy playfully asked her whether she was going through her… ‘That time of the month!’
It was all going pretty well, and we actually thought we’d be let off easily too. But then, now that I look back at it, they were obviously saving the best for the last! The only ones left were the Fatsos and the Villagers!
Joy… good old ‘joy’… it was his turn. A severe-looking senior with red, puffy eyes and an ominous-looking cut on his chin came upto his face and said, “So, Mr. Slim. Why don’t you do an item number for us? Maybe Bidi-Jalaile?” and like in the Hindi ‘Western’ movies of the 70s, all of the seniors began laughing on cue. But then, he seemed to change his mind and said, “No, you better do one thing. Write your weight on the board.”
Joy took this piece of insult graciously and scribbled a gleaming ‘90’ on the blackboard.
“That fine?” he asked softly. The guy glared. “Of course not!” He said.
“You didn’t think it would be this easy, did you?” he continued slyly, his scar looking very ominous indeed, “Divide this weight according to your body parts! Start with hands.” (Now do you get the ‘weight’ pun? Duh!)
“15” he wrote.
“Legs”
“30”
“Chest”
“20”
We all expected the senior to proceed to the obvious next… his prominent mid-section. But then, he said in a loud mock-whisper that carried even to the last bench of the class, “Now divide the remaining weight between your tummy and your…”
It was pretty embarrassing (That is, if you’re not dumb enough to miss the message the dots conveyed). Joy actually sucked it all and divided the weight, which was followed by a loud jeer from the seniors, one of whom cried out, “You’re bluffing. Open your pants and prove you’re right!”
The scarred senior seemed to give the passing suggestion a serious thought for a moment, before brushing off the idea. “Forget it! Let’s move on!” Joy was spared… after all, it was OUR turn!
The 40% looked uneasily around the class as the seniors handpicked some of us. For a moment, I actually thought they would overlook me, but then…
“You! The one in the white shirt. Looking like a mouse, come here!” it was actually a girl who called us, and dear readers, it was indeed the day when yours truly learnt a bitter truth the hard way: “Not all girls are nice!”
“So… what’s your name?” she asked.
“Anirban Chaudhury.”
“Where are you from?”
“Jibonpur, Nadia.”
The seniors shared a smirk. Village-boy!
“Okay, I’ll give you choices. Either sing us a Bryan Adams song, or…”
She mulled for a while. For all I knew, Bryan Adams was the brother of former South African spinner Paul Adams.
“Or you can walk out this class, go to the corridor, and propose to the very first girl you see. How about that?” her eyes were twinkling with delight.
Now, even with my ‘tendency’ of sweating in front of girls and stammering while talking to them and all, somehow, I was quite composed when I said, as sternly as possible in such a situation, “I’m sorry. I can do neither of the two things. You have to give me a third choice.” I always maintain that my ‘shyness around girls’ vanished in three phases, or three shocks, if you will. The first one occurred a week ago when my Uncle got married. It was time for the second one!
On hearing my reply, their faces hardened. The girl (she was fairly good-looking, and was apparently, the GS… General Secretary… of the college. But I didn’t know it back then!) pursed her lips while the scarred guy came up to me and smacked me (not lightly) on the back of my head. (I later learned his name was Dinesh. He was a repeater, stuck in the second year for the second year running. Eventually, I would actually get a chance of getting even with this guy, but that’s another story!) So… did I become angry, or scared? I really don’t remember… I guess I became sort of numb at this point, neutralizing any feelings whatsoever.
The girl caught hold of the scarface and declared, “I can promise he won’t hit you further. But do as you’re told. You know who this guy is?” she didn’t wait for my reply, “The only thing you need to remember about him is never get on the wrong side of this guy. I can do nothing if he decides to take this ‘fun’ to the next level.”
I am indeed a little ashamed to say this… but I could feel a sense of ‘fear’ surfacing slowly underneath the prevailing numbness that I told you about. It was probably this fear that coerced me to do what I did next:
It was quite simple, really. I went out to the corridor. Saw a girl coming, bent down on one knee (I saw this sequence in a movie, don’t remember which one) and said, “I love you. Will you go out on a date with me?”
The girl waited for a couple of seconds before replying, “Of course!” she said with a lovely smile, and then walked away.
I returned to my class and went to my seat. The seniors… and my peers… were speechless. First impression, huh? Tell me about it!
Actually, rigging is probably not the word I’m looking for here. Simply because rigging involves a lot of ‘muscle-power’, meticulous planning, a deceitful mindset and things like that. I had none, and what really transpired was nothing but some “Sheer dumb luck!”
“You know, the moment I saw you bending on your knee like that, I knew something was really wrong. And then, you had that god-awful scared look in your eyes… I should’ve been an ass not to get it!” Nandini said, as we drank coffee in our college’s canteen-cum-cafeteria on the third-floor. “And a quick glance into the classroom and I could see everyone staring out at you like that… it was crystal” she gave a shrug. “But you were lucky, I guess…”
Of course I didn’t tell her about that ‘smack’. But in any case, for the zillionth time, I began something called ‘The Clarification’, “Really, I had no other option. I just came outside to the corridor, saw you… and… it was the only way out I could think of…”
“Of course I understand… stop being so defensive, Anirban!” she brushed the matter aside.
“You know you’re like my sister… well, technically, you are my sister, in a bizarre way alright! But I really didn’t know what to do…” I was relentless. Now that I look back, I feel a pang of sympathy for that old me.
“Trust me, what you did was the best thing you could’ve done! I would’ve done the same thing if I were you!” Obviously, she told this to comfort me. As I later found out, she fought back when put in that exact same position!
We made our way down the flight of steps and eventually came out of the college. Indeed, the first day had been nothing short of a nightmare. But whatever it was… it was over! And then I had my lovely haunted apartment to go to. Yeah me…
“You know…” I wondered out loud, “They got on my back today because I’m a… well, because I’m a village-boy! They asked me to sing a Bryan Adams song. And I don’t even know who Bryan Adams is.” I finished slowly.
Nandini remained silent for a while. “Can I tell you something… promise you won’t take it otherwise?”
“Course not!”
“I know appearance means nothing.” She began tentatively, “But… it’s also true that deep down we somehow don’t believe that completely. How do you think they guessed you’re a… well, village-boy?”
It did sound harsh, although she said it as gently as she could. But I also knew she was right…
“So what d’you reckon I should do?” I asked. We were passing by a restaurant and I caught my reflection on its glass door. I looked fine to me!
“Well, I think you should have a few sets of clothes exclusively for college. You know, city clothes.” She explained.
Okay… “But I really don’t know where to get them from…” I trailed off…
“Come on… I can help you with that! But things like Bryan Adams songs… those will come with time!” she said helpfully. So Nandini was about to teach me some valuable things about fashion. It was going to be one of her many lessons that I treasure till this day… it was true she taught me a lot of things, but it would be unfair to say I never helped her out of a sticky situation myself… but that’s another story.
It was barely a quarter past four and thanks to a little wonder called the Debit Card, that I had only recently gotten acquainted with, we were on our way to Esplanade, supposedly the shopping district of Kolkata. Sure the Malls have given this ‘place’ a run for its money, but the footfall it garners during the peak season of the Puja is indeed a record in itself.
“Wait a sec!” Nandini halted in front of a decrepit old place with the name ‘New Market’ displayed haphazardly. It looked like a wasted old supermarket. “Snap a photo of mine with the New Market in the background.” She requested, pulling out her camera.
I didn’t know back then that Nandini had a habit of acquiring brand new obsessions every few months (Photography was the latest one). Sometimes, some obsessions just faded away, while others… well, let’s just say some put her in a lot of trouble indeed… but those are different stories!
“You know… even though I’ve never heard of Esplanade, I’ve heard of New Market.” I said, “But I didn’t know it was…” I broke off.
“It was grand once upon a time.” Nandini clarified, “And then… time took its toll! Anyways, now let me snap a picture of yours! In your cute little village-boy outfit!” she laughed. I couldn’t help smiling as well.
“Come on, gimme a nicer smile. Don’t be shy… my camera isn’t gonna eat you, you know!”
She had barely snapped my pic, when her cell phone started ringing. She pulled it out of her pocket, smiled and mouthed the words, “My Boyfriend…”
P.S. That first paragraph (the italized one) was prepared by Joy, who brought it to class a few days later. It was a bid to prove (when we accused him otherwise) that he indeed studied ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ diligently and therefore, “loosely parodied” (his words, not mine) a portion to suit the scenario and the mindset of the poor students while the seniors were ragging their fellow mates.
Nandini made me buy a pair of sneakers, three denims and about five t-shirts of varying degrees of city-ness. And I guess I have to agree that Nandini was right about the changes in attitudes of the perceivers. It was actually evident from Joy’s behavior, particularly… something I’ll castigate him for one day… but that’s another story!
Lastly, a snippet of news in the papers caught my attention a few days later. It was an article about how a first-year student of a reputed engineering college of Bengal was driven to commit suicide in his hostel after “relentless phases of physical and emotional torture.” What happened to the culprits? Come on, that’s another story… but one which I don’t know…
[I can’t say about other colleges, but Asutosh College, the College I’m studying in right now, is relatively free from ‘Ragging Menaces’. My seniors (of the English department) didn’t ‘rag’ any of us even remotely, and the fact that they ignored me even though I was one of the ‘Fatsos’ was actually…kind of disappointing! But the ragging procedures mentioned are NOT in the least “imaginary”. They happened either to some of my friends, or some distant acquaintances. So the scenarios are true to the best of my knowledge.]
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