Music, for Dr.K.J.Yesudas, is life. Several other singers perform just for fame and money. But, neither fame, money, nor passion were what forced the inmates of the engineering college mens' hostel to sing (or hum, in the least) every morning. They were not doing it by choice. It was thrust upon them. And I'll tell you, the reader(if any), the reason behind it as we progress.
Now that a bit has been mentioned about music, in order to avoid any initial confusion, let me make it straightaway clear that the key point I’m trying to highlight in this post is 'ragging,' and not music. Having said that, if you hastily conclude the boys'-morning-music band in the hostel was as a part of ragging, you would be applying your instincts wrong. You would be hurting the pride of those ‘seniors’ who knew better ways to rag his junior than just forcing him to sing!
'Ragging prohibited under section 112' – says the bold letters in the printout sheet displayed at the college notice board. As a matter of fact, I don't vividly remember if it was section 112/213 or some other, but it didn't matter as it was just confined to paper. It had only little connection with reality where the senior guys, the Malayali seniors in particular, hung around the campus to the exclusion of the hostel, hunting their prey --the newbies. The impact of ragging on students is not exactly what I am trying to focus on this post. Just a mere moment of mirth, a rare boomerang effect of ragging which I was (un) lucky enough to witness, and nothing more.
But I feel compelled to give a brief outline of the ragging practices that prevailed during those days in my college.
Apart from occasional scruffing-by-the-collars and slaps-on-the-faces, they enjoyed ragging the juniors by throwing scares like they would be stripped naked before everyone if they ever refused to give money on demand. There was even a guy who bought his motorbike with the money collected from juniors! A bit more uncivilized group of beggars and goondas, one would have thought. I'm not trying to downplay the intensity of terror routed out by Adolf Hitler long way back in Germany, but there have been occasions during my engineering days as a fresher where I had strongly felt that, had these fellows marked their presence in Germany during his reign, Hitler would instantly have felt an inferiority complex. Lowering their heads in shame, Osama, Mogambo and Gabbar would have approached them for further coaching. But I would be lying if I said they made the juniors dance naked on the floor, because they didn't!
Without any further rambling, let me straightaway get in to the incident which took place at the engineering college mens' hostel in Coimbatore that morning. The protagonist in this story, D, a 3rd year student of engineering, was a cheerful young Tamilian 'senior' who enjoyed life and believed in ragging his juniors only when his accomplices were around. He was one among those few seniors who stayed at the mens hostel which was occupied largely by freshers. A sort of chap whose ragging method was confined merely to threatening the juniors, and, very much unlike most of the Malayali seniors in the college, D was never known to collect any money for himself, but for his friends. One could say D was more or less like the tax collector who passed on the extracted money from the ordinary mass to the Govt.-- the ones who ruled, the seniors. However, like his contemporaries, it was his avocation to threaten the juniors that they'll be beaten up black and blue. If you ask me, there had been a couple of instances where D had threatened me that I'd be stripped naked, and this particular threat you must keep in mind while going through the remaining part of the narration. As you go through further, you’ll learn the reason why.
As mentioned in the beginning(if you're still reading), it was neither passion, money, nor fame that made the inmates of the hostel sing every morning when they bathed. It was thrust upon them. They had to do sing, because, the bathroom doors had no latches. It is around one of these latchless bathrooms that the gist of the story is about to unfold. In order to avoid any uninvited visitor when you’re in the middle of your bath, you had to sing, letting them know that you’re in, thereby eliminating the chances for any embarassment that might otherwise occur if you kept mum. And if you are one of those very reserved types shy to express your singing talents, out of my personal experience, I can tell you that the best scheme to work out would be to have your bath before anyone else wakes up in the hostel. Usually, the excursion trains to the bathrooms began only by around 7 a.m., and normally, perfect silence reigned at 5 a.m. It must have been around 5'O Clock that morning when I headed towards the bathroom with a bit of sleep still swaying around my eyes. As usual, there was perfect silence very much unlike the excursion-hours, and I pushed open a latchless door when a sudden sharp cry rose from inside, throwing a bit of pandemonium. It was a sharp high note, and one had to be very kind to classify it under any genre of music.
Inside, there was this senior D, towelling his head after the bath .. well .. stark naked before his junior whom he had threatened to strip a few days back !!
Having realized that I was going to be under some serious trouble, and hoping that he hadn’t seen my face properly, I shut back the door quickly and went back to my room in haste. But unfortunately, he had seen me clearly, and came up to my room... after dressing up. By the expression on his face, one could tell clearly that he was finding it difficult to decide whether the solution to this little spot of bother lay in the realms of slapping, threatening, negotiating, or pleading. At that particular moment, influenced by the pressure of the situation, I had placed my bet on slapping.
Finally, moving his Adam’s apple briskly up and down, he thus spoke .. in a low voice:
‘Don’t tell this to anyone else please!!’
Only then did I realize that, minus his accomplices, D was more or less like Mahatma Gandhi who believed in 'ahimsa,' and in a sort of way, I felt sorry that this had happened to him!
D, if by chance you are reading this, I just wanted to tell you that this post should not be taken as evidence for any personal animus. I’m just writing it down so that when I grow gray-haired, I would remember this little incident as one of those few moments of mirth my college life rewarded me with.
-Balu
Now that a bit has been mentioned about music, in order to avoid any initial confusion, let me make it straightaway clear that the key point I’m trying to highlight in this post is 'ragging,' and not music. Having said that, if you hastily conclude the boys'-morning-music band in the hostel was as a part of ragging, you would be applying your instincts wrong. You would be hurting the pride of those ‘seniors’ who knew better ways to rag his junior than just forcing him to sing!
'Ragging prohibited under section 112' – says the bold letters in the printout sheet displayed at the college notice board. As a matter of fact, I don't vividly remember if it was section 112/213 or some other, but it didn't matter as it was just confined to paper. It had only little connection with reality where the senior guys, the Malayali seniors in particular, hung around the campus to the exclusion of the hostel, hunting their prey --the newbies. The impact of ragging on students is not exactly what I am trying to focus on this post. Just a mere moment of mirth, a rare boomerang effect of ragging which I was (un) lucky enough to witness, and nothing more.
But I feel compelled to give a brief outline of the ragging practices that prevailed during those days in my college.
Apart from occasional scruffing-by-the-collars and slaps-on-the-faces, they enjoyed ragging the juniors by throwing scares like they would be stripped naked before everyone if they ever refused to give money on demand. There was even a guy who bought his motorbike with the money collected from juniors! A bit more uncivilized group of beggars and goondas, one would have thought. I'm not trying to downplay the intensity of terror routed out by Adolf Hitler long way back in Germany, but there have been occasions during my engineering days as a fresher where I had strongly felt that, had these fellows marked their presence in Germany during his reign, Hitler would instantly have felt an inferiority complex. Lowering their heads in shame, Osama, Mogambo and Gabbar would have approached them for further coaching. But I would be lying if I said they made the juniors dance naked on the floor, because they didn't!
Without any further rambling, let me straightaway get in to the incident which took place at the engineering college mens' hostel in Coimbatore that morning. The protagonist in this story, D, a 3rd year student of engineering, was a cheerful young Tamilian 'senior' who enjoyed life and believed in ragging his juniors only when his accomplices were around. He was one among those few seniors who stayed at the mens hostel which was occupied largely by freshers. A sort of chap whose ragging method was confined merely to threatening the juniors, and, very much unlike most of the Malayali seniors in the college, D was never known to collect any money for himself, but for his friends. One could say D was more or less like the tax collector who passed on the extracted money from the ordinary mass to the Govt.-- the ones who ruled, the seniors. However, like his contemporaries, it was his avocation to threaten the juniors that they'll be beaten up black and blue. If you ask me, there had been a couple of instances where D had threatened me that I'd be stripped naked, and this particular threat you must keep in mind while going through the remaining part of the narration. As you go through further, you’ll learn the reason why.
As mentioned in the beginning(if you're still reading), it was neither passion, money, nor fame that made the inmates of the hostel sing every morning when they bathed. It was thrust upon them. They had to do sing, because, the bathroom doors had no latches. It is around one of these latchless bathrooms that the gist of the story is about to unfold. In order to avoid any uninvited visitor when you’re in the middle of your bath, you had to sing, letting them know that you’re in, thereby eliminating the chances for any embarassment that might otherwise occur if you kept mum. And if you are one of those very reserved types shy to express your singing talents, out of my personal experience, I can tell you that the best scheme to work out would be to have your bath before anyone else wakes up in the hostel. Usually, the excursion trains to the bathrooms began only by around 7 a.m., and normally, perfect silence reigned at 5 a.m. It must have been around 5'O Clock that morning when I headed towards the bathroom with a bit of sleep still swaying around my eyes. As usual, there was perfect silence very much unlike the excursion-hours, and I pushed open a latchless door when a sudden sharp cry rose from inside, throwing a bit of pandemonium. It was a sharp high note, and one had to be very kind to classify it under any genre of music.
Inside, there was this senior D, towelling his head after the bath .. well .. stark naked before his junior whom he had threatened to strip a few days back !!
Having realized that I was going to be under some serious trouble, and hoping that he hadn’t seen my face properly, I shut back the door quickly and went back to my room in haste. But unfortunately, he had seen me clearly, and came up to my room... after dressing up. By the expression on his face, one could tell clearly that he was finding it difficult to decide whether the solution to this little spot of bother lay in the realms of slapping, threatening, negotiating, or pleading. At that particular moment, influenced by the pressure of the situation, I had placed my bet on slapping.
Finally, moving his Adam’s apple briskly up and down, he thus spoke .. in a low voice:
‘Don’t tell this to anyone else please!!’
Only then did I realize that, minus his accomplices, D was more or less like Mahatma Gandhi who believed in 'ahimsa,' and in a sort of way, I felt sorry that this had happened to him!
D, if by chance you are reading this, I just wanted to tell you that this post should not be taken as evidence for any personal animus. I’m just writing it down so that when I grow gray-haired, I would remember this little incident as one of those few moments of mirth my college life rewarded me with.
-Balu
