After the first week of my
college, I made a strong note to myself - “I shall not rag my
juniors!” and some more lofty idealistic notions. That was till,
when I got ragged. Even amongst the 70 of us crammed into a bus, my
senior Raghu could scavenge for the last of the juniors left
'un'ragged. Getting ragged in some senses, was like losing your
virginity. There are two phases in a junior's life. Before getting
ragged and after getting ragged.
You know a guy is not
ragged, if you see him sneaking silently into canteen with a couple
of friends and escaping without a trace. He is happy to sit in the
front in the company of the teachers whom he despises from morning
7am to 4pm. Again, from 5pm till the next 6:59am, she turns a vixen!
But that hour in bus, in the teacher, he finds his comfort, kind
safety from the evil raggers! Alas, some day that back seat is forced
and Raghu has had his prey. The more difficulty in obtaining the
prey, the tastier it is, they say. And yeah, dont they love the caged
ones who are more animate! And there I was, on the 10th day of
college, I did a simple cut to “I shall not rag my juniors!”.
COULD NOT WAIT FOR MY JUNIORS TO ARRIVE.
And arrive, they did. And
rag, i Did. Or, so thought I. For two years, I occupied the central
place in the last seat, the place reserved for the ring leader. He is
supposed to be the rude master, the kind soul if the ragged soul
sheds a tear, shoots trouble on seeing the teacher's glance behind,
share numbers to help the junior! Yeah, most importantly, he has to
VASOOL sweets! Phew!! Happy I was, following some Nitte tradition of
“Introduction in resume format”, “Bhaw Bhaw tables”,
“Proposing a boy/girl”(Of course, I made the little hotter gals
propose me!:P) and “THE NITTE SALUTE” for the kirrik
boys. However, cliched it sounds, Years passed by!!
It
was the fourth year. The baton had to be passed. I shifted to the
window. The folks whom I ragged came to the centre. I could sense the
same enthusiasm which had clouded me when I was studying algorithms
and datastructures. I was more than happy to bide my time looking at
the other buses and casting a passing glance at the ragging sessions.
Nothing much had changed. The tradition
was much alive.
Until,
she came.
Suddenly,
I saw a gal who was not scared of being ragged. Neither was she
desperate to be ragged. She was not scared. Neither, was there
arrogance in her eyes. She was a little beautiful too(:P). I could
already see some of my juniors turning pink,everytime she spoke to
her. Her English smacked attitude, but her tone, humility. I could
sense, she was upmarket. But, her home was near mine. I thought she
was a Tomboy. Until, she cried in front of me.
Here
was a person, dripping with irony. Yet, unmistakably, she was
attractive.
It
didnt take long for me to start talking. Thats an advantage a senior
enjoys. A junior is usually, obliged to talk to a senior. Soon, we
used to walk home together and halt at the last point common to our
walk back home. We used to stop for a short while.
Just that, half an hour soon became too short for us. And till date,
she believes, she jacks me royalllllly!
For the
first time, I could see the lines between a senior and a junior
blurring. And we were 365*3 days apart each other. And, much much
later, close friends later, in another couple of minutes, the person
for whom I stole minutes at home to have a quick word is finally
leaving her teens. For the first time, there is a tiny feeling of
she getting older. To me, she was always the kid. Yeah, she plays the
granny too.
Yet, I
do not find a better way to wish my beloved friend than this.
“Happy
Birthday, Jenny!”
PS: This
is what she texts me these days for which I have my complaints.
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