A friend in need...

When the chowkidar told me that the superintendent had called me to his office I was expecting a call from home. My mother used to call me around half past seven in the evening. But when I saw the other members of gang of five outside Baju’s office, I knew something was deadly wrong. All the superintendents in Cotton Hostels were christened with nick names, usually short froms of their full names. So, our superintendent Dr. Brajendra Nath Talukdar became Baju.

Inside Baju’s office I saw monitors of all the three blocks and the person Bhaskar had slapped in the park. I understood what was waiting for me and instantly got ready for defence. God has gifted me with this peculiar power of not loosing my nerve when I face a crisis head on. That day was no exception.

The grilling started. “Kaushik, did you and your friends abuse this gentleman in Nehru Park and one of you physically assaulted him?” Baju started like a judge.

“Sir, there is no straight answer to this question. We did not abuse this gentleman, but yes one of us did slap him,” I said firmly.

“Shut up, you first year, don’t try to act smart. You are lying,” the second block monitor howled at me. That was obvious as his friend was the victim.

“Hold on Nihar; let me ask. Why did you slap him and who was that culprit?” intervened Baju.
I did not like the word culprit, but I knew that was not the time to oppose it. But I wanted to prove that the word gentleman was also not appropriate either.

“Sir, this person was sitting with a woman and he complained to police that we were creating nuisance in the park. We took offence to this fact and when we sought an explanation from him he misbehaved with us. Bhaskar lost his cool and slapped him. Bhaskar did a mistake, but why are we dragged into this?” I attacked with a lie. Bhaskar had not given him a chance to misbehave.

“Sir, he is lying. I was sitting there with my sister-in-law. She was upset due to a family problem and I was trying to cheer her up. I did not make any complaint and did not misbehave with anyone,” the gentleman screamed.

That was his greatest mistake.

“If you are telling the truth, I must say you are man of dubious character. You were hugging that woman and kissing her too on her lips. Is that the way you cheer up your sister-in-law? You were even smoking in front of her. Either you admit before your teacher that she was your girlfriend or you have an illicit relation with your sister-in-law. Besides, you had pointed a finger to us and that proves that you had complained,” I delivered the severest blow like a seasoned lawyer.

The commotion had begun. The seniors were trying to defend the guy who had already been mauled by me and the ‘cuprits’ were trying to defend themselves with the ammunition I had unleashed. I was staring at Baju and he knew what my eyes had said.

“Silence please! I got the whole story. There was provocation from both sides. I have enough reason to believe that you were spending some cosy moments with your beloved and got disturbed by these kids. You did complain to the police and this made these kids wild. Bhaskar did a mistake by slapping you and for that he will be punished. But the others were mere spectators to a volatile situation. My experience and Kaushik’s eyes make me believe that whatever he is saying is true,” finally Baju delivered his judgement.

I had realised this special power of my eyes very early in life and always used it to the desired effect. Even the seniors believed me and came under the impression that four of us were absolutely innocent. It was actually a war between Bhaskar and their friend.

Baju tortured the ‘gentleman’ for an hour with a lecture on morality and public behaviour and why we Indians should not display our emotions in public. Bhaskar was forced to say sorry and was later slapped generously in the TV room, which used to be the punishment room for first-year students.

I needed a scapegoat to save my skin, and happily sacrificed Bhaskar. Soon, he forgot all the slaps he had received, but could not forget a friend like me. None can ever. Gang of five fell apart that night and I started devoting my time to movies.

Little did I realise that gang of six was waiting for me.

An eventful day!

Too many things happening today. Early in the morning, I saw a very weird picture; a male police officer in UP wears golden bangles in hands, colours his lips, puts kohl on eyes and turns up at his office in uniform. He claims himself to be re-incarnation of Radha, Lord Krishna’s beloved. I wondered why he was still a free man. The man needs to see a shrink immediately.

By afternoon, it was clear that Lalu era in Bihar came to an end. I don’t know how would Bihar fare post Lalu regime, but the change was much required. I guess Lalu should now seriously contemplate a career in Hindi Film Industry.

But evening brought a very sad news. Sourav Ganguly was stripped of Test captaincy. Now, this is too much. It’s now crystal clear that the selectors, who can never match Dada’s achievements, are bent on killing his career. Arjuna Ranatunga said it right: we don’t know how to respect our heroes. In fact, we cannot tolerate anyone who is above average.

I wish everyone understood that God never believes in equality. There are some people who are superior and are entitled to whims and fancies of their own. Ganguly is one of them. Tell me why God created various breeds of dogs while he could be content with one type?

Old and sad!

I’m taking a break till next week. Let me think over if I really want to continue the series on my Cotton days or not.

By the way, it’s my birthday today. I’m 27 now and feeling very old and sad.

Never mess with Cottonian

I do not know anything about psychology, but heard a term from my father- mob psychology. Whatever I gathered from him is something like this: when you are in a peer group you tend to care less about others and become aggressive. You get a feeling that whatever you do there is a force to support your action.

I guess this exactly happened when we entered Nehru Park. Barring Mrinmoy and me, others in the group were self-styled beau of three females I had never seen. Both Bhaskars were victims of unrequited love and Bikash was a great admirer of women’s beauty. He fantasised himself as the prospective husband of every girl who caught his attention. I’m not sure if girls meant anything beyond a sexual apparatus to Mrinmoy. And I was blissfully unaware of the power of eve till then.

Nehru Park was a shocker for me. Even today I cannot hug a girl in public, not even if she is my friend. And kissing? I guess I’ll faint. And there I could see couples smooching right in front of my eyes. Those occupying the corner benches were even more adventurous. I saw live what I had seen in an English movie in Rupayan. This cinema hall was popular among students as it played English movies with A certificates.

While I was busy relishing my ‘believe-it-or-not’ experience, Bhaskar Bora started what he is famous for: poking his nose in other’s affairs. He started hurling out choicest abuses at these couples. He received overwhelming support from the other four. Mrinmoy enjoyed harassing others, but that day I realised losers in l’affaire could be very spiteful.

Before I could react, someone decided to react.

A police constable came rushing to us and asked us to stop abusing. “Has anyone complained against us? What’s the proof we are abusing?” Bhaskar retorted.

The constable did not utter a word, but pointed his finger to a couple in an amorous hug.

Bhaskar did not take 30 minutes to reach the bench the couple was sitting and slapped the man. “Never mess with Cottonian. I stay in SNBC Hostel, very near to this park. Next time I see you here, you are dead,” our hero, or rather mob-leader declared.

That night gang of five saw him in the superintendent’s office of SNBC hostel. He was a Cottonian himself and friend of a senior border in the hostel.

Cotton College, Cotton College...

The geographical location of Cotton College was perfect for any kind of student. The most happening cinema halls, including the ones which played adult English movies, could be reached on feet if the situation demanded. One can easily go for late night shows and walk down to the hostels. For those bookworms the district library was not even 300 metres away. The Rabindra Bhavan, which was adjacent to district library, offered a regular dose of dramas and musicals.

Just in front of the main building of the college was Nehru Park, which happened to be the cheapest dating joint for poor lovers. If you can’t secure a place in this park, Dighali Pukhuri*, just behind the boys’ hostels, provided the second option. Where on earth will you get all these things together within a radius of one kilometre?

But that’s not the end. The most exciting place was Handique Girls' College, cleaved to two of the boys’ hostels. On one bank of the Dighali Pukhuri was this girls’ college and on the other were Cotton’s own girls’ hostels. So, every evening we would religiously take rounds of this ‘historic’ pond and ogle at God’s greatest creations chirping around happily. (Dighali Pukhuri is historic because it’s a silent witness to many love stories.)

I had spent my childhood and teenage among books, so did not want to spoil my precious freedom from parental regime with printed words. Library was a no-entry zone for me. For my mother watching movies was a sin. So, I wanted to see lots of movies and make up for the lost time. Whatever free time I could squeeze out from my movie-watching schedule, I slept. Till then girls did not attract me much; in fact, I was almost a misogynist.

In short, my daily routine was like this: I would get up at 10, catch the first show at 11, come back to hostel by the time dinner bell rings and go back to sleep. I used to watch two-three movies at a stretch. There was nothing beyond movies and dreaming about movies. For a border of SNBC hostel it was misuse of an opportunity sent from heaven. A seat in this hostel ensures that you can watch all the girls in the college from the safety of your room. The small lane between two blocks of our hostel was used as a short-cut by all the girls desperate to catch their lessons on time. I still wonder if there was any urgency or they simply enjoyed the way we teased them.

One year later, this misogynist mastered the art of eve-teasing.

But before that, one evening I landed up in Nehru Park with rest of gang of five. It was 17th September, Viswakarma Puja and the day gang of five was together for the last time. It’s great to be Cottonian in Assam, but not wise to flaunt it everywhere and we did exactly that. Later that night we paid a heavy price for it, especially Bhaskar Bora.

Exactly one year later, on the same day I and Debajit was on the roof of a bus, a la Shah Rukh Khan though we did not sing Chaiya Chaiya.

* Dighali Pukhuri is a pond and a recreational spot.

The gang of five

When Bhaskar is around you make friends very fast. Soon we formed a gang of five who wanted to break rules as we thought it was glamorous. All of us had a pseudo-intellectual streak, loved to discuss Albert Camus and Kafka, though we had not read anyone of them. Four of us were intoxicated by Homen Borgohain* and worshipped him with the same intensity that Al Qaeda members have for Jihad.

It betrayed logic.

Bhaskar hated Homen Borgohain because he thought it was cool and that added mystery to his persona. How someone can dislike Homen Brogohain, we wondered. It worked for Bhaskar.

There was another Bhaskar in the team. Only three things mattered in his life: good clothes, good food and Raktima. He also did not matter to anyone in the college, especially to Raktima. I still have a doubt that he enjoyed crying. He would cry at anything. Almost every evening when the Brahmmaputra gulped down the sun, Bhaskar would start crying. It’s so beautiful; he would say and shed tears!

Bikash and Mrinmoy were with us only to have fun. They were waiting for the medical entrance result and the three years’ degree course that they had got themselves enrolled in was actually a back up. Bikash was obsessed with his hair and Mrinmoy enjoyed boring people to death. He could talk nonsense for hours without caring if others were interested or not.

You must be wondering how these five weirdoes can be friends. Bhaskar needed followers and he knew how to drag people around.

But he did not know I was exactly the opposite of what he thought of me.

I never thought high of friendship and did not believe in the existence of moral science. I was the first one to stab on his back as I needed a scapegoat to save my skin. I have never repented consciously for what I did though had to enact a big drama to show how I had sacrificed Bhaskar for nobler causes.

That was the end of gang of five, which survived two months. Bikash and Mrinmoy became doctors. The other Bhaskar went back to home town and I and Bhaskar Bora became enemies.

Today, Bhaskar thinks I’m his friend and he loves me for that.

* Homen Borgohain is a noted Assamese author and journalist.

Here I begin...

From today, you would get a regular dose about my days in Cotton College. I’m not a writer, so please stick to the content only, don’t care much about style and language. And remember not everything what I write here is true. I would add fiction to spice up the story.

There are some people who you either like or don’t like at all. You cannot be indifferent to their existence.

Bhaskar Bora was one of them.

He sat beside me in the dining hall on the very first day of my hostel life and immediately started conversation. I usually take five to six encounters to go beyond the ‘Hellos’ and ‘How are yous’. So he almost sneaked into my comfort zone.

“Hi Kaushik, great to have food with a rank-holder,” he grinned.

Now, that was torture. I was not sure if that was a praise or joke. Besides, I hated this new identity of mine. I admit I got rank and I desperately wanted it as it could help me to wipe out a stigma thrust on me.

Unfortunately it became a baggage.

I seriously hate the image of a bookworm as I was never one. But, a rank-holder is supposed to be one, who also embodies certain other traits. For instance, he would not talk of girls, forget about sex.

And sex used to be my pet theme.

The moment someone realized I was a rank-holder, they would stare at me as if I was in the museum. Then the grilling session: How many hours did you study? What did you do during leisure? Can you suggest me some good books?

How do I tell the moron that I used to watch porn and flipped through Debonair?

“Can you ignore that I got rank and accept me as a normal human being who loves sex a lot?”

Bhaskar was surely not ready for this, but the twinkle in his eyes said he laid his hands on gold mines.

“Wow! We seem to be on the same wave-length. Let’s meet post lunch in the TV room.”

Now, what’s this wave-length? And how could he judge my wave-length by some words uttered almost in disgust. But Bhaskar was too magnetic to be ignored.

The only edge I had over Bhaskar was my rank in the examination. I scored exactly 30 marks more than him. But that’s all. There were many other fields where I scored zero and he got distinction. He was a good guitarist, knew martial arts, wrote wonderful poems, sang very well and to top it all was a great orator. Thank God that he was four inches shorter to me. I did not loose all the girls to him.

I became his friend instantly little realizing that he needed me to build brand Bhaskar. But I was not fool either.

So, the friendship ended with me ditching him and Bhaskar almost getting me killed.

Let's talk sex and do it in style too

When it comes to making love, Indians are not only the safest but are also the most committed to their partners and do not find their sex life monotonous, according to Durex Global Sex Survey. The survey conducted by the world's leading condom brand said Indians have had least unprotected sex without knowing their partners sexual history with 21 per cent, as compared to the global average of 47 per cent.

I do not know what you make out of this survey, but this comes as a real surprise to me. What does Durex mean when it says India? If the survey includes metros only, it’s ok. Even in metros I have serious doubt about contentment factor. Though I have not lived a long life, I have spoken to people from different strata of life and I can easily start a conversation on sex with anyone. Don’t worry; I’m not a sex maniac though often I’m misunderstood to be one. Very early in my life I realized that sex is nothing but a biological process like eating and sleeping and we attribute unnecessary importance to it. So, I’m always at ease with anything sexual.

In India, sex has always been regarded as a taboo and as a result we are deprived from healthy and actual sexual knowledge. Besides, due to the mystery surrounding sex, we have become a nation obsessed with sex. Or else, how do you explain the high birth rate of our great country? Non-availability of birth control measures cannot be an answer as you can restrain from sex if you are not interested in it. We are, in fact, very much interested, but just don’t want to talk about it. Forget birth rate, why are so many crimes related to sex? Excluding rape, which to me is the worst crime on earth, every day women are subjected to ‘minor’ sexual offences.

So, why do our happily married males ogle at his colleagues in office? And trust me I also look at cleavages, but I also tell the lady that I have done so. Ask my female friends if you need a proof. And if the lady is a stranger, don’t expect me to be honest and get slapped.

The fact is we are not at all happy with our sexual lives (exclude me please). And you know what the real problem is? Lack of proper sexual knowledge and most importantly, criminal absence of the desire to gain this knowledge. Most of my male friends can’t say for sure if their partners actually get orgasm and if yes, how do they get it. And when it comes to eves, many of them are not aware of the concept of orgasm. Believe me, they are all educated.

I do not know what you mean by sex, but to me it’s the highest achievable mental and physical bliss on earth. And it’s the best way you can express your love for someone. That’s why sex is not just intercourse, which is simply a biological act. It’s beyond physical understanding and exclusively humane. Ever thought why animals have fixed time for mating and human beings can do it round the year?

Durex must have carried out the survey in metros. What about rural India where sex at night is the only source of entertainment for many. Can you imagine a farmer in rural Bihar or say Assam going to a chemist’s shop and asking for dotted Durex condom?

Amour vincit omnia

Whenever I think of my beloved I try to understand why I love her. But never could find an answer. However, someone has already answered my question so nicely. These two are two of my favourite poems. Besides, I feel elated reading about the romance between Elizabeth and Robert.

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

If thou must love me

If thou must love me, let it be for naught
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
'I love her for her smile-her look-her way
Of speaking gently,-for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'-
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee-and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Arrogance personified

I have not seen the origin of Diwali. But, I’m sure that it was never like this. Like Holi, this festival has also been distorted beyond recognition. I think it’s the festival of light, which is symbolised by Diya (earthen lamp). However, now it epitomises only crackers and noise.

Why can’t we have peaceful Diwali without crackers?

Luckily, this time Diwali was very subdued in Delhi. It sounds obnoxious, but that’s the only positive outcome of those blasts on Saturday. However, I would happily let go to this positive effect, if God stops all future blasts.

Today is Shah Rukh Khan’s birthday. I do not rate him very high as an actor. But, as a person he’s amazing. He knows how to conquer the world. He does everything in style. It’s a treat to watch him. He does not have a great look or a great body. But, he has enormous amount of self-belief. He believes that he is the best and this is what makes him special. I adore people who can stand up and say “I’m the best” and then prove it.

Every winner has this arrogance. I wish him a long and eventful life.