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.