My mother was unable to hide
her tears in spite of her best efforts as we were waiting for my father who had
gone to fetch a rickshaw to carry me to the railway station. It was the first
time since my arrival on this earth I was going away from the comforts of my
home to stay in a hostel to pursue my graduation. Not that I was not
apprehensive. But I was trying hard to conceal my feelings just to provide
emotional stability to my parents. My parents had just one consolation that two
of my other classmates were also going with me to stay at the same place. My
father advised the three of us to stay in the same room in the hostel and be
with one another all the time. Although he was not so sentimental I could
notice a tiny drop of tear welling up in my father’s eyes when the train
started moving from the platform.
The next day all three of us
got down at Rourkela. My friend Ravi’s uncle had come to receive us on the
platform. He took all of us to his house in Sector 4 which was barely two kilometers
away from our dream destination: the Regional Engineering College(REC),
Rourkela. We were supposed to report in Hostel No.1 (the fresher’s hostel) by 4
PM. After lunch Ravi’s Uncle took us to the Hostel and we were busy getting
ourselves registered. On our request all three of us were accommodated in Room
No.51 in the second/top floor of the hostel. We occupied our beds with a lot of
enthusiasm with the dream of becoming engineers after four years flashing
repeatedly in our mind’s eye. Little did we know at that moment that several
nightmarish experiences were awaiting us.
Ragging. I had heard this
word from several people and I knew that it was being practised in technical
colleges. But I had no idea exactly how people rag or get ragged. I am talking about
1980 when ragging was in full force in almost all technical colleges in India.
And following the death of few students in IITs and else where finally ragging
was banned in this country and laws to prevent the same was enacted. But when we reached REC (now NIT, Rourkela)
the first lesson that was taught to us by the seniors was that we were now branded
RENGCOLLEANS and we must learn to behave properly to keep that brand image
intact. We were told to speak only in English and in no other language. Some of
my friends who were not very fluent in English and mixed up with Odia or Hindi
were badly beaten up. The second lesson was to utter obscenities in every
sentence that we spoke. It took us a lot of time and innumerable slaps to mouth
“mothers .... and sisters....” and other naked slangs. Then we were taught to learn
by heart and recite in chorus the Rengcollian song/anthem which was nothing but
a song composed of most dirty vulgar words. We were asked to smoke/drink and do
other inhuman things like pissing on each other f***ing each others’ *** and so
many other things which are difficult to
describe. Those who obliged were spared and those who refused to do such acts
were beaten up black and blue. Since I belonged to the second category I had to
tolerate a lot of physical torture. Once they beat me so much that I literally
saw stars coming out of my eyes and became unconscious. My body was so swollen that
it was very painful to wear my shirt for several days. I was weeping all the time. I was pining for my mother’s lap to get some comfort. I was
feeling like calling my father and asking him to take me out of the place. I am
sure had my parents seen me in that condition I would have never become an
engineer. But coming from a lower middle
class background and thinking of the precarious financial condition in which my
family was at that time I simply had no other choice but to tolerate everything
silently. I was just praying to God to save my life. My only consolation was
that I was not alone undergoing such treatment and most of the freshers were
going through the same ordeal. My father used to tell me often, “nothing is
permanent in this word and time heals all wounds”. I remembered these words of
wisdom and waited for the divine justice to trickle down.
This torturous trail
continued for almost one month and finally one night several seniors raided our
hostel and dragged us to their hostel. We ran completely naked and they played
several pranks on us like making us enact several vulgar scenes. After about
one hour of torture which they termed as “Mass Ragging(MR)” they threw a grand
party and made us comfortable. All this was happening in front of several
onlookers including mess boys. Then finally after we ate our fill they
announced that from that moment onwards we were accepted as registered
Rengcolleans and there would be no further ragging. They shook hands with us
and hugged us. Finally the ordeal came to an end.
The following day we were
not forced to go to the classes in a line and nobody stopped us anywhere to ask
a vulgar question. Nobody slapped us for not wearing a shoe. The fear of
ragging was gone and probably we had started preparing ourselves to welcome
freshers the next year on similar footing.
The pangs of leaving the
comforts of my home was never felt again. This months long ordeal had made me
much stronger mentally. I was no longer afraid of anything or anybody. I had
developed myself as a bold individual who could call a spade a spade. Now in
retrospect I realise that had there been no ragging I would perhaps have
remained a naive, homesick, fearful and extremely submissive person that I used
to be. But the only negative aspect of ragging was the physical torture that was
inflicted on us and the use of extreme vulgarism. I had never divulged this chapter
of my life to my family so far. This will be a surprise to all my family
members when they read this entry.
This post has been written
for Housing.com and their #StartANewLifecampaign.
Check out their concept video here:
i am glad you started blogging. :)
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