Stone, Plaster and Stars

I stayed away for the first few weeks hoping all the ragging would be over by then. Unable to postpone it any longer I sneaked into college midweek, crept up to the classroom and sat in the row before the last. I knew the last row attracted attention for all the wrong reasons, it was familiar territory after all. I avoided it as much as the front bench. I was neither studious nor disciplined and eyed the occupants of the front bench with great disdain. But I was not a classic backbencher either because I sometimes suffered from bouts of kindled conscience and put in sporadic effort. First day in college was almost over. The first hour was anatomy. The next was physiology and less intimidating. The practicals were in the afternoon and the last hour of the day was dental materials. After that I could go home, read my current book, stare at the night sky and eat. Or so I thought. But the seniors heard that there was a new junior. They came in the evening, a motley group of a few boys and girls, curious and energetic enough to rag me, at the end of the day. Little did they know what they were up against. I was chubby, unfriendly, wary and hardly the type to play games with. I was sure that they would let me go after they asked me my name, the school I came from, my marks, why I wanted to be a dentist etc. The listless interrogation was almost over thanks to my unenthusiastic replies. But one girl in the group who sat on a desk at the back brooding over her maroon painted finger nails decided that they had not come over for nothing. She would rag me a little before sundown. She told me to take out a page from a notebook. I fumbled with the zips of my huge knapsack as I tried to open it. The first thing I encountered was the large tiffin carrier in it. It was three storeys high. One contained sambar and rice, one rasam and rice and the last one curd and rice, in that order. Then there were two other smaller boxes, one for poriyal and one with varuval to accompany the main courses. The poriyal had grated coconut sprinkled over the boiled vegetable, to be eaten with sambar or curd rice. My mother instructed me to eat the varuval or fry with the rasam rice. She had also put in slices of salted raw mango in the curd rice as if the poriyal was not enough! I was mad at her as it crossed my mind though I had gobbled it all up at lunchtime without complaint. There was hardly any space left in my bag for the notebooks and the pencil box. I grew out of the pencil box within the first week in college but the water bottle soon occupied its place. My mother had always refused to cut down on the lunch she packed and insisted that I finish all of it, everyday. Little wonder then that I weighed as much as I did. My sister probably shared most of it with friends. That must be the reason she was slender as a twig. Belated enlightenment I sighed as I pushed the towering edifice of embarrassment deeper into my bag. I was going to be the laughing stock of college if they saw all of it. At last I found the notebook I sought at the bottom of the bag. They continued watching me as I tore out a sheet from it. I pointed it at the girl who asked for it. “Tear it into two,” she said without taking it. I folded it in two and tore it at the crease. “Keep doing it,” she instructed, “till I tell you to stop.” I continued till it became a mere bit in my hand and difficult to hold, far less fold. Now she told me to roll it into a ball. I held it awkwardly between my round thumb and forefinger and rolled it into a misshapen little ball. I was at my wit’s end and full of misgiving. What would she ask me to do next? “Drop it” she said, which I did, thinking she must be out of her mind. If one year of dentistry could do that to a person I wondered what would happen after four years and the additional year of internship. But before I could say anything she gave me a little push and said, “Go play with the ball.” I stood staring at the ball completely clueless about how to manage the situation but definitely resentful. They waited for a while hoping I would start kicking and be a sport. I was no sport and I was close to tears. How could I play football with a tiny paper ball I could hardly see though I kicked myself sometimes when I was alone? My mind simply refused to consider the possibility of playing along or being ragged like this. I was not one for such casual games. Didn’t they know I gazed at the night sky, was in communion with the stars, mused abstractedly (at nothing) and generally lived on a higher plane? I stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, my tears willing them all out of sight. We heard the college bus start. Smoke billowed from the exhaust and the engine made a racket no one could miss. ‘Go’ they said in one voice disappointed but unwilling to miss the bus to pickle a sourpuss like me. I picked up my heavy bag and ran heedless of the ‘tzang’ ‘tzang’ noises my lunch boxes made and jumped into the college bus. I felt genuine affection for the noisy bus. I hurriedly took off the coat I had forgotten about and as there was no place to sit, I stood trying to hold onto the overhead bar. I could barely reach it at my height and it was an effort just gripping it with dysfunctional fingertips which had not yet recovered from the attempted ragging like the rest of me.