Jai Jharkhand - Part II

When I first landed, the official from the Ministry of Education who'd received me at the airport took me to my university NTU, and put me in the care of these two guys, who were supposed to take me to my hostel room. So they took me to this double room, one side of which was vacant. A guy was working on his computer on the other side.

“Okay Sayesha, this is your room, and this is N, your roommate.”

I tried to keep a straight face, but in my head I was like "WHAT???!!!!" I knew the hostels were co-ed. But to have a guy as my room-mate??? But I tried to not freak out and show my naivety. The guys probably wondered why there was no reaction from me.

“So you’re okay with your room-mate?” They asked.

“Errr… yeah, okay.” I put my suitcase down. It was only when they burst out laughing that I realised I’d been punked.

I proceeded to call all the senior guys ‘Bhaiya’, which shocked and annoyed them no end. I did not get it. What was wrong with saying ‘Bhaiya’? In school, I used to call all the senior guys ‘Bhaiya’! (which, on second thoughts, used to make the process of having a crush on a senior rather disorienting.)

I was severely reprimanded for the ‘Bhaiya’ thing. In fact, I remember saying ‘Thanks, Bhaiya’ to this guy, who stared at me and said, “Bhaiya?? I am no Bhaiya! You see that guy there? That is Bhaiya!” He pointed at a surdaar. “Go wish him happy birthday! His name is J.”

“Is it his birthday?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” He glared back.

So I went and chirpily told the surdaar, “Happy birthday, J Bhaiya!”

Now if only looks could kill…

He asked me to report to his room at 4:30 pm for ‘punishment’. I was there at his door at 4:25, but was so terrified of him, that I decided not to piss him off by being there early. So I decided to stand and wait outside his door and knock exactly at 4:30. Suddenly his room-mate opened the door, and freaked out at the sight of me just standing outside the door, doing nothing.

“What are you doing here?”

“Errr… J Bhaiyy.... errr... J asked me to come here at 4:30 pm.”

“So why are you standing out here?”

“Errr… there’s still five minutes to go.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! J, kahan se is namoone ke pakad ke laya tu?” (“Where did you get this ‘sample’ from?”)

J came out, and his room-mate narrated how I had been waiting outside for the clock to strike 4:30. The incident was relayed, and I had at least four guys asking me later, “Oh! You’re Sayesha, the girl who was waiting outside J’s room for 4:30 pm? HAHAHAHA!”

(By the way, over time, both J and his room-mate grew very fond of me, perhaps because they really had not seen any namoona like me before. I continued to call him ‘J Bhaiya’ till he graduated. Even now, if I bump into his somewhere, he has that ‘bade-bhaiya-twinkle' in his eye when he greets me.)

Well, I got over the whole Bhaiya thing soon enough, but still stuck to my Bihari (I spent many years of my childhood in Bihar because my Dad was transferred there) way of saying “Hum” and “Aap” which brought me much ridicule, but I refused to get rid of it. Till date. I really like the “Hum” and “Aap” and it’s probably the only Bihari part of me that has stood the test of time.

In NTU, ragging used to be taken very seriously. By those who ragged the freshies, of course.

It used to be done very systematically and there even used to be a committee with a President. It was called the orientation committee (OC) but I think it disoriented a lot of people.

There was no escaping it. Every batch of Indians that arrived in Singapore from India, was taken under the wing of the OC. Of course, there were some who refused to be ‘babied’ by the OC, and stuck to themselves, and I secretly believe that they did not have as much fun as those who did get ‘oriented’. Homesickness flew out of the window, as the OC activities, that went late into the nights, brought in a lot of excitement.

So every night, the Indian freshies would report to Canteen 2, dressed in their 'orientation uniform' i.e. shirt and shorts, slipper in one foot and sock & shoe in the other. If you were part of the IG (Indian Gang) you had to wear the uniform. At first, yes, the local Singaporeans gave us odd looks as we roamed around and ordered food in the canteen in that weird attire, but soon they (and we) got used to it.

After dinner, we would be taken to the Sports and Recreation Centre, where the seniors would sit on the steps and we would stand in front of them in a queue. Each of us was asked to state our name, sex (three readings no less: in India, in the flight and in Singapore), where we were from, and what our hobbies were.

I made the mistake of telling them I liked to sing, and this senior guy A, who himself was a fantastic singer, made me play antakshari with myself for an hour, while he and his friends sat and listened. They even took a drinks break, and I was instructed to keep singing without an audience. And I did. Sheesh.

Then we were asked to run 6 rounds (2.4 km) on the track. Now I am not much of a running person, and by the second round, I was huffing and puffing. The freshies were all cheering each other to complete the run. Suddenly I saw this guy running next to me, and I decided to cheer him on instead. "Come on! You can do it!"

Imagine my embarrassment when he told me that he was a senior! After finishing my run, I decided to go and apologise to him for my smartass cheering. Well, looks like I had forgotten his face, and went and apologised to the wrong senior instead (who, by the way, conveniently accepted the apology that I did not owe him in the first place!). All the seniors had a good laugh at my expense.

Group orientation included many activities, most of which were dirty, messy and embarrassing. We were doused in a mixture of cat food and cabbage oil, garnished with some flour and toothpaste, and then finally cleaned up by a collective bath using the big garden hose.

We were also made to walk around the huge NTU campus (it is incredibly huge, so huge that there are buses to take you from one hostel to another), sometimes blindfolded with our own socks. The roads had signs that said 'Strips ahead' or 'hump ahead' and the guys were asked to 'follow the instructions' and 'strip' and 'hump' (ahem!) at appropriate junctures.

Complex numbers was another special activity. The seniors would choose a particularly rainy day when the ground would be really muddy and slushy, and make us lie down on it. Then they would call out complex numbers and you had to form them with your body. For example, 3+4i meant rolling over thrice along the imaginary (how ironical!) x-axis and four times along the imaginary y-axis. And they would keep calling out numbers till we were completely covered with the slush.

(Gosh I just realised this post is becoming too long. Looks like I'll have to do a part III to conclude it.)

Read Jai Jharkhand - part III here.