We had chemistry

When you're the MC of your company's book launch, you pretty much have to sit through the full proceedings, even if it includes what promises to be an incredibly boring chemistry lecture by the author of the book being launched.

And then you're suddenly suprised at the fact that you not only sat up and listened, but you actually enjoyed the talk.

So as I stood there in the Grand Hyatt ballroom and read out that the author had been a chemistry teacher for 30 years, my eyes nearly popped out. I have the greatest respect for teachers and housewifes... errr... homemakers if I may. I think they undergo the greatest sacrifices ever. I can never do what they do. My mom gave up a university lecturer's job so that she could stay home and bring up the susheel and sanskari tapori that I, ahem, turned out to be.

I must pause here to bow to all homemakers and teachers before I proceed with my post.

So this author was relating hilarious incidents from his chemistry lab (he teaches in Malaysia) that involved titillating tales of titration and what not. And I was suddenly flung back in time to my chemistry lab in my school days. My tapori gang days.

We had a very fierce chemistry teacher at first, Mr. B., who left the school shortly after I joined. (I swear I had nothing to do with it.) He was the kind who would not allow you into the lab if you forgot your lab coat. And guys of my class would love to "forget" their lab coats, so that they'd be kicked out of the lab and could go play football in the school field, and find me later to copy my notes. We girls, on the other hand, loved the lab coats. We pretended to be dainty doctors busy in a hospital. Mental hospital. Of course.

Mr. B. would be ultra-hyper during salt analysis. "Be careful with that sulphuric acid! Warna... na kapda bachega na chamda!" He'd snarl and we'd secretly laugh into our conical flasks.

However, on rainy days, the guys would "remember" to bring their lab coats and join us in the practical classes. There was this one guy who heated conc. sulphuric acid till it splattered on to my friend's lab coat. We watched in wonder as the small hole on her lab coat became bigger and bigger. Mr. B. screamed, "Kya hua?" and one of the guys answered back, "Sir, kapda toh gaya, chamda bach gaya."

The guys would write names in alcohol on the wooden benches and light up one end. "Dekh, Sayesha, you have a deewana!" They'd say. Once, someone's lab coat actually caught fire. As usual, Sir asked, "Now what happened??" Someone yelled out again, "Dahej hatya, sir! Bride burning!" The toughest part of chemistry practicals was to control the urge to laugh.

Soon, Mr. B left and Chemu joined us. (I'd mentioned Chemu again in one of my favourite posts.) Chemu was very fun, more easy-going and ready to laugh with us at our stupid jokes. But he knew that the guys were up to no good. Before the practical exams, he called my friend R and me to his lab. We delightedly rushed up thinking that he was going to give exam tips to his two favourite students.

"Girls, I need your help."

"With what, sir?"

"I was setting the practical exam questions, and when I tried out the analysis, nothing worked. Do you know why?"

"Why, sir?"

"Because of the morons in your class, that's why! The buggers have replaced many of the chemicals with water, and mixed up others and diluted others, and switched labels, and I am going crazy. When solutions don't turn pink or red when they're supposed to, the morons come to me and say, "Sir, this doesn't work!" And when I say "What nonsense, of course it works!" and try it out myself, it doesn't! I am very frustrated!"

We were speechless with shock and disgust. Mainly because the guys had not included us in the prank.

"So I have decided to throw away all the solutions, and make them again. Obviously, I cannot do it by myself and you two are the only students I trust." (Yes yes, besides being the Bhai, I was 'that girl'.)

So we spent that afternoon replacing all the solutions and relabelling the bottles. During the exams, when all the tests worked fine, the guys looked puzzled while Chemu walked around with a permanent grin on his face. R and I pretended to know nothing.

To take revenge on the guys, we girls started keeping secrets from them too. I remember sometimes when we would be trying to test whether a chemical was acetone or not, we'd smell it first (not advisable!) and then see if we could remove nail polish with it (not advisable!). If we could, we'd conclude that it was acetone and not do any of the actual tests for it. But we could BS like pros and so our reports looked fabulous. The acetone secret was eventually leaked out to the boys (damn teenage romances!). So they'd come to us with random chemicals and say, "Yeh haath mujhe de de thakur, nail polish nikalna hai!" and we'd be like "Nonsense! What if it's conc. sulphuric acid instead of acetone?" They'd say, "Phir kapda rahega lekin chamda nahin. Ha ha ha!" and laugh like hyenas at their own joke. We'd glare at them in disgust and refuse to help.

Does anyone remember this gas called H2S? A real stinker it was! During salt analysis, if we told Chemu that we wanted to test the salt by passing H2S through its solution, he'd get up to set up (hey that rhymed!) the apparatus for producing H2S himself. He hated the smell. We all hated it. But the guys just loved to see the look of disgust on Chemu's face when he'd be collecting the gas. And it would stink up the school so bad, the classes next to the lab would start closing their doors and windows.

During exams, if there was a salt analysis question, and we'd tell Chemu that we wanted to test with H2S, he'd mutter under his breath "H2S?? Offfo! H2S kyun chahiye?" Each time he said that, we took it as a hint that the salt did not need the H2S test, and we would eventually figure out what salt it was.

Chemu's reactions actually helped us skip a few reactions.

I was overjoyed when some time ago, when I found these morons from my chemistry lab on the net. Internet ki jai ho! And we had one mega yahoo conference. After 8 long years. It was so strange and yet funny, the way they were trying to test me. My school school gang members saying "We wanna see ki tu Singapore jaakar badal gayi kya."

So they shot a million questions at me.

"Wahan Singapur mein Bhaigiri karti hai kya?"
"Bhai, long time no see... tumhaare bina idhar apun log ke gang ka kya waat lagela hai maloom hai?"
"Bhai...ye kya haal bana liya hai apna?? pehchaan hi mein nahi aa rahi ho yaar..bhaigiri chhod k behngiri chalu ho gaya kya??? Tera photo dekhkar mann dol raha hai."
"Tu waapas India aayegi?"
"Tu shaadi kab karegi?"
"Tum aisa kahan underground hua baitha hai?"
"Koi naya gang toh nahin form kar liya wahan?"

I read their questions, and I laughed and cried at the same time as I answered them. It was only when I mentioned 'The quarry' that they said "Humne socha tha tu badal gayi hogi, lekin tujhe sab kuchh yaad hai." The quarry was a secret place that we'd all gone to, right after the board exams, just before we were all headed in different directions in life. It was a quiet place with huge rocks to climb and sit on. And we all just sat there, no one saying a word. No tapori language, no bhaigiri, no jokes, no leg-pulling. We just sat there in silence. The air was heavy with the fact that I was leaving forever, and you know how bad guys are with goodbyes. I could sense that they were all getting quite emotional, but I did not want to be the first to break down.

I was still the Bhai after all. And Bhais don't cry.