And there they go, yet again

I was never ever fascinated to write on a wall which everyone can read. It was the last hostel night which moved me emotionally left, right & center and I just had to spill those thoughts somewhere. And there I was on the blogosphere. But, I was never able to finish that post bacon I didn’t find the right set of words to express those feelings. Here I am giving it another shot.

A typical scene one will find when you enter Ganga, in the evening, around 5:00PM.Lot of guys going in and out of hostel for NSO practices and whatsoever. Once you reach the quadrangle there will be hockey team and the footer guys fighting for the quadrangle with the hockey guys, although outnumbered, taking the benefit that hockey can’t be played in bad light, and the footer guys groan and give their ass some rest on the pavement.

Yesterday, the roles were changed. Sticks and balls were replaced with RG’s, gums, tables, clothes and spray paint, and the secretaries were going haywire under time constraints. Till 6:30pm in the evening the waiters were the only well dressed guys. So, the preparations are over and the Mafia gang is on fire, and so begins the boring speeches and the enthralling prize distributions. Our warden managed Dean as the chief guest and after seconds of congratulations he continues with his “Fuck you ganga” bickering and the only low flying bullets we sourced from his mouthpiece.

Hyper tensioned Dhamki managed to put together an excellent dinner with no long cues and for the first time the starters were there till the very end. Hats off to Dhamki, the food was tasty and worth every bite and penny, that’s some achievement for any hostel night. But the real fun begins after the food and stuff.

It’s now a tradition for seniors to wear a white t-shirt and have a permanent marker in hand and let the inmates scribble feelings, emotions, comments and what not. It’s possibly the best souvenir to take away and frame it on the walls. Some words can really bring tears in your eyes.Hostel night after everything is for them after all.Every time you hold that pen in your hand to write something, all the memories from ragging sessions, bumps, wing cricket, and funny fundaes flashes and leave you frozen.I can’t even imagine how tough it will be for them, when it’s so damn hard for us.The thought of my passing out puts the shit out of me.

After these thoughts, there is only one thing you want to do; Somehow, make it day the best day of their life.I had some guests in the hostel night, but suddenly everything seemed so unimportant compared to the minutes spent with the mighty lords of the hostel.Right from the first day in the hostel, you know they are there to fall back for absolutely anything.They are the reason for your first major transformation after the slog years, and one have to be a real ass to not seek their in the first place.

This time something different happened in Ganga. Our passing out junta made us, “the first wingers” ,wear the white t-shirts and we had the best roast anyone would have ever had.It was talliji who was making sure that no corner on that shirt should be deprived of comments. After reading his words on our shirts most of us were on the emotional high and some on the verge of tears.We hugged, we danced and did everything else we could to make that night the most memorable night of our lives.

Another features of the night are the RG’s, Wing videos and the Toast.After two lines of admiration, all of them converge to one single thing : How many times and in what way the guy made a fool out of himself + in some cases how many girls he wanted to/had feelings for.Now that may sound silly to outsiders, but it’s free beer and kickass fun. One can just dye laughing after witnessing the (mis)deeds of certain super cartoons.

After each toast it’s like the countdown begins.Time to say goodbye is just moments away.4 years just pass by, and it’s like you entered the hostel just yesterday.

I don’t think i can write anymore.

Bye bye doston.

Sorry Mamme….. :P

Mamme and Bachha are two unfortunate souls whose window glasses keep betraying them every once in a while. I have this arbit habit of hitting on the walls and glasses, though i never do it hard , thus leading to no harmful consequences.

But this time it was the window of unfortunate soul mamme, i was playing the same way as always, but the glass was shattered into uncountable no. of fragments and my hand was on the other side of the window through the hole.

I had my share of punishment and learning from the incident with a nice deep cut, which didn’t bleed much owing to mamme and doodh’s spot treatment with cold water.

Bura na mano Holi Hain….

With this photo speaking everything for itself, i don’t need to write much to tell the whole story.But, some insight is worthwhile.

The above shown Cloth deprived ,Bare chested & 70% naked monsters are the inmates of the glorious Ganga Hostel of IIT Madras, celebrating holi; The festival of colours, which is more appropriately put as festival of dirt & water with lot of marapiti, in context of ganga.

As soon as you step out of your door( or ushered out, it’s worser) and enter the quadrangle, you are lifted feets above floor and all you have left over with, after the brutality,  are the barest minimum . Some freshies are horrified and dumbfound and few others send the message that they were destined to be in ganga.All the others are well versed with the holy traditions and make sure that everyone follows the dress code and behaves morally.

Then there are the HOLI songs from hindi movies to add up to the feel of the fest. It has been the best holi of my life.