The Amazing Days of Roosters

Seems like yesterday but it has been 35 long years! Walking down the memory lane, I often come across these unforgettable and pleasing moments from the distant past.

The year 1982: I reached Dhanbad for my admission in Indian School of Mines (now IIT Dhanbad) to pursue a bachelor degree in Petroleum Engineering. The institute was popularly referred to as ISM; had a lovely spacious campus with lots of greenery around in the middle of a chaotic town. Established in 1926 during the British era, the buildings were constructed with European architectural style and the whole premise had a vintage look. Colourful and well-manicured gardens were exploding with bright coloured flowers in front of the main building.  Huge trees canopied the roads providing much-needed shadow in the ruthless summer.

All the freshmen were put up in the Barrack Hostel. I had two opposite characters, a grumpy faced Iranian national and Guljan, a jovial Kashmiri as my room-mates. The freshmen were traditionally called ‘Murga’ (rooster) by our seniors who would visit in small groups to rag us at every given opportunity when our saviour i.e. the professor on duty to protect us wasn’t around. The ragging though little hard at times was quite fun-filled. So we never complained and rather enjoyed it.

There were unwritten ragging rules and guidelines constitutionalised by the seniors that were passed down from generation to generation, from one batch to the next; modified and upgraded according to the need of the newer generation. The murgas had to comply with these from day one or else punishment was inevitable and inexorable.

Rule No.1 - shave off your pride, the symbol of manhood - your moustache. This was to be implemented immediately upon checking in at the Barrack Hostel.

Rule No.2 – wear long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled down and well buttoned. Additionally, button up the shirt all the way up to the collar. Slippers were strict ‘no, no’, only formal shoes permitted. This the murga dress code was to be abided all throughout the day until bedtime.

The popular ragging method was to make a freshman squat, loop his arms behind his knees and firmly hold his ears. This was the famous Murga Position we had to immediately get into the moment we notice an approaching senior and then greet him.

(Cartoon credit: Bilal Hassam on Twitter @bilalhassam)

In those days the students from Assam generally struggled to speak in Hindi, unlike the current generation. So upon learning that I was an Assamese, along with few other fellow murgas from the same state were made to recite the famous Hindi tongue twister poem, ‘Chandu ke chacha ne…..’

Standing at attention with clenched fists and unwavering eyes, we would sincerely recite:

Sandu ke saasa ne, Sandu ki saasi ko,

Sandni sowk mein, sandni raat mein,

Sandi ki samus se, satni satai.

Only to be perplexed as to why all the seniors were rolling on the floor with uncontrolled laughter.

On another occasion, we were rounded up by some vigilant seniors while we were returning to the hostel quite late in the evening.

‘Hey Murgas, come here! Where were you loafing around so late?’ Thundered one senior.

‘S..s..s..i..r, we had gone to watch a movie.’ I mustered sufficient courage and replied.

‘Which movie?’ asked one senior sternly with artificial anger!

‘Sir, Chilchila.’ Another Assamese murga replied enthusiastically, to impress them. 

There was a momentary silence born out of the utter confusion amongst the seniors which quickly melted away into an eruption of laughter.

My poor batch mate had been trying hard to rectify his defective Hindi after committing a hara-kiri on ‘Chandu Ke chacha’ earlier. Little did he know that in the process he badly mauled ‘Silsila’ beyond recognition!

During the first month at ISM, there were more ragging and lesser studies. It was topsy-turvy and unsettling, yet a fun-filled ride. Traditionally the ragging would end after one month with one last act of mega or ‘mass ragging’. All the freshmen were tired of being murga and we were yearning to lead a normal university life; hence desperately wanted that the mass ragging to take place without any further delay. But alas, there was no indication from the seniors so far.

One particular night at around 12.30 AM, we all were fast asleep in our respective rooms in Barrack Hostel. All of a sudden, there was a big commotion outside which jolted me out of my sleep. Some people were banging hard on the door commanding us at the top of their voice to get out of the room. It looked like some rioters had entered the university premises and were going berserk.

Dhanbad had a very scary reputation being a place infested with outlaws, the most dreaded ones being the invisible ‘Coal Mafia’ who were not afraid of anybody and would resort to daring kidnapping for ransom, revenge killings etc. Stories of badly mutilated dead bodies found frequently in abandoned mines in the outskirts of the town had sent shivers down our spines earlier.

Sitting on our respective beds, we the three freshmen were trembling with fear not knowing what was in store. The hullaballoo gradually heightened with louder shouts to get us out of our room and more people started banging on the doors of other rooms with anger. Guljan tiptoed towards the door and peeped through the glass, trembling unremittingly due to fear as well as the chill in the air.

The faint light from the lone lamp-post near the badminton court was not sufficient to chase away the prevailing darkness. But Guljan could see some of our batchmates were already standing outside, all in a row in complete murga attire. Abruptly, the sound of cok-ro-cok, cok-ro-cok started reverberating as all the freshmen standing outside screamed in unison. 

‘Thank god! There is no rioter from outside, no violence.’ We heaved a sigh of relief, gathered sufficient courage to finally open the door. Immediately three seniors barged into the room and started scolding us right and left for not opening the door for so long. I got a tight slap on my back being the one within their reach. Quite annoyed at their mid-night exploits, we grumpily obeyed and went out in our murga uniform.

‘Perhaps this is our much-awaited mass-ragging!' Someone in the queue whispered thoughtfully.

We were ordered to troop out of the hostel and commandeered to the New Hostel where the third and the final year seniors resided. To our astonishment, a much larger gathering of seniors was waiting there gleefully; eager to pounce upon us and slay us! Some studious ones, who normally did not participate in the ragging and were not to be seen on the prowl for the murgas, were also present with heightened enthusiasm.

The onslaught of mass-ragging erupted once the freshmen were lined up inside New Hostel. Each group of seniors caught hold of several murgas and subjected them to their own ragging themes. Some were made to run around raising their hands and making the sound of roosters,’cok cok, cok ro cok, cok ro cok’. 

Three freshmen were made to wear lungi over their trousers, made to sing Bollywood songs and gyrate around while the seniors were clapping with enthusiasm.

Laxman, a stout freshman from Balia district, UP was made to climb a slippery pole in the volleyball court and shout, ‘Ati sundar, ati sundar.’

In the dead of night, there was complete chaos and cacophony all around and this went on for about an hour. We all were exhausted, so were their seniors – all were panting! Finally, the murgas were given a much-needed respite with a small break while the leaders of the seniors huddled together to plan their next strategy.

All the freshmen were then commanded to march towards a long corridor connecting the front wings and back wings of New Hostel. It had a gradual upslope towards the front wing and was about 70-80 feet long.

We were made to lie on stomach and crawl upslope on our elbows. Like a battalion of soldiers silently creeping up a mountain slope to attack the enemy, the whole corridor was filled in with freshmen jostling to move forward. A few tried to be little smart by moving on their knees and but were immediately caught by the supervising seniors who forcibly pushed them back on their stomach.

I was no different from the rest. Already exhausted I was not even halfway through. Then a great idea struck my mind. The guy who was crawling ahead was a robust batchmate who was progressing nicely. I waited for some time and let him move ahead by a couple of feet. Then I quickly grabbed his feet with both my hands and pulled myself ahead.

This was much easier than hurting my elbows. This went on few times and I made some good progress gleefully. The guy ahead finally got pissed off and expressed his anger by kicking back a couple of times like an annoyed horse. Later on, I learned his name – Atul Tyagi.

 The mass ragging ended with the completion of the crawl and the next morning brought a cheerful new chapter in our lives at ISM. Stern looks were gone, the mild abuses vanished and all the seniors looked so alien with smiles on their faces when they met us. Some put their arms around us while walking together, some of them gave away their first semester notes and books for reference. Too good to be true but that was the reality and that was how the relationships remained for the rest of our lives beyond ISM until today! They became our friends, mentors, and guides.

(Murgas from 1982 batch with Professor BK Ganguly at the centre)

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