CHAPTER FOUR

“IT’S A HERB; ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Our results were announced online. I scored 70% and secured a distinction. Varun and Farhan scored 65%. Akshath and Ashwin managed to pass in five out of seven subjects. I didn’t like staying in Mumbai for a month. I missed my hostel life. I decided that this would be the last time I’d come back home during the semester breaks. The holidays came to an end soon enough and the new semester kick started with less ‘student interaction’ and more ‘bonding’ with the seniors. All of us had forgotten our H.O.D’s warning. We took to bunking classes as a habit again. Aslam ‘Bhai’ sold us a lot of cigarettes and ‘half chai’s’ as time went by.

‘Come to room # 2002 in the men’s hostel.’ This was all I heard from the guy who had just called me on my phone. I had never been to the men’s hostel before. I asked Ashwin to accompany me. He agreed and we walked towards the men’s hostel, fearful of the worst.

‘Do you know his name?’ Ashwin asked me as we knocked on the senior’s door.

‘Good evening, sir!’ Ashwin and I blurted out in chorus.

‘Come in and close the door,’ said the guy inside.

‘Do you know my name?’ he asked staring blankly at Ashwin and me.

‘No, sir,’ we replied - in chorus again!

‘That’s okay; I am Abhinav Bhattacharya from Kolkata,’ he said.

We were surprised. No senior in the past six months had given his ‘intro’ to us. We had struggled, trying to find out their names through the mess and attendance registers.

‘So, you are Armaan, the ‘angry’ junior,’ he remarked. He was smiling!

‘Sir, I did not mean to hit him,’ I explained.

‘Go to Aslam Bhai’s shop and ask him for papers,’ Abhinav “sir” instructed Ashwin.

‘Okay sir,’ Ashwin said and left. He looked quite pleased with the work he was assigned.

Why was Ashwin happy to do work all of a sudden?

‘Where are you from?’

‘I am from Bangalore.’ I felt comfortable in his room. He asked me to sit on the bean bag. The room looked very fancy and stylish. The walls in his room had posters of ‘John Mayer’, ‘Bob Marley’ and ‘Bob Dylan’. They were my favourite artists. I had not met any senior in the hostel in the past six months who was as polite or as ‘refined’ as he was. There was a shining ‘copper tone metallic’ guitar in the corner of his room.

‘You play the guitar?’ he asked, noticing that it had caught my attention.

‘No; the violin,’ I said.

Just then, Ashwin walked in. ‘Here is your rizla, sir.’

‘Where are you from?’ he asked Ashwin.

‘Cochin sir,’ he replied.

‘Oh, so you must have had some fun,’ he remarked, letting out a wicked grin.

‘Yes sir,’ Ashwin said and smiled back at him.

‘Can you roll one?’ he asked, handing it to Ashwin.

‘Okay sir,’ Ashwin said.

‘You play the violin for any band?’ Abhinav sir asked.

‘No sir; I am learning; I am not that good,’ I said absentmindedly. My mind was trying to figure out what Ashwin was doing. Ashwin opened up a cigarette, mixed its contents with the green powdered stuff and made a fat cigarette look alike using the papers he had gone and bought.

‘Let’s smoke,’ Abhinav sir said, looking at Ashwin.

‘You want to smoke?’

‘What is this sir?’

‘It’s a herb that makes you taste freedom and tolerance,’ Ashwin exclaimed. Abhinav sir grinned at his remark.

‘It’s the rhythm in every song; it’s the moon to every planet. You have heard about laughter being the best medicine? It’s the medicine for laughter,’ Abhinav sir said and smiled at Ashwin.

“Chsssssss” Ashwin hissed and lit the fat cigarette.

‘Oh! This is some good shit,’ Ashwin exclaimed. He was swaying.

‘Pass it buddy!’ Abhinav sir told Ashwin.

‘Nice!’ Abhinav sir took a couple of drags and passed the cigarette look alike that he called a ‘joint’ to me. I thought for a minute and remembered my dad’s principles on ‘bad habits’.

‘So, how is Mechanical Engineering treating you Ashwin?’ he asked.

‘Engineering feels like crap, forget Mechanical Engineering,’ Ashwin interjected. By this time Ashwin was quite high; his eyes seemed to be popping out.

‘I know how it feels to pursue a course you’re not interested in. The torture has not started yet for you. The real magic starts when you come into the department,’ sir said and laughed.

‘So, you are pursuing your Mechanical Engineering too?’ Ashwin questioned Abhinav sir.

‘Yes; I am in the final year of Mechanical Engineering,’ he said and the ‘loud’ speakers in his room came alive.

MUSIC in the room:

How many roads must a man walk down

Before you call him a man?

How many seas must a white dove sail

Before she sleeps in the sand?

Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly?

Before they’re forever banned?

The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

The song played in the background and Ashwin started singing ‘Bob Dylan’ style with his curly hair wandering in the air.

Was the answer really blowing in the wind? This song kicked the herb into me. I started feeling lighter. I had had a lot of whiskey, vodka, rum, gin and brandy many times but this felt absolutely different. There was a feeling of liberty which drove into me as I smoked a little more and some more. The three of us forgot the conversations and started singing the song loudly. I was fascinated with music, art and books always. I always imagined what an artist like ‘Bob Dylan’ could have thought, imagined, witnessed or experienced to write songs like these. I always wished I could become a writer for films and movies. Write lyrics for songs one day. ‘But how?’ The thought irritated me, especially the reality being I was pursuing Engineering. My English was not great but ‘Bob Dylan’ had not done a course on literature from Oxford before he could write ‘mind blowing’ lyrics. He inspired me, but what did I have to experience or do to write lyrics for songs or scripts for movies? I had to watch a lot of movies; I had to listen to more songs; I had to read more books; I had to improve my English. Couldn’t I write in other languages? Would I get a global audience if I wrote in other languages? I had the ability to read and write Hindi, Telugu, English and Tamil. I watched a lot of Bollywood and Telugu movies as well. How was a movie made? How do they write a script for a movie? How tough is it to translate audio and video on paper? Though the movies made in India involved a lot of overdone drama, song and dance, there were movies which made global impact. Indian cinema and art were slowly improving and was being recognized throughout the world. I wanted to get into writing. I wanted to be awarded the Oscars one day for the best original screenplay like ‘Woody Allen’. I wanted the Grammys too for best lyrics. The Indian Filmfare and National awards were always on my mind after watching ‘Gulzar’ and ‘Javed Akhtar’ being awarded on these platforms. Would I ever get there? What did I need to do to get there? What did all the great writers think or do to get there?

‘Let’s go; we have to finish our lab records,’ Ashwin said and hit me to wake me up from the “herbal high”.

‘It was nice chilling with you guys; come again some other time,’ Abhinav sir said and both of us turned to leave. Ashwin turned back suddenly and asked Abhinav sir, ‘Can I get stuff for a joint sir?’

‘Why not,’ he said and gave the whole packet to Ashwin.

Ashwin was happy. We started walking back with our drooping eyes to the boys’ hostel. Varun opened the door. ‘Are you both drunk?’ Varun questioned looking at our enhanced state.

‘We are flying bro, flying high in the air,’ Ashwin said and started laughing leaving Varun bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’ Varun questioned.

‘We went to a 4^th year senior’s place and he made us smoke herb,’ I said looking at Varun.

‘What do you mean by herb?’ Varun asked Ashwin.

‘Did you smoke grass?’ Varun asked again.

‘Yes, we did; we smoked some nice Mary-Jane,’ Ashwin said with his signature smile.

‘Even I want to smoke, Ashwin; I have never tried it,’ Varun said and Ashwin started rolling one more.

“Chssssssss” was the sound when Varun smoked the joint.

‘Can I get the joint?’ Ashwin asked and pulled the joint from Varun.

‘I can feel it; I feel light,’ Varun said trying to convince us.

‘Oh! Do we really have to have this drama now?’ Ashwin said looking at Varun in a funny manner. Varun started playing music on his laptop. We were quite high. Varun had hit the right note with the help of the ‘herb’. After an hour, the high subsided but we were hungry. We ate a lot of food. Ashwin, being the experienced guy with the ‘herb’, had carried a lot of food on his way back. Yes, one can eat a couple of buffet dinners after smoking ‘grass’. The high started coming down after a while.

‘I love it,’ Varun said looking at the packet in Ashwin’s hand.

‘Are you rolling one more?’ I said looking at Ashwin.

‘I don’t leave any activity half way; I am passionate about some things in my life,’ Ashwin said and laughed.

‘Shut up Ashwin; it’s time you start concentrating on your studies,’ Varun said in anger.

‘We can do this ‘Shiv Khera’ inspirational talk a little later,’ Ashwin said and started laughing at Varun.

‘Why don’t you say anything to him, Armaan?’ Varun said in desperation.

‘Because he is freaking stoned,’ Ashwin sang and we broke into laughter.

The second semester caught a lot of pace with the ‘herb’. Ashwin visited all the shady places in Bangalore to pick up the ‘herb’ at regular intervals. I went along with him once to get the ‘herb’. The place was filled with small huts. Women clad in saris ‘dirtily’ dressed stood outside waving at the ‘gentlemen’. A number of men directed the visitors to the houses which sold the ‘herb’. Ashwin and I became frequent visitors to such places in Bangalore. We quit drinking. We started getting ‘stoned’. The semester passed with lots of music, art and the ‘herb’. Varun started watching Prison Break. Semester exams got closer. The same attendance trauma continued with ‘Shampuri’. H.O.D warned us again. Ashwin and Akshath lost complete interest in Engineering, I guessed, looking at their ‘state of mind’. The exams ended and I stayed back in the hostel during the semester break. I was sitting on the hostel terrace. I smoked the herb all by myself. I started watching the lovely Bangalore ‘dusk’. A weird gush of air told me to pull out my pen and paper. I wrote my first short poem in Hindi:

Ek Chahat hi to hai

Ek pyaar hi to hai

Ek Imtehaan hi to hai

Bus is chahat mein hum itna gul gaye

Ki rabba har tasveer mein bus tumhe hi paye

Le chal aaj hawa mujhe tere sang

Kya pata kab kiske badlenge rang

Ek Intezaar hi to hai

Ek mohabbat hi to hai

Ek nasha hi to hai

Thoda aur nasha hi to hai

Thoda aur mohabbat hi to hai

Thoda aur Intezaar hi to hai

Hume ishq se itna ishq kyon

Jab pata nahi kab kis ore hum mud jayenge

Hume pyaar se itna pyaar kyon

Jab pata nahi ki pyaar aur ishq kya dikhayenge

Thoda aur Imtehaan hi to hai

Thoda aur pyaar hi to hai

Thoda aur chahat hi to hai

It’s the herb; are you kidding me? I thought to myself throughout the vacation. The new semester began. It wasn’t long before we grew accustomed to questions and phrases like ‘Why did we pick this course?’, ‘No internal marks’, ‘This Shampuri thinks he is the H.O.D! Personal secretary, I believe’ , ‘They will surely give shortage of attendance this semester’, ‘Only our department is screwed’ , ‘I should have chosen Computer science’ , ‘Do we have good placements?’ , ‘Will we get a core job or a software job?’ , ‘Oyeeee Mechanic’, ‘Why do we have to wear this workshop uniform?’, ‘These professors are crazy’, ‘We do not have chicks in our department’, ‘We are so united’, ‘Call your parents or else “Year back”’. Yes. We had finally entered our department. Ashwin and Akshath managed to enter with a lot of backlogs. Farhan, Varun and I came in with an overall distinction in the first year. Subjects got tougher: ‘Thermodynamics’, ‘Forging’, ‘Foundry’, ‘Material sciences’, ‘Drawing and design’. Professors in the department were proving to be a challenge. Shampuri grew to be a bigger pain in the ass than he was before. We even got caught copying during the internal exams. It was a lot harder to copy as compared to the first year. The professors seemed to know us a lot better than we’d have wanted. It was tough to challenge this faculty “mentally” or “physically”.

<Alarm rings>

I kicked Varun and Ashwin. We were going to be late for class - again! We could not afford to miss Professor Rajiv’s hour again. He was known to be ruthless with attendance and to make matters worse, he despised Ashwin and me. Akshath and Varun had not fallen in his ‘dangerous’ radar yet. Each semester was for four months. The first two months were a breeze to get by as the professors chose to unleash their ‘attendance’ , ‘internal marks’ weapons only in the last two months when the time to collect our ‘Admit’ card from Shampuri for the final exams, drew closer. The weapon of internal marks wasn’t much of a threat due to our ‘group studies’ (micro Xerox, handmade chits, copying). But the other weapon - attendance was far more foreboding thanks to ‘Laziness’, ‘Not giving a f*** till the end’, ‘herb’ and ‘No proxies’. We had missed Professor Rajiv’s classes a lot. Missing two more of his lectures meant a ‘Year back’ due to ‘shortage of attendance’. We got up hastily and made a run for class.

[Fluid Mechanics: Professor Damodar Mohan]

An old man (exactly 52 years), short and with a round belly walked in with his head weighed down and with a couple of books in his hand. ‘DM! DM! DM!’ I shouted. The class, which had till then worn a sombre expression, burst into laughter. He looked up, scanning the class to find the source of this new disturbance. The class met his gaze with feigned innocence. He walked up to me and looked at me suspiciously. ‘Playing games here, aaaaaan?’ His voice had a distinct nasal twang to it. The old man had a funny accent. The whole class waited for the entertaining sermon that would follow.

‘I won’t teach unless the whole class writes an apology letter and submits it to the H.O.D.’

He walked out with his head lowered. The class crooned ‘Sorry sir!’ in unison as we watched him leave. (I guess that was what people meant by mechanical unity). The man was old and his faculties were weakening. There was no way he could catch the culprit. Everyone seemed amused by the turn of events. The nerds who kept to themselves in the front benches seemed to enjoy this too.

I wrote an apology letter, took everyone’s signature in the class and walked to his cabin. He was smoking his ‘NAVY CUT’ cigarette. He looked hassled. He was the only faculty member who was allowed to smoke in his room (I’m sure he must have been a don in his earlier days of teaching at Silicon Valley College).

‘Sir we are sorry,’ I said.

He perhaps realized that I had noticed him smoking; he stubbed out his cigarette on the ash tray and turned to face me.

‘No man, you go talk to the H.O.D,’ he said in his nasal voice. I bit my tongue to keep myself from laughing. Varun, Ashwin, Farhan and Akshath were peeping into the cabin to watch the drama unfold.

‘Sir, we won’t make the mistake again,’ I said, trying to look apologetic.

Ashwin and Varun seemed fascinated by the fact that DM was smoking in his room.

‘No, no,’ he said and got up with his “two” books.

He entered class again after a lot of coaxing and I shouted ‘DM! DM! DM!’ again. This time Professor Damodar chose to ignore it. Professor Damodar passed a blank sheet around to write our names on as he had forgotten to bring the attendance register. I looked at the attendance sheet which Ashwin passed to me.

Attendance: Fluid mechanics

Shah Rukh Khan

Osama Bin Laden

Barack Hussain Obama

Silk Smitha

Rajnikanth

Tom Cruise

Angelina Jolie

Shah Jahan

Sachin Tendulkar

Lionel Messi

Sunny Leone

And I added to the list: Eminem.

A cold draft of wind blew in through the window. The icy cold Bangalore winters were as unforgiving as ever. I had my jacket on. I was in the mood to trouble DM a little more, so I pulled the hood of the jacket over my head and walked out of class right in between his lecture.

In a frenzied tone DM shouted, ‘Who is that?’

The entire class in chorus: ‘Eminem!’

[Bell rings: Class ends]

Everyone walked out of class grinning, visibly entertained. DM looked at the attendance sheet and looked up at the ceiling in despair. We knew there would be consequences that we’d have to face with the semester exams drawing near. A new batch of first years had joined. We were the seniors now! It was our turn to conduct “student interaction”. But somehow none of us seemed to care about ‘interacting’ with the juniors. There were strict anti “student interaction” rules as well which stopped the seniors from sc***ing the juniors. We got our admit card again with the usual drama at the H.O.D’s office. Ashwin and Akshath had a lot more exams to write compared to the rest of us. They somehow managed taking all of them. Mechanical Engineering may have been challenging due to the everyday obstacles that were thrown at us by the department. Thoughts about the future plagued us constantly. But being in Mechanical was proving to be a lot of fun. Soon, the semester break commenced.

Guess where this semester break took us…