The Police and The Hostel Trolls by Arihant Verma

That Was Weird #Entry1 (Arihant Verma, Alumnus NITH)

The Police Troll

This is a story of 2nd year ECE batch, class of 2015. Like every other batch, we were academically divided (mainly for the labs and tuts, I think it is done?) into three groups: D1, D2 and D3. I was 11401 : D1. We had this thing, that whenever 3-4 people’s birthdays would be accumulated over a certain period of time, we’d go to DT or something and have a dinner together, us boys. Girls could never join, because the plan would always be of the nights.

So this was one of those nights, we were in DT. The alcohol people were having it, other people were having dinner and talking and laughing – the usual. One of the persons who was drinking, won a bottle of rum, after successfully completing the metric of a scheme DT was the host of: to drink 60ml, 8 pegs of something(I’m not an alcohol guy, pardon me), without soda or water, back to back in a limited amount of time. So with us 24 something boys, we had a new family member, which we had to stealthily sneak into the college without being caught.

The alcohol people had drunk more than they could carry without letting their legs roll weirdly, each one of them. So we had to assign a couple of people or three, the humongous but funny task, to take care of them and make them enter the college, by the walking paths.

We, the sober people, had one trip of the car which sent 10 people first, and then the DT car came back to pick the other 10. I was in the last 10. Obviously everybody couldn’t possibly fit and sit on the seats, so three of us sat in the trunk. One of us asked the driver to volume up the speakers. Windows were open, the trunk was open, mountain wind was coming in on us and swaying our hair like it was the love of our life. Until, something unexpected happened.

We had the bottle of rum with us, so we obviously took the gate 2 route. But 200 meters before it, we heard the sound of sirens. It was very unlikely that they were of an ambulance’s, since it wasn’t Bangalore. So in those 15 secs (that’s all what we had to act, and act fast), we determined through hit and trial that it had to be the night patrol, and we were to be stopped very soon. Driver stopped the car in those 15 secs, he was smart of a chap to understand it. In the next 5 seconds, one of us was quick enough to grab the bottle of rum, run and hide in the bushes across the road. This was the luckiest thing that happened to us that night.

We were stopped by the patrol, some 4 odd man with their long latthis and the guy who later would we get to know as DSP. We were ordered to come out and answer their loud yelling voiced questions :

“Daaru Peeke Masti karte ho?!”, “Bole! Bolte kyun nahi ab?!”.

We were crap scared. We tried telling them we were not drunk, but they wouldn’t take any answer. We stood in a perfect line on the mudded, secluded, side portion of the road and were constantly fired questions and occasionally their so thick latthis, when we failed to answer any of their questions (by the virtue of the fact that they wouldn’t let us speak, which was mad!). Then all of a sudden, and out of nowhere they started punishing us, right in the middle of the night. They ordered us again with threats unbounded:

“Sab ke sab Murga bano jaldi se”.

We didn’t even have any time to search for clues by looking at each other and were forced by their hands on our shoulders to get down and do what was being directed. So we complied tacitly.

15 minutes down this classroom like punishment, when we were all consoling ourselves in our minds :

“We aren’t drunk, we eventually would be let go of”,

their latthis started charging our bums hard, and harder when we weren’t able to maintain the correct Kukdoo Koo posture, and were being dragged by gravity to the ground. Our fear went to a whole new level. We weren’t able to think straight. After 20 minutes of this disguised classroom like punishment : which turned out to be a chicken latthi charge, we were asked to hold each other’s ears and do sit ups on the count, and oh! I forgot to mention, driver was doing everything with us😀. After around 200-300 sit ups we were allowed to stand after long. They started scolding us again :

“Kya karte rete hain aaj ke ye launde, dikki khuli hui, itna loud music, upar se tez car chala re hain, kuch dimaag hai bhi ya nahi?”.

That was the peak of the loudness of DSP’s pitch, when our CR (class representative) broke. He started crying, and that is when we all felt somewhat at ease, in the hope that something good might happen now. That was the first time, I was assured to look for something good to happen by someone’s crying. That was the most service oriented crying ever. God bless that timely cry.

We were checked for signs of Daaru manually (Hawaldaars closing in on our mouths and sniffing for alcohol). When none of us were found even slightly drunk, they had no other option but to leave us at gate 2 themselves. Of course they had to hold on to something, to ensure we weren’t mad enough to file a case on them for false charging and beating without reason.

“Take care, that you don’t sit in the trunk of a car, play such loud music in the middle of the night again!”.

And while parting, DSP said apologetically :

“I’m really sorry for what happened, if you ever happen to be near the police station, come by for some tea and snacks”.

We were like : “Yeah, right!”. We were stopped at 10 pm. By the end of this drama it was 12:15 am or something. There was another scene at the NBH’s gate, when we weren’t being allowed in. Finally after that was over, we were let in, we swore not to tell this to anyone. But eventually we did, didn’t we😉 The only thing that we kept making cases of over and over was, what if we had been caught with that bottle of rum.

Midnight Hostel Chachu Troll

This too is 2nd year’s story. New Chachu recruits had been given NBH’s night watch duty after 3rd sem. Ravinder came to my room and asked everybody, if anyone was hungry. Everybody was either busy playing FIFA or surfing the internet. I said I was. The moment I covered the steps that led to ground floor, I immediately turned towards more stairs that led to basement floor, but Ravi stopped me and said :

“Ari bhai, saamne waale gate se chalte hain, chachu ko pta lenge”.

I agreed. But when I saw there were new Chachus in the house, I’d already left all hope. 10 p.m. restriction was quite something those days. And on the advent of new Chachus, it was going to be ruthless. But Ravi as patau as he always is, tried to pamper chachus, but they denied. So, the only way we were to not remain hungry was to go by the back gate, as I’d originally wanted. We were coming around from there, but as soon as we were about to reach the front gate of NBH, we saw two silhouettes. But we kept closing in, since we were unsure of if they were people or something else. As soon as we were close enough to realize that they were Chachus waiting for us, so that they could catch us red handed, we were being chased by them in the opposite direction. I jumped off the 7-7.5 feet wall that runs along the boundary of NBH on the way towards Mega Hostel (What’s its official name? Himgiri or something?). Ravi did too, but twisted his ankle given to an unstable landing. But we continued running. Now let me tell you that Ravi is the kind of person who’s so jolly good a person, one can’t remain in an un-laughed state while being with him, even for a while. So when we barged in Shivak Sir’s room, Ravi got so paranoid by the chase that he helped himself into Shivak Sir’s quilt and hid like he was a criminal on the run. It was was surprising that I was seeing Ravi do this. I was in a state of surprise for a while. Shivak Sir and I laughed so hard, he eventually got out of the quilt, completely blushing of embarrassment.

Helping Oneself Down From The Balcony

This too is a 2nd year’s incident (God! did everything happen in 2nd year only? 😀 ). This one I got to know about only when I woke up next wintry day. My roommate, as sloppy as he could get in the winters had his blabber bursting in the middle of night, but was too lazy to come out of the quilt, let alone room. He took the middle path, he went in the balcony of our 4th floor room (B 408, NBH), and relieved himself without hesitation. This cartoon that I made Adeeba make, was published in SRIJAN 2015 and was inspired by him.

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The Egg – An amazing trippy thought.

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way…


The Egg
By Andy Weir