My College Days and Reverse Ragging

My College Days and Reverse Ragging.
Jayanta Mazumdar, 1963 Metallurgical Engineering

Now, I can recall, rather with a sense of amusement, the mild ragging that was a traditional compulsion mostly during the nights and in the form of civilized seniors are coming to check the IQ and mental fitness of the first year’s freshers. Needless to say, it was without any cruelty or malice and was over just in a week; by the evening of our first Saturday in the Campus; with a joyful Freshers’ Welcome function organized by the Students’ Union.

But I was not prepared to witness, and once to suffer myself, a different type of ragging, by some of our respected teachers. I would like to call this a Reverse Ragging and share with others just three such incidence during my four years (1959-1963) in our beloved College.

1.You did laugh in my class.
The subject was Chemistry, and it was a common course for all 400 students in our first two years. For teaching Chemistry, we had just two senior teachers. They were better known by their nicknames given by the students. Only God knows when, why and who contributed such naming, but the names were traditionally used by the student’s community. Every year a new group of students are taking admission, and quickly picking up those nicknames. It became the part of our college folk lore but I now at my age of nearing 80 would refrain myself here from revealing those names, though the names were not malicious at all but simply funny.

One of the Chemistry teachers would be dancing to and fro in the classroom with a piece of chalk in his right hand, that used to remind us of the inevitable comic character in all Bangla Yatras, by the time elevated to the name Opera. It was difficult to suppress our smile seeing him dancing. One day I stupidly laughed a bit louder, and he noticed me and then immediately stopped. He notes down my name and department. In the very next monthly Chemistry exam, I secure from him only 6 marks out of 100. And he ensures that my royal mark is posted to my guardian’s address by our Examination Department.

How I could intercept his love letter from reaching, where my parents lived then, and could save my old dad from a possible heart attack by shock, is a crime thriller and I would tell it some other day. But even today, I strongly feel that my teacher was too harsh on me. The incident, I would say that he really ragged me, so to say.

2. Confess YOU have stolen.
This is the story of six 3rd year civil classmates of ours. Drawing sessional was a very crucial subject for them, carrying 200 marks. One fine morning, a Civil student’s drawing board was found missing from his personal locker; the lock was found broken. He stupidly complained the incident to the HOD, who was known for his tyrannical strictness. He rounds up six students who normally work closest to the broken locker. He asked those students to confess / identify the culprit (the THIEF he says). But these six guys were really innocent.

The HOD continues to bar those students from doing their sessional and they get panicky. One of them wants to take the blame on him in desperation so as to close the chapter. His seniors prevented him from doing so. At the least the HOD would detain the “thief“ for one more year in the third year forcing him to lose a year; at the worst he would recommend to our Principal for his expulsion from the College. The boy changes his mind. Finally the HOD also relents and allows the innocent six boys to be back at their drawing boards.

This was in 1962. I met this guy who was willing to take the blame on himself, in New York on an autumn afternoon of 2002, and we sit in a cafe. We were discussing about our happy College days, and I raised the topic of his unintended clash with the formidable HOD. My dear batch mate, now Sir Shibdas Chakaroborty, Order of the British Empire (OBE), a bridge builder and renowned across the whole Western Europe, readily admits that he would probably never had been an engineer had he succumbed to the bullying of his HOD then.

3. Key Boleychhilo Babar Awnek Taka?
We are in the 3rd Year Metallurgy. 30 of us. Our HOD was a formidable DSc from London University. He was more than a father figure to the Metallurgy students of 3rd and Final years. Not only he was concerned about our studies, but also curious about how do we behave and what we do at our hostels. He would often close the text book by Glasstone on his table and talk about our bad habit of wasting our poor parents’ hard earned money. Why do we eat as many as six samosas in our breakfast and waste money and compromise on our health? Why do we smoke and literally burn parent’s bank notes? Why do we waste father’ money by weekly watching third rate Bombay movies?

One day Prafulla, the most quiet boy in our class, loses his cool. He stands up and protests; “No Sir, aamar baba garib noy.” A naughty boy in the class interjects and provokes the HOD- “Sir Lily Biscuits o-der. Prafulla aamader school-e Rolls Royce chaypay asto.” The HOD suddenly becomes very grim.

A few months have passed, and it is the last day in our 3rd year. After the coming summer vacation, we all 30 boys will automatically move to our final year in our integrated course. He enters the classroom and tells us with a smile that he will see all of us in the final year class after the summer vacation. “All but one”- he adds. “Who was the boy whose babar awnek taka?”, he asks. Then he points his finger to Prafulla and shouts- “But you boy, you are repeating. You will continue in the third year next July.”

Poor Prafulla! A reasonably good student but forced to lose a year this way. He passed out creditably a year later, but in disgust studied Cost Accountancy and became a practicing accountant by profession.

I hope my readers, all present and past students of our beloved institution, would pardon me for coining a new phrase—Reverse Ragging.

October 10, Year 2023.
Jodhpur Park. Kolkata.