Here is something I remember from school days:
Prathana refused to do anything the seniors demanded of her. She stood on her spot, looking at some point on the floor, refusing to speak or move…so the seniors modeled a skit around her. The dorm was a village and the newcomers were citizens of this village. These villagers needed water for their day to day existence. They could not return to their homes without water. What would people at home do if there was no water? How would food be cooked? How would rice be washed? What would they drink?
It was an elaborate skit.
There was only one handpump in the village before which the villagers formed one long, sinuous line, waiting their turn to pump water and fill their bucket.
No one could go home till they had used the handpump and filled their bucket.
Prathana was this handpump. Each newcomer – roommate, friend, cousin – came up to the stalk still Prathana, lifted her hand and pumped it up and down. The idea was the morning would never end, not till this handpump yielded water.
The villagers, which slowly grew to encompass anyone willing to be a part of it, would continue to lift and drop Prathana’s hand – once, twice, five times, ten times – till they felt their invisible buckets were full.
Meantime conversations would go on. Lines would be formed. Lunch breaks and tea breaks would be taken. The morning would remain a perpetual morning.
The idea was this would go on till the handpump yielded water. Till Prathana, tired, humiliated and broken would begin to cry.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Talking About Ragging...and Showing Off...and Rambling about Ragging...And girls I admire...and why we don't have to submit to ragging...
When I talk to those who have endured ragging there is always a nervous laugh that follows the retelling of their experiences.
We had to stand outside at the bus stand and invite all strangers coming out of the bus into the city, with our hands clasped, with an obsequious smile on our lips…I had to dance on main teri dushman dushman tu mera…I had to run around crying My ass is on fire, give me cease fire…
So far so good. So far the nervous laugh indicates that while the ragging was humiliating at the time, uncomfortable even, it is now bizarre at the most. A part of hostel life. Something they are ashamed of having participating in but which now that they already have they are ready to forget.
And forgive?
I don’t know about that. I spent 12 years of my life in hostels. By the time I was in ninth-tenth grade I knew all the ins and outs of ragging. The first time I was ragged I was in grade 4 and my ragging consisted of dancing and singing an English song. I was neither a good dancer nor a good singer but did what I was asked (replacing the English song with Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, aaja aaja aaja).I was nine year old and it was the first time I had left home. I was awed by girls in grade 6. Girls and boys in grade 10 were gods.
6-10 graders who were “in charge” of “junior section ragging”.
Could I have refused even if I had wanted? These people whom I so looked up to…
I was a kid and was being ragged by children but I knew what was happening. I knew it intuitively. I knew I was somehow being “put in place” and I believed it was all right…or did I believe that? I am not sure. I don’t remember that part. All I remember is somehow I knew I had better do the singing and the dancing and later pay my respects to these seniors at ALL times. If I did that much I would be left alone.
I also knew what could happen if I did not comply. Kids are very cruel. They steal your tuck. They make fun of you. They tell on you. They don’t sit with you. They call you names. They don’t include you in their games. They bitch about you. They have jokes about you…And all this when you are vulnerable, away from home and really want friends.
It doesn’t change. What you are in grade 4 is what you are in BA 1st year. Hostels always evoke vulnerability in newcomers and friendship remains the most important bond.
Seniors are forever superhuman.
I learnt very quickly that the ones being ragged worst were the wide-eyed, overwhelmed kids. They got it worst. They got it bad if they obeyed and they got it bad if they didn’t obey. Kids who somehow knew how to take care of themselves were treated light-heartedly by the seniors, perhaps because the former themselves knew how to reciprocate to ragging with an amazing, almost inspirational light-heartedness.
It was truly amazing, truly inspirational.
Though now, after so many years, I wonder why I never became friends with those who accepted and delivered ragging with such suave casualness. They were a class apart… scornful and extremely loud and that outrageously confident laugh…even when they are in junior school…even then. They became buddies with the raggers, first carrying out the seniors’ tit-bit commands, then walking hand in hand with them, then sitting with the raggers as the latter called upon the next new kid to play basket-ball without a ball, to count the number of “partings” on their body, to oil their hair and tie two ridiculously high pony tails up their head (and go to school that way).
These, the next breed of super cool girls with innovating ragging techniques up their sleeves.
By the time I went to college I could do a Phd on ragging … and I had learnt not to call every senior “didi”. I was no longer super impressed by them, especially because some of the “didi-s” had failed their class and had sat dumb and stupid in the bench next to mine. I did not aspire to become them. I had learnt that a year or two of additional age does not necessarily lead to wisdom.
The chamchas or the next generation of raggers are just that ~ chamchas. They need somebody they can flatter and they need people who can in turn flatter them. They take great pride in being the feared group. Because they are as loud as a bunch of bellowing bulls, even the hostel staff seem to stay away from them.
...Which, by the way, does not mean that the hostel staff likes or favors them. A hostel is a commercial institute and will support what is commercially beneficial to them. What is commercially beneficial to a hostel largely depends on its student body. If a large group of the student body decides not to stay in a hostel where ragging is rampant, the institute will have no option but to take actions. It is only because the student body endures ragging that ragging goes on.
During the years in my school hostel I developed a lifelong respect for the “whiners”, aka the people who will just NOT take ragging. When asked to dance the whiner would remain rooted before the seniors for hours, not moving a muscle. The whiner would stand and not speak a word till the seniors tired and fatigued by the obstinacy would dub the person some lame name like wet-blanket or spoil-sport or horror of horror behenji and leave.
It is difficult to live with these lame names, not because the seniors have called you that but because your peers take hint and form opinions about you.And all this when you are vulnerable, away from home and really want friends.But the point is the seniors leave.
The other school of whiners cry, either silently or they bawl. Either way, if the senior wants to stay out of trouble and not be embarrassed to death, they had better LEAVE the girl alone!
There are those who create a scene…show their fingers, yell, threaten to “tell to principal”, form their own cool gang, become teacher’s pets, be “unreasonable”, not see the fun side of ragging, refuse to understand the social connotation, don’t care to break the ice with the seniors, don’t care if the seniors and their peers hate them, really are just sick of it all, SICK of it all…
The seniors concentrate on ragging those who will allow themselves to be ragged. It is in the senior’s favor to let the unraggable ones alone. Oftentimes there are more than a hundred students in a hostel. Not everyone of them gets ragged.
Those who claim to have enjoyed the time they were ragged say so because they are eagerly awaiting the time they themselves will be able to rag the future generations. They are aware of the fact that while being ragged lasts only a year, the privilege of ragging can last many years.Technically, in school, after I had been ragged in grade 4 I could rag my juniors once I hit grade 5 right up to grade 12.
In college I met ragging again and the super cool sophomores sticking up with the cooler seniors. I met these bullying, loud, unimpressive girls who set up arbitrary rules in the hostel. The newcomers, they said, were not allowed to wear jeans. The newcomers could only wear salwaar kurta. The newcomers could not visit the canteen. The dance hall was not open to the newcomers unless some senior asked them to come to it (in which case you were straight back to grade 4 and straight back to dancing and singing ridiculous songs). The newcomers who wanted to go out on an outing had to wear tiranga salwaar-kurtas … a different colored pajama topped with a different colored kurta draped with a different color dupatta. The outing going newcomer had to have their hair oiled. In the refectory the newcomers were required to act as the seniors’ waitresses, fetching water and food for them.
Honestly, I know very little about what went on in my college as far as ragging was concerned. Eight years of prior hostel experience, a row with Barkha and gang, and a best-friend who was as stubborn as a bull (did she give the seniors a hard time! The sweetheart!) kept me away from ragging. Preeti and I wore jeans throughout our junior year, we visited the canteen, we went to the dance floor, we went to outings dressed as we pleased. We never fetched water for any senior. Not once. Preeti was into sports and oftentimes in the basket-ball court when the ball bounced out of bounds into the bushes the seniors would ask the juniors to go get the ball and the juniors would go without questioning. I would watch with beaming pride the equanimity with which Preeti refused to get the ball.
Refusal is humiliating to a bully.
At another instance when the ball rolled out the court Preeti turned around to a senior and asked her to go get the ball. How defiant, how wonderful that moment was! How I giggled and how straight faced my friend was, pulling off the joke with absolute charm!
We had to stand outside at the bus stand and invite all strangers coming out of the bus into the city, with our hands clasped, with an obsequious smile on our lips…I had to dance on main teri dushman dushman tu mera…I had to run around crying My ass is on fire, give me cease fire…
So far so good. So far the nervous laugh indicates that while the ragging was humiliating at the time, uncomfortable even, it is now bizarre at the most. A part of hostel life. Something they are ashamed of having participating in but which now that they already have they are ready to forget.
And forgive?
I don’t know about that. I spent 12 years of my life in hostels. By the time I was in ninth-tenth grade I knew all the ins and outs of ragging. The first time I was ragged I was in grade 4 and my ragging consisted of dancing and singing an English song. I was neither a good dancer nor a good singer but did what I was asked (replacing the English song with Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, aaja aaja aaja).I was nine year old and it was the first time I had left home. I was awed by girls in grade 6. Girls and boys in grade 10 were gods.
6-10 graders who were “in charge” of “junior section ragging”.
Could I have refused even if I had wanted? These people whom I so looked up to…
I was a kid and was being ragged by children but I knew what was happening. I knew it intuitively. I knew I was somehow being “put in place” and I believed it was all right…or did I believe that? I am not sure. I don’t remember that part. All I remember is somehow I knew I had better do the singing and the dancing and later pay my respects to these seniors at ALL times. If I did that much I would be left alone.
I also knew what could happen if I did not comply. Kids are very cruel. They steal your tuck. They make fun of you. They tell on you. They don’t sit with you. They call you names. They don’t include you in their games. They bitch about you. They have jokes about you…And all this when you are vulnerable, away from home and really want friends.
It doesn’t change. What you are in grade 4 is what you are in BA 1st year. Hostels always evoke vulnerability in newcomers and friendship remains the most important bond.
Seniors are forever superhuman.
I learnt very quickly that the ones being ragged worst were the wide-eyed, overwhelmed kids. They got it worst. They got it bad if they obeyed and they got it bad if they didn’t obey. Kids who somehow knew how to take care of themselves were treated light-heartedly by the seniors, perhaps because the former themselves knew how to reciprocate to ragging with an amazing, almost inspirational light-heartedness.
It was truly amazing, truly inspirational.
Though now, after so many years, I wonder why I never became friends with those who accepted and delivered ragging with such suave casualness. They were a class apart… scornful and extremely loud and that outrageously confident laugh…even when they are in junior school…even then. They became buddies with the raggers, first carrying out the seniors’ tit-bit commands, then walking hand in hand with them, then sitting with the raggers as the latter called upon the next new kid to play basket-ball without a ball, to count the number of “partings” on their body, to oil their hair and tie two ridiculously high pony tails up their head (and go to school that way).
These, the next breed of super cool girls with innovating ragging techniques up their sleeves.
By the time I went to college I could do a Phd on ragging … and I had learnt not to call every senior “didi”. I was no longer super impressed by them, especially because some of the “didi-s” had failed their class and had sat dumb and stupid in the bench next to mine. I did not aspire to become them. I had learnt that a year or two of additional age does not necessarily lead to wisdom.
The chamchas or the next generation of raggers are just that ~ chamchas. They need somebody they can flatter and they need people who can in turn flatter them. They take great pride in being the feared group. Because they are as loud as a bunch of bellowing bulls, even the hostel staff seem to stay away from them.
...Which, by the way, does not mean that the hostel staff likes or favors them. A hostel is a commercial institute and will support what is commercially beneficial to them. What is commercially beneficial to a hostel largely depends on its student body. If a large group of the student body decides not to stay in a hostel where ragging is rampant, the institute will have no option but to take actions. It is only because the student body endures ragging that ragging goes on.
During the years in my school hostel I developed a lifelong respect for the “whiners”, aka the people who will just NOT take ragging. When asked to dance the whiner would remain rooted before the seniors for hours, not moving a muscle. The whiner would stand and not speak a word till the seniors tired and fatigued by the obstinacy would dub the person some lame name like wet-blanket or spoil-sport or horror of horror behenji and leave.
It is difficult to live with these lame names, not because the seniors have called you that but because your peers take hint and form opinions about you.And all this when you are vulnerable, away from home and really want friends.But the point is the seniors leave.
The other school of whiners cry, either silently or they bawl. Either way, if the senior wants to stay out of trouble and not be embarrassed to death, they had better LEAVE the girl alone!
There are those who create a scene…show their fingers, yell, threaten to “tell to principal”, form their own cool gang, become teacher’s pets, be “unreasonable”, not see the fun side of ragging, refuse to understand the social connotation, don’t care to break the ice with the seniors, don’t care if the seniors and their peers hate them, really are just sick of it all, SICK of it all…
The seniors concentrate on ragging those who will allow themselves to be ragged. It is in the senior’s favor to let the unraggable ones alone. Oftentimes there are more than a hundred students in a hostel. Not everyone of them gets ragged.
Those who claim to have enjoyed the time they were ragged say so because they are eagerly awaiting the time they themselves will be able to rag the future generations. They are aware of the fact that while being ragged lasts only a year, the privilege of ragging can last many years.Technically, in school, after I had been ragged in grade 4 I could rag my juniors once I hit grade 5 right up to grade 12.
In college I met ragging again and the super cool sophomores sticking up with the cooler seniors. I met these bullying, loud, unimpressive girls who set up arbitrary rules in the hostel. The newcomers, they said, were not allowed to wear jeans. The newcomers could only wear salwaar kurta. The newcomers could not visit the canteen. The dance hall was not open to the newcomers unless some senior asked them to come to it (in which case you were straight back to grade 4 and straight back to dancing and singing ridiculous songs). The newcomers who wanted to go out on an outing had to wear tiranga salwaar-kurtas … a different colored pajama topped with a different colored kurta draped with a different color dupatta. The outing going newcomer had to have their hair oiled. In the refectory the newcomers were required to act as the seniors’ waitresses, fetching water and food for them.
Honestly, I know very little about what went on in my college as far as ragging was concerned. Eight years of prior hostel experience, a row with Barkha and gang, and a best-friend who was as stubborn as a bull (did she give the seniors a hard time! The sweetheart!) kept me away from ragging. Preeti and I wore jeans throughout our junior year, we visited the canteen, we went to the dance floor, we went to outings dressed as we pleased. We never fetched water for any senior. Not once. Preeti was into sports and oftentimes in the basket-ball court when the ball bounced out of bounds into the bushes the seniors would ask the juniors to go get the ball and the juniors would go without questioning. I would watch with beaming pride the equanimity with which Preeti refused to get the ball.
Refusal is humiliating to a bully.
At another instance when the ball rolled out the court Preeti turned around to a senior and asked her to go get the ball. How defiant, how wonderful that moment was! How I giggled and how straight faced my friend was, pulling off the joke with absolute charm!
Ragging 3
It trickles down…the charm of not allowing yourself be pushed around…and Urja, the shyest girl in our group was soon affected. When asked to stand up Urja would promptly sit down and say “I will not stand!”. When asked to sit she would stand and say “I will not sit!”. Sometimes, in the mess of it all, Urja would stand and say “I will not stand!” then sit and say “I will not sit!”. It was hysterical and confused Sunaina no end, who probably forgot why she was asking Urja to stand and sit in the first place. And Urja, that shy, softly smiling Urja, what a mad sight she was, bobbing up and down, refusing to sit or stand!
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