My Summer of '69!

As our Sumo took a turn round the hilly road, we were all shocked by the first view of the institute we were going to seek admission in. All anticipations came crashing down. It was nothing more than a construction site. Trucks all over, no plaster on the walls, most walls even had not been laid with bricks yet. A cloud of dust enveloped the whole area. Disappointed as we were, we went on for the admission. After a few initial setbacks (due to my abhorrent score in +2), I finally managed one of the last few seats. Little did I know that I would live the most amazing 1000 days of my life there!
A couple of months after the admission, when we went back to start the session, the picture was very different. The view which had turned us off was now amazing - a beautiful building surrounded by many high-rise hostels, right in the middle of a valley and right next to the beautiful river Teesta! Clouds and fog kissed its pagodas and lush greenery festooned it from all sides! Quite a picturesque view for a Technical College, perhaps the country’s most beautiful.

The day I was leaving home for college, I was pretty excited about all of it - a new place, new friends and no more agony of not getting through any good college. I had always wanted to stay away from home and enjoy all the independence (rather self-dependence). But, the first time away from home was intimidating, especially the first 2 weeks. I mean I too had my fair share of choking up (especially while waving good bye to my Mom at the station) and calling up home thrice a day for no reason. But thereafter you slowly catch up with the new friends, new syllabi and the new environment and become too busy with studies (or the lack of it), that you get over the initial phase of home sickness.
Yes, like most other engineering colleges, there was ragging. Nothing violent though, but mostly enjoyable. I still remember the despair we felt when the seniors joined us in the new campus. We had to wear full sleeved formals all day long, and had to address them as Sirs or Madams. Fresher guys had to be clean shaven at all sightings, which made me mournfully shave off my moustache for the first time. I was once asked to sing an extremely offensive song to a senior girl, which I pleaded out of. One of my classmates was giggling at my plight and was hence punished by having to take up the pose of Hanuman holding a tiffin box in his hand as the mountain. He stood in that pose for almost an hour and was let go after all of us left for our rooms. There are many more, but not all forums are appropriate to discuss such things, certainly not this one.
In college, we used to be almost always cash-starved. However, the first one month after returning from home used to be different. Smokers used to settle for nothing less than the best brand of cigarettes, and slowly switched over to the local brands, then they would cut down on the number and by the end of the semester, when the money was paltry, they had to switch to beedis. Some would even have 2 puffs of his beedi and then extinguish it and save it for a later emergency! I still remember how we used to walk for miles and take lifts from passing trucks, or make disgusting faces and eat the Baigan Bharta (which by the way did not even look like what we were used to at home) at the mess, instead of buying some likable food at the canteen, all to save a few bucks. The nearest town was Rangpo, which had a Bengali hotel. However dingy, it was our haven! The restaurant at the tourist lodge with the fabulous view of the river and the mountains was saved for the Birthday bashes only.

Unlike today, there were no cell phones with most of us. We used to rely on STD booths heavily. Some of us did have cell phones, but being a valley, the BSNL signal was even weaker and from most rooms in our hostel, we had to put the phone outside of the window for a successful communication. On some holidays, we used to walk up to the nearby temple and then have Momos and Maggi at Thapa’s, buy some oranges and news paper while returning to the hostel. I can still smell the slow paced life of the remote and relaxed Himalayan village, the wooly dogs, the mongoloid kids playing chungi (a ball made of rubber-bands played with in Himalayan towns), a creek here and a jhora (small waterfall) there, the rustle of the stepped paddy fields or the mystic roar of Teesta. Everyone there seemed to have all the time in the world, and yet so happy. The life most of us lead today is all about chasing happiness. But the more we are chasing it, the faster it is running away from us.

Occasionally, when we had some cash to spare, we used to take weekend trips. The first and most memorable, I must say was the one to Darjeeling. We were a group (read as gang) of 8 guys, and we got up early in the morning (or rather late in the night) to catch a glimpse of the sunrise on the Kanchendzonga from Tiger hill. We were very thrilled when a very pretty Chai-wali took a lift in our jeep and almost squeezed in between us. We were all cranked up a bit and made stories up to tease one another (no prize for guessing, she was the naughty heroine in all those stories). In the ropeway (which is now closed down following an deadly accident a few years back), we opened up the emergency exit on the floor, and saw the clouds, creeks and tea gardens all under our feet as we glided from one hill to another. We knew it was risky, but to a bunch of eight 18 year olds, that was the most thrilling experience at that point of time. Many such trips followed, one to Kalimpong (where I fell sick and hence could not enjoy much), one to Temmy tea gardens, another to Tsomgo lake. Some of us fell in love for the first times there. God, it was romantic!

There was a street in our campus where all the couples and gangs used to hang out after the classes right through the entire evening (until the gates of the hostels were closed by the wardens and they had to run to avoid spending the night gazing stars). Single guys used to go for checking out the pretty girls (who were termed ‘Maal’) and thus the street was christened ‘Maal Road’, and in no time, everyone used to call the street by its new name, including the unsuspecting professors (who were not imaginative enough to get the reason for such a nomenclature). It is called Maal Road to this date.
The four years of life there taught me a lot. Of course the technical training and also a lot more that money can not buy. I met my friends for life, learned to play the guitar (which I have forgotten now), took my first puff of nicotine & the first sips of alcohol and learnt how to enjoy the good people and deal with the bad ones. But more than all of that, I came face to face with myself up and close. I was a novice adolescent when I had set out from home, and those 4 years taught me more about myself than I would ever know.
Today I am too busy to take out a few days even to visit my college. My brother now studies there and lives in the same hostel which I used to. From what he tells me a lot has changed in the last few years, but a lot is still the same! I sometimes try to relive my golden days through him. But I would certainly go once again for myself, as it always pays off to listen when nostalgia comes calling.

If bandwidth permits, please take a look at this song. I am sure it might summarize all that I just said, and also take you back to your own Summer of '69. Cheers!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVajnzFkmik