(Memory triggered by Priya’s mentioning of exotic Sikkim pickles way back in hostel)
The funny thing about college is that I dont really remember attending classes all that much. Nor do I remember that many lecturers who used to have time of their life torturing my ignorance of the technical world. I can think of only two reasons why I wouldnt remember my classes/teachers. Either I’m just getting past my initial stage of Alzhimer’s or else I didnt really attend classes all that much as I was supposed to. Considering that I had attendance shortage in almost every alternate semester, I’d say the second option was more accurate.
What I remember very vividly is spending some of the most memorable times of my life in the Ladies Hostel (LH). I was ragged in the very first few days of my arrival at the LH. There was this big haired, wicked witch in the final year whose voice was like whiplash and who shot daggers whenever you happened to catch her eye. I dont remember her name or else I would have gladly printed it here, trust me. I’m not trying to protect her identity and be a nice person or any sort of such foolish thing.
Anyway, I never understood the logic behind ragging. Something about facing the person with the real world and blah blah. What I personally think is that it was a major opportunity for sadistic, evil people to bridge their insecurities and make fun of potential threats. And all one can do is rave & rant about it in her blog 10 years down the line. Nothing else much.
Deep breath. Realization strikes that I’m digressing. Back to good memoirs. Repeat mantra three times (along with fist pump) - No anger against fools. No anger against fools. No anger against #*@#&*# fools.
A way of dispelling early homesickness was by haunting the post office for much awaited parcels from home. My dad used to be such a sweetheart and send me stuff like L’Oreal hair colour, in burgundy, sweets and pickle. My favourite pickle was this exotic pea one, which my dad wrapped it up in layers of plastic and parcelled all the way from Gangtok to Calicut one fine day.
When I went to collect my parcel at the post office, I was summoned to the Post Master’s cabin. He then pointed to an oil-stained parcel lying on the floor and which was pretty much soaked through & through with yellow oil. I got a big lecture on how my oil-leaking parcel went on to destroy so many important letters and so on and on and on.
After about 20 minutes of strained lecture from the Post Master, I ran away from the post office, holding on to my pickle-parcel all the way to the hostel. I retold the story later on to my friends, while eating dinner alongwith yummy, exotic pea pickle just arrived all the way from Gangtok. We laughed & laughed not caring one bit about important letters getting destroyed by getting soaked in pickle oil.
Such pickle incident happened twice in the entire duration of my stay in the hostel. The staff at the post office then started smiling the moment they saw me henceforth.
I wonder if at the end of this post, some people are going - “Ohhh… thats why I got yellow oil-stained letters that particular day…” Yes, I’m afraid to say, that was me.
Dont tell me all those burgundy shade of L’Oreal hair colour which i have seen in your room was sent by ur Dad
And none other.
Such a nice guy, dont you think? I’ve dropped down to using Streax since I started working after I realized how expensive L’Oreal is in the first place.
I am gonna sue you for oil-staining so many of my love letters
In retrospect, I’ve had my share of the pickles too. Call it truce?
T.R.U.C.E.
When it hadnt been your month, your week or even your year
My pickle was there for you.
Just like you were there for it too
haha! That’s such LH thing hai na… Dont tell me your parcels didnt contain wai-wai! I used to get cartons of them…
this pickle story reminded me of one of my evil behaviours back then. i made some girls eat dalle (fire-balls) at the hostel. called it special Sikkim cherries.
they must hate me for the rest of their lives…
Hey, yeah. Wai wai too. Omg, fire-balls! Cant eat them, even today. Too hot!!! Cherries! HA!
Ragging first year girls is an easy way of asking them out.
I have found no other logic in ragging.
Not in the girls hostel, it is not
Of course, I was talking about my alibi for ragging.
Ah, of course
Dear Rinch chick kitch …..
I have also tasted some Sikkim paneer and chips.I remember you receiving those in sacks.Your dad was a gem.
I know what you were doing with out attending classes .May be you will find it in some blog years later.Sometimes we were together.
The thrill of bunking classes in first year is something different.On 3rd of May I saw our HOD Bharathan Sir.He said ” So you had suffered my torture”.
I said ” Not much sir”.Then we had a good laugh.
We met in a temple near his wife house where he stays now which is near to my house.
Rinch..,your blog is very good. I went through some topics.
Devi
My adorable Sree,
You forgot Ginger. Your rhyme went like this - Rinchen, Ginger, Chicken, Kitchen.
How I miss you.
Yeah, yeah. Do blog about our days in CREC. Would love to read it & revisit good old days gone by once again.
Wasnt our HOD T L Jose sir??? You mean the earlier HOD who taught Electrical Tech??? In first year, I think.
Thanks a lot for your kind words, Unni kutta. Dont forget to reply Akusotto
Oh Ginger…..,
I thought of mentioning Ginger and avoided it thinking you may not remember that.
Exactly I was talking about our previous HOD.
I hope to read your blog completely Aku.It is addictive.