Learning the Art of being Unhappy - Part 2

Sometime in the early 1980s ....feeling on top of the world, with no worries in life. I had got through the JEE exam and secured a seat in Chemical Engineering at BHU – IT. Like the remaining 350 students in the batch, I had a complex - missed the extra “I”, that we were truly never an “IIT”.

But there was always one aspect that we were always one up on the IITians ... amidst all the sine, cos and tan problems that we solved...the IItians would have never been taught, or have understood and experienced the pleasures of “sine die” that IT BHU was infamous for. In those days, BHU along with JNU, AMU and others were the breeding ground for the youthful ministers of tomorrow. Consequently, the professional Medical and Engineering institutes had to toe the line, as far as academic sessions were concerned. That’s when I learnt that a sine die meant an indefinite closure of the University till further notice. I guess it’s for this reason that we see our ministers, well trained in sine die management, practice it with such aplomb in our Parliament, all the time.

I think we had 3 sine dies during my 5 years at BHU (fortunately with no delay in the overall graduation tenure). It conjures up images of excitement of an unplanned vacation and a surprise trip home. Since the sine die would have occurred usually due to some political violence, there would be announcements made by the police to vacate our hostels within 24 hours. We would pack up quickly, stuffing a few books of "Mass Transfer by Treyball" or "Unit Processes by Shreve" – ostensibly to study during the break, which needless to say, never happened.

Whether I would head south-east to Cuttack or south-west to Belgaum, depended on where my parents would be at that point of time.

South East meant that my journey planning had to be done with 2 of my best friends: Jha – O – Jha. One was Bipin Jha, a dashing debonair, entrepreneur, a gym fanatic, with a cleft on his chin, which made the girls in the university swoon. The other was Santosh Ojha, a romantic, a well read intellectual, with an intensity  (made up for his lack of ramboisque physique)  that drew the engineering girls (not that there were many!) like a magnet. I really do not recall how I befriended them; I was from a sleepy town in south India, while both of them were from the heartland of masochism – Bihar! 

What I did not have, I learnt from them. For example, that to stand patiently in a queue is a principle meant for wimps! That only we had the exclusive right in Varanasi to watch the movies in the late night show – going just a few minutes before the start, we (led by Bipin, of course) would nonchalantly walk up to the head of the queue and a few minutes later return triumphantly with the tickets, with the best seats to watch the romance (growing in real life, during that period) of Amitabh and Rekha.

This kind of training held good stead when we had to undertake our train journeys after the sine die was announced. Since we only had a 24 hour notice, there was no way that we could get reservations on the train. But that was not a cause for worry. We would arrive at the station, with our dangling hand bags and cigarettes. We could have cups of tea in the earthen “kulhad”, till such time the train arrived. No need of checking our reservation, since we did not have any. The coach that stopped in front of the tea stall was meant for us. Boisterously, we would board the coach and walk across the 7 cubicles to decide where to settle down. Santosh would look for some quiet space in the fully occupied coach, while Bipin’s interest would be to locate a space with a pretty girl. We would finally decide on one of the 72 berths (meeting both their requirements). With utmost courtesy, we would demand that a passenger share his reserved seat with us! The train would start and sitting on the edge, we would light up our cigarettes, now that we had “confirmed reservations”. Now, at this stage of my life, when I look back, I guess we would have really terrorized those families travelling, with our belligerent behaviour.

After having cups of tea and samosas, night would settle. Passengers would get ready to retire for the night. The middle berths would be put up – which meant that the seating arrangement would not be available. I guess that we had enough gentility not to take over the berths, but at the same time continued to be a nuisance. We would sit at the edge of the bottom berth, near the passenger’s foot, and doze in a sitting position, with our back slouched all night long. Since this was uncomfortable, in subsequent journeys, we carried newspapers with us. These were spread out on the floor, between the berths in the cubicle, and with the suitcase as the pillow, we would get a decent night’s sleep, with the blue night lamp glowing. (When I shared this with my wife, she was aghast and wanted to divorce me, until I promised her that I will never repeat it again!). 

My journeys to the south-west were an entirely different cup of tea. I belonged to a lovely gang of 10 friends (will write about them later), in the chemical engineering department. Going to Belgaum required me to go through Bombay (as it was called then, and I prefer to call it that way, instead of Mumbai). Of the 10, my best pals were Rakesh and Mannu – both of them real suave, “chikna”, Gujjus!. And they were a total contrast from my two Bihari friends. They were an epitome of perfect etiquettes, chivalry, eloquence, and benevolence ... all the stuff we hear that a girl desires in her boyfriend. But I find it hard to explain, that in spite of these great virtues, I do not recall if they ever managed to have a romantic phase in their lives at BHU!!

The journey to Bombay would be very different. We would do the scouting of the 72 berths across the 7 reserved coaches. Only and if only we found a vacant seat, after politely requesting the co passenger, would we gratefully occupy it. No coercion and no belligerent behaviour. Those of us, who could not find a seat, would happily sit on the doorway of the train. During the long journey, we would take turns in getting some sleep, when any berths got vacant. If no berth was available, it meant sitting on our suitcases, next to the toilets and managing to get some broken sleep.

The last stage of my journey would need me to travel alone from Bombay to Belgaum. One can see the transformation in societal discipline, as we keep travelling to south India. There is absolutely no chance of entering a reserved coach. The TTE will not permit you to even sit in the vestibule and it would be most likely that he would eject you in the next stop. So alone and forlorn, late in the night, I board the unreserved, general class compartment for the 12 hour journey. I manage to push myself in – there are already 144 passengers in the coach which has a capacity of 72. I am lucky, if I have enough space to move my hand to rub my cheek, where the fat insolent mosquito has bitten me. I learn to doze in a standing position – with no fear of falling, since I am well supported by my fellow Indians on all sides. A few hours later, with a few passengers alighting, I receive a promotion, I now have enough space to sit on my suitcase and that seems like heaven. I am thrilled that I will be reaching home soon in the morning.

I take an auto rickshaw and reach home all disheveled, exhausted and stinking, since I have not had a bath for over 2 days.  But the happiness and surprise on my parent’s faces makes the exhaustion a thing of the past. I freshen up for some lovely breakfast my mom has quickly prepared and relax in the comfort of home ....sine die!!

The journeys were tough, but I always enjoyed myself and never complained.

Maybe it was the exuberance of youth. Maybe it was the company of great friends that made one oblivious to the discomforts. Maybe my body was strong enough to withstand these difficulties. Maybe it was the new freedom I was experiencing at that stage of my life

... Maybe I had not yet learnt the Art of Being Unhappy....

(.... To be continued .....)