Turning the Tables

I remember my first night in my hostel. I lay awake in my bed, scared out of my wits by stories of ragging. After all, my friend’s uncle’s brother, twice separated, actually had to strip. And in the following days, I remember countless intros. Sitting meekly opposite a senior, trying to force a smile and look calm.

And now, suddenly, the tables are turned. We, as sophies, are supposed to scare the wits out of freshies. Make them lie awake in bed, cowing from fear of being ragged by us. And make them remember the terrible tale of their relative from Tahiti.

Surprisingly, I still lie awake in my bed, scared out of my wits by stories of seniors getting DAC's. After all, my friend's uncle's brother, twice separated actually got a DAC because he tried to get a freshie to strip. With all the outcry about the expulsion and the huge posters, complimentary, from the government of Maharashtra, I’m bound to be. I walk up to a newly-admitted, muster all my courage, and ask in my most dangerous baritone, “Aye, freshie, idhar aa.”


A year later, were still the ones who fear 'intros'. Who would've thought that a year back.

Okay, let’s say, I forget about the perils, for a moment. Here I am, a student who’s a year old in an institute ranked amongst the best in education and I’m supposed to look like Samuel Jackson with a gun, when I haven’t even seen one outside of movies? Neither a gun, nor Samuel Jackson.

I’m not a religious guy, but Superman, if you’re there, help me!