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Two Packets of Maggi

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It was a regular evening in the hostel. I was alone in the room—Abhishek, Rishi and Pankaj had slipped out to the back gate—when S1 walked in looking unusually restless. “Bro… that 4th-year senior, Dheeraj, asked me to bring two packets of Maggi. What should I do?” The obvious answer was simple: Go and get it. He was the only fourth-year senior in our hostel after all. But we weren’t exactly known for doing the obvious. If anything, we were proudly, stupidly rebellious. So I told him, “Today is fine… but if you bring it once, and it becomes a daily routine, you won’t enjoy your life, brother.” That only made S1 more tense. Sensing it, I added, “Do one thing—just stay in your room. Don’t go to the back gate. If you don’t go, how will you bring anything?” Back gate used to close after 6 pm. Dheeraj had interviews and exams coming up, so maybe he didn’t want to waste time himself. S1 waited in his room. Everyone returned. At around 7 pm, Dheeraj came storming thro...
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THE SILENCE AFTER THE STORM

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THE SILENCE AFTER THE STORM The strike had ended, yet its echoes lingered like aftershocks beneath the campus ground. The hostels slowly filled again, luggage rolling across corridors like returning memories. Students greeted each other with dramatic stories — exaggerations, theories, half-truths — because everyone wanted to believe they had lived through a rebellion. But underneath all the noise, something had changed. The atmosphere was subdued. Hints of fear clung to conversations. Whispers replaced slogans. For the first years, the honeymoon was over — reality was returning. Pankaj and I watched the hostel courtyard from our window as familiar faces trickled back in. ME (quietly) Look… heroes of the strike are returning. Pankaj smirked. “Half of them ran home faster than WiFi speed.” I laughed. But the truth was different: we missed the chaos, the rebellion, the adrenaline. The strike had given us a sense of identity on campus — something bigger than ragging, lectures, and attendan...
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THE STRIKE

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Durga Puja holidays had just ended, and campus life had returned to its noisy, colourful routine. Classes were back in full swing. Love stories were blooming in corners of the garden. Groups chatted in canteens as if the semester didn’t exist. Then, one random afternoon, we noticed something unusual. Our seniors were moving around in packs — hurried, tense, whispering, signalling each other. There was a heaviness in the air that didn’t fit the cheerful campus vibe. We didn’t understand the reason, and more importantly, we didn’t dare to ask. After all, no one walks willingly into a lion’s mouth. THE NIGHT THE CAMPUS WOKE UP By nightfall, the truth unfolded like a storm hitting suddenly — The campus was going on strike. Our hostel seniors barged into our rooms. “Chalo, admin block! Sab log!” Before we knew it, we were marching in the dark toward the administrative building, swept in by the tide of voices and anger. When the first years joined the crowd of seniors, the atmosphere transfo...
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The great bhang story

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Holi of 2013 arrived with its usual colours, chaos, and careless laughter. The morning began ordinarily enough. Abhishek was getting ready for his Made Easy classes—focused, disciplined, borderline irritating in his dedication toward GATE. Pankaj and I, meanwhile, followed our own sacred academic ritual: eating. We rode to Patrapada Chhak for breakfast—puri and samosa dripping with nostalgia and oil. Abhishek left for class straight from there, leaving me and Pankaj to the peace of our room. By midday, a few friends dropped by, smeared some colours, cracked a few jokes, and left. That’s when Rishi called. His voice oozed temptation. “Let’s try bhang today.” Pankaj and I looked at each other. A decision this reckless needed at least three seconds of thought. “Done,” we said. Rishi told us to pick him up. We brought him over. Pankaj, the ever-serious aspirant, opened his GATE books again. Rishi and I did what we always did—watched movies we’d already watched a ...
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NIGHT OF THE HUNDRED BIKES

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We had just returned from the holidays, and campus life resumed its usual rhythm. It was an ordinary afternoon—around 4 o’clock, if I remember correctly. Amit from my branch was standing near Monginis when a fourth-year senior called him and asked him to fetch something from the back gate. No one knows what exactly sparked the argument, but within moments, they began hitting Amit. Dealing was returning from the back gate. Being our self-appointed leader, he stepped forward instinctively, asking, “What happened, brother?” He didn’t even get the answer. The seniors charged toward him. What happened next felt straight out of an action scene—Dealing ran as if his life depended on it and, with a single leap, cleared the small reflective pond near the Mechanical building. Before anyone could blink, he disappeared into the hostel. Amit seized the moment, got up, and sprinted toward the New Boys Hostel. But the seniors weren’t done. Fueled by rage and ego, one of them—Pranav—jumped onto his ...
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First Year: Chaos, Cricket & Classroom Shockwaves

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Before we even realised it, classes were running in full swing—day in, day out—pulling us into a cycle where something or the other always kept us occupied. But amidst all the rush, the best part of the day was always the practicals . That was where theories stepped out of textbooks and came alive. Our first year was neatly split into two halves: what we studied in the first semester was taken up by the other section in the second, and vice-versa. We had C Programming, Engineering Drawing, Physics, Basic Electrical Engineering, and the futuristic Communication Lab. Each subject had its own charm—sometimes because of the content, sometimes purely because of the characters who taught them. The First Shock Physics Lab came with its own legend— APC Sir . During our very first experiment, I experienced the first shock of my college life—no, not the electric kind. I had missed the introduction class because I had gone home for the education loan approval. So innocently, ...
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Eventful month

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  Things were unfolding rapidly for us—it was hard for many to even comprehend what was happening. Rishi and I were planning to apply for an education loan, so we requested the necessary documents from the college. To our surprise, the approval came within a day. To avail the facility, we had to visit our respective hometown's branches of the Banks who will give us the loan. We decided to travel together on the Purushottam Express, Rishi got down at Chandrapura Station and i deboarded the train at Gomoh Junction . After completing all the formalities in few day's, we returned to campus—only to be greeted with shocking news. Two nights earlier, the seniors had rounded up all the first-year students and taken them to the terrace. One of our batchmates had half his moustache shaved off by a third-year student, a few others were made to dance for half an hour, and hostelites were terrorized in every possible way. Rishi and I felt lucky to have escaped the episode, but...
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