THE STRIKE

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 transformed instantly.

The air vibrated.

Chants kicked up.

The massive building itself seemed to tremble with the weight of our collective roar.

It was our first real experience of unity.

And intoxicating power.

And yes — a dark psychology was at play.

The same seniors who ragged us now stood with us.

Their approval made us reckless, aggressive, and invincible.

On the steps of the CS building, some final-year seniors raised their hands, asking for silence.

“Calm down! Listen!”

They explained the cause of the strike:

fee reduction — the demand to bring fees down to BPUT standards.

We didn’t understand the technicalities.

Nor did we care.

All we wanted was to shout, rebel, and feel like heroes.

Eventually, a drizzle began, and we ran into the Electrical building for shelter.

Seniors began “engagement activities” to keep the momentum going.

Another Abhishek — contemporary dancer, crowd favourite — broke into a fluid dance routine.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

We silently prayed we wouldn’t be called on stage for anything.

At midnight, seniors announced:

“Sab apne hostel jao. Kal subah phir shuru hoga.”

A few strike leaders followed us back to the old hostel, taking shelter for the night.

DAY TWO — A CAMPUS WITHOUT RULES

Next morning, management made their first move —

The hostel grills were shut.

But where there’s an engineering student, there’s also a loophole.

One bathroom window had a broken pane — just enough space for humans to crawl through.

In minutes, a human conveyor belt was created.

Day two of the strike began.

Classes were suspended.

Students roamed everywhere like they owned the campus.

Talks between student leaders and management began… then broke down… then started again.

The intensity increased.

For the first time, management might actually crumble.

Seniors looked at us first-years as their newly acquired army.

And in a strange way…

We enjoyed it.

THE INSULT

That evening, I walked with my second-year senior Amit. Suddenly, a Mechanical senior named Basant called me.

Amit whispered,

“Ja… jaa ke dekh kya chahte hain.”

I went.

They took my intro, circled around me, and unloaded a barrage of instructions.

“First year ho. Senior mat ban. Stay in your limits.”

Each word was a slap.

I felt small, insulted, and helpless.

I left quietly, trying to swallow the sting.

THE ACCIDENT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

By evening, the administration blocked the main gate.

Seniors weren’t allowed inside.

Hostel seniors told us,

“Front gate chalo!”

We followed, halfhearted but obedient.

As the crowd swelled, guards were forced to open the gate.

Chants resumed with double force.

To increase numbers, day scholars were called in.

Among them was Amar — my branch mate — coming from Kalinga Vihar with two seniors.

And then it happened.

On the highway leading to campus, they met with a devastating accident.

Seniors rushed them to Apollo Hospital.

Amar had a skull fracture.

He was taken straight to the ICU.

The news arrived like a punch to the chest.

The energy of the strike dissolved instantly.

The fire inside everyone dimmed.

Administration didn’t waste a moment.

They intervened swiftly.

A sine die was declared.

Hostelites were ordered to pack up and go home until further notice.

First years, of course, wanted the strike to continue —

no ragging, no classes, and possibly holidays.

But orders were orders.

Within an hour, bags were packed.

Abhishek and Dealing, along with others, left for home.

THE HOSTEL OF FIVE SURVIVORS

In our wing, only five remained:

Pankaj

Rishi

Me

Apurv

Lenka (from Civil)

The next morning, Nayak Sir stormed into the wing.

He spotted Rishi first.

NAYAK SIR

(in blazing anger)

“WHY haven’t you gone home?!”

Rishi trembled.

“My father said… sir… stay and study.”

Nayak sir glared at all of us.

“If ANY mischief happens… consequences will be serious.”

When he asked me

Then I said my line —

“My home is in such an interior place… it takes two full days to reach, sir.”

Everyone’s brain laughed, even if their face couldn’t.

As soon as he left, we burst into silent laughter.

THE BIRTH OF CHAOS

We studied a bit.

Watched movies.

Giggled.

Did nothing substantial.

The next day, Rishi found a permanent marker.

That was the moment peace ended.

He began tagging every room like a graffiti artist possessed.

110 — Uncle is Here

111 — Ajeet Bihari

114 — We Will Rock You

115 — Bihari Tigers

117 — Vidhayak is Here

118 — Odia Rockers

Every door became a billboard.

The next morning, he arrived with a new scheme — pure villain energy.

“Let’s pour salt solution into every lock.”

We looked at him, horrified.

“Why?!”

“Science ke liye.”

(He didn’t mean science.)

Still, we followed.

Made the solution.

Poured it into locks.

Every day, Rishi checked eagerly to see if corrosion had begun.

Diwali arrived.

Only the five of us remained in the hostel.

We decided to go watch a movie.

Took outing passes from our hostel warden and

Went to Shriya Talkies, Janpath.

Watched Action Replay.

At the end of the movie, Pankaj suddenly stood up.

PANKAJ

“I want to dance!”

ME

“Dance then!”

Pankaj:

“…No, you all come together”

We laughed, ate South Indian food at Vineet’s near the station, and returned by evening.

Lit candles.

Celebrated Diwali quietly.

The mess food tasted unusually good — fewer mouths, more love.

WHEN THE HOSTEL CAME BACK TO LIFE

After a few days, a notice appeared:

“Classes will resume soon.”

Students returned one by one, the hostel filling with familiar chaos.

Amar, after fighting for his life, finally regained consciousness.

He returned with a small dent on his forehead — a permanent reminder of that night.

The strike that had shaken the entire campus ended…

not with victory,

not with defeat,

but with a strange mix of fear, unity, and stories that would live forever in corridors and whispers.