‘How we met is a story in itself ’

How we met is a story in itself. I needed my father’s income certificate during counselling and had forgotten to carry it along with the other certificates.
‘How we met is a story in itself ’

BENGALURU: Welcome to Banaras Hindu University’s Bhagwandas Hostel. If you are among the first 60 students of the country’s third-best law college, then Bhagwandas is for you. If not, don’t worry! It’s for your friends as well. Neither has Bhagwandas itself objected to giving anyone a few days’ worth of shelter, nor has its warden, Sadashiv Rao Murali Sir.

Among those 60 students are the three of us, the people in this story: Me, that is Suraj, whom my friends call Baba; Anurag aka Dada; and Jaivardhan. How we met is a story in itself. I needed my father’s income certificate during counselling and had forgotten to carry it along with the other certificates. I was told I could not be admitted without it. Now, looking for a father in a new city is like searching for Keshav Paan Bhandar in Canada— too much hassle. I was pacing up and down nervously when my messiah caught sight of me—Anurag De. Smoking a cigarette at the faculty gate, my lord and saviour asked me, ‘Something wrong?’

‘Haan, bhai, I forgot to bring my father’s income certificate. Now they’re saying they won’t give me admission without it,’ I said, wiping the sweat off my brow.

‘That’s it? That’s what has made you this upset? Come on, tell me your father’s name,’ said Anurag De, taking out a register from his bag.

‘Shri Jayant Kishore,’ I said, watching him, surprised.

‘There you go, here’s the signature of Shri Jayant Kishore. It’s in Hindi. The job’s done. Now, do I have to tell you what to write as well?’ he said casually as he signed the paper.

‘No, no! I can write it myself but won’t that be wrong?’ I asked.‘Guru, there’s only one thing that’s wrong in this world and that’s failure. And anyway, it’s not like you’re making a wrong declaration, are you? You’re putting down the income correctly,’ he said.

‘Thank you. I’ll be back after submitting this. By the way, I’m Suraj,’ I said.

‘And I’m Anurag De.’‘De? A Bengali?’ I asked.

He just laughed in reply.

‘Can I call you Dada?’ I added.

‘Call me anything, guru! Your words, your wish. Raja . . . this is Banaras!’ Dada said, smiling.

We were still talking when we saw another guy walking around, looking rather worried. He ran first towards the counselling room and then towards the dean’s office. Dada stopped him and asked, ‘Something wrong?’

‘Yeah! I forgot to bring my father’s income...’ He hadn’t even completed his sentence when we burst into laughter. Seeing his confused face, Dada turned towards me and said, ‘You go finish your procedure. Meanwhile, I’ll tell him the procedure of making up a father.’

‘Okay.’ As I was leaving, I turned towards the boy and asked, ‘My name is Suraj, and yours?’

‘Jaivardhan Sharma.’

There’s a famous proverb: Birds of a feather flock together. Maybe that’s why the three of us met during counselling itself. We were told that our hostel would be Bhagwandas Hostel or B.D. Hostel. Only two people could fit in one room, and Dada offered to be my roommate first. We were allotted room number 79. Jaivardhan hadn’t found a roommate yet, so he was temporarily allotted a single room until another student was assigned this hostel. Bhagwandas Hostel. Legend has it that the hostel was built on the foundations of a prison which dated back to the British era.

The geography of it was as such: to its left was Gurtu Hostel for commerce students, and to its right was Radhakrishna Hostel for agricultural students. There was a forest at the back, and, in front, it was fortified by an iron gate. As for political science, it went like this: Bhagwandas had its own unwritten constitution, and following it was just as mandatory as it is for any democracy. Of all the rights, the right to speak freely was used most often. There was no need to get drunk or for Holi revelry to abuse someone. People were called shitheads, assholes and fuckers in a single conversation. (Excerpted from Banaras Talkies by Satya Vyas, with permission from Penguin

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