Chapter 6

The war between the faculty and the hostel never abated or lessened during the interim years. Much like law, pranks became a type of craft, at which we got better, the more we practiced. The usual run of jokes continued, but I guess that the children did have to practice their art forms as best as they could.

I suppose the keyword (superglue) says it all. The places they’ve liked to hit were the cars - namely the dust caps on the tire valve stems, the gas cap, and the windshield wipers. Then there's always putting a paper bag of shit on the person's front step, setting it on fire, knocking on the door, and running like hell. The victim will come to the door, see the fire, and will usually try to stomp it out with his foot. Taking an old window shade and to go anywhere where people wearing tight clothes and moving about could be seen, usually the nearby fashion-plate colleges, wait for someone to move a bit more quickly then they should, and tear the window shade briskly, making a very loud ripping sound ... It was good practice for anticipation and timing.

I'll be the first that these are rather terrible and childish but...the craft went on getting polished and some gems emerged.

This one was hearsay from some seniors. An alumnus some years ago related the following. Apparently a new prof was a bit of a braggart. His favourite topic was his car, a Maruti 800, and one sub-topic was the terrific mileage he got from it. After the first 3 weeks, the thing started getting monotonous. So it began one evening. The students then filled up a five-liter jerrican of petrol every week and poured it into the victim's petrol tank. I believe 4 weeks were sufficient. And then the jokers reversed the process. Each night for 4 weeks, the effect was reversed, and five liters or so of petrol was removed from the victim's tank. It was amazingly effective at reducing some of the stories and involved some rather intensive overhauling and servicing. The alumni who told it to us suspected that the truth was never revealed to the victim.

Now the boys hostel was accustomed to having mongrel dogs of every breed and size and there was tremendous co-operation between the dogs and the boys.

After all, dogs barking at one another and at the universe in general in the mad, I’m-going-to-do-this-forever way of all dogs was generally quite acceptable by hostel standards, for the inconvenience caused to the rest of world. Then, of course we had a few which when you meet them, remind you that, despite thousands of years of manmade evolution, every dog is still only two meals away from being a wolf. Then there was a special one who could be called a dog. Or several dogs rolled, as it were, into one. There were four legs, and they were nearly all the same length although not all the same colour. There was one head, although the left ear was black and pointed while the right ear was brown and white and flopped. It was a very enthusiastic animal in the department of slobber.

Now, there are perfectly good, well-trained, well-behaved dogs who do not bark like a stuck record, or crap in the middle of footpaths, sniff groins, act like everyone's favourite on mere assumption, and generally whine, steal, and grovel in a way that would put a Bombay professional beggar to shame. ... There are also forgiving traffic wardens, tarts with hearts of gold, and lawyers that do not go on holiday in the middle of your complicated house purchase. We had them too.

Suffice it to say, the hostel did get along pretty well in the canine departments and had their inalienable and complete loyalty and devotion and ours to them. After all, it was a dog’s life that both species led.

We had a new vice principal who was not very happy with the canine population of the hostels, especially because on his first visit to the hostel at 3 am in the morning he was given a hero’s welcome and the madmen’s farewell.

Apparently our four legged pals got wind of treachery and war in the air and decided to take the initiative and politely asked the Vice and his stout bodyguard to take their business out of their turf and were menaced with a rather short stick. The dog clan chieftains were not impressed, after all, they had suffered through the principal’s depredations and there was a bitch who frothed at the mouth and the brain. It was all over by 3.10 am, with the Vice bitterly swearing eternal vengeance on the mad dogs of the hostel from the upper branches of a handy tree and through frayed nerves, skin and trousers. They found a belt buckle of the bodyguard and nothing else and the buckle was found hanging on a rather high branch.

The Vice declared outright war on the poor dogs and called for the dogcatchers. In the middle of the night, the clan summonses were sent and a conclave held between the partners in crime. Being allies against a common enemy, generally the world and specifically the Faculty, the Student Body believed in keeping its end up of the bargains. They called for the specialist, namely, my ex-roommate and asked him to do the honours.

This was around the time when the animal rights laws were being given a very strong voice across the city and most pet owners were accustomed to keeping their pets on leash’s and pet collars.

So this great pal of ours goes to a pet shop and buys a fancy looking pet collar and leash and then finds himself a dead dog and attached the leash and collar setup to its neck. Then with the rest of the gang holding on to its collective breath, this madman went and attached the whole thing to the Vice’s rear bumper, making sure to toss dead animal under the car so it won't be seen. When the Vice drove away, he was stopped within a few kilometers by a group of animal lovers baying for his blood and guts for dragging some poor defenseless pet down the road. By the time he was rescued by the cops, the man was a reformed character and resigned the next day from his post and joined a group of foreigners headed for the Himalayas.

Peace once again reigned in the corridors of the hostel.