Mates

-3-

The hotel staff announced the arrival of taxi. I got into it and instructed him to head towards the city graveyard. I was going to bid goodbye to a close friend of mine. The row house on the way took me back to memory lane...

I arrived at the hostel building with a heavy baggage. The red brick building exhibiting British architecture was going to be home for two long years. Third floor, Brown hostel was the new address. All rooms faced each other separated by a narrow and long corridor. I was allotted the first room next to the stairway. Dinow was the proud occupant of the corner room which had the common bath area attached. The room was big enough to accommodate me along with my worldly possessions. A window without rails opened on the opposite wall of the door. The view outside was typically of farmland with cattle grazing leisurely. I envied them. The belongings had to be arranged and the bed made so that I may reinvigorate.

The building buzzed with movement of new comers, belongings being carried by rishkaw pullers who provided the additional service as coolie for an extra charge. I ventured out of my room, walking through the corridor; I stole a glimpse of my immediate neighbor through his ajar door.

A lanky guy with tanned skin, wearing red and black check shirt with khaki trouser, lay on his cot with his sneakers on. He was immersed reading a novel and his big bespectacled eyes expressed the suspense unfolding in the novel. His belongings stood unattended. Aurobindo Chatterjee from Hoogly. "Bindu" he was popularly known as within a few weeks of his arrival in the campus, was brought up in Jalalpur and went to some city in the west for his studies. He attained quite a bit of instant fame during an annual event, during mid night when the spectators were watching the cultural programme, Bindu performed a spell binding provocative dance on a table outside the event venue. Some of his friends sang in chorus while playing the tables as tabla. So amusing was the "Bindu show" that in no time the entire spectators, around 1000, rushed outof the hall and encouraged him with rhythmic clapping. This extraordinary show was viewed inappropriate by the management; he was summoned in the office of the Dean for an explanation. Bindu the complex guy.

The door on my right opened and emerged a bespectacled plump fella wearing a loose fitting shorts and waistcoat. He wiped beads of sweat and adjusted his specs from the rear of his palm which was holding a broom. The broom was made of coconut straws and appeared to have been brought after due evaluation. He flicked the broom and from inside came a flood of water carrying all dirt. I had to jump away to avoid getting my shoes soiled. Dipanjan Borah, the tech guy from New Delhi.

I walked further and was tempted to turn around towards the sound of whistling. The whistling music was from a popular movie "Dil to pagal hain" and was being reproduced quite well. A sudden storm filled the corridor with dust and from the end I saw a six feet plus frame emerge with his hairs dancing along with the wind. He adjusted his sun glass and walked briskly fighting the wind. His attire comprised of denim jeans and latest designed T Shirt with jagged borders. "Hi! I am Rahul, Naam to suna hoga". "Have heard the dialogue but not the name" I said while shaking hand with him. We both bust into laughter. Rahul the filmy guy.

The cold wind on my face brought me back to the present. The taxi had come to a halt as there was a commotion on the road ahead. I alighted from the car and headed towards the crowd. "Boom" came a terror noice and I lost my consciousness...