The most interesting time in a hostel is the fortnight before the semester exams. This is when; the music band develops original notes and practices all night to the chagrin of the studious few; practical jokes reach a consummate level of excellence; the nearby tea stall turns into a parliament where all social issues are pondered over cups of half-tea; a mild-mannered freshman suddenly decides to have his first puff of a WILLS Navy Cut; cultural barriers are forgotten during hours of group study or revived during the night long fights over trivialities, such as a casual vernacular expletive directed towards no one in particular. Emotions run high and the adrenaline keeps pumping. Some yell in anger, some shiver with tension, some cry in despair, while others visit the nearby temple every evening asking for redemption. The best (or worst) however are the ones who come out of their semester-long slumber and demand on understanding the concepts of each course (on the night before the exam) from a nervous wreck who has painstakingly grasped the concept (only barely) through laborious hours of studying.
It was one of those nights in 2002 before the EM2 (Engineering Mathematics II) exam. Not a particularly difficult course taught by a remarkable lady this was not intended to be our worst night-out. So, after dinner we went for a short walk outside the college precinct for the customary half-tea. We usually did our bi-hourly reality checks here asking each other the percentage of preparation completed till then. The Bangali said, 30. The UP-wallah settled for about the same. The Bihari sheepishly said, 80 (which was greeted with a barrage of expletives in five regional languages). The Jat as usual had just woken up (which would keep him at 0), and the Gujarati said that he could not tell since he was unsure how much 100 was. With faster heart-beats (except for the Bihari who was feeling content within) we returned hastily to the hostel to study. At the gate, we met half-Mallu. Now, half-Mallu had been an interesting inclusion to our colourful group since our freshman days. Unlike all the Malyalis who had gone through the rigorous period of "ragging" in the initial months of our first semester, half-Mallu had cited his half-Malyali-half-Kannadiga parentage (of which I remain unsure to this day) to disassociate himself from the group (thereby escaping the ragging). He had done the same with the group of Kannadigas too. By the beginning of the second year however he was making inroads in both groups and reaping the harvest. In short, half-Mallu had proven his smartness at a very young age! So we liked him.
half-Mallu had come with hot news. He had heard rumours that somewhere in the state the EM2 paper had "leaked" and there was a good chance he could get a copy of it using his multi-pronged sources. The Bihari said he thought it was a bad idea and that we must get back to our books. He was unanimously chastised for having made his exam preparations in advance (no one had taken his "80% complete" remark sportingly) and now trying to steal our moment of glory. So he kept quiet but hung around. The UP-wallah had got down to negotiations and was asking the pertinent questions of who, when, where and for how much. half-Mallu said he would get the answers but this must be kept within the group. We pledged allegiance.
Back in the room preparations for the exam had reached a standstill. The Shakespearean dilemma was too much for the Bangali and he decided to take a half-hour nap. The Jat put on his shawl and went out to amble through the hostel corridors in search of any hint of conspiracy among the other groups. The UP-wallah was more enterprising. He knew that even with the questions in hand, it would require a good deal of effort to solve them (and leave time enough to commit to memory) before the exam. And with the Bihari not too keen in this endeavour we needed someone else to provide the "solutions". So, he went out in search of that somebody. In a kennel full of mongrels there is always one well-trained dog who cannot resist the wagging of a bone. He found two. Now, all was set and we waited for the paper to arrive.
half-Mallu arrived at 11 in the night with a cyclostyled sheet. We looked in horror as none of the problems in it looked familiar. The Gujarati swore that we would have been dead fish if we hadn't got this paper in time. There were differential equations and Laplace Transforms that even our newly recruited experts had not seen before. A sort of Lucretian pleasure filled the room as we discussed the plight of the poor souls who had not got their hands on this paper tonight. Someone hugged half-Mallu and kissed him for being the saviour. He struggled free and made us promise not the "leak" his name in our excitement. He was probably feeling like Al Capone by now and fearing incarceration at the Alcatraz. The next couple of hours saw incessant brainstorming. We were taking turns to (or at least trying to) solve the problems and committing them to memory. The UP-wallah suggested that we share our loot with the girls in the ladies' hostel. The girls, genetically punctual and methodical usually kept well-written class notes for all courses. These had helped us in times of crises and it seemed morally correct to take them in confidence. However the Bangali and the Gujarati vetoed the proposal stating that the girls would find it impossible to hold their tongue till daybreak and would inevitably spill the beans in their hostel. So, they were left to their fate.
At about four in the morning disaster struck! half-Mallu came rushing to the room with another cyclostyled sheet; with an entirely different set of questions. He said he had got this copy from another of his industrious sources and was unsure which one was the real question paper. The Jat wanted to kill him, but the others intervened. Everyone quickly realized the need to be able to solve at least 40% of both the questionnaires to ensure pass marks irrespective of which one popped up the next morning. So, the toil continued till daybreak and beyond. By eight in the morning every one had mindlessly memorized so much garbage that simple sentences were not registering in the brain. One went to take a bath without a towel, while another wore his shirt inside out. Together we ambled like zombies towards the examination hall.
Holding the paper in our hands we realized that not one of the problems in those two cyclostyled sheets had shown up. We looked up to seek sympathy in each other's eyes. There was none to be found. The Bangali slept at his desk for about ten minutes till the invigilator shook his shoulders thinking he was ill. He was ill indeed, suffering from brain-freeze. The sound of scribbling filled the air. Everyone in the room was wielding their pen like the Excalibur. The EM2 paper was a cakewalk, but not for the ones who had memorized the most complex problems all night with minimal understanding. The UP-wallah was chewing his pen to a pulp. The Jat was plotting ways to asphyxiate the half-Mallu. The Gujarati was looking at the fan wondering if it were the blades or his head that was spinning. The Bangali was still in a reverie imagining how this tale would rank against the great tragic stories he had read in school. At the end of three excruciating hours we came out with dark circles around our eyes. The bout with the paper had been a comprehensive knock-out. That night we sat in the room and laughed heartily at our plight. Inside, we all knew we had deserved what we got. Someone commented that the girls were lucky we did not share our loot with them.We imagined them in our place and had a good laugh. Late that night half-Mallu crept in to say, sorry. Our Al Capone had had a bad day at office and had turned to his clients for consolation. We lent him our shoulders. Together we went out to have our half-tea where the Bihari welcomed us with a flashing smile...
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