(For the 25th Anniversary of Oberoi House, 2015)
I’m sitting in The Fletcher
School library on a surprisingly chilly Boston summer day trying to collect my
thoughts and hammer out a piece about the Class of 2003 for Oberoi B and I’m
not getting anywhere. To begin with, I’m
not even sure how long it should be. I
could write a book with the material I have. Should I try to be funny or
nostalgic, should I mention the darker shades, or should I just concentrate on the
lighter moments? No, that’s not right, we are the sum total of all our
experiences, good and bad, and whatever we do is etched in our memory
forever. This is really hard. The bonds that tie the eleven of us are
drenched with too much history and emotion to disentangle with just a few
words, but I will try, and hope that someone will edit this into something
worth reading.
I do not claim that the ’03 OB boys
were any tighter than any other house or class, but to me, they represent
something ineffably special. Perhaps
that sounds hollow, but this is one of those instances where the cliché, “you
had to be there”, is most appropriate. I
cannot and will not list all the spectacular (mis)adventures we shared, but
here are some vignettes of our time in that magnificent collection of white
washed bricks and mortar that was home, and will always remain so…
My earliest memory of Doon is my
B-form guardian Thakur teaching me how to curse like a proper Dosco on my first
day. I was sharing a quad with Aman
Sinha, Rishabh Jaiswal, and Karan Singh. Next door resided the rest of our
batch, Divyam Singh, Vikramjeet Singh, Rahul Goyal, and Pranav Prakash. Strangers that time would forge into some of
my closest friends. We are not sure why
the eight of us were thrown into main house straight in D-form, but for now
let’s assume, it is because we were and are exceptional. So the eight of us did not enjoy the cocoon
like protection of the holding houses; we were exposed to the elements called
seniors quickly and I like to believe we grew up pretty fast because of it.
I remember BLD breaking up a late
night “intro” session in the common room where some of us acquired nicknames
that we use even today. Right,
Mani? There were the raids of tuck, the haftas
paid to Mrinal to protect our Maggi, chotts fagging, and squabbling in
the showers to get the last drop of hot water.
We learnt to navigate the murky waters of “quiz-ego”, “bagsing” the good
stuff, striking deals in the CDH, trading chores, and hiding from the
ubiquitous gaze of favor seeking seniors.
Through all that, within our little crew we joked, jeered, jammed,
joshed, and jonsied away like pups in a litter.
It wasn’t always fun and games, but I would not change an iota. If it wasn’t for all of it, I wouldn’t have
anything to reminisce and write about today.
The following year, we were
joined by three other characters who perfectly complimented our already motley
crew; Rahul Singh, Ravinder Brar, Pranav Rastogi, and for a while Shyam Arya. That completed our dysfunctional little
family. Like any other dysfunctional
family, what I laugh about most in retrospect are the fights (yes, I know, I’m
surprised too that porn didn’t make it to the top of the list), and we had a
lot of them. But it was odd I
realized. It was okay for us to fight,
but if some “outsider” stepped onto our turf – that’s when the real loyalty
emerged. The epic throw down by PP, “tune mere bhai ko mara”, or Karan
Singh’s infamous “Ma ne bomb phodna nahi sikhya kya?” when confronted by
a bunch of pesky Welham Boys on Diwali will remain indelibly carved in my
memory.
No tribute to the class would be
complete without a mention of our housemasters.
SDB – the kindest man who taught math but didn’t dole out food at
tutorials. JJR – about whom we wrote a
song that you should ask Jaiswal about if you see him at Founders. HMD – who escorted us on one of my favorite
midterm to Kothri Sanae along with SAY and our OA counterparts. When was the last time you tied up your
housemaster and beat him up thinking he was going crazy to the tune of 90s
Prodigy classic “Smack My Bitch Up”? DMF
– who I personally learnt so much from and of course, PKN and how he tricked us
into revealing all the secrets of internal O-House politics before he took on
the role of Housemaster. I suppose a
belated thank you is also due to JHH and BLA for not ratting us out after we
were clearly caught jamming midterms in Mussoorie.
The OB class of 2003 is an accomplished bunch, not just at Doon, but in the world
today, and although I do not have enough space to outline their achievements, I
am damn proud of them. As I finish
writing this, I am filled with the shame of all the stupid, mean, and obnoxious
things we did to each other and the absolute sheer joy of our shared adventures.
But above all I am filled with a profound longing for my friends, all of whom I
miss dearly. So Oberoi B, Class of 2003,
here’s to you. You’ve been there for me
through the teething of adulthood, and no time and space is ever going to
change the respect, camaraderie, and love I have for each of you. Thank you, mes amis. Vive le
Oberoi!
