Introduction

This sequel to the first novel was not supposed to exist. Unlike the previous novel, I didn’t think there was enough material, enough incidents in second year of college like first love, break-up or lots of first-time experiences to turn them into stories for a full-fledged book. But encouraging response from Facebook readers – when I concluded stories about first-year and stopped uploading any further – goaded me to resume my college stories again.

To name just a few, Mohammed Safiullah, my batch-mate in college, advised me to take my time, take a break of a few weeks to a month, even two months, and then return to writing. During those days of hiatus, I realized I missed penning new stories; missed it like crazy. So, I had to return, no matter what. Many more encouraged that even if nothing interesting happened in second-year, I should continue my stories as I had a way of playing around with words. (Maybe. Maybe not. No idea. Readers know best.) Tony Da said if second-year was not as eventful, then I should instead include random chapters from any year – second, third, final year, internship.

And then new chapters were penned and turns out, the sequel became lengthier than the first novel and I had to split it up into two separate books.

This novel is structured differently than the previous one. Each chapter here – though connected to each other – reads like a separate short story and the novel, too, like a standalone novel, where it’s not necessary to refer to the previous book to understand this novel. Unlike the previous book, I am using my real name Gumlat here, instead of Gaam. Many funny incidents have occurred with strangers who couldn’t pronounce my name, and thus using the real name felt appropriate here because it was relevant to the story. I’m still sticking to Gaam in the back cover though, because using my name there feels kind of embarrassing.

If you liked the first book, I hope you enjoy this one as well.

With lots of love,

– Gumlat

Chapter 1

Second-Year Starts

I reach North Bengal Medical College campus after vacation. All my friends – Lokha, Handu, Slash, Holy-One – have reached before me. We are no longer nervous first-year guys. We are finally seniors now, except of course, Lokha. The four of us feel genuinely sorry that Lokha has to prepare for repeat (supplementary) exams next month. We can’t even organize a felicitous exam-pass party for fear of hurting Lokha’s sentiments.

Lokha can be heard sulking in depression the whole day. He often requests Handu, Holy-One and me to sing tragic songs to induce the depression out of him while Slash plays the guitar. Also, some of our batch-mates who are in the repeat group come to meet Lokha in the room and engage in mass sulking and gloomy conversation and end up comforting each other before they leave.

Sometimes, their conversations heat up with angry outbursts.

‘I failed in Anatomy practical by just two marks! That bloody swine HOD, why couldn’t he consider me for those two marks? It’s just two fucking marks! That adulterous ass-hole!’

‘My Biochem theory paper was very good. I answered all the questions. I just can’t believe I failed. I’m not saying I expected to score 70-80%, but fail? That’s a total surprise! I know I was good enough to at least pass.’

‘I wish I could thrust a time-bomb into the HOD’s ass-hole and watch his ass get blown apart. The farther his pieces scatter, the happier I would be.’

‘I wish I could make the HOD unconscious with chloroform-soaked hanky, blindfold him, tie his hands and legs, cut his balls and dump him into the dirtiest, smelliest part of Balasun river.’

I want to interrupt and correct him that I’ve never seen any part of the Balasun not stinky, not filthy, at least here in Siliguri.

***

When Lokha saw me for the first time after I landed at hostel from home, he laughed for two minutes non-stop. ‘What happened to you at home? You are so black.’ No matter how grave his depression, making fun of others always makes Lokha feel good.

My negroid color is all thanks to fishing all day in scorching sun at Noa Dihing (or as we locals call it – Diyun Hka) in Grandpa’s village. My skin is not sun-tanned – it is sun-burnt – totally black, not even brown.

Those frequent fishing trips happened because of three guests who came all the way from Kachin State (Myanmar). Kachins are Singphos just like us but they call themselves Jingphaw in Myanmar while we in India call ourselves Singpho.

They did all the fishing that day. Father stayed underwater throughout, because of the heat. I tried to learn swimming whole day unsuccessfully. Finally gave up, found an abandoned log, and with myself in supine position with the log placed on my chest, utilized the buoyancy of the log to help me float for kilometers throughout the river. For someone who can’t swim, floating like this is the next best thing to swimming. Because of floating in the river for endless hours under unrelenting, scorching sun, I turned into a negro.

***

The three Kachins were great company. One was a journalist who also knew martial arts, a green belt to be precise. He told me I should marry a Jingphaw girl from Kachin State, not from around here as girls there were hotter and knew how to utilize make-up appropriately. I was interested to learn martial arts from the green belt owner. He said I should wake up at five in the morning; then he’d start my training.

‘First let me see how strong your legs are.’ Saying so, he ordered me to stand with my legs apart and hands crossed behind.

Completely catching me off guard, he kicked both my legs together from behind. My legs almost flew in air while I was on the verge of landing flat on my back but the kicker held me from behind for support. ‘Weak legs. Very weak. You need to have strong legs.’

Next morning, I woke up at ten.

The second Kachin was a blistering talker and wildlife enthusiast. He would keep asking father about what wild animals could be found in jungles around here. The third one was an expert in jungle medicine. During our fishing trips, he would sometimes disappear into the forest for hours and return with wild herbs in his pocket. Some days at home, I taught the three Kachins how to speak Hindi and English. In return they coached me about Jingphaw grammar. I laughed a lot at their Hindi accent while they did the same at my Jingphaw accent.

‘Jingphaws in India don’t know how to speak Jingphaw at all. You people mix so many gala words in your speech,’ they’d complain in unison. (Gala means ‘Indian’, implying that our speech is littered with Hindi and Assamese words.)

‘That’s why you should marry a girl from Kachin. Only then will your speech in mother tongue improve.’ The journalist joked again. In their schools and colleges, the medium of instruction is in Jingphaw while here in India, we are taught in English.

The Kachins also taught me to play some strange, alien board games which they brought with them, which were nothing like I had ever seen before. The journalist also volunteered to teach me to play guitar chords. ‘You know, every Jingphaw song in this world can be played with three chords – A, C and D.’

Come to think of it, every Singpho song does sound alike. Not the pop songs, but the traditional ones.

***

Lokha says he wants to go to Darjeeling to meet GPRS (Garima-Pinky-Renu-Sonam) and wants me to accompany him.

‘No! Not going. If I meet those girls, I have to see Sonam’s face, too, which I hate more than anything else in this world.’

‘Then don’t look at her. Come on, it’s boring going there alone. Come with me.’

Ever since the break-up with Sonam several months back, I want to be increasingly distant from her group of friends. I try to dissuade Lokha from going to Darjeeling and instead advise him to concentrate on his repeat exams.

‘Who are you? My mother? Talking about studies, so boring you are. Arey, I’m going to Darjeeling for the sake of my exams.’

‘Huh? Meaning?’ (His books are here in campus – in hostel – not in Darjeeling – what is this idiot saying?)

Lokha makes me understand that he is feeling very dull these days and nothing he reads is being absorbed into the brain. He says that once he humps a girl, he will feel more refreshed and will be able to go through even tough topics with crystal-clear mind. In case I get wrong ideas, he corrects that by humping a girl, he means his girlfriend, not any random girl or anything that moves.

‘You know, every time I sit with my books, I keep thinking of dirty things. It’s turning into an obsession. I’m sure once my obsession is removed, I’ll be able to concentrate with a clear, focused mind.’

Lesson learnt from Lokha – Once you have sex, your mind is uncluttered and you can concentrate on your studies better.

***

New Year. New subjects. Newer, shabbier-looking professors. Each progressing year, subjects get tougher, and the unkemptness of HODs’ hair, untidiness of their clothes and the maintenance of their footwear get more polluted.

The Pathology HOD is a person of extreme animation, both his actions as well as speech. He swiftly and abruptly changes his positions as he walks from one end of the blackboard to the other, while letting his unbuttoned apron to flutter in air like Superman’s cape. He never walks. He always dances. He addresses the girls in the class as ‘darling’, and thus his campus name – Darling Sir.

Darling Sir orders me to stand up, asks where I am from and comments that he has never seen my face before in any of his previous lectures.

‘Sir, actually I was absent. Today is my first lecture.’

‘And why were you absent, my dear?’

I stand silently. Though the actual answer I want to utter is this – (Sir, sleeping is a wonderful past-time and I love my sleep. These last few days I slept all day and watched movies all night, and I deserve it for passing first-year, don’t you think so? Ho Ho Ho.)

‘Very bad habit. If you start missing lectures from the beginning, how’ll you catch up later, how’ll you pass, huh?’

(By bringing chits to the exam hall. By exchanging answer sheets with batchmates). I am silent but nod my head positively in agreement.

***

Second-year also means the start of Ward classes. Our Ward classes are conducted in the indoor wards in hospital; unlike first-year, when all the theory classes were conducted only in lecture theaters.

Everyone assembles at the class-room next to the eternally crowded Medicine ward. An admitted patient is called from the ward and made to lay down on the bed, bend his legs, lift his legs in air, then sit, then stand, open his mouth, protrude his tongue, say ‘aah’ loudly, all those medical stuff. For more than an hour, the teacher coaches us on how to examine a patient thoroughly while the bored patient sits on the bed mutely, yawning continuously, perhaps wondering what we are doing with him.

In the background are noises coming from outside our room – patients screaming in pain in nearby Medicine ward, nurses impatiently calling out bed numbers of patients for injections, wheels of stretchers hurriedly rumbling on the floor bringing in new patients, sudden sounds of uncontrollable puking just outside the door of our classroom, probably a case of poisoning; Phew! The Medicine ward is a world full of uninterrupted chaos.

Among this entire auditory racket, the teacher has a faint voice, thus making it difficult to hear for those who sit at the back. A female at the back complains,

‘Sir, kichchu sunte parchi na!’ (Sir, I can’t hear anything!)

Without replying, the teacher turns up the volume of his voice.

‘Sir, ekdom sunte parchi na!’ (Sir, I just can’t hear anything!)

‘Then bring me a microphone, if you want to hear!’ The teacher blasts her. We, who are bored in the class, giggle in pleasure. Even the bored patient grins with betel-khaini-stained, crooked teeth and shakes his shoulders in delight.

***

Meanwhile, Lokha returns from Darjeeling. I don’t ask him about the trip though I am eager to know if his mind is clear of disturbance now, the restless disturbance which was hampering his studies. He takes a long shower, has lunch, sleeps and when he wakes up, he studies for four hours non-stop, not even going to the common room to watch the mouth-watering Manchester United versus Chelsea match.

Judging by the nirvanaic concentration he manages to achieve while studying, this guy has evidently returned from Darjeeling after lots of action.

***

Where the mind is without fear (of exam failure) and the head is held high,

Without loin obsessions that torture a horny guy,

Into that heaven of freedom, my friend Lokha is finally awake.

Now his exams he will definitely pass.

Then we can have the booze party at last.

***

Chapter 2

Match-Makers