n, N and the Bamboo pickle

(*Maybe some parts of this blog would be offensive for light-hearted folks. But if you are a wise folk you shall read to the end before making up your mind)

You know why Zack and I love to write here. People don't mind us much. That is an appreciation and sarcasm in one line. But seriously it's amazing because unlike other platforms we don't filter our clutter. We let it flow, thanks to our warden for that wisdom. In other cases, other platforms, people get pissed off at the most distant completely unrelated post of some random idiot sitting in some unknown location on this planet. Chill man, a joke is a joke. On these lines I rewind back to my college.

2018 marked a jump shift in our lives. We suddenly transitioned from kids to adults. While a shift from Undergrads to Postgrads doesn't mean much to the outside world, it was a big thing back in the place we come from. Our tiny privileges of adulthood included unfettered license to sleep ( yup yup) , boss around in corridors and what not. With that one also gets accustomed to multiple folks from varied parts of the nation. Our chief identification criterion for people was primarily on the basis of food then on to body features, to special characteristics and so on. The food was the favorite. For instance food classification included people getting classified as Coconuts, Momos and Sambus. The former is for people from my place , the next one is from Zack's place and the last one is for my neighboring state. But you know what people didn't mind much. But let me tell a story where people did mind, albeit with a twist.

Here's a story of n and N. n is the son of the hills and N is a diehard southie. So well you know the cultural shocks when you put two distinct poles in the same room. Like the rules of physics, opposites attract and both n and N were the perfect example of bromanship. Football bonded them and pulling each other's leg strengthened them. All was good until that day when bamboo entered their life.

Bamboo Lag gaya!

Arey not the plant but the pickle.

Kindly pardon me for rather crudely putting it. When n got it to the room he didn't have to introduce his friend. The rather (un)aromatic smell caught us all off guard. The smell was so powerful that if you opened the jar, the fourth room adjacent to our room would get a signal from the room above it of its fragrance. Such was its potency. Well the southies couldn't bear it including myself. We had jokes around saying that this jar was used in Chernobyl for fuming you know , oops sorry. Whenever we wanted to irritate someone, especially N, we would just go and lift the jar. N would flee for his life. N our dear Sambu who grew up with Gongura pickle , rice and lots and lots of Sambhar couldn't take the (smell) sight of it. Meanwhile n was getting a whiff of what was going around behind his back.

With this intense scene happening around. One day as n entered into room , N charged on him, "Hey you bloody bugger, either you throw this or else I will throw you. I mean you should give this stuff to the Taliban to execute people" and he went about laughing. But our usual sportive n this time didn't laugh. He just took the jar and he went out. He called one of his younger friends from the hills and gave the jar to him. For a few days n didn't speak a single word to us. We kept asking him. But he reserved himself to silence.

That's when the detective in me got awakened. I got hold of that younger chap from the hill and enquired him about the pickle. I came to know that this Bamboo pickle was made by n's mother and had been sent to n from home. It had meant a lot to him. And I am telling you, I was stunned for a minute. Man, I didn't know that. I started putting myself in n's shoes. Think about it- listening to all the taunts about the thing that was so close to your heart.

Maybe that day I learned some deep things about life. I went to my room and shared this thing with all my roommates. This time it was N from whose face the colors had drained off. He felt ashamed.

How easily we come to a conclusion about things.

How difficult it is for us to bend at times.

How mean of us to never think from others' shoes.

I think N went through the same feeling as me, but much more amplified. He tried to speak with n. n ignored him. He tried again. n ignored him. And again. Finally n listened. And this time N spoke from his heart.

After five minutes,

n planted a friendly pat on N's back- " Chalega bhai, it happens at times. I think I also reacted too far"

N was happy. And before we thought that the scene would be an emotional drama. n blurted out,

" Hey you Sambhar"

To which came reply

" You go bey momo"

" Man I heard that you guys love Samsung phones"

" Why bro?"

" Sam-bhu Sung-athan na! xD" and off our n ran. With an infectious smile N went about catching him behind shouting ," You bloody fried rice"

We just watched the scene with much happiness.

Years later I look at this incident and it tells me one thing. Nobody is right and no one is wrong. We are bound to have our differences. All we need to do somewhere is to start the talk. Let the long silences not burn bridges. Not all remarks need to be taken seriously. Not all criticism be taken with offence. Let's not fight over petty things and probably let's try to spread an infectious smile around the world like our n and N.

Jyada Load na le.

:))

A Note from Rohit: Loading......( Load le liya)

This is one of the major reason why 3/4th of my heart still beats for our Hostel. We always had our calendars marked for Onam, Ugadi, Dussehra, Rath Yatra, etc. Yes, for the good food we would get. Be it, comparing our folks with cows on Krishna Janamashtmi to pouring bucket full of water on them during pot breaking ceremony, nothing ever went serious. Even if it did, a parcel from mother would just re-unite all, forgetting all past differences.

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