Maharajas of the hostel

Whenever I visit Mysuru, I reminisce about the five years I lived in this quaint and extraordinary city as a journalism and mass communication student. Especially my days at Maharaja College hostel. I hold both graduate and master’s degrees from University of Mysore. 

Maharaja College Hostel is the iconic building that was pretty famous then for producing many a young recalcitrant rowdy. And I am sure many of them have aged like me and joined local politics now (I have not). 

Off all the amazing things that happened during my stay there, one incident comes to mind often. My brawl with some of my seniors at the hostel who had a notorious reputation for ragging newbies. This was not the first skirmish of my life. I was very much a hotheaded and aggressive youngster then. But this is by far the most memorable one. 

During my first few days at the hostel, my roommate Prince (That is his given name at birth. Not a nickname), and I went out for dinner. Those days food was really inexpensive and delicious in Mysuru and so I would indulge in an occasional egg, or chicken dinner, though I am born into a vegetarian family.  

Mysuru in the 1990s was still a very old fashioned city. Wearing shorts in public was scorned upon; dhotis and trousers were more the norm. And Prince and I were wearing shorts. Abruptly, we were summoned by the gang of seniors who were drinking liquor in the ‘inner sanctum’ of the restaurant reserved for preferred guests.

“The next time I see you two in shorts, I will cut you in half,” threatened the senior menacingly. And me being me, “I would like to see you to try,” I retorted. My seniors were shocked. They were the ‘rulers’ of Maharaja College hostel and such repudiation to their authority was most unbecoming of a junior. “You go back to your room, and I will show who I am,” said the senior. So, we happily finished dinner and returned to our room.

Within minutes, the gang of seniors was at our door. I prepared for a fight with a baseball bat, a birthday gift from friends, brandishing it like Bhima with his mace. Prince, who had some martial arts training, was ready to beat back the aggressors with his bare hands. 

Heated verbal exchanges followed and then something unexpected happened. A rival gang of seniors stormed into the scene with hockey sticks and cycle chains. They were the usurpers of the ‘ruling’ faction. Prince and I mutely witnessed the two gangs rain blows on each other! 

Then the inevitable happened-- a “compro” (short for compromise). Having wasted away all their ire at each other, the two gangs agreed to a truce. The challengers became our protectors for the rest of my stay at the hostel. This particular faceoff made them the new ‘maharajas’ of the hostel!