Yes Darling, it was 'Cool' to get ragged...!

This is not a critical analysis on University ragging. A simple reportage on what my batch mates & I experienced at University of Moratuwa (Mora) in 1990. The details have been stated to the best of my ability. Some gory details have been left out intentionally for sanity’s sake and to avoid pain of mind. We experienced Mora-Rag collectively as a batch and sometimes as individuals. Individual experiences stated are that of the authors’.

At least some of us had an idea what the rag ‘was all about’ when we entered the University. I was part of another education institute prior to entering the university and had experienced a physical rag that lasted no more than two or three days. It was experienced as a group and was limited to doing push-ups on grass for a few minutes. We all faked our threshold of pain in the face of screaming seniors who were threatening us to do more. But both parties knew their own limitations and no one dared to go beyond that. All this concluded with a party on the beach where we all got drunk and merry and ultimately ended up becoming friends. At least we got to know each other and as far as I know, no one ever held a grudge against a senior for that particular experience.

At Mora – it was a totally different ball game. Architecture Faculty seniors held cardinal ‘right’ to rag the ‘archi-freshers’. Engineering seniors had it over Engineering freshers and NDT seniors over NDT freshers. In addition the ‘seniority’ transcended over the boundaries of each of the faculties when it came to ragging. Within this unofficial arrangement the archi-fac was always at a disadvantage. They were small in number and started the new academic year after both Engineering and NDT students. Due to this and due to the lack of interest in taking the trouble, the Archi-seniors rarely bothered to rag the Eng or NDT freshers. Yet, when it came to the archi-freshers things were different. Everyone wanted to rag them. For the Archi-seniors as it was their ‘duty’. For the Eng-NDT seniors because some of them believed that archi-freshers were ‘hi-fi’, due to the higher male to female ratio (normally 50:50 which is very different compared to Eng or NDT), for some reason or the other, our female students stood out in a crowd or due to pure want. The result was obvious – we got ragged more and by everybody. In 1990 where the archi-fac ragging went on for three months (first-term stretched due to industrial action by minor staff that led to university closure prior to the ‘arch-faculty freshers welcome’) the Eng-NDT students had plenty of opportunity and time to inflict their reign on us.

By default our ‘immediate seniors’ carried the responsibility of ragging us. The ‘super seniors’ played a supervisory and observational role. They rarely interfered with the ragging bunch. But, some of them were vigilant and maintained limited contact with us. But, they had the ‘authority’ over others and sometimes used their veto powers when they thought things were getting too nasty. Generally the ragging batch did not appreciate this at all and sometimes inflict more pain on us if they realized that we had good relations with their seniors.

During the ragging, our seniors appeared from nowhere. Mostly through windows into our studio as entrance doors (that opened to the corridors) could be seen from staff rooms. Entering via windows was a dangerous act as our studios were on top floor of a building. A single slip/mistake would have sent them all the way down four floors and that would have definitely killed a person. This was not a deterrent. Guess it explained how important what they were doing for them and how committed they were. Respect!

They ordered us to carry out various tasks. During short breaks it was to creep under the desks, to pack 10-15 of us under one table until we sweated like hell and suffocated and died for some fresh air. Sometimes we had to kneel and carry our heavy chairs over our heads around the studio. Even the female students had to do this. Kneeling and crawling were simple tasks. The male students had to do push-ups for hours. To hang down from roof trusses for hours. To stand on one leg until you fell down. To hold the weight of the body by pushing the arms against a rough wall until it was too painful. To circumvolve until we lost balance and became completely disorientated. Carry our peers over our shoulders and kneel around studio. Fully body crawl on the floor. To stand up on chairs and desks and engage in various silly tasks that seemed to have no purpose but to prolong the mental agony over the physical pain.

Their weapons of choice came in the form of a barrage of ‘raw filth’ and screaming and shouting. Sometime they used props like sticks and timber planks. But they never made physical contact. We were not allowed to laugh or smile with them at any given time. We also had the choice of not going through the rag if we wished. Some of my peers refused to get ragged and opted out of all the above. They were verbally ‘attacked’ and frowned up on throughout. They we called ‘alayas’ (university slang for meekness / weakness). In a way it was hip to get ragged.

Your I.D. was your underpants. The very first thing in the morning was to remove our underpants and keep it in the pocket. If you forget to do this, they made you remove it and soak it in water so that you were not able to wear it during the day. We never thought of carrying a second pair of undees to subvert this task.

Male students faced ‘toilet rag’ on several occasions. They packed about 20 of us in a faculty toilet and then checked our ID’s. The filthy toilet was no more than ten feet by ten feet. It had one entrance, one long urinal tough, one WC cubicle and three wash hand basins and all of us in bare feet. Push-ups holding our faces right against the urinal trough, hanging from the WC cubicle lintel, pack about ten of us into the single WC cubicle until it was impossible to breathe. Get us to urinate intermittently. All this while the usual filth, screaming and shouting went on. Like most other sessions, this too went on for hours until everyone was infested with the smell of urine and sweat and mentally felt like shit. The ‘toilet rag’ was one of the worst.

Once some of us were cornered and forced to go to the ‘Wala Canteen’ during lunch hour by a bunch of Eng or NDT seniors. The place was overflowing with people. The ‘Jeshta Uththamayoo’ (honourable seniors) surrounded us and broke our group in to individuals. I was walked up to a table where some students were having lunch and was ordered to climb on top of it. A dirty plate of leftovers mixed with tap water with that they called – ‘soup’ was passed on. ‘Drink, drink, drink, drink it you fucker…’ they all started to scream. Most of the other students in the place just carried on as if none of this was happening. I noticed some of my batch mates on other tables going thorough a similar fate. The screaming was becoming louder and louder and I was just about to have my ‘soup’ when someone shouted ‘stop’. ‘Get down you son of a whore, get down’. A new face was shouting at me this time. I sensed something different and got off the table and went up to the ‘new person’/ He ordered me to follow him and walked me out of the ‘wala’. Once we were out of sight of others the ‘new face’ disclosed that he’s from a senior batch and was sent by my cousin who was in his batch to rescue me.

One day some NDT seniors ambushed me outside the university premises. They lead me in to place about half a mile away from the university. They had a list of names of all my batch mates and said that they will make sure that all will be taken to where I was taken. I knew I was being taken to a ‘chummery’ and those places were the worst. But I couldn’t think of a way to ‘escape’.

When we arrived at the ‘Bog Palace’ as they called it one of batch mates was already there with a few other seniors. The place looked as it was originally meant to be a single car garage. A pretty badly constructed one, no more than eight feet wide by twelve feet long. With low tin roof on timber frame and no ceiling. Head room clearance was low enough to touch the head. Exposed brick walls with two small openings fixed with concrete grills. It was the only source of natural light and ventilation. Rough cement rendered floor throughout. It had two old beds with painfully old coir mattresses. Two cheap writing tables and some chairs. A towel rack and a coat hook – a mere plank of timber with some nails protruding out. No wardrobe or cabinet. The place was providing accommodation to two university students.

The place was dark and hot like an oven. It was messy and dirty. We didn’t have much time to explore much. Our names, schools were checked. We didn’t try to hide that fact that we both were from Colombo schools. They would’ve known anyway. They started to hail abuse at a rate. They were screaming and shouting and banging timber planks from one of the old beds on the tables to make noise within minutes we were ready to do whatever they demanded. We were ordered to strip naked. We just did everything that they asked us to do. I don’t remember for how long it went on. At least two to three hours. Crawled face down on the floor until the dirt and sand scratched our skins and bled. We ‘cycled’ on a rough timber plank simply supported between the two writing tables. We rode uphill and downhill. Our balls cried in pain. We had to do push-ups on our thumbs and knuckles. Carry the weight of the other and crawl until our knees gave away. We were threatened with closing a drawer with our testicles inside it unless we cooperated. It got darker and darker. Warmer and warmer until we both had no energy left to carry on. When all this was over our clothes and a dirty towel was given and water tap outside the ‘palace’ was shown. We got ready for the ‘welcome’. They served some biscuits and made black tea for us. They introduced themselves and said that we no longer should consider them as seniors and we were all now ‘good friends’ and everything was fine. We sat down and made small talk and asked about their course and where they were from. I don’t remember any of those details anymore. But I still keep asking myself ‘How can two students live in a tin shed like that and study...?’

After the ‘Bog Palace’, I was taken to ‘cock palace’ and few other ‘palaces’ the names of which that I don’t remember anymore. The routine was somewhat similar. ‘Cock palace’ was smaller and was only a tiny room inside a house. It was made into one by a timber partition. The rag was more on the mental faculties. We had to strip and go through the cheap porn mags they served. It is too disgusting to talk about the details of this any further.

While the chummery ragging happened outside the university and mainly after lecture hours, the faculty ragging thrived inside the uni. Sometimes we got caught in groups to Eng-seniors who would take us to the university play grounds and give us physical exercises for hours in the guise of playing cricket with us. Sometimes we did play cricket with them. Those mixed play-rag sessions started to happen towards the latter part of the ‘rag season’. The tension was much less and most painful physical activities were mixed with some ‘silly’ tasks called ‘gon-part’.

At the end of ‘ragging season’ all this ended with a massive gon-part session combined with the ‘induction ceremony’ – drinking the magic potion, reading the ‘architect’s oath’ and with swearing our allegiance to the seniors and their cause (whatever that was)!

Eighteen years after having been at the receiving end of the university ragging over a duration of three months I am still unable to state whether I am totally against the rag or totally for the rag. I leave the reader to make their own judgements. If you doubt the authenticity of any of these incidents I will be too happy give you independent references to validate my claims. There is no intention to hold anyone responsible for these acts or to muster revenge. Both perpetrators and victims of these incidents now hold responsible positions in the society. We all have a habit of reminiscing about the lighter moments from that time when we meet even today. The hard experiences of the past have become sources of entertainment for the future!