power corrupts.

All persons,events and places in this article are purely fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental
“Arey woh tha na ek , jo fruit shop se juice lekar aata tha or common room me, jhapar maar ke chala jaata tha”(Hey do you remember that guy who used to buy juice from the fruit shop, then enter the common room, slap some guys around and leave). “Yeah I remember, what about him?” “Nothing it was just that these kinds of seniors are a bastard”. “I agree, by hitting someone they just want to assert their power.”
I heard these sentences at the beginning of this year when we were recounting our experiences in the orientation programme. And, it was really a painful subject for me because yours truly was one of the guys at the receiving end of the ‘juice’ guy’s wrath. The incident was still etched on my mind. The anguish was still new, the pain was still fresh. And I still cursed my fear, which forced me not to complain about his overtures. I rued the fact that I was a coward. And I rued the fact that I tried to hide my anguish behind my generosity. “arey yaar main isliye complain nahi kar raha hoon kyunki woh fifth year hai, pass out hone wala hai, saale ka year back lag jaayega.(I am not complaining cause he is a fifth year on the verge of passing out, the bastard will get a year back). I don’t want to ruin his future.”
Time heals most wounds they say, but it was still fresh when our turn to be the organisers of orientation programme arrived. Why the hell don’t you go to watch the events? CG doesn’t matter much, work for your CV, if you just have CG the company will think ki bahut bada maggu hai ( that you are only a swot). You can’t remember such small things and you call yourselves IITians . Did you shave today? Are we fools to tell you to shave every day? These were the oft repeated sentences. And the most ironic was “we say all this because it’s to improve your personality. You don’t know how much we put ourselves to risk just for your improvement.”
Me? I was fully enjoying myself, was setting different gags on the second years, was abrasive even abusive at times. How dare he get my year wrong? How dare he call me juice? How dare someone mix up one of my hundred batch mate’s hometown with another?
Then one day when the proceedings were in full flow, I witnessed something. I saw someone manhandling a junior. While slapping the senior was shouting “Abe teri galti hai(hey it’s your fault). Koi kuch bhi kahega toh karega( you will do anything anyone says). Don’t you have a mind of yours.” And then I saw something else. I saw a look of pure revulsion on the face of the junior. He was utterly disgusted with his tormentor. He was angry, not at his seniors but at himself. His face said many things. It cried with the feeling of being helpless, of being afraid. I saw all this and I saw myself reflected in his face.
I remembered my humiliation. I remembered my pain. I remembered the silent abuses I hurled at the sight of the bastard. I remembered my friend saying “do you know they conducted an experiment. They gave money to a group of people and made some of them prisoners and other wardens. The wardens had to do nothing; they just had to sit around. The prisoners could leave any time but they would have to forego the money. Do you know what happened? The wardens established rule of stick. They were mercilessly beating the ‘prisoners’ just because they were give power over them? So power corrupts”. I remembered me saying “all this is bull shit. Nobody is this sadistic”. And then I remembered all those abuses, all those transgressions made by me on someone’s dignity. I myself became the same thing which I hated for the last year.
Power corrupts. Your slapping me wasn’t your fault. I forgive you mister Sharma. I don’t curse you anymore.
Adios….