R.I.P Bong Uncle

Pilani, Pilani, Pilani My tryst or for that matter any BITSian’s tryst with this little county can never be summed up in 300 odd words. There, droop goes the eye lid. How many times have you heard this before? “Here comes another one of those highly hormonal reads about BITS.” Yes; before moving on, start flitting over the lines just in case something remotely interesting pops up and then purse your lips, raise your eye brows and whisper that cherished profanity.
However, with these precise reactions you can easily draw the stereotypes and stratify Pilani. The ones who greet this read with boredom and profanity are the ones who are actually escapists. They don’t like being reminded about Pilani and their tryst with it. They are the ones who have loved-hated Pilani. Then there shall be ones who shall read this and immediately make a statement ripe with good sense and logic. A statement that shall ooze with broad minds and undercurrents of “You need to learn to let go”. These folks are the parasites who have hated Pilani and only hated it. They feed on others to feel big about themselves and make others aware of their magnanimity. And they’ve watched enough sitcoms and drama serials to know what pretence is worth. Finally, there’s the third estate, the ones who’ll read this and irrespective of what they understand, let loose a barrage of swears. They are the ones who loved Pilani and loved it honestly. Yes, you can only love or hate that place, you can never like or dislike it. Oh…now you are reading? Gauging which group you’re in? Don’t. It is not worth that measure.
Enough with the pleonastic psycho babble. Who on God’s once green earth was Bong Uncle? Bong Uncle was a foul mouthed, short tempered fellow who somewhat resembled a bouncer at a kitty bar and talked a bit too much. One must however wonder as to what lead to this rather strange moniker. Bong Uncle was not only infamous for his vitriolic tongue and intemperate disposition but also for just being a Bong. Like a lot of Bongs he had a host of vices-nicotine, alcohol, narcotics the list goes on. And true to his Bong lineage he was indeed an arm chair intellectual. Consistent stings with caustic quips and nicotine breaths about the erosion of times and an obnoxious air of superiority could amalgamate to only one thing-Bong Uncle.
Now, it says “R.I.P Bong Uncle” but the yarn spins on and on about Pilani’s social layering and Bong Uncle’s mordant personality. How do they fit into the cogs of ‘R.I.P’ in Bong Uncle’s death? You see Pilani is a concoction of extremes and extremes only. Take 2000 teenagers skimmed out of the most intelligent in the country and freeze frame 4 years of their developmental lives leading out of the teens into manhood in a desert. In this desert you tell them, “Here in this wilderness you are supposed to do what you want to. Prove your mettle or whatever it is that you deem useful”. To do thus Pilani creates a Pilani self out of its students. These selves are entirely creations of Pilani. Outside the place you’ll hardly see a shadow of it. These selves are meant only for Pilani. So what about the glorious idea of how one grows as a person in Pilani? One does, but not in the traditional sense of it. How and to what extent these Pilani selves affect the true person is the contribution of Pilani.
Bong Uncle was such a self. He was created when I was going through one of the toughest phases of my life. I know it’ll only get tougher and it has as well but I’m not in Pilani surrounded by other selves and no anchorage. The exact day of Bong Uncle’s birth was in my second semester. By then I was on the verge of getting rusticated for bad grades. The number of other hefty personal problems is something I have lost count of. I was heavily into all the addictions you can imagine. Pilani being the small place it is, the tales spread fast. Soon I was the bad apple to be avoided at all costs. And one fine day a fellow I knew landed in my room. He started a little bit of small talk and then started fiddling with my cupboard. After a thorough search he said,” A kettle’s been stolen. Isn’t here by accident right?” Bong Uncle was created that day. The fact that he persisted throughout my stay at BITS is my misfortune. I guess Bong Uncle was a scare-crow who got lost scaring away his own demons. But I’m glad he lived and now I am glad he’s dead. Like sharp crest in a pitch graph his existence on the whole was short but extreme and his death was as peaceful as a balloon gradually becoming a speck. Rest in peace- May you never live again.