Most undergraduates decorated their walls with pictures of models ripped from foreign fashion magazines. In contrast, the walls of Feroz’s room were bare. In fact, the entire room was bare except for the basic furniture provided by the college. He had pushed his writing desk and chair into an alcove in a far corner of the room. He found nice views a distraction when working. He said he didn’t buy many books; most of the titles in the built-in bookshelf were from libraries: the British Council, the Max Mueller Bhavan and the Arts Faculty. From his books it was evident that Feroz read little else apart from his subject. There was hardly any poetry or fiction, except for a Ghalib translation and a volume of Manto’s stories.

His place probably looked larger than it actually was for another reason: Feroz had moved the string cot—given to every student by the college—out into the corridor. In its place he had kept a thick mattress under the only window in the room. By day it served as a sitting area for guests; at night he removed the bolsters and cushions and slept on it.

Feroz asked me to sit wherever I felt like: on the mattress or in the lone armchair the room possessed. I opted for the chair since I was wearing shoes and didn’t plan on staying too long. We didn’t speak much that first night. Feroz had a tutorial essay to complete. He asked me to stay for as long as I felt like. He said he was going to be up till very late. After several nights of ragging, I was grateful for the breathing space, this quiet little clearing which I had stumbled upon in the hostel jungle.

After that day, I went to Feroz’s room often. We’d walk back together after dinner so that I didn’t get caught by the seniors. He obviously liked working at night. I’d sit in the armchair listening to Blind Melon on my Walkman and reading a book. I made sure I went back when the most hardened raggers had gone to sleep. Feroz showed me a shortcut to the Ridge through the main university buildings. In the afternoons, I would slip away and walk around the wooded forest. At times I felt terribly homesick but always resisted the temptation to catch a train and go home.

There was resentment all around that Feroz took me to his room every day. On our walks back after dinner, I’d often catch a glimpse of a smirking senior, or a batchmate looking at me with superior, mocking eyes. But even a jungle spawns its own laws. One senior could not question the actions of another. Besides, I had been ragged by almost everybody. These were really the last twenty days or so before the initiation period officially ended.