Beer on the roof

It is 10.00 and already the air is beginning to weigh down heavily like a damp curtain. I had woken up at 9.00 am, really early by my standards, and as I was lolling on the bed, I was thinking to myself how wonderfully fresh and cool the morning air was, I was beginning to feel pretty philosophical and reflective. I thought of going up to my computer and write some philosophical and reflective stuff. I thought I’d begin with “It is 9.00 am, a really early morning by my standards, and the morning is fresh and cool. I’m in a reflective and philosophical mood right now, and …..” I hadn’t framed the rest of the passage in my mind, so it’s interesting to wonder how it would have come out if I’d written it just then, under the first flush of inspiration. However let it pass, for, just like the morning air, my idea has become soggy and jaded. No, not the idea perhaps, but the first flush of inspiration. And my eyes, badly jaded too, need a splash of cold water to drive out the early morning ennui, even though I know I am going to do no such thing, partly because not doing so makes me further reflective and philosophical, and partly because I’m feeling lazy. There was dosa for breakfast and I did not want to miss it, so I missed writing and dreaming in the cool early morning air with not a soul around and not a care corrupting my thoughts, something like a free spirit, saying something straight from the heart, just as it was…..well, anyway, I’m doing the best I can. (reflection and philosophy be blowed, I just splashed my eyes with cold water). I suppose I would have written about last night, when Bittu came back from China Town with his stomach stuffed with chicken, and two beer bottles in his bag, one for me and one for him, and we went on the roof top at around 11.00 pm to enjoy the cool night air with the beer. Prior to this I’d been reading David Copperfield, and was not feeling very loquacious, having come here just because I’d promised in a thoughtless moment that I would. (He’s getting hung up on beer these days, I’m observing….already fat, I suppose he’s going to grow further in the lateral dimensions) I’m sure I would have written about the weighty things we talked about, if I’d started then, what with the cool morning air having put me into a reflective mood and all that (though it is beginning to weigh down like a damp curtain and so on), and now having made such a full confession of everything that happened since the morning, let me begin from last night.

“I’m not gonna fall. I’m well protected by these metal railings. These metal railings will keep me from falling.” Foolish words to say, I’m sure, but I uttered them all the same, as I bent over the railings and tried touching my toes from the other side, while looking down from the second floor at the concrete top of the cycle shed, a score or so of feet below. Suddenly I turned straight up and did an imitation of –I don’t know who- perhaps Slash or Ritchie Blackmore, with an imaginary guitar in my hand and what I thought to be a vicious guitar wail emanating from my lips. It must have been a pretty bad imitation, for Bittu, who was standing to my left, said:

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to play the shehnai on your guitar?”

He is about to leave IIT in a few days, having finished his degree, and will be working somewhere. In front of us, the campus looked beautiful, and would have been a treat to my eyes, had I not been used to it. It was all aglow with the amber light of sodium lamps and the well maintained lawns and the manicured hedges, and the huge ground (which serves, in turn, as a football or cricket ground, or a general purpose lazing around ground) stretching right in front of us, and beyond which, outside the hall, was a bigger field that served as a football or hockey field. At its right was a path that led to our hostel, flanked on the other side by a huge wasteland, and far away in the right there stood a tall chimney that sent out wreaths of black smoke like the funnel of an old steamer in the daytime. It was a very spacious and airy prospect. On our left was Hall-7, another sleek Hall with nice gardens and lawns, and even a fountain, whose waters were lit up by red and blue lights from underneath. The lights cast an ethereal glow on the prospect. I mean, I suppose they must have looked ethereal to someone coming for the first time, or perhaps to someone looking at it for the last time.

“IIT looks so beautiful, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“I’m going to miss all this when I go back,” said Bittu wistfully, as he took a puff from his cigarette, and gazed at the football field in front.

I tried to make him see it in an objective light.

“Yes, you will miss all that. You will leave it all behind, everything that you ever liked and hated in these two years.”

“Tell you what!” he continued. “Shall we sit with some music tonight? Probably it will be for the last time.”

I demurred. The fact was that I had already booked the night for David Copperfield, which I’d started reading a few days back, and could not change my mind at such short notice. I told him as much.

“Hmmm,” he muttered, taking another puff from his cigarette. “Well then, how about a beer at night?”

“Sure,” I assented. I did have misgivings, but I did not want to disappoint him further. “In the meantime, how about having our dinner? Coming along to the mess?”

“The mess?” he asked, as he screwed up his face in disgust. “The mess? No way I’m going there. I’m going to China Town. Care to come along?”

China Town is a restaurant just outside the campus. Chicken is its speciality.

“No I think I’ll have my dinner in the mess. I’ve already spent crores of rupees the last few days.” And I knew how it would end if I did go there. We’d have dinner in China Town, we’d have beer in the beer shop, then we’d have ice cream in the shopping center, then we’d come and sit in the canteen in the hostel, where we’d be joined by other folks, and where we’d sit chatting till the wee hours. No, no, I wanted to get back to David Copperfield.

“Ok, as you wish. I’ll have my dinner in China Town and will get the beer on my way back.”

“Alright. And remember to get a packet of cigarettes as well.”

We parted on this note, I going to the mess, and he to China Town.

I had my dinner in the mess, as a matter of routine, talked and joked indifferently with a group of friends over the table, and returned to my room. I read for a couple of hours with the deepest scrutiny, when at eleven o’ clock there was a knock on my door and I opened found Bittu brimming with the peace that comes from stuffing a couple of fowl into your stomach, and diving into his bag brought forth the two beer bottles with a melodramatic flourish and a toothsome grin.

“Here we are! Let’s go to the rooftop.” He grinned triumphantly.

I remarked something to the effect of his being back very soon, for I felt peeved at being interrupted when I was nicely getting along with the story.

However, the thought of having beer under the stars, in the cool night breeze, and cigarettes was sufficient recompense. I put down my book and we went up to the roof, which is just a storey above our rooms.

A chill blast of wind greeted us, and I shivered. It had rained and stormed earlier in the day, and the weather was anything but the typical summer weather. We made some remarks concerning the weather. Choosing a place slightly sheltered from the wind, we sat down comfortably and opened the bottles with the nail-cutter which I’d brought up for the purpose. Lighting a cigarette, Bittu raised his bottle and waving it in the air, said:

“Here’s to my leaving IIT!”

“With a degree,” I added, and we clicked our bottles.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

The chill gusts of wind blew and we chatted and chatted. We chatted about how much we dislike people who boast or pretend to be old experienced shots at boozing. We chatted about how good a beer Foster’s was. We chatted about the relative merits and demerits of the different brands of beer. We chatted about music. We chatted about IIT. There was really a whole lot of it, and we’d stop at intervals when we would sip thoughtfully, and then begin again, and passing the cigarette from one to the other. Finally the beer ran out and we stood up and walked about on the roof. Bittu was saying something about how he would miss life in IIT when he’d go away.

“Oh no. Don’t worry. Two years is the perfect amount of time to spend here. Neither too long nor too short. At the end of it you might miss it after you leave, but anything longer will reverse the trend. I should know, I’ve been here since four years. And in the back of the mind, I’m sure you know that I am right.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know! Anything longer will make you want to miss it! ‘Oh! When will the day come when I shall miss IIT!’ Man! How I hate this damned institute! D’you know how they are making me run around to complete my No Dues forms? I’ve been slogging my ass off for the last two years for my degree but even now they take a sadistic delight in torturing me.”

I chuckled inwardly. He had been putting it off for such a long time that I felt he had brought this situation upon himself. I said nothing, however; I myself not being much better off than he in this respect.

He bitched about the institue for a while, then we went downstairs to take a leak and get another pack of cigarettes lying in my room, and came back to the roof.

The roof stretched on both sides of the stairs. We turned right and in the far corner there was a water tank made of concrete almost touching the low parapet of the roof and rising slightly above it. I have a thing for heights; I mean in a literal sense. I made my way to the tank and using a projection jutting out from below as a foothold, perched myself upon it, with my feet resting on the parapet. The roof was three storeys above the ground and I felt open and free, what with the breeze blowing unobstructedly and the sky stretching out above with the stars and an occasional wisp of cloud.

There was no real danger of my falling off. However Bittu took alarm and spoke out:

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

I might mention at this point that I’m notorious for my fascination with heights. Somehow people have put it into their heads that I really want to jump off a tall bulding; whether they are right or wrong in thinking so, I haven’t been able to decide. Once when I was drunk I had remarked to a friend that great heights attract me. On another occasion there was even a terrible brawl with another friend on this issue. But I might be labeled mentally deranged if I go into the details; so that is for another time, perhaps. In fact, even now, I think I’ve given away more than I should have. Anyway, I shouted out to him:

“Relax! It’s amazing. Come on over!”

Seeing that things were perfectly okay, he came over and cautiously climed on to the tank.


We sat there looking at the lights and the lawns in silence. I was thinking of nothing in particular, just staring blankly at the trees and the lawns, and the sky and the people moving around silently in the canteen. We were both smoking cigarettes.

Presently Bittu said:

“I really hate the whole system. The last two years, I wonder what I’ve learnt. It was just clearing exam after exam, assignments, no time to think out things for myself. It was such a mechanical existence."

“Yeah I know. Actually I don’t remember a time when it was not like that. Ever since the first days in school it’s been the same story. It’s just running after useless things and neglecting yourself. There is no time to discover yourself, what you really stand for, and all that.”

I took a puff from my cigarette and continued:

“In our system everything happens so fast. One event just follows another on its heels, and before you know how it all happened, you find yourself in some strange place and situation and you have no idea how you ended up there. It’s like you suddenly wake up and find yourself in a strange land. Actually I’m pretty sure that if I’d taken up the two year M.Sc program instead of the integrated PhD I’d have shifted over to the arts at the end of it. I needed this time to discover myself.”

There was a sigh.

“I wonder if it’s a dead end.” I said.

We sat and stared at the football field in front, smoking our cigarettes in silence for a while, each immersed in his own thoughts.

Bittu finished his cigarette and threw the butt away.

“Damn! This is scary!” he said with a gasp.

“What happened?”

“I just threw down the cigarette butt and leaned over to see where it would land, and nearly lost my balance.”

I chuckled.

“Don’t worry! You won’t fall. It’s just a defence mechanism intended for your safety.”

“What is?”

“The fear.”

“Don’t you feel scared?”

I leant over and looked down.

“No,” I said. “Heights don’t scare me at all.”

“I wonder,” I continued, looking down, “If someone were to jump down from here, if he would die?”

“Of course. It’s all concrete down below. But why would anyone want to jump off in the first place?”

“Well, there could be any number of reasons. Take that case in Hall- , for instance. Ok, he didn’t jump, but still, you know why he died.”

“Suicide is never the solution.” He said resolutely, and continued:

“After all we have just one life. How can one end it? I mean, there is nothing after that. All that has to be done, has to be done in this life.” (At this stage I was tempted to ask if that included dying also, but better sense prevailed) “Life is the most important gift that God, or whatever it is that is in control of these things, has given to us. It is such a shame to throw it away. I think people who end their lives behave in a very foolish way. I simply do not understand them.

And whatever they may say in religion,” he went on, “is just conjecture. I’d rather not bet on the theories of rebirth and all that. And even if it were true, where’s the guarantee that you’d be again born as Bhaskar? What’s the use of that?”

“Yes, I know what you’re saying. You’re saying that each person is unique.”

“Exactly! Each person is unique. Each person represents a separate world, a distinct universe in himself. You would lose all that if you were reborn, assuming it to be true for an instant, which I do not. I in fact believe that there is nothing after death.

And about that Hall- case, no matter what his problems were, he should not have ended his life. I was shocked when I heard of it. I cannot even sympathize with him. He did something very wrong.”

“Well, it was his life. I don’t know why you should pass your verdict upon it. It’s really none of your business.”

“No, it’s just that I cannot understand how one can throw away one’s life; it’s such a waste!”

“That’s because you’re looking at it from your own point of view. Each one of us has his own life, his own set of problems, his own way of dealing with them, his own way of interpreting this world. Why should you expect everyone to be like you?”

“Still, it’s so wrong…”

“There is no right or wrong to it. It’s just an individual way of looking at things, and it need not match with yours. After all, he wasn’t looking at the world with your eyes, was he? Like we just said, each person is unique.

In a sense I do agree with you. But I cannot bring myself to judge him. I don’t have the right. I don’t know why he committed suicide,” I continued. “I may not approve of it, but hey, I’ve never been in his position either.

I sometimes believe that I too have a suicidal streak in me. Mostly it lies dormant. But whenever it’s become very strong, I’ve managed to pull back myself at the last instant. Perhaps there’s some sort of defence mechanism at work here as well.”

I saw a known face below. I waved to him and exchanged a few words. Then I resumed:

“I do not believe in suicide either.”

“Good. That is the right thing.”

“But then again, those are just empty words. I don’t know how I may feel tomorrow.”

“Why are you calling them empty words? You know that it’s wrong to…”

“You’re again talking about right and wrong when you know that I do not believe in them. What’s right today may be wrong tomorrow.”

“How can you say that? What is right will always be right. Is there any doubt that it’s wrong to commit suicide?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had my belief put to the test, and unless that happens it has no value. All I know is that right now, sitting on the rooftop of C-Block, Hall-8, IITK, I firmly believe that suicide is not a way out. But that is how I feel right now, and I cannot vouch for tommorow. I cannot commit myself to it. I do not know how I may feel tomorrow, or where I will be tomorrow, and what I may do tomorrow, and I might just have to eat up my words.

I’m sure there are moments in all our lives when we panic, when we feel the ground slip beneath our feet, leaving us with nothing to stand upon, when we seem a stranger unto ourselves, when we don’t know what we shall do, and the very uncertainty chills our bones.

Sometimes in one of these moments I like to climb a tall building and stare down in contemplation at the ground below.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Oh! I do not contemplate suicide, if that’s what you mean!” I laughed.

I wonder if I was perfectly honest when I said that.

A lull punctuated the conversation at this stage, and we smoked in silence. To our left far away was a tall turret of some sort, probably a water tower or something. Bittu’s gaze was fixed in that direction, and presently he said,

“Today in these modern times there are so many tall buildings and skyscrapers. What do you suppose is the reason for that?”

“Easy question. To save space.”

“Skyscrapers do save space, but they also facilitate suicide.”

“Hey come now! Surely these buildings haven’t been built with that end in view!” I couldn’t help laughing as I said this.

“Perhaps not. But look at what modern technology has done to us. It takes us so far away from the ground, and we feel so lost, that sometimes we are tempted to jump down.”

“Okay, I get your point. Technology is moulding human beings from what they are naturally. It takes you away from the ground and injects suicidal tendencies.”

“Yes. There’s a conflict between technology and humanity. It’s a kind of escapism. Technology offers so much scope for entertainment to drive your blues away. But it’s just an escapism. And escaping from what? From technology itself.”

“Hmmm,” I assented.

I stared on in front of me at the sodium lamps lighting up the hostel and the tubelights in the far off distance. I remembered having thought earlier how pretty they looked. I turned towards Bittu and asked:

“So what do you think of those lights?”

He stared at them for a moment or two, exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. Then he said:

“Those lights…Well, we’ve been talking about heights and I can’t help thinking in terms of them.”

He took another puff and continued:

“To me it seems that they represent something false. To me right now they’re looking like a bunch of scattered diamonds on the ground. But they are blotting out the stars above in the sky. Just take a look above. Aren’t they so much more beautiful? But you cannot see them because of the glare coming from these lights here on the ground.”

He extinguished the butt of his cigarette on the tank and lit another one.

“The stars, they are at such a height and we want to reach those heights so that we can see them as they are, and technology, which does not let us see them (in the form of these sodium lamps) offers us the means to attain those heights. I wonder if that is the reason we are trying so hard to get away from the ground.”

“I see.”

“There’s just one thing to remember while you are climbing up. Don’t ever look down, or you might be tempted to jump.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Maybe you find that you are not able to reach them for they are so high, and then you try to ignore them, but you can’t, and the only option left to you is to jump down.”

“You mean to say that it’s impossible to live and ignore that beauty?”

“Yes, it is impossible to ignore it if you want to live.”

We lay on our backs and stared at the stars. There was hardly any sound, except for a few people talking on the lawns below. Only a few stars were visible, and the air was cool and still now.

“I’m going to miss all this when I leave.” Said Bittu.

“Oh get off it! You know you’re better off anywhere else than this damned place!”

“No I really mean it. No matter how I hated it when I was here, I really feel a pang inside me at the thought of leaving. After all, I’ve been here for two years, and it’s enough to form an association. Even you will feel the same way the day you’ll be leaving; and you’ll be here for a much longer time than I was.”

“Oh thanks. I’m eagerly waiting for that day. I’d forgotten about the possibility of my leaving. Perhaps that day I’ll be here all alone on the roof drinking beer, and I’ll look back to this night and I’ll think of what you said, and will realise how right you were,” I said, my voice loaded with sarcasm.

We hardly said anything after this. Bittu was humming a song and I tried to harmonise with him, with disastrous results. We lazed around like this for a while, and I remembered how, earlier in the day, when we were in my room playing “Sound of Silence” and Bittu was fiddling with the dumbell lying on the ground, trying to lift it and sing at the same time, we had both laughed out loud at the grossness of the scene.

Yeah, I guess we’ll be missing some things at least….

“What’s the time?” asked Bittu.

“Half past two.”

“It’s late, let’s go.”

And we went.