Off the Wall

In the land that was older than the hills, there was an old, old city.

And in the old, old city, there once stood an old, old college.

Well, its still there, but that is hardly the point.

And in this old, old college, there were some old, old walls.

Ah, this is getting tiresome!

The point of all this being that once upon a time in Presidency College, the walls of the Union Room and the Canteen weren't as blank as a slate, or as minty fresh as a Chlor-mint. In fact, they were daarty yellow kalar and looked straight out of occupied Basra.

They were also glittering testimonials to the collected aantlami of an entire generation.

Being ridiculously smart and scarily creative as we all were (and still are, I am told), the authorities viewed us with an apprehension only matched by that of Mr. and Mrs. Kent as they watched little Clark destroy Ayers' Rock with an ill-directed sneeze.

In lieu of a troupe of costumed supervillains to keep us busy, we were led to a section of campus and given carte blanche, as it were. On the walls of the canteen and the Union Room, we were told, we could do whatever we damned well pleased, as long as all works of art were duly signed.

And so it came to pass.

There you could find witty exchanges, like the following

Life is a Sexually Transmitted Disease

Death is Hereditary

Impotence is not.

(written by three different people, mind you).

There were plaintive pleas.

Stop the world - I want to get off!

And fashion advice.

The ends justify the jeans.

Some in jokes that made sense to only a few.

Pol. Science or bust

And some that made no sense to anyone at all.

Legalize Counter-Masculinity

Some expressed their political views.

All opposition is suspect.

Some expressed their views on politicians.

Don't vote - you'll only encourage them.

And there were those that expressed their view on the entire debate.

Lenin lives, but McCarteney ROCKS!

Potshots were taken at everyone - from the staff.

The world is full of creatures, big and small.
Some that creep and some that crawl.
And Presidency College employs them all.

To the faculty.

Where did professors come from?
From the West, because the wise men came from the East.

To our friendly rivals across town.

Those who can, do.
Those who can't, join SXC.

It wasn't just the outside walls. The long toilet behind the canteen, lovingly christened "Pakistan" (which is quite spotless these days - the toilet I mean, not the country), had the following scribbled at eye level above a urinal stall.

If you can hit this, join the Fire Brigade.

and at around knee level

Cutoff for SC/ST's.

And there were posters of all hues. Political mainly, but some others as well. A particularly clever one was put up in the immediate aftermath of the left-led protest against the setting up of a Coca-Cola fountain in the canteen. (Yes, young reader, there WAS such a time). The poster had a squashed Coke paper cup pasted on it, with the words.

Coke is Red.
We are not.

But my all-time favourite was the sight that greeted me when I walked into the canteen a few days before Election Day. Strung across the canteen was a huge banner, that had obviously taken a great deal of effort to put up. Written in large black letters across it was the following.

Do YOU suffer from Bad Results? Do you believe something needs to be done about your bad results?
Join us in the Bad Results Association.
VOTE FOR BRA.

I never found out who the mastermind behind this operation was, but I silently appluaded him. Not to be outdone, some other bright spark put up a poster a week later announcing the launching of a new party, the Presidency Association of Non-Terrorist Youth

Some of these attempts at humour did not go down well with the self-appointed guardians of Presidencian Virtue (no, really). A particular graffito that was painted over while I was still in college read.

Ashes to Ashes,
Dust to Dust.
If grass don't get you,
Acid's a must.

And there was my own attempt at wit, which backfired. A friend had put up a poster which read -

War is necessary for peace.

below which I thought it necessary to post -

War for peace is like sex for virginity.

Duly signed of course.

The friend in question found it hilarious. Certain illiberal leftist elder brothers did not. I was confronted in the Metro Station with the poster, and it was menacingly ripped up in front of me, crumpled into a ball and flung onto the tracks. I was also warned to never write such dirty things (involving the words 'sex', 'virginity', or any combination thereof) again. The next week I joined the 'other' party.

But thats a whole different story. Before this becomes "The memoirs of a Presidencian has-been", I shall sign off. But I leave you with the most telling graffito of all.

God is dead - Presidency

Presidency is dead - God

Attack them walls again, young 'uns, or that annoying know-it-all up there might just end up being right.