Chapter 13 – Pranksters

I have always been a troublemaker of sorts. Way back in school, as a kid in third grade, I had figured out I was the teachers pet. I realized then, at the tender age of eight, that being the teacher’s pet had a number of advantages, not the least of which was the ability to stay out of trouble by deflecting the blame to someone else.

One of the first instances I remember of putting this new found power to good use was against the school bully. I had hurt myself on the way to school – having fallen off my bike. When the teacher asked me what had happened, I said the bully had pushed me. Of course the bully tried to protest – citing that he was nowhere in the vicinity that morning. But it was his word against mine – or rather – his credibility against mine.

I later found out that one could increase one’s credibility many fold by being brave and refusing to divulge the name of the perpetrator of a misdemeanour to the teachers even when they asked. They seemed to be impressed no end by this magnanimity. Then of course this increased credibility could be put to even better use. In eighth standard, I remember we were in the Physics lab, running some experiments on Voltage and Current and Resistance. We were required to take a dozen readings and plot them on graph paper. I forget now what each axis represented, but I do remember it was tedious work. I also remember, how a classmate, after a good half-hour of work, had marked his readings on his graph paper meticulously, with dots and small, precise circles around the dots. At this point he left the lab to visit the washroom. I noticed that he had not connected the dots to complete his graph before he left. I decided to help him out. I picked up a sharpened pencil, and walked over to his work bench. I solemnly added about a dozen more points all over his graph paper, with neat precise circles around the new points. Then I went back to my own work bench and made myself busy. I noticed out of the corner of my eye his reaction as he returned to see that half an hour of work had been wasted. He placed his palm on the graph paper and crumpled it viciously looking about to choose his accused. “Who did this?” He asked. “I did.” I said as I meekly raised my hand. “Shut up Shivram. I am truly angry here. Tell me who did this.” “I did,” I said again, amidst laughter in the lab, but he wouldn’t believe me. Credibility is a strange thing.

At WIMWI, I figured, that life could be a little more fun. I needed to figure out ways of pulling some pranks on people and getting someone else to be blamed. Soon, Phoney and I were running a major racket with long lengths of wire and electrical devices. The ‘fire alarm’ was one such experiment. It involved installing a large electric bell in some dorms and running the wire to the ground floor of another dorm. At about five in the morning, just after most people had finally gone to sleep, we visited such other dorm and flicked the switch. Needless to say, there was activity in two dorms in quick succession. The first when the fire alarm ripped through and woke up a bunch of bleary eyed people who started running helter-skelter to locate a hidden bell. Then the commotion in the other dorm when the victims traced the power line slowly down the outer wall of the dorm across the courtyard into power point in the basement of the second dorm. In most cases, there was an exciting fight right there. In other cases, the victim dorm kept the bell and pulled the prank on the other dorm at a later date.

The primary problem was that we almost always lost the equipment. Fortunately, the bells did not cost much and we set up the United Bell Labs fund to buy a new bell every few weeks. We even wondered if we could collect money from the victim dorms for the fund, saying we were setting up fire alarms in all dorms. We decided against this foolish bravado.

Some time in the middle of the second term, Phoney and I were working in the computer center on a Marketing case. Our Marketing group had figured out that it was an absolute waste of time to meet for the group work. We had been falling into the same trap that most other groups were in. Marketing group meetings mirrored meetings in the corporate world a little too closely. Nothing ever was achieved. People got to socialize under the pretense of working. When managers do not wish to work, they call meetings.

We had figured a solution. We would take turns in working on the group projects. We would work in pairs, rather than in groups of six. We got a lot more work done this way. The night before the presentation in class, the pair that had worked on the project would give the other four group members a REM – or remedial session – on the work done. The other four then cross-questioned the premises and the numerical analysis. We would refine the presentation one final time and take it to class.

We were doing some research on the Internet when I happened to find a link to a website where various people had posted details of the practical jokes they had pulled in college. We wrote down the URL and decided to come back to it later.

A couple of days later, we were in the computer lab again, checking out the website and planning our activities for the coming week. Some of the pranks were amazingly simple. Some involved a lot of effort, but we intended to enlist some help.

One of the first ones we pulled was what we liked to call ‘flourmill’. It usually resulted in the victim’s room resembling a flourmill when he got back from dinner. As practical jokes go, this was surprisingly easy to pull. This of course led to multiple iterations of the prank, each a new and improved version over the previous.

All it took was a couple of large newspaper sheets, a table fan, a length of extension cord and a kilogram of flour.

The idea is to lay newspaper on the floor outside the victim’s door. Pour the flour on the newspaper and slide the newspaper under the door. Make a cone out of the other newspaper and point it at the slit below the door. Plug the fan into a power source – using extension cord if necessary. Direct the blow from the fan into the open end of the newspaper cone at full blast. Repeat process until supply of flour is exhausted.

The flour settles finely on all surfaces and all nooks and crannies on the other side of a locked door. If performed with thin layers of flour and some patience, the results are especially spectacular.

The target usually demonstrates rapid mood swings, especially if subjected to the same treatment multiple times over the duration of a week. The primary wonder at how this happened changes rapidly to anger upon realizing the futility of trying to clean a fluffy white substance off multiple surfaces, when that substance just settles on another surface soon after.

For our favourite victims, we replace flour with powdered sugar. The powdered sugar has a rather annoying tendency to get sticky when mopped with a wet cloth.

Another variant was to sprinkle the flour on the blades of the ceiling fan in the victim’s room. This version has pros and cons. Pros include being able to see the victim in the guise of the flour-mill operator with flour on his face, body, eyelashes, nostrils and ears – not to mention getting to watch some sneezing fits. Cons include having to gain access into victim’s room by breaking and entering. Major cons include the tendency of some victims to fall sick enough to require a visit to a hospital if they are allergic to inhaled powdery substances. This can get particularly scary.

Things got so bad in a particular dorm where we had tried this more than once, that they started checking all packages anyone carried into the dorm. When we heard of this, we scheduled our group meetings in that dorm, carrying our study material in newspaper bags and resisting the search just to aggravate them.

Another one of our favourites was ‘Toilet fire drill. This one was especially nasty. The moment we found this on the website, we knew we had to pull this one fast. Further, it was feasible in our toilets because the johns were inside these cubicles with the walls rising only to a height of seven feet.

We started with some newspaper and a cup of vegetable oil.
After the victim was comfortably seated on the john, we rubbed the vegetable oil on the newspaper and set it alight and placed the burning newspaper near the cubicle.
The vegetable oil causes it to smoke heavily. The rest was choreographed - Yell "FIRE!" and get a few friends to make a lot of noise about putting out the fire – taking special care to douse the poor guy inside the cubicle while he is trying to up his trousers and get the hell out of there. Disappear rapidly before he can figure out what’s going on.

Another one we pulled on unsuspecting victims in one dorm was to apply a thin layer of Vaseline to the toilet seats in all cubicles. When a poor soul takes a seat, he is faced with a slick sticky substance applying itself to the underside of his thighs. It is important to time a visit to the said dorm under the pretense of delivering some casemats in the pre-breakfast minutes to witness the episode. The subject can usually been seen exiting the cubicle muttering to himself about the disgusting habits of dorm members and beginning to wash his hands vigorously. It is even more fun to ask what happened and the guy finds himself unable to tell you, his imagination running wild.

One of the best pranks we have pulled involved about four hundred paper cups, staplers and a fair bit of work. Phoney, Maarlee and I were involved in this one. We chose the victim and the date. A few minutes before the slated time, I walked over to the victim’s room and asked if he wanted to go out to town for dinner. This particular victim had never been able to refuse a free dinner. As we left his room, Phoney met me on the Louis Kahn Plaza and asked for a particular notebook, which I had managed to forget rather conveniently in the victim’s room a few minutes ago. I asked the victim for his room key and tossed it to Phoney.

Phoney and Maarlee descended on the victim’s room within minutes with the paper cups and laid them all over the floor in a neat grid. Then they stapled the tops of the paper cups together – each cup with the four adjoining ones. They even enlisted the help of the victim’s dorm-mates to finish the job. Then they filled each cup with water and disappeared.

I returned an hour later with the victim to his room. He first stared at the paper cups all over his room and then looked at me. I was the prime suspect for any practical joke by now, but I had the perfect alibi – I had been with the victim the whole time.

He peered into the paper cups, “Damn, there’s water in here.” He picked up the nearest cup, but he had not seen that they had been stapled together. As soon as he picked it up, it brought a wave of linked cups up with it – spilling water. Only now he realized the troubled he was in. It would take him hours to disentangle the cups and carry them outside. “Main lut gaya! Main barbad ho gaya.” He started saying as he sorted out his next course of action.

All this while, his dorm-mates had been watching the fun – erupting into roars of laughter when they saw the expression on his face as he realized that the cups had been stapled together. The next day, in class, even Profs sought out the name-tag of the victim and smiled, nodding knowingly.

There were times when it became clear to the victims that the perpetrators had been Phoney and me. What amazes me most is that we did not get beaten up.

Another one we pulled on a victim in one dorm was to empty the guy’s room entirely when he had gone home for a few days. He had left a spare key to his room with his dorm-mate and we managed to convince this dorm-mate into conspiring with us.

All the stuff was moved out into other rooms – the bed into the adjacent room, the desk into another and the cupboard and suitcases to yet others. His large stereo and his casemats were also moved. Everything except his dumbbells and his barbells, which were placed carefully - plum center of his room. When the guy returned a few days later, he unlocked his door and walked into a bare room. Where’s my stereo?” was the first thing he said, “I have been robbed.” His dorm-mates slapped him on the back and then showed him to their own rooms – where all his furniture was stacked. They told him he was the target of a prank.

He looked at them – incredulous. “You idiots. He hasn’t played a prank on me – he has played a prank on you,” he said. “Who lugged my furniture out? I bet you guys did, with him just standing there – ordering you around. Who has been climbing over bulky pieces of extra furniture in their own rooms for the last few days? You. Who is going to lug all of this back? You again. You are the sorriest bunch of losers I have seen. You have been grinning about you having pulled a prank on me – when it’s actually been pulled on you.” He shook his head. “Usne to saare dorm ki le li.”

We had leaked news of this incident to the entire campus. That evening, when the members of the dorm entered the mess, there were huge tempo shouts. “WIMWI ka tempo – high hain. D(x) ki le li – Zig Zag Zig Zag” (dorm number withheld to protect my skin). Then everyone in the mess hall clapped as the group collected their food and made their way to their table.

Once, when we were in our second year, the target was dorm Y. Usually, maintenance work on the toilet blocks was carried out on one floor at a time. At such times, the maintenance staff would put a notice on the toilet block door stating that it would be closed for maintenance for a couple of days. We carried this a little further. We printed two similar notices and smudged with some official looking rubber stamp – that was not quite legible and scribbled some random signatures. At about five in the morning, we went to the dorm with a couple of locks and plastered these notices on the toilet blocks on both floors. We took the extra precaution of placing locks on both doors. When the juniors woke up a few hours later, they found they had no access to the toilet blocks. They ran to use the facilities next door – in adjacent dorms. There was a huge ruckus as the residents of the other dorms complained about the overload in peak hour. When the juniors got back from class, the toilets were still locked. They woke up their seniors, and asked how long the toilets would remain locked. One of the seniors did not even budge out of bed. “Just break the locks – Apte ka hi kaam hoga.”

Another opportunity presented itself rather serendipitously. The light bulb in my room went out one evening. I bought a replacement bulb, but that didn’t work either. I traced the problem to a faulty switch at the switchboard. When I had taken the switchboard apart, I noticed that I could see through the hole in the wall, all the way to the rear of the switchboard in the next room. I smiled. I would tolerate the faulty switch for a few days.

Sometime during the week, I visited my next-door Dorm-mate and made it a point to note which switch was connected to his light. Back in my room late that night, after everyone had finally gone to sleep, I took my switchboard apart again and rewired his room light to a switch on my side. This was in series with his switch. Thus in effect, both switches had to be in the ‘ON’ position for his light to glow. I left the switch on my side ‘ON’ all the time.

A few days later, I walked into his room and asked for his help. “You are an electrical engineer aren’t you? Something’s wrong with my room light. Could you help?“

Now, it does not take an electrical engineer to fix a light bulb, but you’d be hard pressed to find an electrical engineer who would not mind showing off his skills in fixing electrical problems.

I showed him the problem and told him I had already tried replacing the bulb. I handed him the spare bulb and after inspecting it, he came to the conclusion that the switch might be faulty. “Damn!” I said, “Now I will have to file a fault report with the electrician and he will get here sometime next week. Wish I knew how to just replace the switch.”

“It’s easy,” said my Dorm mate, “you just get the switch and I will replace it for you.”
I thanked him and returned with a new switch about twenty minutes later. He installed it and tested it a few times. I thanked him again and bought him a snack and a drink at the night retreat.

Two days later, it happened. He was studying, when his light suddenly went out. Ahem.
He knew I had a spare bulb, so he came to my room to ask for it. “Sure.” I said, handing it to him, smiling internally.

As he was on the chair, replacing his bulb, I flicked on my switch to his light. He switched on his new bulb and got back to work. A few minutes later, his light went out again. I could hear him curse loudly this time and I went over to his room. “God damn it, “ he yelled, “two in a row. You wouldn’t happen to have another spare bulb would you?” I shook my head.

I wondered aloud why they don't make light bulbs like they used to, and reached into his waste paper basket to pull out his old bulb. With mock surprise I said, “This bulb doesn’t look fused.” I showed him the old bulb. “Maybe the new one is faulty.” Maybe you should try this old one again.”

I watched him climb onto his chair and went back to my room. I raised my arms and muttered, “Let there be light! “ as I flicked on the switch. “Hey shapte, thanks – it worked. “ he yelled from his room.

I had a fair bit of fun with that switch for a few days until he got really exasperated. He replaced his switch and his bulb holder and I left him alone for a couple of weeks. When things cooled down, I was back at it again. “God Damn it!” He yelled one night – as his light went out again.

I had a switch to his room and I could connect anything to it I liked. Some days later, when I got tired of keeping him in the dark or chanting, “let there be light,” I opened the switchboard and connected my spare switch to his fan.

Now I could decide when he should have some breeze. A few days later, he brought up the issue in the Dorm when we were making some coffee in the pantry. There were a few of us there – some seniors and some juniors – listening to his stories of how his light and his fan seemed to have a mind of their own. We were rolling with laughter.

“Maybe you should call the electrician,” I offered. “How long have you had this problem?” asked someone. He thought for a while. ”About a month now”. “Hmm,” I said thoughtfully, “ that’s about the time you rewired the new switch in my room. You think something went wrong then?”

This was the masterstroke. I had suggested that he was perhaps to blame for the problem.
Remember Ayn Rand’s phrase from Atlas Shrugged – ‘Sanction of the Victim’.