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Rajeeb Rumi was the type of guy you’d never trust your girlfriend to be alone with. He was the macaroni to every woman’s cheese.
He lived a floor above me freshman year. Rumors, records, and loud thumping noises from above were how I got to know him. There was his freshman record of taking two jello shots off six different naked girls in one night. Or of how within the first month of school he screwed at least one girl on every floor of our dorm. By the end of first semester, rumor had it that he’d slept with at least one girl on every floor of every freshman dorm.
He wasn’t particularly tall or anything, an average five foot eleven. However, it was his features that stunned all the girls. He had this crisp, jagged bone structure all over, I think because his father was Indian. But his mother was Iranian, or as he told all the ladies, Persian. Exotic. Thus his skin was this tazo chai latte tan, only duplicable by the Sicilians and Greek. It was nothing my tall Irish parents could produce.
As he’d walk by you, you got this whiff of freshness every time, even after a game of football. I don’t think I’ve ever smelt cologne like his. He says he gets it from his father when he goes to India, some sort of traditional Muslim perfume that doesn’t have alcohol in it called atur. And his light black hair is never too long and it always stays in place after being played with. That trait is surprising once you note how many times girls run their hands through it. Sometimes even I get the urge to.
And then on days he’d really like to drive the girls crazy, he’d wear his glasses. He told me he doesn’t really have to because his lenses have such low power. Plus, his doctor even said if he wears them too much, his vision could get worse. Despite that, he still wore them just to keep churning out those rumors.
Rumors kept coming until I wished him farewell for the summer. He’d been accepted into some sort of alternative summer program in Mexico. I wished him luck and told him to tally the number of sexy Latin girls he’d have hooked up with by the time he got back, and not to downplay it. He told me to start making the bets.
I didn’t get a chance to speak to him all summer. I don’t think he had any internet connection down in Mexico. Thus, on move-in day this year, I was surprised to find he’d be living next door to me.
For the first couple of weeks of school, things were really quiet. Odd, I thought. One Friday night, he even came into my room at eleven and asked me to turn down my Jay-Z Linkin Park remix so that he could sleep. Last year, Rajeeb never slept on Friday nights. I started thinking I should follow suit and start getting my beauty sleep in. Every time I looked in the mirror, all I saw was this tall, pale Irish boy staring back at me that could afford to bulk up a bit and try taming his brown hair every once in a while. Luckily my girlfriend Katie liked it frayed. She liked most anything about me. However, she wasn’t too thrilled when I continued to insist that I wanted to rush a fraternity this October.
Boston University has this policy where freshman can’t rush frats. We have to wait until our sophomore year after we supposedly get to know all the frats. But that’s bullshit because every guy knows he wants to be in Phi Gamma Theta, the fraternity that threw that crazy club party last year near the Boston Commons.
After these past two weeks of rush, I got a phone call yesterday from the Rush Chair telling me that I got a bid. Then this morning, Rajeeb told me he got one, too. Freaking big man on campus, Rajeeb, and I were going to be pledge brothers! The only reason I think I got it was because everyone knows I’m dating Katie. Last year, she was declared the hottest freshman brunette on campus. Luckily for me, we’ve been dating since sophomore year in high school. People can’t believe she’s still with me. Sometimes even I’m unsure. But then I remember that she fits perfectly against my skeleton frame, her busty silhouette snuggling right underneath my chest, her smooth silky smelling hair underneath my chin and her curvaceous back, a great place for my hands to rest as we hug.
I didn’t get a hug when I told her I got a bid. However, she still came to my bid-night party. Regardless of her mood, I was too happy for the occasion and a little too inebriated to empathize. I actually don’t remember much. I can’t even remember why Katie didn’t walk home with me that night. I really didn’t have much time to think about it because the pledge process started that Monday.
Every Monday we had study hours with our Pledge Professor, someone we had to call PP without the slightest sign of grimace. After study hours and on Friday nights, we lined up in front of someone else we called our Pledge Daddy in a small brownstone donated to us by an alumnus a couple of years back. I always slip on the second step on the porch. And once inside, the lighting is terrible. At least it’s a house we can call our own. University Police can never bust our parties because technically our brownstone isn’t owned by the university.
Our parties take place in the basement. The basement is also home to our pledge process. The lighting down there is much worse when there’re no parties going on. That’s when it looks like a dungeon. We call it the Galactic, where the birth and death of parties occur. Pledge events usually happen after the death of a party. Beer’s all over the floor, random red plastic cups everywhere. And there’s that putrid smell coming from the congealed beer and dirt off the floor from people dancing there the night before. It gets soaked into the bottom hem of your jeans and it is impossible to get that gooey gray crap out. I hate that shit, and thus, always slightly fold my jeans up, especially since sometimes you might kick over a random red cup half full of beer. Those cups disappear into the darkness of the corners where the boiler and pipes creep out. The only thing that truly illuminates that basement is Rajeeb. He’s so lively, knows everything about Greek life and about women. He’s smart. He looks the part. He’s half-Indian. We all know every Indian is eventually going to be a doctor or engineer. He knows the answer to every question our Pledge Daddy spits at us.
“The Greek Alphabet.”
“Name all the fraternities on campus.”
“All the sororities.”
“Where were we founded?”
“When?”
“Who are our founding fathers?”
“Our creed.”
Rajeeb has that shit down like it’s his business. And for our random frat events, he had the strangest connections. I remember this one time, the night of our scavenger hunt, one of the things on our list was to take a picture of a girl’s double D breasts. When something deals with women, we go to…BINGO, Rajeeb.
He was never enthused about us always turning to him about that stuff. I know if it would have been last year, he would have said “hell yes” to us thinking of him as a pimp. But this year all he would do is shrug his shoulders and say, “This is the last time guys. I hate to have to do this.” But for us, he’d do it every time. So for the scavenger hunt, he took us straight to this petit Russian girl’s studio on the other side of the Charles River. For her compact size, she must have had the biggest breasts a 4 foot 10 woman could possibly hold with her tiny ribs. He just took the picture, the Russian kissed him on the cheek, and we left.
I like those kinds of events, compared to line-up in the Galactic.
“What the fuck are you guys? Do you have shit for brains? I know damn well that your PP teaches you the shit you need to know and none of you bitches can retain it?” Our Pledge Daddy Ron went to military academy for a year before coming to Boston University. You couldn’t tell by his short stature. He was one of the sloppiest people I’ve ever met, never groomed, pants always below his ass, just a dirty boy from the south. The only military presence he exuded was his cussing habit. “What the fuck, guys. Dan, give me the fucking alphabet again.”
“Alphabetagammadeltaepsilonzetaetathetaiotakappalambdamunixiomicronpirhosigmatauupsilonphichipsiomega.” Dan, the mumbling letter master. He could do it forwards and backwards, faster than it took a match to run out underneath Pledge Daddy’s palm.
“Now if Dan could get this shit in a breath, why can’t the rest of you fuckheads? Jaspreet.”
Jaspreet was also Indian, but the rare Indian that wasn’t going to be a doctor or engineer.
“Alphabetagammadeltaepsilon…zetaeta…theta – I don’t know.” He didn’t have the brains for it.
“Shit guys. After four weeks of this shit and you still don’t have it down. Let’s move onto something you all should have a better incentive of wanting to know: sororities. I want you all to go down the line, starting from the little guys, and each name a sorority. Go.”
“Alpha Chi’s.”
“The Fuzzies.”
“Delta Thetas.”
“Tri-Kappa.”
“SigSigRho.”
“Zetas”
“A G D”
“ - - - “
“Rajeeb? What the fuck Rajeeb, you don’t know the last one. What happened to you always being on your toes? For that, all of y’all give me a two minute plank.” Our Pledge Daddy Ron was from Memphis. Hence, he used the phrase “y’all” a lot. “Since y’all can’t remember on your toes, maybe a plank with your elbows will help you remember. Get down.” At the command of plank, we get down into push-up position and instead of our body being supported by our toes and palms, it’s only our toes and the balls of our elbows, with our fingers holding our ears. “Rajeeb, you remember now. Why you slipping so badly? Something on your mind, something bothering you?”
“No sir,” he mustered after taking in a whiff of the foul floor.
“Then do you remember now? You must have gotten head from every single one of these girls.”
“Chi O’s.”
“So y’all do need to be on your elbows to remember shit. And Rajeeb, please tell us why you remember now?”
Reluctantly, he reasoned why. “Because apparently they give O so good head.”
“And your very own Pledge Daddy can confirm this.” Rajeeb hated when Ron acted like this. Most of my other pledge brothers looked up to our Pledge Daddy for being able to pull so much ass. I’m sure Rajeeb would have been in the same boat last year. It’s just that he’s been acting so weird this year. As for me, I also hate it every time Ron uses that mnemonic device. “Well, thank you, Rajeeb, for the happy thoughts. Y’all are done for the night. Put on your shirts and get out of my fucking sight.” We all got out of line and as we were putting on our shirts, Ron pulled Rajeeb to the side. I barely heard the exchange. “Rajeeb, what the fuck is happening? Get back on the ball or else you’re the one that’s going to be holding those boys back from initiation.”
On our way back to the dorm, I asked Rajeeb if everything was okay. All he said was that “Yeah, it’s just that I’ve been thinking.” He left it at that. I didn’t push. I never push.
Instead, I went home to look if I could find anything on Facebook. First thing I noticed was the drastic drop of new pictures of him with girls in clubs. It made sense; he didn’t really go out that much. Pledging has kind of taken over our lives. I don’t even have time to take my lanky self out with Katie anymore. The other odd thing I noticed was all these additional quotes he had up about mercy, God, time, and faith from the Qur’an.
Our next pledge event was The Cage.
“Dumb pledges, that’s enough push ups. Finally, after fucking five weeks, you guys can do them in synch. Even fat-ass Jared in the corner can lift his fair weight. And for that, y’all get a treat tonight. On the other side of this basement, I’ve secured a keg for y’all. Y’all are going to be caged in, brothers securing each exit and entrance. I’m tired of babysitting all your asses tonight, so I’m leaving to take a nap. By the time I get back, y’all better have finished that entire thing, not a fucking ounce left. And the point of this event is so that y’all can get to know each other better over some beer. Y’all are going to be fucking brothers so you better know each others’ deepest secrets, who have each of your V-cards and all that shit, aiite.” He was addicted to the concept of virginity. “I’ll be back. The second I leave, y’all get started. Use this time wisely.”
And we started chugging, doing two, three keg stands at a time. All fifteen of us got into a tight little circle around the last clean beer pong table. Everyone took his fair share of beer in and let his fair share of secrets out.
“It’s your turn, Tim,” said my fourteen pledge brothers in unison.
“My most memorable weirdest shit?” and I thought to myself for a while.
“Hurry up, Tim. What the hell?! We don’t have all day. Pledge Daddy’ll come back any minute?” Dan was so paranoid. Maybe that’s why the pudgy little guy could memorize the alphabet in a breath.
I could never tell these people this. They know her.
“Well you all know my girlfriend, right?”
“Oh, that girl you’ve been dating since like junior high?” Jaspreet’s terrible with time and numbers. That’s why he’ll never be able to be an engineer or physicist like his dad wants him to be. I know that because we went to the same junior high and high school. We weren’t as close back then.
“Yeah, when are you finally going to let go of that fine piece of ass.” Vick, the obnoxious drunk asshole. He used to play defensive lineman back in his high school. I got used to ignoring him although we all had to yield to his demands. He was just so huge, 250 pounds of Texas Angus beef.
Except Rajeeb never took his shit. “Shut up, Vick, let him speak.” He’s everyone’s hero. And he’s my pledge brother. They’re all my pledge brothers. If I can’t trust them with this, then who can I share this with?
I took one last gulp of beer and threw the cup down for dramatic effect. It didn’t do much but roll into a dark corner of the grimy Galactic.
“Well, when we first started dating,” shut up Tim, “she hated giving head without a condom.” Can’t believe I told them that. “And this one time, no one was home and you know how in high school you just got to take advantage of those times when no one but your girlfriend is home. So we were fooling around and things were getting kind of heated and she was about to go down on me and she did her little nod thing that she does to signal to get a condom from my drawer. I remember wanting to treat her to a strawberry flavored one that I’d saved for her for some time. So I went over to my drawer but I couldn’t find it. I was kind of freaking out. I actually couldn’t find any. I, like, ran out. So I was, like, Tim, calm down, just go to your parent’s room and borrow one, not really borrow, but use one of my dad’s that he keeps underneath his suit closet.” Stop the story while you can. “I was wilding out.” You have that defined short moment of hesitation. Tim, just use it now and stop. “But then I had this idea that I thought was brilliant at the moment.” Damn it, can’t believe I’m about to tell ‘em this. “I went downstairs to the kitchen, came back with a Ziploc bag, and she said, ‘Sure, why not?’ ”
Vick spit out some of his beer onto my shoe. Patience. Just excuse the meathead.
“Not gonna lie; it felt kind of funky, especially around those weird corners where the bag’s enclosed. But whatever, it got the job done.”
“Oh gosh, Tim, that’s hilarious. No wonder they call it a blow job.” Jaspreet laughed and turned to Rajeeb. “What about you? You got anything you want to share with us? Any sick sick stories? We saved you, the best for last.” Jaspreet was always looking for dirt on Rajeeb. I think he was jealous that as a brown man, Rajeeb got all the women and good grades and Jaspreet got nothing.
“Naw guys, I’ve been thinking while you all have been talking and I just wanted to take time now to apologize. I’m sorry for all the extra planks and pushups. It’s just that, I don’t know. My summer’s been weird for me. It’s actually probably the strangest transformation that’s happened to me, ever.”
“Huh, you confirming the rumors about the Mexican prostitutes?” asked Jaspreet.
“Shut up,” he said with a gaze I last saw when he asked me to turn down my music. “I want to get off my chest what’s been on my mind for some time. As some of you know, I spent the summer in Oaxaca, the second poorest district in Mexico. I was in this program that was about reintroducing Amaranth, which is a very nutritious plant, back into poor Mexican villages. It’s this plant that long ago the Aztecs used because it’s so nutritious. You could do like anything with it. And one way the Conquistadors conquered the Aztecs was by banning this plant and people started dying because they became so malnourished.” He was losing some guys to the beer, so he justified it to those of us who listened closely with, “I’m an economic development major so that’s why this shit sounds cool to me. It was cool practicing my Spanish too. All I did all day was hold workshops on teaching them about the plant, showing them how to harvest it, prepare it, and even cook it. They soaked my lectures in as well as you guys soak in beer.” He took a sip of beer to be a hypocrite. Be a little sinful. Loosen the tension in that gray basement.
“I arrived in Mexico the day after my host father got back from the nearest city. He just finished working three months in a textile factory so that he could buy a nice dress for his daughter’s kindergarten graduation. Education doesn’t go that far there so kindergarten is a big celebration. He has to toil for months and months away from the family for any big purchases like that, purchases that for us, are the little things in life.” He paused. “Why does God allow me the pleasure to sit around with each of you and drink beer? Don’t you find that kind of off? I walk through our campus and I just see so much wealth and waste, blueblood this, blueblood that, and I always find myself turning back to,” Rajeeb dropped his red cup of beer, “Manello.”
“You okay, Rajeeb?” I asked.
He grabbed my arm. He looked me straight in the eye and I saw my blues in his hazels and he asked me a question I’ll never forget, “Tim, have you ever smelt the scent of burning flesh?” I froze for a second. “Manello was this little boy that lived down the road from us.” He finally let go of my arm and started panning the Galactic for twinkles of eyes. He reached out to all fifteen of us, telling us how “he used to run around and play with my host sister everyday. Smile and smile with his pot belly.” Shifting his eyes down to his Pumas, he asked himself, “Why was I so stupid not to realize that a bloated belly was a sign of malnutrition?” Looking back at me, “My final week there he passed away.” Then to the stars of eyes, “In that part of Mexico, Catholicism hadn’t fully infiltrated and they burn their dead like their ancestors. Manello in dry sticks, burned to God.” Pleading, “Does anyone know how that smells?” No response. “What am I doing here?”
Unintentionally rhythmically speaking because of the alcohol, Vick finally spoke up. “Wow, Mr. Pimp Rajeeb. Why you getting all philosophical on us? I think what you need is another keg stand.” It was typical of Vick to respond to matters he couldn’t comprehend with alcohol.
“Naw, for what?” Rajeeb got up off his seat. “To forget how lucky I am?” He walked around the table over to Vick. “Dude, do you know how lucky you are? Are you ever grateful enough for what you can do? You have the fucking ability to choose whether or not you want to do a keg stand?” And he turned away into a deep corner of the Galactic.
“Hell, if he ain’t gonna get one, guys, you better give me one. Lift me up, Tim.” Vick still attached to the alcohol.
“Nah man, you had enough for tonight. We’ll finish up the rest of the keg, not much left anyway,” I told him. He really did have enough. Plus I couldn’t pick him up by myself. You needed at least four guys. And I didn’t want to deal with him right now. Instead I went over to find Rajeeb.
“Fuck you and your girlfriend, Tim. Come pick me up. Just give me one last go at it and I’m good for the night.” I even let that one go. The rest of the guys also ignored Vick for a minute. Just like for me, I think Rajeeb’s story was finally getting past the first few layers of alcohol in our blood. Rajeeb began reverberating in us. “What the fuck guys! I’m your freaking pledge brother!” And that’s when the rest of the boys finally gave Vick his request so that he could pass out on the futon in the opposite corner of the Galactic to where I found Rajeeb.
Pledge Daddy Ron returned shortly thereafter and we finished lineup. Rajeeb and I carried Vick home despite his showing and tucked him in.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Don’t know if it was the alcohol or what Rajeeb told all of us that night. He got me thinking like the economist he was. What’s my opportunity cost of rushing? What am I giving up to rush? What’s Katie been up to this past month and a half? Why haven’t we talked in forever? I still haven’t found out why she walked out on me the night I found out I was going to be a Phi Theta. Does she really not want me to join a fraternity? I can’t believe I hadn’t even thought of her when joining. I’ve dated her for over four years. Do I love her? Is this distracting me from realizing my love for her?
The week after that we had Hot Sauce night. We walked down into the Galactic and laid out in front of us was a pyramid of small hot sauce bottles, fifteen in total.
“Each of you get in line quickly. Stop looking at shit, just get in.” We ran into file. “We have a great night lined up for y’all. The president has decided to finally present himself in front of you knuckleheads. After six weeks, he’s finally decided you deserve his presence. Don’t insult me by disrespecting him. I hope I taught y’all something these past few weeks. Make your Pledge Daddy proud. With these words, I give you your president.”
“Good evening gentlementh.” He had a lisp. “I’ve heard the good and the bad from you, but tonight I’d like to take the time out and thraighten thingths up.” How are you supposed to take a guy with a lisp seriously? “I’d like to impart upon you thum knowledge from the perthpective of thumone who’th been giving back to thith fraternity for three years.” And we’re not allowed to show a sign of emotion, no laughter, no smirk, nothing. “I and Phi Gamma Theta have not gotten thith far all theethe years without the input of all my fellow brotherths. Every man thtanding in front of you on thith thide of the line hath rightfully earned hith title of brother. Each of them hath inthpired me, taken me to new platheths, thown me a thide of the world I could only know by being their brother. We build thith bond through the pledge protheth. And the only way to feel that with the brotherhood ith if you can firtht egthperienth it amongtht yourthelveths. As pledge brotherths of each other, each of you should inthpire a passion within each other that burnths like the flame of a thouthand thuns. Like our colorths, red and yellow, you are the leader that thines light on all else, that thcreams with pride of being a part of Phi Gamma Theta. We are a pyramid that reacheths to the thun. I want you all to take a piece of our pyramid by thtepping forward and taking one of theethe bottles. And then thtep back in line.” We disassembled quickly and grabbed a bottle. It felt like they just took the bottles out of the fridge two minutes ago. “Hold it in your right hand.” We obeyed. “Now that each one of you hath broken the pyramid, you mutht rebuild it with the passion that lieths within. Take off the capths and throw them in front of you.” We did. “Now plathe the bottle directly in your panths between your legths.” What did he just say? “You will all thoon underthand. Put that bottle inside your panths.” After weeks of pledging and trust in the brotherhood, what are they asking? “Now if you want to prove your loyalty to thith fraternity, warm up theethe bottles with your balls. Walk forward and claim your thpot, two thteps clother to being a brother.” What?
From the boiler side of the basement, Rajeeb blurted out, “Sir, I can’t do this, sir.”
“Rajeeb, don’t fucking embarrass me in front of the president. Just do as he says.” Ron ordered.
“But sir, I have God. If there is one thing I learned from this pledge process, it is By the Token of Time, Verily, Mankind is in loss,” and he then proceeded to walk out. No explanation – nothing. Thank God I remembered his quote from Facebook. I thought about it for a second. His Manello story now made more sense.
According to the concept of Time, Mankind is truly at a loss. The hands of Time keep on clapping without waiting for us to dance. There is no way we can beat Time. It just keeps going. And if you want to win, you’ve just got to go with it. Can’t wait to put hot sauce down your pants. You got to remember the people that are really important to you and go. Katie. She’s at a loss. I’m at a loss. Must go back to her. You just got to go. In that moment of hesitation that exists between all awkward situations, like when a girl drops her pen in class and it is kind of far from you and you don’t know if you should get up and get it but there is only that one second to decide what to do. Within that time frame, I had walked out behind him. I didn’t look back but I only felt the wind of my pledge brothers follow. After nearly two months, we were a unit. We had all walked out with Rajeeb, in synch, with the Beat of Obstinate Time playing against the bittersweet melody of Limited Life.
~Mushifique Shams Billah is a rising senior majoring in Economics. If everything works out, he'll be in Cairo next semester, enjoying the region that gave birth to the world's three monotheistic religions. He loves religion, amazingly deep philosophical conversations, contemplating life and getting answers for it, and lamb.
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