Fresh graduate applies for bank loan to afford salami for juniors

Eid is a joyous occasion that brings with it the promise of delicious food, new clothes, and quality time with friends and family. Of course, you can’t forget about the other important phenomenon that comes with Eid if you had the misfortune of making connections with your underclassmen in university, because your juniors will certainly remind you. You’ll find yourself on the receiving end of Eid wishes more creative than the last, each ending with an 11-digit number and a demand of salami.

During chaand raat, the longstanding university hierarchy of seniors and juniors reverses in a matter of seconds, as freshmen turn into the apex predators of the food chain with nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Every year after that, students watch helplessly as they slide further and further down the pyramid, until they find themselves three batches below and not even the shadow of a senior to exploit.

When you’re a fourth-year student and the number of juniors in every department has quadrupled overnight and your social media inbox has turned into a big stack of Assalamu alaikum, you unwittingly find yourself turning into a big believer of trickledown economics. And if there’s anyone who can save you from financial ruin, it’s the alumni of your dear institution, who made the grave mistake of telling you “kichu lagle knock dish” through a mist of tears during graduation.

“Eid truly takes all your worries away. Just yesterday I was worried whether I’d be able to afford rent and groceries. But now, I realise that there’s more pressing matters at hand, I have to give out salami to at least twenty different people,” says Bipasha Chowdhury, a recent graduate who, unfortunately, believed in the ideology of networking that hasn’t yet landed her a job, but lots of connections on LinkedIn. “Unfortunately, I made the terrible decision of spending the last of my money to buy an internet pack yesterday, so I now see no other choice but to apply for a personal loan.”

Fahim Ahmed, a senior of Bipasha who had been in the same position as her last year, shares his woes: “When you’re in university, you can get away with passing out 5- or 10-taka notes as salami, because the gesture is what matters. The rate, of course, goes up as you’re employed. I decided I had enough of this exploitation and did what any sensible person would do to escape the clutches of bloodthirsty juniors—I left the country to pursue my master’s.”

When asked whether his endeavour has spared him from giving out salami, Fahim’s expression drops. “Not at all. They’re now demanding I send remittance in dollars.”