Sunny and Cigars

The First Glass

Glasses are being filled, people are dancing, and everyone is toasting with their glasses raised high. The newly appointed managers have organised this handing over at Kubec, a beloved annual tradition of the club. To no one’s surprise, unlimited alcohol is the centre of attraction. Music pulses from speakers nearby, and amber and clear liquids reflect the overhead lighting, occasionally punctuated by the sharp clinking of a glass shattering nearby. Amidst the dancing, some students are knocking shot after shot and are passing out, while others slip outside for quick smoke breaks, returning with the smell of tobacco still on them.

But tucked within this whirlwind of celebration is someone who prefers control over chaos. She prefers to make a joke about being the designated “responsible” person and laugh off glasses that are slid towards her. She has made it two years without drinking, not out of any moral stance, but because she never felt the need to fit in this way. But tonight felt different. Everyone around her was celebrating and bonding in a way that felt just slightly out of her reach. As different people persistently circled back, urging her to try, it slowly felt easier to give in. 

Her story isn’t unique. This progression, from initial resistance to gradual wearing down and eventual surrender to social pressure, is familiar to many at IITB. The relationship students have with alcohol here isn’t always straightforward or purely voluntary. It’s largely shaped by social dynamics, the desire to belong, and the particular rhythms of life in a place where work is intense and social time is precious. The piece reflects conversations with students from different years and social circles at IITB about their personal journey with alcohol. 

The First few sips

College is often the first time students live away from home, free from parental oversight, as they juggle intense academic pressure and experience a sudden abundance of independence. For many, that independence sparks curiosity about things they never encountered back home, alcohol being one of the most common.

The relationship students had with alcohol before arriving at IITB shapes how they respond to drinking culture on campus. Some grew up in households where alcohol was openly discussed. While not every household encouraged it, they explained the importance of doing it with people you trust, what moderation meant, what to watch out for, and how to gauge your limit. “My parents always told me that if I wanted to try alcohol, I should do it at home first,” one student recalls. In these households, alcohol isn’t framed as forbidden or dangerous; it’s treated with responsibility and awareness. This doesn’t guarantee responsible drinking at IITB; the campus environment still influences their choices, but they arrive with context, with boundaries already discussed. 

For others, alcohol was forbidden, discussed only in negative terms or actively prohibited. They arrive at IITB with firm convictions against drinking and navigate campus with clear boundaries, uninterested in experimenting. 

Still, many fall in between: alcohol was never discussed at all. Not forbidden, not normalised; just absent. These students arrive at IITB without context for understanding drinking: how much is too much, how intoxication feels, or where the line between fun and discomfort lies. For them, college sparks curiosity: they learn by watching peers, testing boundaries, and following the age-old college mythos of “YOLO” and the promise fuelled by mass media that deep friendships are forged over shared drinks.

The curiosity is further reinforced by proximity and access. There’s Sunny’s, the cheap restaurant and bar just outside campus, which seniors mention casually, and friends suggest in passing, often without much thought. 

Beyond these informal instances, there are the big club events, the handing overs, where drinking stops being optional and becomes ritualised. These events mark the ceremonial passing of responsibility from one batch to the next and are organised by the incoming team in recognition of the previous team’s efforts and commitment to the PoR. After a gruelling selection process, this becomes the moment where hierarchy softens, creating space for openness between both teams. Alcohol becomes part of this celebration, and for many, it enhances the sense of bonding and makes the year’s work feel acknowledged and worthwhile. 

Within this setting, there’s also an unspoken tradition in many institute clubs that juniors try their first drink during the handing over, with seniors encouraging, sometimes insistently, and occasionally even outright forcing them. Given the substantial amount one has paid, one may be inclined to try it out. “You say no once, twice, but by the third time, it feels like you’re the one making things awkward, like your boundary is the problem. You give in because it’s easier than having to justify your choice for the rest of the night,” a former convenor explains. Those who resist the pressure often find themselves labelled “boring” simply for maintaining a boundary. 

This is where drinking does something subtle: it creates an inner circle. The warmth, the ease, the sense of being part of something, it all feels convincing.

“When there’s alcohol, people open up more,” one student observed. “You’re more likely to have an informal conversation with a senior, more likely to feel like you belong. It makes the role feel worthwhile.”

For non-drinkers, this creates a specific kind of exclusion, not overt, but unmistakable.

“It’s the stories that get told the next morning, the inside jokes, the vulnerability that surfaces at 2 AM after three shots,” a student explained. “Those moments stay inaccessible. You feel like you’re on the outside of something important.”

Another described the experience more plainly: “I’ll be hanging out with them while they grow looser, more willing to talk about things, laugh at themselves. I’m still there, but somehow, I feel a bit distant.”

Moreover, non-drinkers often find themselves cast as caretakers by default, responsible for managing the fallout when someone drinks too much and for making sure their intoxicated friends get back to their hostels safely. “I eventually stopped hanging out with a certain group entirely because I got tired of being the one who had to manage friends who had consumed too much, over and over again. I started realising I was sacrificing my own peace to keep their chaos contained,” one student admits.

While non-drinkers deal with exclusion, those who drink regularly experience their own set of judgements: assumptions that they’re irresponsible, struggling, or caving to pressure. “After a tough week, going to Sunny’s with wingmates is how I decompress. It’s not different from people who watch movies to unwind,” one student says. “I’m not drinking myself into oblivion every weekend. I’m having two or three drinks at a party once a month. There’s a difference between drinking and overdrinking, and that nuance gets lost.” The judgement flows both ways: drinkers and non-drinkers both end up justifying choices that shouldn’t need justification.

Beyond just PoRs, drinking shapes friend circles in unexpected ways. Some friend groups are known for frequenting Sunny’s. “If you’re friends with them, or if you want to be, you kind of go along,” a student explains. Alcohol also lowers inhibitions in other ways: there are friendships that form in the warmth of those moments, but they don’t carry on to the next day. Sometimes these interactions become uncomfortable, with some people finding themselves being hit on. “I realised these were my friends, who I only really connected with while we were drinking. We’d have amazing conversations at Sunny’s, but on campus, we barely had anything to say,” one student describes. 

A Pack in the Pocket 

Smoking follows a similar pattern in the institute, shaped by the same social pressure that surrounds drinking. For many students, the first cigarette happens with seniors in hostel rooms, at parties, on terraces, or at 4 AM at shops surrounding the main gate. Unlike drinking, which often requires a specific setting, smoking slips easily into everyday life. It is casual, accessible, and therefore far easier to repeat until it becomes a habit. A pack fits unnoticed into a pocket, and a smoke break becomes a five-minute group escape between classes or long working hours at night. Over time, these breaks evolve into spaces of conversations and decisions, moments people start wanting to be part of, and fear missing out on.

The motivation isn’t always what people assume. “People always think I smoke because of stress or academic pressure,” one regular smoker explains. “But honestly, it’s not that deep. I smoke when I’m bored, when I’m waiting between classes, and when my friends are smoking. It’s just part of my day now.”

For some students, their first cigarette was a transactional gesture during the General Secretary elections. Candidates and their polt team would offer alcohol and cigarettes as informal treats to get people to vote and support them. Late-night strategy discussions become synonymous with smoking breaks, and routine meetups turn into conversation starters built around sharing a cigarette. Some students describe being invited to “campaign dinners” where cigarettes, alcohol are unlimited and the atmosphere is carefully cultivated to create a sense of generosity and friendliness. The deal isn’t always explicit, but it’s understood: the candidate who provides is the one who expects support. “I went once because my friends were going, but the whole time I felt like I was agreeing to something I hadn’t actually decided on yet,” one student admits. 

 What often goes unspoken is how these spaces end up harming both others and the smokers themselves. Non-smokers in these circles find themselves either tolerating the smoke or slowly distancing themselves from the group, while in hostels, the proximity becomes unavoidable as corridors and common rooms fill with secondhand smoke, affecting those who never chose to participate. For smokers, nicotine proves far more addictive than alcohol, with physical dependence developing quickly. The rationalisations become familiar: “I’ll quit after the intern season,” “I’ll quit after this semester,” but the after keeps shifting. Over time, many begin to notice they’re out of breath climbing stairs or developing a persistent cough. “Last semester, I realised I couldn’t keep up with my football game anymore. Ten minutes in and I’d be completely out of breath. That’s when it hit me that this wasn’t just a harmless social thing.”

For some, these physical signs prompt attempts to quit. For others, the craving and the social routine built around smoking make stopping feel impossible, even when the consequences become visible.

The Other Side of the Glass

Beyond the social pressure and culture of fitting in, there’s a more fundamental reason students continue drinking and smoking despite knowing the risks: these substances offer relief that feels immediate and tangible in ways that healthier alternatives don’t.

For many, there’s a window where drinking genuinely feels good. “Everything just feels easier,” one student explains. “Confidence comes naturally, conversations flow, and the constant self-analysis stops. For those few hours, it feels like becoming the version of yourself you wish you could be all the time.” As another student puts it, “It’s similar to how someone might use an antidepressant or a painkiller. It’s an avoidance mechanism that hits the off switch on your overthinking. It helps to numb your brain so you can stop running the internal commentary on yourself, and you get that instant dopamine rush.”

Stress, too, plays a significant role in pulling students toward smoking and drinking. Intern season rejections, academic pressure, relationship struggles, and the isolation of watching peers succeed while feeling stuck all contribute to seeking relief through these substances. What begins as occasional stress relief can evolve into dependency. “I wasn’t really drinking much before the intern season,” one student says. “But then, when it started, and I wasn’t getting even a single shortlist, suddenly going out and having a few drinks felt like the easiest way to not think about it.”

But avoidance doesn’t resolve anything. Every student knows that alcohol and smoking merely postpone the anxiety, leaving the underlying issues entirely unaddressed. However, alcohol rewires the brain’s reward system quietly: what starts as “I’ll have a drink to relax after this terrible week” becomes “I need a drink to relax,” which becomes “I can’t relax without a drink.” The transition is incremental, without any clear moment where choice becomes necessity.

Students aren’t ignorant of the consequences. Most are aware of the long-term health risks: fatty liver disease, cirrhosis, nicotine dependence, and the physical toll these substances take. But the campus culture fosters a kind of tunnel vision where immediate relief from stress, the warmth of belonging, and the ease of conversation feel urgent and tangible in ways that distant health risks don’t. What makes these substances more appealing than therapy or other healthy coping mechanisms is their immediate practicality. Therapy takes weeks to show results. Exercise routines, meditation, and better sleep habits demand consistent effort when you’re already stretched thin. When drowning in stress, these substances work on the same timeline as the crisis. The intake continues until the problems become impossible to ignore: breathlessness and hangovers that last days, and by then, what started as an occasional coping mechanism has quietly transformed into dependency.

Beyond the Glass

Ultimately, the question isn’t whether alcohol or cigarettes should exist on campus. The drinking and smoking culture at IITB feels organic, woven into the fabric of social life and embedded in the way student structures operate. The core problem is the absence of open, informed conversations around them and respect for people’s choices, a choice of all kinds: free to say yes to drinking without being judged and reprimanded about addiction and dependency, free to say no without being forced to enforce the idea that they are uninteresting without a drink, and free to step back. This choice should be made with awareness and not as a rite of passage. People themselves have the best understanding about how much they can drink or smoke without causing excessive harm and nuisance to others, and when it would be best to abstain or spiral into a harmful long-term pattern. It is important that people assess the above continually. 

There are also practical realities that cannot be ignored. Passive smoking in hostels affects people who never chose to participate. The assumption that non-drinkers will manage intoxicated friends places an unfair emotional burden on those who opted out. 

However, all of the above is regularly neglected. When the pressure to drink or smoke happens, even playfully, it crosses a line. For many students, the discomfort doesn’t come from the substance itself, but from having their boundaries questioned or being treated as if they are negotiable. Being sober, smoking occasionally, or abstaining entirely are all valid choices. People shouldn’t be discriminated against based on them. When participation in social spaces becomes implicitly tied to drinking or smoking, respect for their choices of health and coping mechanisms erodes.