There aren’t many times in people’s lives that they get to witness a president up close. If you ask me, I have seen quite many of them. Walking around with their walkie-talkies like they’re swords, guiding others around like it’s Chanakya guiding Chandragupta, and finally those black-and-white suits that set them apart (well, not really), none other than our beloved club presidents.

It is when Mr Raihan has finally reached the pinnacle of his career. No, he didn’t land a beautiful wife, a high-paying job, or the lottery; he has achieved a prize much greater than all of these combined, for he has been “chosen” by his forefathers to be the next president of a university club.

They tell you clubbing is your stepping stone to corporate life. They don’t lie. That’s how they get you to lick their ass. As you get better, as you reach the top of the food chain, you feel that’s the end, and that’s where you go wrong. You start all over again, and now you lick your advisers.

It’s not like you don’t get anything back with all this ass-licking. You get back ass-licking. The more you lick, the more you get. It’s just like a transaction. You give some, you receive some. You must feel pity for the elected presidents, though. The ones who get elected through votes. They don’t receive anything. They just end up giving. The entire year to the advisers. Because the little ones know, the licking won’t get you to the top. The votes will. Sadly, these votes don’t work like Bangladesh parliamentary elections. Things would have been different then.

If you feel pity for those elected presidents, you must feel sorry for the former ones. The actual presidents at least live with a VIP tag, a house, and some cash. The former presidents leave empty-handed and only end up getting cold stares from the club juniors from afar. They will only arrive at the orientations and functions of their former ruling club and not even get one salaam from anybody. If they really had some media attention, they would actually end up crying like our president on TV.

Sometimes they are not even invited. Then they throw their tantrums angrily until someone calls them up. Being president is fun. You have all the girls, all the attention, everything around you. Though it all lasts only a year. For this one year, people learn all the politics of the world. Then, when that day finally comes, the annual handover ceremony gets conducted with the dignity of a peaceful transfer of nuclear codes. This day then marks the end of one president and the start of another. Once feared across campus corridors, he now waits outside events for someone to recognise him.

Now, not all presidents are bad. Some are great as well. Some save the club ladies from other men. Not because they really want to protect them, though, but because they want them all to themselves. Also, every other president supposedly saves their club from certain doom. Of the mess the club is, they are the messiah.