Revolution Twenty20 Page 3

  Raghav walked past the forty students in the crammed classroom to collect his answer-sheet.

  ‘Sixty-six out of eighty. Well done, Raghav,’ the teacher said.

  ‘IIT material,’ a boy whispered as Raghav walked past. ‘He is a topper from Sunbeam.’

  I could totally see Raghav follow in the footsteps of his IITian father, an engineer in BHEL. I scored fifty out of eighty, a borderline performance, good enough to become the twelfth man on a cricket team, but not quite player material.

  ‘Focus, Gopal,’ the teacher said. ‘You need sixty-plus to be safe.’

  I nodded. I wanted to get into a good engineering college. My father hadn’t heard any good news in years.

  ‘Aarti Pradhan!’ the teacher called out. The entire class turned to look at the girl in the white salwar-kameez, who made the otherwise drab coaching classes worthwhile.

  Aarti took her answer-sheet and giggled.

  ‘Twenty out of eighty is funny?’ the teacher frowned.

  Aarti covered her mouth with her palm and walked back. She had no intention of becoming an engineer. She had joined JSR because a) attending coaching classes could supplement her class XII CBSE studies, b) I had also enrolled so she would have company and c) the tuition centre never charged her, given her father was about to become the District Magistrate, or DM of the city.

  Aarti’s father had a relatively honest reputation. However, free tuitions came under the ambit of acceptable favours.

  ‘I have not even filled the AIEEE form,’ Aarti whispered to me.

  ‘My AIEEE rank is going to be horrible,’ I said to Raghav as I stirred my lemonade.

  We had come to the German Bakery near Narad Ghat, a touristy firang joint where white people felt safe from germs and the touts roaming around Varanasi. People sat on beds with wooden trays to eat firang food like sandwiches and pancakes. Two malnourished, old men played the sitar in one corner to give the Varanasi effect, as white people found it a cultural experience.

  I never thought much of the place. However, Aarti liked it.

  ‘I like how she has used a scarf to tie her hair,’ Aarti said, pointing at a female tourist. She had obviously ignored my AIEEE concerns.

  ‘Ten more marks and you will be fine. Relax,’ Raghav said.

  ‘One lakh students stand between me and those ten marks,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t think about the others. Focus on yourself,’ he said.

  I nodded slowly. Easy to give advice when you are the topper. I imagined myself in a sea, along with lakhs of other low-rankers, kicking and screaming to breathe. The waters closed over us, making us irrelevant to the Indian education system. Three weeks and the AIEEE tsunami would arrive.

  Aarti snapped her fingers in front of my face. ‘Wake up, dreamer, you will be fine,’ she said.

  ‘You are skipping it?’ Raghav turned to Aarti.

  ‘Yeah,’ she giggled. ‘Main Hoon Na is releasing that week. How can I miss a Shah Rukh film? They should postpone AIEEE.’

  ‘Very funny.’ I grimaced.

  ‘So you aren’t becoming an engineer. What will you do in life?’ Raghav asked Aarti.

  ‘Do I have to do something? I am an Indian woman. Can’t I get married, stay home and cook? Or ask the servants to cook?’

  She laughed and Raghav joined her.

  I didn’t find this funny. I could not think beyond the teeming millions of wannabe engineers who would wrestle me down in three weeks.

  ‘Why so serious, Gopal-ji? I’m joking. You know I can’t sit at home.’ Aarti tapped my shoulder.

  ‘Shut up, Aarti,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I know you want to be an air hostess.’

  ‘Air hostess? Wow!’ Raghav said.

  ‘That’s not fair, Gopal!’ Aarti screamed. ‘You are telling the world my secret.’

  ‘It’s only me,’ Raghav said.

  Aarti gave me a dirty look.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  Aarti and I had a deeper relationship. We saw Raghav as a friend, but not a close one.

  ‘You will make a great air hostess,’ Raghav said, his tone flirtatious.

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Aarti said. ‘Like dad is going to let me leave Varanasi. There are no airlines here. Only temples. Maybe I can be a temple hostess. Sir, please take a seat on the floor. Prayers will begin soon. Prasad will be served in your seats.’

  Raghav laughed again, holding his muscular abdomen. I hate people who are naturally gifted with a flat stomach. Why couldn’t god make six-packs a default standard in all males? Did we have to store fat in the silliest places?

  Raghav high-fived Aarti. My ears went hot. The sitar players started an energetic tune.

  ‘Aarti, what nonsense you talk,’ I said, my voice loud. The foreigners around us, here in a worldwide quest for peace, became alert.

  I didn’t like the we-find-each-other’s-lame-jokes-funny vibe between Raghav and Aarti.

  Raghav sucked the straw in his lemonade too hard. The drink came out through his nose.

  ‘Gross!’ Aarti said as both of them started a laugh-fest again.

  I stood up.

  ‘What happened?’ Raghav said.

  ‘I have to go. Baba is waiting,’ I said.

  The sound of Baba’s coughing drowned out the sound of the doorbell the first couple of times.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t hear,’ he said, opening the door.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, it is the usual. I’ve made dal and roti.’

  ‘That’s the usual too.’

  My father had turned sixty last year. His non-stop coughing bouts made him look like an eighty-year-old. The doctors had given up. We had no money for surgery either. His school had fired him long ago. You can’t conduct a fifty-minute class with ten respiratory breaks. He had a pension that lasted us three weeks in a good month.

  I ate in silence at the wobbly dining table.

  ‘Entrance exam …’ my father started and paused to cough five times. I understood his drift.

  ‘I have finished the AIEEE preparation,’ I said.

  ‘JEE?’ Baba said. It is harder to manage family expectations than prepare for exams.

  ‘Don’t have IIT hopes for me, Baba,’ I said. My father’s face fell. ‘I will take the JEE. But, three thousand out of four lakhs … Imagine the odds.’

  ‘You can do it. You are bright,’ Baba said, paternal love obviously overestimating progeny’s abilities.

  I nodded. I had a shot at AIEEE, none at JEE. That was how I looked at it. I wondered if Baba realised that a rank would mean me leaving home. What if I had to go to NIT Agartala? Or somewhere far south?

  ‘Engineering is not everything, Baba,’ I said.

  ‘It secures your life. Don’t fight now, right before the exams.’

  ‘I’m not fighting. I’m not.’

  Post-dinner, Baba lay down on his bed. I sat next to him and pressed his forehead. He erupted into a coughing fit.

  ‘We should consider the surgery,’ I said.

  ‘For two lakhs?’ Baba said, lying back and shutting his eyes. I resumed the massage.

  I kept quiet. I didn’t want to bring up the touchy topic. We could have settled the land issue ages ago. Court hearings still haunted us, the land lay barren, and we had no money.

  ‘From where will we get the money, tell?’ my father said. ‘You become an engineer. Get a good job. Then we will do the surgery.’

  I could not stay quiet anymore. ‘Taya-ji offered ten lakhs. The money would have doubled in the bank by now.’

  Baba opened his eyes. ‘What about the land?’ he said.

  ‘What use is the stupid land?’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said, pushing my hand away. ‘A farmer doesn’t insult his land. He doesn’t sell it either.’

  I placed my hand back on his forehead. ‘We are not farmers anymore, Baba. We can’t use the land. Because your own brother …’

  ‘Go. Go and study, you have your exams coming up.’ Baba
pointed to my room.

  The landline rang at midnight. I picked it up.

  ‘I’m sleepy, Aarti,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t sleep till one. Stop fibbing.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. Just felt like chatting.’

  ‘Chat with someone else,’ I said.

  ‘Aha,’ she said. ‘I know what’s bothering you.’

  ‘Bye, Aarti,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, wait. I found some of Raghav’s jokes funny. That’s all. You are still my best friend.’

  ‘They weren’t funny. And what’s this best friend business?’ I said.

  ‘We’ve been best friends for eight years, though you still haven’t bought me a chocolate cake.’

  ‘And Raghav?’

  ‘Raghav is only a friend. I talk to him because you are close to him,’ Aarti said.

  I kept silent.

  ‘Chill now, Gopal. How’re things at home?’ she said.

  ‘Screwed up as always. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. Dad insists I finish college before I try any of this air hostess business. But you can even become one straight after class XII.’

  ‘Go to college. He’s right,’ I said.

  ‘Which college can I join with my marks? I am not smart like Raghav and you.’

  ‘Raghav is smart, not me,’ I corrected her.

  ‘Why? Because of the mock-test? You are so stupid,’ Aarti said.

  ‘You are stupid.’

  ‘We are both stupid, fine? Did you have dinner?’

  She had asked me this question every night for the last five years. I wanted to stay mad at her, but could not. ‘I did, thanks.’

  ‘What thanks? Stupid. Go to bed now, sleep and don’t think about the entrance exams.’

  ‘Aarti,’ I said and paused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are very nice,’ I said. I couldn’t come up with a better line.

  ‘Nice and stupid? Or nicely stupid?’ Aarti laughed.

  ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘Shut up. I am here only,’ she said.

  ‘We are not young anymore, Aarti,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, okay. Not that again. Go to bed, Mr Grown-up Man.’

  ‘Aarti, come on. You always avoid …’

  ‘We’ll talk, but not now. After your entrance exams.’

  I kept quiet.

  ‘Don’t complicate life, Gopal. Aren’t you happy with our friendship?’

  ‘Yes, I am but …’

  ‘But-but what? Good night, sweet dreams, sleep tight.’

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘It’s no use now,’ I said, closing the maths textbook.

  Raghav had come to my house on the eve of the exam. He had offered a last-minute trigonometry revision, my weak spot. Raghav picked up the textbook.

  ‘You sleep, okay? Rest before the exam is a must. And take lots of sharpened pencils,’ he said.

  Baba came out of the kitchen when he saw Raghav leave. ‘Stay for dinner,’ Baba told him.

  ‘Not today, Baba,’ Raghav said. ‘I will take a proper treat once Gopal gets a rank.’

  4

  I did get a rank. A fucked-up rank, that is.

  ‘52,043,’ I read out from the screen. I had come to Raghav’s house in Shivpur. We had logged on to the AIEEE website.

  Sure, I hadn’t scored too badly. Out of ten lakh test-takers, I had beaten nine lakh fifty thousand. However, the NITs had only thirty thousand seats. Sometimes, life played cruel jokes on you. I’d be one of those unfortunate cases who had done well, but not well enough.

  ‘5,820,’ Raghav said, reading from the computer monitor.

  Raghav’s father had come into the room to stand behind us.

  ‘What’s that?’ I said.

  ‘My rank,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Excellent!’ Raghav’s father said delightedly.

  Raghav smiled. He could not react more than that.

  ‘This should give you lots of choices,’ Raghav’s proud father said. ‘You can get Electronics in Delhi.’

  ‘There’s NIT Lucknow too, right?’ Raghav said. ‘Closer home.’

  ‘Forget AIEEE, let us wait for JEE,’ Raghav’s father said, his voice elated.

  Father and son took a while to remember my presence in the room. They saw my crestfallen face and fell silent. ‘I have to go home,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Fifty thousand should get you something, no?’ Raghav’s father said, fully aware it would not. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but it felt bad. Never in my life had I felt so small. I felt like a beggar hanging out with kings.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Raghav,’ I said and scurried out of their house. I didn’t want anyone to see my tears.

  Raghav came running after me in the lane outside his house. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes before turning to him. ‘I’m fine, buddy,’ I lied. ‘And congrats! You owe us a treat. But your dad is right. We will take the real party after JEE.’

  I continued to ramble until Raghav interrupted me. ‘Will Baba be fine?’ he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders and fought the lump in my throat.

  ‘Should I come with you?’ he offered.

  Yeah right, take a top-ranker to meet your parent when you’ve flunked, I thought.

  ‘Don’t worry. He’s faced worse things in life,’ I said.

  ‘Aren’t the AIEEE results due today? They are not in the papers,’ Baba said as soon as I entered the house. Four different newspapers lay open on the floor.

  ‘No, they don’t publish results in the newspaper anymore. Baba, what is this mess?’ I said.

  I bent down to collect the papers. I did not mention that the results were available online.

  ‘So how do we find out the results? Isn’t today the date?’ he said.

  I kept quiet as I stacked the newspapers. I wanted to tell him the results won’t be out for a while. Peace for a few more days would be nice, even if temporary. I saw his aged face, the wrinkles around his eyes. Eyes that were extra bright today.

  ‘Should we go to NIT Lucknow?’ Baba said, happy to make the five-hour journey to find out his son was a loser.

  ‘Baba!’ I protested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let’s make lunch.’ I moved to the kitchen. The antique gas stove took six tries to start. I placed a bowl of water on a burner to boil dal.

  My father stood behind me. ‘We have to get the results. Let’s go,’ he said. When old people get stuck on something, they don’t let go.

  ‘Let me make the meal,’ I said. ‘I will call you when it is ready.’

  Telling your parents you’ve failed at something is harder than the actual failure. I cooked lunch for the next hour. I wondered if life would ever be the same again. One stupid exam, half a dozen mistakes in multiple-choice problems had changed my life forever.

  My father and I ate in silence, his hopeful eyes pinned on me. My hiding the news did not help anyone.

  I went to him after dinner. ‘I know the results, Baba,’ I said softly.

  ‘And?’ he said, eyes wide.

  ‘My rank is 52,043.’

  ‘Is that good?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You won’t get a good branch?’

  ‘I won’t get into NIT,’ I said.

  My father’s expression changed. He had the look every child dreads. The look that says, ‘I brought you up, now see what you have done!’

  A bullet in the head is preferable to that look.

  Baba got up agitatedly and started to circle the dining table. ‘How can you not get a good rank?’

  Well, not everyone does, Baba. Nine lakh fifty thousand of us didn’t. But I did not air my thought.

  ‘Now what?’ he said.

  I wondered if I should suggest some options – suicide, penance in the Himalayas or a life of drudgery as a labourer?

  ‘I am sorry, Baba,’ I said.

  ‘I told you to study m
ore,’ he said.

  Which parent doesn’t?

  He went to his room. I gathered the courage to enter his bedroom after half an hour. He had kept a hot-water bottle on his head.

  ‘I could do a BSc, Baba,’ I said.

  ‘What good will that do, huh?’ he said, his voice too loud for a sick man.

  ‘I’ll finish my graduation. Look for a job. There should be plenty of opportunities,’ I said, making up words as I spoke.

  ‘Who gives a good job to a simple graduate?’ Baba said.

  Correct, a ‘simple’ graduate meant nothing.

  ‘We don’t have money for a donation college, Baba,’ I reminded him.

  He nodded. He spoke after some thought. ‘Try again?’

  Baba had not made an unreasonable suggestion. However, he had horrible timing.

  The entrance exam had given me so much pain. The mere thought of repeating it caused physical agony. ‘Stop it, Baba,’ I screamed. ‘If you had settled on the land, we would have money for a private college. You didn’t, so I have to keep suffering.’

  My father pressed the hot-water bottle harder against his forehead. He looked pained, by the headache and me. ‘Go away,’ he said.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said automatically.

  ‘Fail exams, scream at your father. You are going in the right direction, son,’ he said, eyes closed.

  ‘I’ll do something. I won’t let you down. I will become rich one day,’ I said.

  ‘It is not easy to become rich. You have to work hard. You don’t,’ he said.

  I wanted to tell him that I did work hard. You don’t get a fifty-thousand rank, however useless that may be, without working hard. I wanted to say I felt fucked up inside. I wished he would figure out I wanted to cry, and that it would be great if he hugged me.

  ‘Go away. Let me have some peace in my final days,’ he said.

  I went to my room and sat in silence. I had never really missed my mother all these years. However, on the day of the AIEEE results, I wished she was around. I kicked myself for not getting those six extra problems right. I kept rewinding to the day of the exam. As if my brain could go back in time, recreate the same scenario, and I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. Regret – this feeling has to be one of the biggest manufacturing defects in humans. We keep regretting, even though there is no point to it. I stayed in my bed, dazed.