‘Yes,’ I said, like an obedient child. I liked her maternal instinct with me.
‘I want you to feel that you can get whatever you want in life. Because I know you can,’ Aarti said.
I cannot get you, I wanted to tell her. Still, I appreciated her boosting me up for the big test. ‘AIEEE ends, and I am on a train in the next four hours.’
‘Yes, we are waiting too. Come back soon. When the results come out, we will celebrate your victory together.’
‘Only if I get in,’ I said.
‘Do not think like that. Believe you have already made it,’ Aarti said, ‘for my sake.’
Her last phrase meant the world to me. Yes, I wanted to make it – for her sake.
The city had changed, but the JEE exam centre in Kota gave me the same feeling as last year. Parents came by taxi-loads and auto-loads. Some rich kids came in air-conditioned cars. Mothers performed little pujas and rituals for their children, ironically, right before they went in to show their mastery of science. I did not have anyone from my family fussing over me. I didn’t care. Tilaks on the heads and curd in the mouth didn’t matter. Once you went inside, you had to beat the hell out of the ninety-nine per cent of the half a million students sitting for the exam across the country.
I had a good start. I solved the first few problems with relative ease. The middle became tough. Some questions belonged to chapters taught during my drunken and depressed phase in Kota. I got stuck on one problem. I thought I could solve it, became possessed, and wasted ten minutes. I suppose I have a problem letting go. Ten minutes are crucial in the JEE. I mentally kicked myself and moved on to the next problem. I went on solving as many problems as I could before the dreaded bell rang.
The examiner snatched my paper away even as I begged him to let me write one last answer. Leaving that one question could cost me five hundred ranks, but … the JEE had ended!
‘How did it go?’ Baba asked me in the evening.
I tried to be as honest as possible. ‘Better than last time.’
‘Good. But don’t relax. Give your full attention to AIEEE.’
‘I will,’ I said.
Aarti and I chatted briefly. She, predictably, reassured me about things. She had term break in her college. Her parents had planned a family trip to the USA, to visit her aunt.
‘Even if I cannot call or chat, I will email you from Chicago,’ she said. She did send me a couple of mails wishing me luck for the AIEEE exam.
Aarti also wrote to me that Raghav had his vacation, and was interning at a local newspaper.
‘So Raghav’s dad is not too happy about his engineer-to-be son at the newspaper. I say what is wrong with it?’ Aarti wrote in one of her emails.
As people took international holidays and indulged their passions, I took the AIEEE. It went off smoothly, much better than the previous time. However, it is a speed-based test. You can’t really tell if you did well as compared to others. One is lucky to be able to attempt seventy per cent of the questions. I felt I had a much better shot than last time. In any case, I submitted my answer-sheet and ran home to pack. I had a train to catch. I had served my Kota sentence.
Prateek came to drop me at the station. He helped me place my heavy bags in the compartment.
‘When are you going back to Raipur?’ I said.
‘Whenever they come fetch me,’ Prateek said cheekily and waved goodbye.
Varanasi
12
Only the sights and smells of Varanasi came to receive me at the station. I hadn’t told anyone about my arrival, hadn’t wanted Baba to waste money on an auto-rickshaw to the station. He’d told me that the loans and interest we owed totalled one and a half lakhs. Loan sharks continued to charge interest at three per cent a month.
‘You join a good college, and the State Bank of India will give us a cheaper loan,’ Baba had told me.
Even the filthy and crowded streets of Gadholia seemed beautiful to me. No place like your hometown. More than anything, I wanted to meet Aarti. Every inch of Varanasi reminded me of her. People come to my city to feel the presence of god, but I could feel her presence everywhere. However, I had to go to Baba first.
I rang the doorbell at home.
‘Gopal!’ Baba exclaimed, hugging me with his weak arms.
‘I missed Varanasi, Baba. I missed home. I missed you.’
The house appeared messier than before. I suppose Baba could only clean it so much. I picked up a broom to sweep the floor.
‘Stop it, you have come after a year. What are you doing?’ Baba snatched the broom from me.
We ate runny yellow dal and dry chapatis for lunch. Home-cooked food felt delicious. My father had not spoken to anyone in a long time, so he talked with his mouth full.
‘The case is going nowhere. Ghanshyam won’t even show up for the hearing. I think he feels I will die soon. It will be easier to resolve afterwards, anyway,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about, Baba?’
‘He’s right. How much can my lungs take?’ He had a coughing fit even as he said this.
‘Nothing will happen to you. Let me speak to the lawyer.’
‘No use. I have no money to pay him. He doesn’t take my calls anymore. Forget about all this. When is your entrance result?’
‘In one month,’ I said absent-mindedly, trying to decide if I should call Aarti first or wash my hands.
I dialled her number with dal-smeared fingers.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Boat ride this evening, madam?’ I said.
‘Gopal! You are back? When did you come?’
‘An hour ago. When do we meet?’ I said. ‘This evening at the ghats?’
‘Yes, sure, oh wait. No, I have to go to Raghav’s college. You are welcome to come along.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Why not? He is your friend too.’
‘I want to catch up with you first.’
‘We will catch up on the way. I’ll send dad’s car. Come, okay?’
I had little choice. I didn’t want to wait another day to see her.
‘Raghav won’t mind?’
‘He will be thrilled. It’s his big event.’
‘Event?’
‘I will tell you when we meet. Wow, almost a year, right?’
‘Three hundred and five days,’ I said.
‘Someone’s returned a geek. See you.’
There’s a sense of power when you sit in a white government Ambassador car with a red light on top. Traffic eases, policemen salute you for no reason, and you start to wonder if civil services are where you should be.
The car took me to the DM’s bungalow. Located in the posh Cantonment area, the two-acre property had a serpentine driveway.
‘Tell Aarti madam I am waiting in the car,’ I told the driver.
I did not want to discuss Kota and the upcoming entrance exam results with her parents.
Her pink salwar-kameez became visible at a distance. As she came closer, I saw her face – no make-up apart from the lip-gloss. I had not seen anything more beautiful in three hundred and five days. I controlled my excitement as she opened the car door.
‘Hi, Aarti,’ I said.
‘Why so formal? Come here,’ Aarti said and hugged me. Her sequined dupatta poked me in the chest while her scent went to my head. ‘Raghav’s college,’ she said to the driver, and he understood.
‘So, how’s life? Aren’t you glad to be back?’ she said.
‘It’s my happiest day ever. I hope I never leave Varanasi again,’ I said fervently.
‘Unless it is for IIT,’ she said and winked at me.
I couldn’t respond.
‘What? You will leave for an IIT, right?’
I collected myself. ‘It’s not like I have anything in hand. Anyway, what’s Raghav’s event?’
‘He’s revamped the college magazine. Today is the launch of the new issue.’
‘Is he even doing his BTech? I only hear about his magazine.’
Aarti laughed. God, I had missed that laugh. I wanted to record it and play it on a loop.
‘He is,’ she said and grinned again. ‘Though I also call him the fake engineer.’
‘How did his newspaper internship go?’
‘Not bad. They didn’t let him write much though. They found his articles …’ she searched for the right words, ‘too radical and different.’
We drove into the sprawling BHU campus. Manicured lawns and well-kept buildings made it look like another country compared to the rest of Varanasi.
‘G-14 hall,’ Aarti instructed her driver.
We entered the five-hundred-seater auditorium, packed to capacity. A huge banner of the new magazine cover flapped across the stage. Raghav had changed everything; layout, look, content and even the title. The cover read BHUkamp, or earthquake. I noticed the smart utilisation of the university acronym. The magazine’s tagline said: ‘Shake the world’.
Aarti and I sat in the second row. The lights dimmed and music filled the hall. The crowd roared in anticipation.
‘Raghav’s backstage,’ Aarti told me. ‘Too many loose threads to tie up. He’ll meet us later.’
A group of ten students took the stage. They were covered head to toe in black tights with skeletons painted on them. Ultra-violet lights came on and the skeletons glowed.
Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror filled the auditorium.
I’m gonna make a change
For once in my life
The crowd roared in excitement as the skeletons performed an acrobatic dance. The song continued.
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change
‘Is this a magazine launch or a dance show?’ I sniggered.
‘Entertain them first, grab their attention and then say what you want to say,’ Aarti said.
‘Huh?’ I looked at her. Her face was bathed in the ultra-violet light.
‘That’s what Raghav says – entertain and change.’
I shrugged my shoulders. I turned around to look at the crowd. I wondered how many of them had spent time in Kota. Statistically speaking, a third of them had come from the city I’d just left behind.
I couldn’t help thinking: of all these seats in the hall, could I not get just one?
The skeletons finished their act. The crowd broke into applause. A tall man in a black suit came on stage. ‘Good evening, BHU,’ his familiar voice filled the hall.
‘It’s Raghav,’ I said, stunned by the transformation. I had never seen him in a suit. He looked like a rockstar. His toned body meant he made good use of the college sports facilities. In comparison, I felt fat and old after a year in Kota.
Raghav began his speech.
‘This is not an ordinary college. You are not ordinary students. We cannot have an ordinary magazine. Ladies and gentlemen, I present BHUkamp!’
The spotlight fell on the magazine cover. The crowd cheered. Aarti clapped loudly, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the stage.
‘The world has changed. Our college, our city, our country need to change too,’ Raghav continued. ‘Who is going to change them? We are. It starts here. We will shake the world.’
The crowd cheered again, more at the enthusiasm in Raghav’s voice than his words.
Raghav’s editorial team of students started to chant ‘Bhukamp, Bhukamp’ on the stage. The crowd picked up the chant.
‘We will print what nobody has the guts to print. Issues that affect us. No bullshit,’ Raghav said.
The editorial team stepped off the stage and started distributing copies of the magazine.
Raghav continued his speech. ‘Our first cover story is about the state of our hostel kitchens. Our secret team went and took pictures. Have a look at how your food is prepared.’
I flipped the pages of BHUkamp. There were pictures of cockroaches on the kitchen floor, flies feasting on mithai and mess workers kneading dough with their feet. A collective wave of disgust ran through the crowd.
‘Eww,’ Aarti said as she saw the pictures. ‘I am never eating in BHU again.’
‘BHUkamp will change our college for the better. These pictures have been sent to the director,’ Raghav said. ‘But don’t think BHUkamp is only serious stuff. We have loads of jokes, stories and poetry. We even have tips from dating to making of resumes. Happy reading. Long live BHU!’
The crowd’s applause continued for a minute after he left the stage.
Raghav pushed a stainless steel plate with two slices of bread towards Aarti. ‘Butter toast. It is clean, I promise,’ he said to her.
We had come to the BHU college canteen post-event. Aarti held the sandwich gingerly.
‘Canteen is fine. It’s the hostel kitchens that had a problem,’ Raghav said. ‘And they will clean it up after the issue. Eat, Gopal.’
I had ordered a plain paratha. I nibbled at it. Raghav picked up Aarti’s sandwich and fed her. She smiled. I burned.
‘What did you think of Kota?’ Raghav asked me. ‘We have tons of people from there.’
‘If I get into a good college, Kota is great. If not, the worst place in the world.’
‘You will be fine. You almost made it last year.’ Raghav tore his masala dosa with his right hand. In his left hand was a copy of BHUkamp.
‘You’ve changed, Raghav,’ I said.
‘How?’ He looked up.
‘This magazine and stuff. Why?’
‘Why? I like it, that’s why,’ he said.
Aarti didn’t speak. She merely watched us talk. I wondered what went through her head. Did she compare us? Well, I did not match up to Raghav. Except in the amount I loved her. No man could love her like I did.
‘You don’t come to a professional engineering college to edit magazines. People work their ass off here to get a good job,’ I said.
‘That’s such a narrow-minded view. And what about the things around us? The food being cooked in an unhygienic manner. Labs with outdated machines. Look at our city. Why is Varanasi so dirty? Who is going to clean our rivers?’ Raghav’s black eyes were feverish.
‘Not us,’ I retorted. ‘Sorting out our own life is hard enough.’
Raghav picked up his spoon and pointed it at me. ‘That’s the attitude,’ he said, ‘that I’m here to change.’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ I said. ‘Nobody can change anything. Hostel workers are not going to cook like your mother. And Varanasi has been the world’s dumping ground for thousands of years. Everyone comes here to dump their sins. Does anyone give a fuck about us residents, the people who deal with all the crap left behind?’
‘Boys, can we not be so serious? I’m bored,’ said Aarti.
‘I am just …’ I said.
‘He won’t listen. He is Mr Stubborn,’ Aarti said and tweaked Raghav’s nose. A shiver ran through me.
Raghav extended his hand and Aarti held it. She stood up and went to sit on his lap.
Raghav became self-conscious as heads turned towards us. Engineering colleges don’t witness public displays of affection. People in love sometimes don’t realise how stupid they look to the world.
‘Stop it, Aarti,’ Raghav said, shifting her off his lap. ‘What are you doing?’
Pouting, she went back to her seat. ‘Mr Editor, don’t edit me out of your life, okay?’ she said.
I felt like a voyeur sitting there. This was not how I wanted to meet Aarti. I wanted to run away. ‘Should we leave?’ I said to Aarti.
‘Sure, I have to be home before ten.’
We finished our dinner and Raghav settled the bill.
‘How’s Baba?’ Raghav asked me.
‘Sick,’ I said. ‘Worse since I left. I suspect he’s hiding something.’
‘What?’ Aarti said.
‘He needs an operation, but will not admit it. He’s trying to avoid more expense.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Raghav said.
‘Yes, we had an offer to sell the disputed land year
s ago. Even at the throwaway price we would have covered expenses.’
‘It’s your land. Why should you sell it cheap?’ Raghav said.
‘Baba will be happy to hear you,’ I said.
The driver started the car as he saw us approach. The headlights lit up the parking lot.
‘Get into the car, Gopal. I’ll be back in a second,’ Aarti said.
I waited in the car. Though I vowed not to look out, I couldn’t help but take a peek. Through the tinted glass I saw both of them walk behind a tree. They embraced. Raghav lowered his head as he brought his face close to hers. I thought I would vomit.
She was back in five minutes. ‘Did I take too long?’ she asked gaily.
I kept quiet. I didn’t make eye contact. She signalled the driver to leave.
‘Nice evening, no?’ Aarti said.
I nodded.
‘Isn’t the campus beautiful?’ she said as we left the BHU gates.
We sat in silence. The car stereo played music. A Kailash Kher song about a bird with broken wings that would never fly again played in the car. The song talked about dreams being broken to pieces, and yet urged the listener to smile in god’s name.
I glanced at her face sideways a couple of times. Her lip-gloss had vanished. Despite my best efforts not to, I couldn’t but imagine them in more intimate situations.
‘You okay?’ Aarti said.
‘Huh? Yeah, why?’ I said.
‘Why so quiet?’
‘Thinking about Baba.’
She gave me an understanding nod. But she could never understand that losers, even if they do not have a brain, have a heart.
13
Weeks passed, and the day of the results came closer. Baba seemed even more anxious than me. One night when I went to give him his medicines, he asked, ‘When are the results?’
‘Next week,’ I said.
‘IIT?’
‘A week after that,’ I said.
‘If IIT happens it will be amazing, no?’ Baba said, his eyes bright.
I covered him with a blanket. ‘Baba, did the doctor say you need an operation?’
‘Doctors want more business these days, what else?’ he said.
Revolution Twenty20 Page 9
