Bombay Rains, Bombay Girls

by Anirban Bose

  The attraction of the proposal began to show on Sam’s broadening smile. ‘What do I have to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, stand for Class Representative first and campaign hard. You’ll definitely win in your class. That way you will be well known throughout campus and then you can stand for Hostel Secretary.’

  The recurrent mention of Hostel Secretary caught Adi’s attention. ‘Why Hostel Secretary?’ he asked.

  Pheru smiled quickly and said, ‘You can be anything. I just said that because of the new rules in the hostel. Did you guys see the notice?’

  That was when it dawned on everyone that something in the new rules bothered Pheru, and that was the primary motivation for calling them up to his room. They nodded silently.

  ‘It’s all that bastard’s doing. Bloody son of a bitch!’ said Pheru, suddenly angry. ‘All of us are in trouble with this new rule. I heard you guys talking about fighting it out. I have a plan, but I’ll need your help. Are you in?’

  Without waiting for their response, Pheru motioned for them to surround him and said in a sinister voice, ‘The warden is the dean’s chamcha. All this is a charade…education my ass, he is doing this because the dean asked him to.’

  Pheru studied their faces, somehow expecting this tidbit of information to induct them as co-conspirators into his mysterious plan. Although no one said anything, the real reason for Pheru’s agitation was apparent to all of them. Clearly, his days of unhindered intimidation were numbered by his academic calendar.

  Adi felt a sudden rush of power at the naked helplessness of his former tormentor. He felt like laughing at Pheru’s pathetic efforts. Surely, Sam would never agree.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Sam.

  Taken aback by Sam’s offer, Adi looked at the others out of the corner of his eyes. The same question adorned each face – what was Sam doing?

  ‘Sam’, said Pheru enthusiastically. ‘First you have to become the Class Representative. The election of the CR of the new class is a big event on campus. Everyone tries to find out who is the most prominent person in the new class. First CR, then that will be the launching pad for Hostel Secretary. Once you are the Hostel Secretary, you can change the rules…you have time…the new rules will come into effect only after the elections next year. But the time to prepare is now.’

  Then – much to the consternation of the others – Pheru and Sam began plotting political strategy.

  Sam returned to the dormitory later that night, having stayed back for a few hours after the others had left for a session of personal and political brainstorming with Pheru.

  Rajeev confronted him as soon as he entered. ‘What is wrong with you, Sam?’

  ‘Why…what happened?’

  ‘Why did you decide to help out Pheru?’

  Sam fell silent. The others looked on expectantly, awaiting the explanation that would explain his betrayal. Instead, Sam said, ‘Pheru is not what he seems. He is actually not a bad guy…’

  Rajeev cut in. ‘Not a bad guy? Pheru? Saala, are you fucking nuts? Is that why he fails every year? Is that why he almost made us cry? Is that why he is so afraid of the dean?’

  ‘You don’t know much about him, Rajeev.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell us what we don’t know? So that we can like him like you do,’ mocked Rajeev.

  ‘Pheru has a long history here,’ began Sam. ‘I know that the authorities, especially the dean, have been after him for some time…’

  ‘That is bullshit, man. Maybe the authorities have a good reason. Maybe he needs to be afraid of the dean!’

  Sam didn’t reply.

  ‘Don’t you see it, Sam? He is using you. He knows that other than freshies like us, nobody is under his control. You were not there that night when he ragged us…he is a bloody bastard. Now he wants to be friends with us to use us. This is the best chance we have to get rid of him, man. This is the revenge we’ve been waiting for. If they changed the rules to get rid of him, maybe it’s because he needs to be got rid of!’

  ‘Rajeev, this rule could hurt us just as much. Remember we were talking about doing something just a few hours ago? The dean hates Pheru…’

  ‘That’s what Pheru says, Sam. Why would you believe him? He has shown you all these starry dreams and now you cannot think for yourself. Saala, he is fucking using you, man!’

  Sam grimaced but didn’t reply.

  ‘Why don’t you say that you want to be CR? This stuff about Pheru is just an excuse,’ accused Rajeev.

  ‘Maybe I do! So what?’

  Toshi intervened. ‘Stop it, Rajeev. If Sam says we should help Pheru out, maybe we should. After all, if the new rules do apply, even we could be in trouble. And Sam being CR or even Hostel Secretary will only help us.’

  Toshi’s mediation brought about an uneasy calm. He quickly brought out a pen and paper to expand on the political strategy Pheru had initiated. Within a few minutes, they were engrossed in trying to devise a catchy but believable message.

  The elections were scheduled for the day after the class picnic. Sam’s only opponent was a local lad, Manish Torwadkar, whose campaign had no theme other than the fact that he was from Bombay.

  They agreed unanimously on the central message of their own campaign – Sam’s confrontation with Dr Gomke, showcased as a fitting testament to his courageous leadership. But the method of getting the message across to everybody took more decisive planning. It didn’t help that Rajeev’s participation was begrudging, slowing down their decisions. After a lot of debate and discussion they agreed that the class picnic, which was a week away, would be crunch time.

  At a hundred rupees per person, Adi had decided to forego the pleasures of the picnic. He could think of ten better uses for the money.

  ‘Rajeev, you have to bring in the girls to vote for Sam. Adi and Harsha can go after the guys,’ suggested Toshi.

  ‘Maybe I can talk to the other guys in the hostel,’ suggested Adi, hesitant to mention that he was planning to skip the picnic due to monetary concerns.

  Toshi nodded unconvincingly. ‘Oh…okay. Anyway, let’s get the list of people who are going to the picnic from one of the organizers. The picnic is the best time to promote Sam. It’ll be fresh in their minds when they vote the next day. Anyone know any of the organizers?’

  ‘I think Renuka Seth is one of them,’ said Sam.

  Adi’s ears perked up at the mention of Renuka’s name.

  ‘Yeah, she is one of the organizers,’ said Rajeev. ‘By the way, Adi, she asked me if you were planning to go to the picnic.’

  A sudden elation arose from somewhere deep within Adi’s heart, filling him with a sense of optimism for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom.

  Renuka had asked about him…about him? Well, she had smiled and spoken to him a few times. And a few days ago she had walked down twelve rows to sit next to him. Last Tuesday, she had waved at him…not a simple goodbye, but an affectionate twirl of the fingers along with a wave that was a special…

  ‘Hey Adi. Are you going to the picnic? And why are you smiling?’

  Adi hurriedly focused his eyes to find the others staring at him. Then smiling cheerfully, he said, ‘Of course I’m going to the picnic. Why wouldn’t I?’

  The chosen picnic destination was a small fishing village with gorgeous white beaches hemmed by stretches of shady coconut groves. In addition, it boasted of an uninhabited island fort that was approachable by foot when the tide was out. On that picture perfect August day, clear blue skies and miles of azure water simmered before Adi’s eyes.

  Despite the promise of fun and frolic that lay ahead, they were focused on using the day to campaign for Sam. Or at least that was what Adi ascribed Rajeev’s activities to.

  Rajeev was having a great day. The graffiti on his bright red T-shirt, ‘Nobody’s Perfect…I come close’, was not an accidental pick; rather, it described his state of mind fairly accurately. Hidden in his back pocket, he carried a small mirror that helped him adjust his hairstyle every s
o often. He sat under the coconut trees with a couple of girls, holding their hands open while his index finger ran over the lines on their palms, apparently en route to their future. In a perfectly symbiotic alliance, the girls stood close by, expressing surprise or cheer or outright glee at his visions of their fate with implicit faith in his credentials as a palmist. Adi hoped one of those predictions involved voting for Sam.

  Wherever Rajeev went, Harsha couldn’t be far behind. Rajeev’s charismatic good looks and popularity with the girls had serendipitously transformed him into Harsha’s fashion, attitude and style guru. Harsha even helped himself liberally to Rajeev’s language skills, spotting his otherwise broken English with a ‘cool, man’ here and a ‘holy cow’ there with little thought to the propriety of his diction or grammar. Adi could easily see the synergy of their relationship: Harsha hoped some of Rajeev’s glitter would rub off on him while Rajeev’s pleasure in having a perennial admirer of his wit and grace was evident in the confident smile he carried around.

  Adi stood debating whether to remind Harsha of their duty to campaign for Sam when he heard Renuka’s voice behind him. ‘Hi Adi, do you want to go to the fort?’

  Adi turned around to see her standing behind him, sipping on a straw stuck into a decapitated coconut. She wore a simple white sleeveless dress with bright yellow flowers that hugged the curves of her body. A slender arm held a large straw hat in place, keeping the sun out of her pretty face.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘I was looking for you.’

  She smiled back. ‘Why?’

  ‘To…to…talk to you.’

  ‘Hmm…Talk about what?’

  Adi shrugged. ‘Just stuff. You know…’

  She smiled. ‘No, I don’t know. Anyway, do you want to walk up to the fort with me and tell me what you wanted to talk about?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Adi, enthusiastically.

  They walked along the beach, making small talk as they headed towards the old, uninhabited fort. The soft, wet sand tickled their feet and caressed their soles. The gentle splashes of the inch-deep water played with their ankles, sputtering with effort as the tide rode out into the sea. A few shells floated lazily on the surf while tiny crabs scurried around among the pebbles.

  The fort stood atop a giant rock formation that looked distinctly out of place amidst the flat shiny sand surrounding it. The fort was small and in an advanced state of ruin. Banyan trees clung to the cracks on the walls, sending snake like root trails scurrying towards the ground. Huge, moss covered rocks in various shades of green bore the names of previous visitors and the brunt of their need to commemorate such visits. Tall, unkempt grass covered the uneven land inside. Although a few rooms remained intact, the cracked walls and termite ravaged wooden beams didn’t invite a closer inspection of the interiors. Small square windows along the hallways provided an unrestricted view of the sea stretching all the way to the horizon. Even in its advanced state of disrepair, those empty turrets and crumbling halls gave the fort a distinctly regal flavour.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be great to be a queen?’ said Renuka.

  ‘Really? Hmm…I’m not so sure,’ replied Adi, trying to think pragmatically. ‘Imagine having to live all your life with the fear of being killed or dethroned.’

  Looking out through the windows she said, ‘One day, I’ll be rich and buy an island.’

  ‘Why should we live on an island…’ said Adi. Renuka turned and looked at him, a saucy smile playing on her lips.

  Flustered, Adi tried to change the subject quickly. ‘I hope you are voting for Sam tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What… Why not?’ said Adi, shocked. Then, remembering their slogan, he said, ‘Sam is the best…Gomke’s put him through the test. Vote tomorrow night for the one who’ll fight for your rights.’

  ‘Nobody asked me to vote for him.’

  ‘I’m asking you,’ said Adi.

  ‘Then I can’t refuse, can I?’ she said, smiling sweetly.

  By the evening, Adi had crossed off almost everyone on his list of potential voters. The sun had shed much of its warmth and a light breeze was blowing in from the sea. Adi clambered into one of the buses and found a window seat. He looked outside expectantly, hoping to spot Renuka and find the courage to invite her to sit next to him.

  He heard someone say, ‘Can we sit here?’

  Half-expecting Renuka, he turned around to see an attractive girl with a very pretty smile looking at him.

  For a moment, he stared at her as though he hadn’t heard her question. Then, gathering his wits, he said in a mock-serious tone, ‘Let me see. What are your ticket numbers?’

  She laughed at his silly attempt at humour. Her laughter rang with a sweet, innocent quality that complimented her looks. Her face was slender, with high cheekbones and soft unblemished skin that seemed completely unaffected by the exertions of the day. Beautiful, bright eyes glowed with vivaciousness, heightened by the twin dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled. A lovely light–blue dress hugged her lissome body and seemed to lighten the damp of the evening. But what caught Adi’s eye was a subtle vulnerability in her beauty that made him instinctively like her.

  ‘Hi, I’m Isha. Ishita Banerji,’ she said, occupying the seat next to Adi. Then pointing to her friend, she said, ‘And this is Payal Chawla.’

  ‘Hi… I’m Adi.’

  ‘Yeah, we know who you are,’ said Isha. ‘Ever since that day in class when you and Sam almost got into trouble with Dr Gomke, you guys have been famous.’

  ‘Infamous, you mean.’

  Again, that beautiful laughter.

  ‘And very, very lucky,’ added Payal.

  ‘That’s true,’ smiled Adi. ‘So are you both from Bombay?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ve been friends from school through to college, and now medical college.’

  ‘Wow! That’s great,’ he said. ‘Listen, before I forget, I hope you are voting for Sam tomorrow. Sam is the best…Gomke…’

  ‘…Put him through the test. Vote tomorrow night for the one who’ll stand up for your rights,’ said Payal, completing his sentence. Adi smiled.

  The bus showed no signs of moving. Although it was humid inside, Adi didn’t complain. He enjoyed talking to the girls and each time Isha laughed, Adi felt like laughing as well. Her laughter was as contagious as it was beautiful.

  Suddenly, Adi spotted Rajeev and Harsha standing about twenty feet away from the bus in animated discussion with a bunch of boys. Adi couldn’t hear them, and the possibility that they had gotten into trouble while canvassing for Sam worried him. He excused himself from Isha and Payal’s company, and headed outside.

  The situation turned out to be different. The bus driver claimed that his bus permit didn’t allow more than ninety-six people. There being a hundred occupants, he was refusing to go back.

  ‘The driver counted the numbers now. Claims there were less in the morning,’ explained Rajeev.

  ‘Can’t we reason with him?’ asked Adi.

  ‘The bastard just wants some extra money.’

  Adi shrugged. ‘Then why don’t a few of us go back on our own?’ he said. ‘The train station is pretty close and once we reach Virar, we can take the locals trains.’

  Rajeev turned to look at him. ‘That is a great idea. Why don’t you suggest it?’ he said.

  Adi broke into the discussion and enthusiastically offered the solution. A few ‘why–didn’t–I-think-of-that’ smacks on the forehead followed, after which everybody dispersed towards the bus, eager to find a seat to get back. Adi, stuck with being the idea’s proponent, assumed that Rajeev would join him, which meant Harsha would agree readily. He turned around to look for one more volunteer, only to find that Rajeev had disappeared.

  A few insipid announcements and some gentle cajoling later, three other volunteers joined Adi. The four of them set out on foot for the nearest train station. As the bus drove past, Adi spotted Rajeev sitting near one of the windows in the rear of the b
us, talking animatedly to the girls around him.

  The train station was a twenty-minute walk from the beach. The sun had set, and in its absence, a refreshingly calm breeze blew in from the sea. Tall palm trees swayed gently in the wind as they made their way through the open farmlands along the narrow, dusty foot-trails.

  Adi, walking with one of the guys, realized that this would be the ideal time to sell him Sam’s candidacy.

  ‘Hey, Yogesh,’ he said. ‘I hope you are voting for Sam in tomorrow’s election.’

  ‘Hmmm…I’ll see.’

  ‘See what? You know Sam is the best, Gomke’s put him through the test. Vote tomorrow night for the one who’ll fight for your rights!’ said Adi enthusiastically.

  Yogesh didn’t respond. Undeterred, Adi pestered him some more. Unable to convince Adi of his sincerity or shake him off with his indifference, Yogesh said, ‘He won’t win the election, you know that.’

  Adi was taken aback. ‘Why won’t he win? Sam is the best choice…’

  ‘But he is not from here!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He is not…Maharashtrian.’

  ‘Sure he is. He is from Pune…very much in Maharashtra.’

  ‘Yeah, but not really Maharashtrian.’

  ‘What? How can he not be Maharashtrian, having been born and raised in Maharashtra?’

  Yogesh averted his gaze. Then, softly, with some guilt in his voice, he said, ‘He is not pure Maharashtrian, you know… I mean…he…he is not Hindu.’

  FIVE

  In contrast to his breezy social evolution, Adi’s academic transition from high school to medical college was nothing less than tumultuous. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry – the three subjects to be taught over the sixteen months of first MBBS – were whole new worlds to him. It didn’t help that laborious words with roots in Greek or Latin described esoteric terms that neither made sense nor sat easy on his tongue. Learning turned into a process of confining facts to memory with limited understanding of the actual content. To further complicate matters, a plethora of notes on every subject circulated clandestinely; hushed whispers and cryptic nods conveyed their caliber and an incipient advantage to the recipient, thereby automatically inducing him or her to guard the secrecy of their existence with passionate zeal. Lost in this competitive world of undergraduate medicine was the fact that there were so many versions of the same message floating around, they spent more time chasing them than reading them.