I came to the living room at midnight. I called Aarti.
‘Hey, you okay?’ Her voice was calm.
She knew my results. Yet she hadn’t called. She knew I’d call her when I was good and ready. Aarti and I were in sync.
‘We will talk on the boat,’ I said.
‘Four-thirty tomorrow morning at Assi Ghat,’ she said.
I went back to bed after the call. I lay down but couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for ages. There would be no sleep till I sorted things out with Baba.
I went to his room. He was asleep, the hot-water bottle still by his head.
I kept the bottle aside. My father woke up.
‘I am sorry, Baba,’ I said.
He didn’t say anything.
‘I’ll do whatever you tell me. I will try again if that’s what you want. I’ll become an engineer, Baba,’ I said.
He placed a hand on my head as if in blessing. It acted as a tipping point for my emotions. I broke down.
‘I’ll work extra hard,’ I said as tears rolled down my cheeks.
‘God bless you, go to sleep,’ he said.
I reached Assi Ghat at four-thirty in the morning. Phoolchand, my boatman friend, smiled as he handed me the oars. He had never charged me in all these years. I would take his boat for an hour, and buy him tea and biscuits in return. Firangs would pay five hundred bucks for the same.
Sometimes I’d help him negotiate with foreigners in English, and he’d give me a ten per cent commission. Yes, I could make money like this too. Maybe not a lot, but enough to survive. If only Baba would understand this.
‘Come back by five-thirty,’ Phoolchand said. ‘I have a booking. Japanese tourists.’
‘I won’t take more than half an hour,’ I promised.
He smirked. ‘You are going with a girl. You may forget the time.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You have a setting with her?’ Phoolchand said as he untied the anchor rope. In small towns, everyone is interested in every male and female interaction.
‘Phoolchand bhai, I will be back in half an hour,’ I said and got into the boat.
Phoolchand frowned at my curt reply.
‘She is a classmate from school. Have known her for eight years,’ I said.
He smiled. His paan-stained teeth shone in the semi-darkness of dawn.
‘I’ll help you with the Japanese, we will rip them off together,’ I said, holding the oars.
Aarti was waiting twenty metres ahead of the ghat pier, away from the stare of boatmen and sadhus. She stepped into the boat, one foot at a time. I whisked the boat away from the shore.
‘Let’s go that way,’ she said, pointing in the quieter western direction. On the east, the morning aarti had commenced at the crowded Dashashwamedh Ghat. Dashashwamedh, believed to be the place where Brahma performed ten ashwamedha yajnas (horse sacrifice), is the hub of all holy activities on the banks of Ganga in Varanasi.
The sound of bells and chants faded as I rowed further away. Soon, the only sounds came from the periodic slapping of the oars on the water.
‘It happens,’ said Aarti.
Her face had an amber hue from the morning sun. It matched her saffron and red dupatta.
My arms and shoulders felt tired. I stopped rowing and put the oars down. The boat stood still somewhere in the middle of the Ganga. Aarti stood up to come and sit beside me. Her movement shook the boat a little. As per ritual, she took my tired palms and pressed them. She held my chin and made me face her.
‘I’m scared, Aarti,’ I said in a small voice.
‘Why?’
‘I’ll get nowhere in life,’ I said.
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘So people who don’t have a top AIEEE rank get nowhere in life?’
‘I don’t know. I feel so … so defeated. I let Baba down.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘He wants me to try again. He is obsessed with making me an engineer.’
‘Do you want to be an engineer?’ Aarti said.
‘My dad is not in the IAS. My grandfather was not a minister. We are from a simple Indian family. We don’t ask these questions. We want to make a living. Engineering gives us that,’ I answered.
‘How old-fashioned!’
‘Filling your stomach never goes out of fashion, Aarti,’ I said.
She smiled and placed a hand on my arm. I hugged her. As I held her, I brought my mouth close to hers.
‘What are you doing?’ Aarti said, pushing me away.
‘I … I just …’
‘Don’t,’ Aarti said sternly. ‘You will spoil our friendship.’
‘I really like you,’ I said. I wanted to say ‘love’, but did not have the courage.
‘I like you too,’ she said.
‘Then why won’t you kiss me?’ I said.
‘I don’t want to.’ She faced me squarely. ‘Don’t get me wrong. You have been my best friend for years. But I’ve told you earlier …’ She went silent.
‘What?’
‘I don’t see you that way,’ she finished.
I turned away from her.
‘Gopal, please understand. You are disturbed so I don’t want to …’
‘You don’t want to what, Aarti? Hurt my feelings? Well, you have.’
I checked the time. My watch said 4:50 a.m. I had to return the boat. I picked up the oars again. ‘Go back to your place,’ I said. She complied. We remained silent till we reached the ghats. Phoolchand gave us a smile, which evaporated fast when I glowered at him.
We stepped off the boat.
‘You want to come home later today?’ Aarti said.
‘Don’t talk to me,’ I said.
‘You are being an idiot.’
‘I am an idiot, don’t you know? That’s why I couldn’t clear the AIEEE,’ I said and walked away without looking at her.
5
Like AIEEE, I did not make it in the JEE either. Raghav did, with an all-India rank of 1123. It turned him into a mini-celebrity in Varanasi. Local papers carried big stories the next day. Four students from Varanasi had cracked the JEE. Among those four, only Raghav had cleared the exam as a resident of Varanasi. The other three had appeared from Kota.
‘Why did they go to Kota?’ Baba mused, looking up from the newspaper.
Baba had resigned himself to my being a loser. He did not react to my not obtaining a JEE rank at all.
‘Kota is the capital of IIT coaching classes. Tens of thousands go there,’ I explained.
Every year, the tiny western Indian town of Kota accounted for a thousand, or a third of the total IIT selections.
‘What?’ Baba said. ‘How is that possible?’
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t want to discuss entrance exams any more. I had secured seventy-nine per cent in class XII. I could do BSc at the Allahabad University. The 120-kilometre commute would be difficult, but I could move there and visit Baba on weekends.
‘Which IIT is Raghav joining?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Baba, can you give me two hundred rupees. I need to buy college admission forms.’
Baba looked like I had stabbed him. ‘Aren’t you repeating AIEEE?’ he said.
‘I will join the Allahabad University and repeat from there,’ I said.
‘How will you prepare while doing another course?’
‘I can’t waste a year,’ I said and left the house.
I had to meet Raghav. I had not even congratulated him. True, I did not feel any happiness about his JEE selection. I should have, but did not. After all, we had been friends for ten years. One should be happy for pals. However, he would be an IIT student and I’d be a fucking nobody. Somehow, I could not feel thrilled about that. I practised fake smiles while pressing his doorbell. Raghav opened the door and hugged me straight off.
‘Hey, nice to see you,’ he said.
‘Congrats, boss,’ I said, my lips stretched into a smile and teeth sufficiently visible.
‘Now I can say I
know a celeb.’
I came inside his house, a modest three-bedroom, BHEL-provided apartment. Newspapers with articles about his selection lay on the dining table. Raghav’s father sat on a sofa with visiting relatives. They had come to congratulate the Kashyaps. An IIT rank is a huge event – akin to climbing the Mount Everest or being on a space mission. Mr Kashyap smiled at me from a distance. Call it my over-imagination, but his greeting seemed like the one you give to people well beneath your stature. I am sure if I had had a rank, he would have stood up and shook hands with me. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Raghav and I went to his room. I sat on a chair and he on the bed.
‘So, how are you feeling?’ I said. I wanted to know how it felt to get one of those stupid ranks that turned you from coal to diamond in a day.
‘Unbelievable,’ Raghav said. ‘I had thought AIEEE maybe, but JEE, wow.’
‘Which IIT?’ I said.
‘I will join IT-BHU. I will get a good branch and be in Varanasi too,’ Raghav said.
IT-BHU, the Institute of Technology at the Banaras Hindu University, was the most prestigious college in Varanasi. It conducted its admission process through the JEE. However, it didn’t have the same brand equity as an IIT.
‘Why BHU?’ I said.
‘I want to do journalism part-time. I have contacts in newspapers here,’ Raghav said.
When people are offered something on a platter, they don’t value it. Sure, Raghav had a thing for writing. He had published some letters to the editor and a couple of articles in some papers. However, this sounded insane.
‘You will give up an IIT for a hobby?’ I said.
‘It is not a hobby. Journalism is my passion.’
‘Why are you doing engineering then?’
‘Dad. Why else? Oh, I have told him I am taking BHU because I will get a better branch like Computer Science. Don’t tell him anything else.’
‘Raghav, you still …’
‘Raghav!’ Mr Kashyap shouted from outside.
‘My relatives, sorry. I have to go,’ Raghav said. ‘Let’s catch up later. Call Aarti also. I owe you guys a treat.’
He got up to leave.
When people achieve something, they become self-obsessed.
‘Want to know what I am going to do?’ I said casually.
Raghav stopped. ‘Oh, sorry. Sure, tell me,’ he said. I don’t know if he cared, or if he felt obligated.
‘Allahabad University. I will take a second attempt from there,’ I said.
‘Sounds good,’ Raghav said. ‘I am sure you will crack something. At least AIEEE.’
When people clear JEE, they start using phrases like ‘at least AIEEE’.
I smiled. ‘Baba wants me to drop a year to attempt again.’
‘You could do that too,’ Raghav said. His father shouted out for him again.
‘Go, it’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll also leave.’
‘See you, buddy.’ Raghav patted my shoulder.
‘No, Baba,’ I said. ‘I am not going to Kota.’
Without my knowledge, my father had spent one whole week researching on Kota. ‘Bansal and Resonance are the best,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘I am a retired teacher. I can find out.’
‘Great,’ I said.
‘I am ready to send you. Tuition is thirty thousand a year. Living expenses around three thousand a month. How much is that for twelve months? Thirty plus thirty-six thousand …’ Baba mumbled to himself.
‘Sixty-six thousand!’ I said. ‘And a wasted year. Baba, who are we? Kings?’
‘I have a forty-thousand fixed deposit I haven’t told you about,’ Baba said. ‘I saved whatever I could in the past three years. Enough to get you started. We’ll figure out the rest.’
‘So blow up whatever little money we have on tuitions? In some faraway place? Where is Kota, anyway?’
‘In Rajasthan. It’s far, but there is a direct train. Takes twenty-two hours.’
‘Baba, but … why can’t I join college? Give me the money for that. At least I will have a degree.’
‘What’s the point of a useless degree? And how will you do a repeat attempt without better coaching? You just missed a good rank because of a few marks. Maybe Kota will help you get those extra marks.’
I was confused. I had never thought of a second attempt, let alone going so far for a year.
‘You have to give it your best. Look at Raghav. He’s set for life,’ Baba said.
‘Look-at-Raghav’, yes, the new medicine being shoved down every Varanasi kid’s throat right now. ‘We can’t afford it,’ I said, collecting my thoughts. ‘Besides, who will take care of you here? Allahabad is nearby. I can come every week. You can visit …’
‘I can manage. Don’t I do most of the housework?’ Baba said.
I thought of Aarti. Sure, she had said no to me in the boat, but I knew how much she cared for me. Not a day went by without us talking. It was she who suggested I go to a college here, and I’d already found out the best course I could get with my percentage. How could I tell her I am going to Kota?
Of course, I couldn’t give Baba this reason to stay in Varanasi. ‘I promise I will work harder next time,’ I said.
We finished dinner and I began to clear the table.
‘You will keep doing domestic chores here,’ Baba shouted suddenly. ‘You are going.’
‘You have forty thousand. What about the rest? What about expenses such as travel, books, entrance exam fees?’ I said.
My father showed me his shrivelled index finger. It had a thick gold band around it. ‘I don’t need this useless ring,’ he said. ‘We also have some of your mother’s jewellery.’
‘You want to sell Ma’s jewellery for coaching classes?’
‘I had kept all that for your wife, but after you become an engineer, you can buy them for her yourself.’
‘What if you fall ill, Baba? Better to preserve all this for medical emergencies.’
‘You join an engineering college and my age will reduce by ten years,’ Baba laughed, trying to soften the situation. I saw his face, one front tooth missing. His laughter meant everything to me. I thought about Kota. They did seem good at making students clear entrance exams. I thought about the downside – the money required, the uncertainty and, of course, staying away from Aarti.
‘Do it for your old man,’ he said. ‘I’d move with you to Kota, but it’s hard for me to travel so far. We have to maintain this little house too.’
‘It’s fine, Baba. If I go, I’ll go by myself,’ I said.
‘Your mother too wanted you to become an engineer.’
I looked at my mother’s picture on the wall. She looked happy, beautiful and young.
‘Take care of your father,’ she seemed to tell me.
‘Will you go?’ Baba said.
‘If it makes you happy, I will.’
‘My son!’ Baba hugged me – the first time since the AIEEE results.
‘Show us the black ones,’ Aarti said to the shopkeeper. She pointed to a set of twelve clothes hangers.
We had come to a household items shop in Nadeshar Road to buy things I’d need in Kota.
‘Just because I am helping you shop doesn’t mean I am happy about you leaving Varanasi,’ Aarti said.
‘I won’t. Say the word and I will cancel my ticket.’
She placed a palm on my cheek. ‘I hate it that my best friend is leaving. However, it is the right thing for you to do.’
She approved of the hangers. They cost fifty bucks a set. ‘Uncle, I am buying towels, soap dishes and so many other things. You better give a good discount.’
The shopkeeper grimaced, but she ignored him.
‘Thank you for coming. I would not have known what to buy,’ I told her.
‘Have you taken cooking vessels? Forgot, no?’
‘I am not going to cook. They have a tiffin system.’
Aarti ignored me. She went to the utensils section and picked up a
large steel bowl and held it up.
‘For emergencies,’ Aarti said. ‘If I came to Kota with you, I’d cook for you everyday.’
Her fair hands held up the shiny vessel. The picture of her cooking in my kitchen flashed in my head. Why does Aarti make statements like these? What am I supposed to say? ‘I’ll manage fine,’ I said.
The shopkeeper made the bill. Aarti looked at me. She hypnotised me every time. She was turning prettier every week.
A small girl who had come to the shop with her mother came up to Aarti. ‘Do you come on TV?’
Aarti shook her head and smiled. She turned to the shopkeeper. ‘Uncle, twenty per cent discount.’ Aarti wasn’t too conscious of her looks. She never checked herself out in mirrors, never had make-up on, and even her hair often flopped all over her face. It made her even more attractive.
‘Should we leave?’ she said.
‘Whatever.’
‘What happened?’
‘At the last minute you say random things like “if I came to Kota”.’
‘I could. I will tell dad I also want to repeat a year. You never know.’ She winked.
I stared at her, seeking a hint of seriousness in her comment. Would that be possible?
‘Really?’ I said, almost believing her.
‘I’m joking, stupid. I told you. I’ve enrolled for Psychology honours at the Agrasen College.’
‘I thought you …’
‘Why are you so gullible?’ She burst into peals of laughter.
‘Gulli … what?’ I said. She pulled my cheek. ‘Oh,’ I said and composed myself.
Of course, no way she could come to Kota. I am not a gulli-whatever person. I understand things. Still, Aarti could defeat my logical faculties. I stopped thinking when I was with her.
I collected the purchased items and noticed her paying the shopkeeper.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I will pay.’
Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption, Ambition Page 4
