Ten kilometers from the garrison town of Birpara, Binnaguri is a calm and serene location for a school. Away from the rudimentary noises of the city, it is quiet and peaceful and one grows up appreciating the beauties of Nature and its queer eccentricities. Here, in this pristine town, my transformation into a geek started. For one, I was no longer competitive enough to fight for a place to represent the school in competitions. Rather in a class of highly talented students at St. James’, I made my mark as a poet. My friends knew nothing more about me because I hardly ventured into any other activity. I did not have the heart to. Poetry was the one thing that still intrigued me and this made me more disposed towards the study of poetry. At the library, I read Keats and at home, I recited Tennyson aloud. This new school had brought one more change in me; I was no longer comfortable speaking in public; I would often start stammering in the middle of a dialogue. Murphy’s law applied, this phenomenon struck me especially while talking to Sneha. Over the long walks we have shared, I don’t remember doing much talking at all. She did not let anybody speak. Binay was the only one who could blabber before her and she was the ablest competitor against him. They made Maths tuitions a lot of fun.
Tuitions are the centers of gossip. I was not particularly interested in gossip but I could not ignore the conversation today. The topic for the day was: what did girls really want. As usual, love-guru Binay started, "Girls want nothing but attention. You give them enough attention, they would want no flowers and no gifts."
Sneha was the perfect person to counter Binay and he had hardly finished speaking when she announced her presence. "Absolutely wrong. Girls do not want attention. All they want is to feel special. You make them feel like no lover has ever made them feel and you can sweep them off their feet."
"In a thousand years since Pythagoras was born and in a hundred half-lifes of radium, a million million lovers have walked the streets of earth, building Taj Mahals and plucking suns and moons. They have gone to Paris and Venice, plucked flowers, boiled stories, cooked dinners; done everything there could possibly be. How can a girl (still) expect to be made special, like no lover has ever made a girl feel? They crave for attention, nothing else."
Subhashish sir entered with a thunderous blow. "So what's the topic for today?"
Before he had settled, Binay started, "Sir, Sneha says that girls don't look for attention. They just want to be treated in a special way. What do you think?"
"I think what Mitesh is thinking right now. Why not solve a few problems in integration before the Diwali break." There was a short burst of laughter and everybody bent his head into study.
A few days later, we had our first annual examinations at St. James. One day before the examination, Anchal didi called me up. I told her that we had a stiff competition in class. There were two girls who scored 94% marks in ICSE. They were the school toppers. Sneha Sharma (L6) had been getting first rank ever since KG. They should not keep a lot of expectations from me.
Anchal didi said, “I know that you have a stiff competition. Of course, you are not in L.E.S. anymore. But life is a gold rush. You cannot sneak in through that competition because nobody will give you space to break in the middle; try to get upfront. You cannot get between two people fighting for the same rank. You can always try to start your own line. To find your own pit of gold. Why run for silver when you can run for gold?”
I appreciated her philosophy. It was nice coming from her way; she had completed her graduation as well as post-graduation with distinction, securing a gold medal both the times. It was good inspiration but it unsettled me more than anything else. I discussed this with Subhashish sir at the tuition. Sneha listened intently and was highly impressed. On our way back home, she kept adding her own explanations to what my sister had briskly summarized. We had puchkas at Shankar da’s shop and then parted ways with Binay and Jyoti. I dropped Sneha to her house as usual, but before parting, standing right in front of her house, I asked her blandly. (How mad of me, as I realize now!) “Sneha, what kind of a guy would sweep you off your feet?”
She was taken aback by the sudden change of topic and laughed heartily. She invited me to join her for coffee. After hesitating a little, I entered her home for the first time. I was introduced to her mother and grandmother and taken to the first floor into her room. Then, she disappeared to make some coffee, leaving me in a very uncomfortable position. I had nothing to do but look around at the various dolls in every corner of the room, well arranged to form almost a regular pattern. I could possibly write an equation to describe the trajectory of the dolls. The walls were plastered pink, perhaps suggesting that she had her opinion in deciding the colors for her room. That impressed me for some time. It apparently turned out later that the whole house was painted pink from the inside. There was a pile of books in one corner of the room, none of them was literature. They were books on Commerce, Economics and Accounts. There was an emergency light on the study table but no music system. It was clean and neat.
Sneha entered with two glasses of coffee. The latte was dark and bland, but I complimented her for making good coffee. I asked her if she was interested in literature. She said, “Of course, I like your poetry, if that is what you mean.”
“I meant do you like the works of Tennyson and Keats?”
“Not much, only to the extent that I could write their paraphrase in the examination.”
“Then how is it that you like my poetry?”
“Because they are simple to understand.”
I got the point. This was the very reason Binay did not like my poetry and she had to contradict Binay.
“There was a question I had asked you outside.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember the question,” she smiled gently.
“I had asked you, what kind of a boy you would like to live with forever.”
“One who would make me comfortable before his friends, one who would take care of me even before himself, one who would allay my fears when I am scared, one who would keep me company when I feel lonely, one who would treat me with honor, one who has the heart to be successful… ”
“That’s a long list lady. You can keep waiting for that man then.”
“No, it isn’t that difficult. I just want one just like myself.”
“That’s quite impossible. Sneha Agarwal, best in studies, best in sports, revered by the whole school and active in all extra-curricular activities. You are perfect. There can be no other Sneha Agarwal.”
“Well thank you, but I think we are both getting late for the examination tomorrow. You should start preparing if you want to realize the faith your sister has in you. Just inspiration is not enough.”
“Thank you for the coffee. And I hope you find the Mr. Perfect someday.”
The day the results were announced, my heart started pounding heavily. I had not done badly, but the performance may not have been satisfactory to dethrone the long-reigning Queen. The results in the commerce section had been announced in the morning and we knew that Sneha Agarwal had managed the first position in class comfortably, with no Science and History to trouble her anymore. Mr. Subhomoy Banerjee decided to keep the last period of the day for unlocking our hardly-awaited results. He entered with the same glee he usually carried. His usual practice was to disclose the results starting from the last rank-holder to the first and then call the remaining students with their parents to identify the reasons for their failure. He started as per practice. One by one, as he called the students, a sense of relief filled their eyes as they received their report cards. Each time, my heart grew louder. I could only hope I had not flouted Chemistry. Fifteen minutes passed without relief.
“Fourth, Neha Natani.” She was greeted with loud claps, which may have shadowed the sound of my heart. “Third, Nirmala Rai. I am a little disappointed with your performance.” She was still greeted with a big hand. Why did somebody not give me a big hand on my face? Was I dreaming? I wondered what would happen if I had flouted the examination. My sister would be so disappointed in me. I had only one chance now to redeem myself. There was no chance I could have defeated L6. If only I was second, I could redeem myself. “Second…” My heart almost collapsed.
He moved his eyes over me and then said, “Sneha Sharma.” The laughter and claps stopped all of a sudden. All eyes shifted to Sneha Sharma and she fainted. One student asked, “Who’s first then?” Mr. Banerjee said, “Mitesh, come and get your report card. You’re tied with Sneha, but the Board has ruled you first by comparing your marks in the additional subject.” This time, I nearly fainted. There was no clapping for me either. That day after class, all 200 meters distance to the bus, there were eyebrows all around me. Had I really achieved the impossible?
At the Maths tuition, things were different. Two students ranked first and one ranked third. That called for celebration and we did celebrate the classic way: Puchkas. Of course, Subhashish sir was more than happy to pay. Next day, I found myself distanced from everybody in class I called friends. It was now Praveen’s turn to avoid me. It sure is painful if you are scolded at home for failing in an examination in which one of your mates comes out as the topper. I did not try too hard either to get their attention. L6 was the only person to congratulate me. The rest stayed at a distance. The greeting was a painful one, but before I could tell her anything, she was gone. Classes went on as usual and I suddenly found myself being triggered with a number of questions every now and then. May be I had not proved myself enough yet.
When I returned from the lunch break, I found my belongings in a good mess. The notes had been defaced with ink and sketch pens, the bag tied into a knot and the remainder of the ink in my fountain pen drained out. The little contributions I had on the class notice boards had been written over and the board proclaimed in big bold letters F*** OFF. The message had been sent across by more than one person, 15 minutes was too little a time for doing all of this all alone.
In the literature class, I requested Mr. Banerjee to take my complaint. He reprimanded the students for treating me that way but did not want to take a formal complaint. I insisted not because I was angry at what had happened but because I wanted to neutralize all threats for the future. When it did not work out, I decided to approach the Principal. The matter was brought back to Mr. Banerjee who asked me to call my parents. L6 was asked to call her parents at the next parent-teacher meeting.
At the meeting with my mother, Mr. Banerjee insisted that I should drop the matter since he was aware of how L6 might have been hurt having been vanquished for the first time in life. He assured my mother that no such incident would ever happen in the future. My mother was afraid that I may face more trouble in the future. She insisted that my friends had suddenly distanced themselves after the results and that pranks were still being played upon me even in the bus. After a long discussion, Mr. Banerjee decided to call everybody to an open discussion to get a complete picture of what was going on.
L6’s friends vouched that she had no reason to envy me and that she had even congratulated me for the success. I could not deny that. I had no means to prove that she was anyway involved in any of these events. I did not know for sure myself. On the other hand, L6 had a number of witnesses to prove that I was trying to disturb the peace of the class. A hundred lies were hurled against me and I kept defending myself, all alone. None of my closest friends spoke against all the allegations made against me. Binay tried but his arguments did not carry popular weight with the vast majority of teachers who had never taught him and knew nothing about him. His voice was only as strong as mine; we were new-comers still. These other students had worn a clean impression before all these teachers over the years and were now bent on getting me expelled. One less would mean one less to compete with.
Sneha came to my rescue on a few fronts. Her arguments carried some weight but she was highly out-numbered. She spoke only of what she knew well, and her reputation as a perfect disciplinarian came in handy. She knew pretty well that I was being trapped and would not bear testimony to lies. She kept testing the weight of the lies over which their story was built. In the end, she did manage to entangle them in their own web and prove that a good number of facts brought forward was baseless and these students were not to be taken into confidence. The committee could reach no consensus and it was finally decided to restore status quo. If anybody was found creating any more trouble, action would be taken against him or her, whereas I was advised to mingle well with the class and avoid disturbing the peace of the class. We called it day.
At the end of the entire incident, I was stronger by a lesson. You could trust friends that you did not know very well, but not the closest of friends. I kept meeting Praveen and Co. thereafter, but not with the same earnest friendship I once had.
Tuitions are the centers of gossip. I was not particularly interested in gossip but I could not ignore the conversation today. The topic for the day was: what did girls really want. As usual, love-guru Binay started, "Girls want nothing but attention. You give them enough attention, they would want no flowers and no gifts."
Sneha was the perfect person to counter Binay and he had hardly finished speaking when she announced her presence. "Absolutely wrong. Girls do not want attention. All they want is to feel special. You make them feel like no lover has ever made them feel and you can sweep them off their feet."
"In a thousand years since Pythagoras was born and in a hundred half-lifes of radium, a million million lovers have walked the streets of earth, building Taj Mahals and plucking suns and moons. They have gone to Paris and Venice, plucked flowers, boiled stories, cooked dinners; done everything there could possibly be. How can a girl (still) expect to be made special, like no lover has ever made a girl feel? They crave for attention, nothing else."
Subhashish sir entered with a thunderous blow. "So what's the topic for today?"
Before he had settled, Binay started, "Sir, Sneha says that girls don't look for attention. They just want to be treated in a special way. What do you think?"
"I think what Mitesh is thinking right now. Why not solve a few problems in integration before the Diwali break." There was a short burst of laughter and everybody bent his head into study.
A few days later, we had our first annual examinations at St. James. One day before the examination, Anchal didi called me up. I told her that we had a stiff competition in class. There were two girls who scored 94% marks in ICSE. They were the school toppers. Sneha Sharma (L6) had been getting first rank ever since KG. They should not keep a lot of expectations from me.
Anchal didi said, “I know that you have a stiff competition. Of course, you are not in L.E.S. anymore. But life is a gold rush. You cannot sneak in through that competition because nobody will give you space to break in the middle; try to get upfront. You cannot get between two people fighting for the same rank. You can always try to start your own line. To find your own pit of gold. Why run for silver when you can run for gold?”
I appreciated her philosophy. It was nice coming from her way; she had completed her graduation as well as post-graduation with distinction, securing a gold medal both the times. It was good inspiration but it unsettled me more than anything else. I discussed this with Subhashish sir at the tuition. Sneha listened intently and was highly impressed. On our way back home, she kept adding her own explanations to what my sister had briskly summarized. We had puchkas at Shankar da’s shop and then parted ways with Binay and Jyoti. I dropped Sneha to her house as usual, but before parting, standing right in front of her house, I asked her blandly. (How mad of me, as I realize now!) “Sneha, what kind of a guy would sweep you off your feet?”
She was taken aback by the sudden change of topic and laughed heartily. She invited me to join her for coffee. After hesitating a little, I entered her home for the first time. I was introduced to her mother and grandmother and taken to the first floor into her room. Then, she disappeared to make some coffee, leaving me in a very uncomfortable position. I had nothing to do but look around at the various dolls in every corner of the room, well arranged to form almost a regular pattern. I could possibly write an equation to describe the trajectory of the dolls. The walls were plastered pink, perhaps suggesting that she had her opinion in deciding the colors for her room. That impressed me for some time. It apparently turned out later that the whole house was painted pink from the inside. There was a pile of books in one corner of the room, none of them was literature. They were books on Commerce, Economics and Accounts. There was an emergency light on the study table but no music system. It was clean and neat.
Sneha entered with two glasses of coffee. The latte was dark and bland, but I complimented her for making good coffee. I asked her if she was interested in literature. She said, “Of course, I like your poetry, if that is what you mean.”
“I meant do you like the works of Tennyson and Keats?”
“Not much, only to the extent that I could write their paraphrase in the examination.”
“Then how is it that you like my poetry?”
“Because they are simple to understand.”
I got the point. This was the very reason Binay did not like my poetry and she had to contradict Binay.
“There was a question I had asked you outside.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember the question,” she smiled gently.
“I had asked you, what kind of a boy you would like to live with forever.”
“One who would make me comfortable before his friends, one who would take care of me even before himself, one who would allay my fears when I am scared, one who would keep me company when I feel lonely, one who would treat me with honor, one who has the heart to be successful… ”
“That’s a long list lady. You can keep waiting for that man then.”
“No, it isn’t that difficult. I just want one just like myself.”
“That’s quite impossible. Sneha Agarwal, best in studies, best in sports, revered by the whole school and active in all extra-curricular activities. You are perfect. There can be no other Sneha Agarwal.”
“Well thank you, but I think we are both getting late for the examination tomorrow. You should start preparing if you want to realize the faith your sister has in you. Just inspiration is not enough.”
“Thank you for the coffee. And I hope you find the Mr. Perfect someday.”
The day the results were announced, my heart started pounding heavily. I had not done badly, but the performance may not have been satisfactory to dethrone the long-reigning Queen. The results in the commerce section had been announced in the morning and we knew that Sneha Agarwal had managed the first position in class comfortably, with no Science and History to trouble her anymore. Mr. Subhomoy Banerjee decided to keep the last period of the day for unlocking our hardly-awaited results. He entered with the same glee he usually carried. His usual practice was to disclose the results starting from the last rank-holder to the first and then call the remaining students with their parents to identify the reasons for their failure. He started as per practice. One by one, as he called the students, a sense of relief filled their eyes as they received their report cards. Each time, my heart grew louder. I could only hope I had not flouted Chemistry. Fifteen minutes passed without relief.
“Fourth, Neha Natani.” She was greeted with loud claps, which may have shadowed the sound of my heart. “Third, Nirmala Rai. I am a little disappointed with your performance.” She was still greeted with a big hand. Why did somebody not give me a big hand on my face? Was I dreaming? I wondered what would happen if I had flouted the examination. My sister would be so disappointed in me. I had only one chance now to redeem myself. There was no chance I could have defeated L6. If only I was second, I could redeem myself. “Second…” My heart almost collapsed.
He moved his eyes over me and then said, “Sneha Sharma.” The laughter and claps stopped all of a sudden. All eyes shifted to Sneha Sharma and she fainted. One student asked, “Who’s first then?” Mr. Banerjee said, “Mitesh, come and get your report card. You’re tied with Sneha, but the Board has ruled you first by comparing your marks in the additional subject.” This time, I nearly fainted. There was no clapping for me either. That day after class, all 200 meters distance to the bus, there were eyebrows all around me. Had I really achieved the impossible?
At the Maths tuition, things were different. Two students ranked first and one ranked third. That called for celebration and we did celebrate the classic way: Puchkas. Of course, Subhashish sir was more than happy to pay. Next day, I found myself distanced from everybody in class I called friends. It was now Praveen’s turn to avoid me. It sure is painful if you are scolded at home for failing in an examination in which one of your mates comes out as the topper. I did not try too hard either to get their attention. L6 was the only person to congratulate me. The rest stayed at a distance. The greeting was a painful one, but before I could tell her anything, she was gone. Classes went on as usual and I suddenly found myself being triggered with a number of questions every now and then. May be I had not proved myself enough yet.
When I returned from the lunch break, I found my belongings in a good mess. The notes had been defaced with ink and sketch pens, the bag tied into a knot and the remainder of the ink in my fountain pen drained out. The little contributions I had on the class notice boards had been written over and the board proclaimed in big bold letters F*** OFF. The message had been sent across by more than one person, 15 minutes was too little a time for doing all of this all alone.
In the literature class, I requested Mr. Banerjee to take my complaint. He reprimanded the students for treating me that way but did not want to take a formal complaint. I insisted not because I was angry at what had happened but because I wanted to neutralize all threats for the future. When it did not work out, I decided to approach the Principal. The matter was brought back to Mr. Banerjee who asked me to call my parents. L6 was asked to call her parents at the next parent-teacher meeting.
At the meeting with my mother, Mr. Banerjee insisted that I should drop the matter since he was aware of how L6 might have been hurt having been vanquished for the first time in life. He assured my mother that no such incident would ever happen in the future. My mother was afraid that I may face more trouble in the future. She insisted that my friends had suddenly distanced themselves after the results and that pranks were still being played upon me even in the bus. After a long discussion, Mr. Banerjee decided to call everybody to an open discussion to get a complete picture of what was going on.
L6’s friends vouched that she had no reason to envy me and that she had even congratulated me for the success. I could not deny that. I had no means to prove that she was anyway involved in any of these events. I did not know for sure myself. On the other hand, L6 had a number of witnesses to prove that I was trying to disturb the peace of the class. A hundred lies were hurled against me and I kept defending myself, all alone. None of my closest friends spoke against all the allegations made against me. Binay tried but his arguments did not carry popular weight with the vast majority of teachers who had never taught him and knew nothing about him. His voice was only as strong as mine; we were new-comers still. These other students had worn a clean impression before all these teachers over the years and were now bent on getting me expelled. One less would mean one less to compete with.
Sneha came to my rescue on a few fronts. Her arguments carried some weight but she was highly out-numbered. She spoke only of what she knew well, and her reputation as a perfect disciplinarian came in handy. She knew pretty well that I was being trapped and would not bear testimony to lies. She kept testing the weight of the lies over which their story was built. In the end, she did manage to entangle them in their own web and prove that a good number of facts brought forward was baseless and these students were not to be taken into confidence. The committee could reach no consensus and it was finally decided to restore status quo. If anybody was found creating any more trouble, action would be taken against him or her, whereas I was advised to mingle well with the class and avoid disturbing the peace of the class. We called it day.
At the end of the entire incident, I was stronger by a lesson. You could trust friends that you did not know very well, but not the closest of friends. I kept meeting Praveen and Co. thereafter, but not with the same earnest friendship I once had.