by Faraaz Kazi
As soon as the announcement was made, Rahul’s home was bombarded with calls from eager relatives who would either compare their children’s scores with him or set a competent benchmark for them to follow later or worse still, if they were elder to him then curse them for not obtaining a good score like him. Expectations were running high and so were the anxieties in everyone’s blood but Rahul remained pretty much indifferent to it all.
Rahul’s father logged on the board’s website to check his results. It took a long time for the slow server to display his results. When it finally did, Rahul’s father staggered back in his chair. He did not check the individual marks in each subject; he straight away jumped to the overall percentage column.
“Eighty-two-point-five,” he announced dismissively.
“Whose is that?” his mother asked over his father’s shoulder.
“Our intelligent son’s! Who else can slip from the mid-nineties into the early eighties and that too when it matters the most?” his father questioned back, gloom written all over his face.
“What am I to tell my sisters? My younger sister’s husband’s niece got eighty-nine-point-seven-seven and he is not even close. There has to be a goof up, please check it again,” his mother wailed banging her fists on the keyboard.
“It won’t change,” his father tried to reason it out but at last, on his mother’s insistence, he reloaded the site and punched in Rahul’s exam seat number again. Soon the result displayed itself again on the screen.
“Eighty-two-point-five!” his father pointed it out to his mother, his poking finger forming dissipating circles on the display.
“Do you want to file for re-evaluation?” his father asked.
Rahul shook his head slowly.
Rahul did not remember the last time he had seen his mother cry. He faintly recollected a time during his childhood when his
parents had got into a nasty verbal fight and his father had hit his mother hard across the cheeks. He had seen his mother shed a few tears then and disappear off to his maternal grandmother’s place
for a week. But that day, her mother had burst into tears spontaneously. His father did not console her as he was also
shocked and since the results were official, Rahul did not know what to do. His mind was too numb to react. He quietly got up and went to his room. No one called him for lunch. Everything had come to a standstill.
That afternoon the exam mark sheets were going to be handed out in school. Rahul hoped against hope that at least he would have secured his rank in school.
The numbness in his heart multiplied threefold when he saw the huge blackboard that was used to put up chalk written notices,
kept in the school compound to inform the local public about the school rankers.
His name was there but on the third place. Perhaps, he had not even been expecting that.
The second place displayed the name of Tarannum Haque, an unexpected entrant right below his rightful rank.
Strange is human nature, instead of celebrating success, it tends to feel overshadowed by other’s success but the success he was eyeing now had come at his expense. Right on the top, written in an elegant style and the name which would remain etched on the memorable topper’s list that decorated the entrance of the school, was Jay Deshpande. He saw the culprit standing ten feet away from him, hounded by smiling faces and thumping fists, posing for pictures as one of his cronies clicked the camera repeatedly lest he missed even a moment of the prized expression on Jay’s face.
Rahul did not see the faces of the hands that met his. He felt a different kind of hollowness in his heart than the one which he was accustomed to. Even the teachers were happy about Jay topping the charts. Looking back, it all seemed a distant past when he would be hounded by congratulatory glances, his back bearing the brunt of heavy pats and his ears tired of hearing his own praises. It all seemed a long time ago.
He met Sapna near the school gate. He then remembered that the tenth grade usually started earlier than the other grades in school as they had a huge syllabus to cover.
“Congrats, Rahul,” Sapna wished.
He shook her hands but did not know what to say.
“Which stream are you choosing?” Sapna asked.
“Science,” Rahul muttered softly, biting his trembling lip.
“Which colleges have you applied for?” she continued.
“Well, the colleges I wished to apply for won’t fall in my range anymore and the ones which would, have not yet released their application forms,” Rahul answered looking away.
“Hey, are you disappointed?” she asked, placing a palm on
his shoulder.
He shook his head.
“Tough luck ... but, c’mon, of the hundred students that gave the exam from our school, you came third. It’s a matter of great pride,” she tried to cheer him.
But when nothing in your life happens in a positive frame, it is difficult to think positively and hope for the best. Was the best still to come? He doubted that.
A dejected Rahul was congratulated by Jess too but Seema never came to do the same even as three days passed after the results. It was strange even after suffering from fate, a person in love would choose the same fate over his life.
A helpless and heartbroken Rahul had to ask one last favour from his favourite teacher, though he despised it. Dorothy ma’am was unrelenting. She gave him a verbal lashing and he bore it silently. He knew she had expected him to be the school topper but then she softened up on seeing his condition and motivated him to work harder in the future.
Rahul begged her to arrange a meeting with Seema. She did not commit to him but asked him to visit the school the next day. Rahul as usual came before time. Dorothy ma’am was scheduled to take a lecture in Seema’s class which was now the tenth grade, but she postponed it by a few minutes.
Seema was called on the third floor deserted corridor for ten minutes and was asked to congratulate Rahul in front of Dorothy ma’am. What seemed a childish scenario, had made Rahul really happy. The false joy on Seema’s face had made his heart compose lines,
“Love me, even if it’s a lie
Leave me but never say goodbye.”
Dorothy ma’am went away after Seema did. She wished him good luck for obtaining admission in a prime college. He realised then that was the last time he would be inside his school, the place where he had found it all and lost it too.
Those moments spent with her brought all the earlier times in front of his eye. Since the past two years, it had been Seema all the way and nothing else for him. Even when he was angry with her, she had ruled his mind as he contemplated ways to hurt her pride and even when he was so involved with her, he had thought of ways to please her and show her how much he loved her. It had been her and only her in all the matters related to him.
In her love and in his madness, he had forgotten everything. From a good student he had turned into something much lower than he thought he would become. His falling grades and fights with roadside loafers were ample proof of that.
After those ten minutes, he realised what she really meant to him. Was her congratulating him so important as to not even consider the other hundreds of people who had already shaken his hand? And to forget those at home who had prayed for his success fervently and already wished him in the morning, long before the results were declared because they were that confident about him? Though they were dejected on seeing his performance, perhaps more than he was, their prayers had shown hope in him and their eyes had trusted in his abilities. Didn’t he care for his mother, who fasted for his success and made a minnat stating that if he gets the usual ninety-percent, she would do this and that? He knew he was doing wrong but he was weak, too weak to stop himself from falling in love.
From an outstanding student, he had become a roadside Romeo. His conscience lost its voice though he knew the answers deep down somewhere and suddenly, it dawned upon him that he had lost his dream to top the board exams. He had
lost his prime position, he had lost the respect he had earned over the years, and he had lost his rightful place – all because of his foolishness, all because of his laziness and all because of a GIRL!
***
Whom could he have recounted his follies? There was no one who would understand him, not here, not anywhere. Who could have understood his love when he, himself had failed to do so? Raj? Asif? No, they were yet to experience life through the eyes of love. Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb? No one. The unfazed memory still called out to his present due to which Rahul did not notice when he stepped off the pavement and onto the road. He did not see the speeding minivan hurtling towards him, nor did he hear its frantic horn but he did realise the failed attempts of the driver to brake just before the vehicle bumped into him and threw him ten yards away.
***
FROM FIRST LOVE TO LAST OBSESSION
Two figures rushed towards the end of a corridor; one, a tall frantic boy and the other, an equally worried lady. Oblivious to the nauseous smell that seemed to be coming off the walls, the boy was also not aware of the ruckus he was creating. He finally bumped into someone with a loose white coat, twisting the long stethoscope dangling from his neck with his fingers.
“How’s he now?” Sahil asked the doctor, almost pushing him back. He had arrived with his mother, a woman as tall as him with a little mole on her chin, to check on Rahul who was lying unconscious at the city hospital.
“Doc, how’s the boy?” Sahil’s mother followed eyeing
the physician.
He was black with white hair, showing away the years of experience he possessed in this field. On seeing him more intently, Sahil had a fleeting image of some Indian God with a snake wound around his neck but he could not readily recollect the name of the
God. His mother was a Hindu but his father was an atheist and apart from the occasional respect towards the pantheon of Gods in their house, his mother was not much of a religious person
either, so his pietistic knowledge was not much better than speaking Latin backwards.
“Easy folks, he’s lost some blood but he’ll be fine. There’s some swelling near the scapula and few injuries on the calf and the forehead. He’s lucky, no major damage was done. He should be thankful to the sweet lady who brought him here,” the doctor said, holding Sahil’s shoulder to keep him steady.
“Which lady?” Sahil questioned.
“Oh, there was this sweet girl who brought him here, along with her father,” the doctor said.
“Must be some helpful Samaritan! Nice to see that people still feel helpful towards strangers,” Sahil said.
“How are you related to him?” the doctor enquired looking at Sahil’s mother.
“My son ...”
“We’re family friends,” Sahil broke in before his mother
could answer.
“That’s great! We had called up his school to know about him. The pretty lady had informed us that he was from Delaware High...” the doctor said.
“Oh, so she must be someone from the school,” Sahil mouthed.
“...the school folks called up his home in India and informed his parents,” the doctor said.
“That’s good, doctor,” Sahil’s mother nodded.
Sahil made a face. He was not pretty sure of that route.
***
Rahul opened his eyes slowly towards the end of the day, after remaining unconscious for almost eighteen hours. The nurse in the room saw him fluttering his eyelids and immediately rushed out to call the doctor. A girl sitting outside sensed something and immediately peeked in the accident ward. Yup, he was awake, she could see that. She went in. Rahul widened his eyes trying to remember how he landed up here. Something heavy pulled at his skull from both sides and he groaned. He wiggled his fingers, flexing his wrists and feeling his legs. They hurt, the moment he realised they were still stuck to his injured body. He groaned again, adjusting his eyes to the bright light.
“Hey, how are you feeling now?” It was Colins’ daughter, the same girl with the cropped blond hair, whom he had saved from the doped rascals.
Rahul merely nodded that he was fine.
“There was a loud screeching sound and I rushed out. I was scared on seeing that the van had bumped into you,” she admitted.
Rahul looked at her without saying anything, then looked away to observe his surroundings. The white coloured walls actually made the room feel more spacious than it was and the transparent lights in the two corners provided ample illumination for him to look around. He was in a big room that housed many beds – like the one he was resting on – in one straight line opposite the door, each one separated by a green curtain. He was aware of a slight buzzing sound. Was it from the fan or was it just in his ears, he could not make out.
“You all right, boy?” the doctor asked the first thing as he came in.
“I thought that is for you to check,” Rahul replied.
“Haha! Yes, yes, sure. You do seem better, especially if you can make statements like that,” the doctor replied, placing the stethoscope on his chest and asking the nurse to hand him the sphygmomanometer.
“So what happened to me?” Rahul asked the doctor while he was noting his blood pressure.
“What happened? God, I thought you would realise when a big, nasty van knocks you down, almost crushing you under its wheels,” the doctor said surprised.
“What’s the damage done?” Rahul asked smoothly.
“Just some stitches to your forehead, no major injuries. You will live. You lost some blood and the blood bank was short on your blood group. O positive is a tough customer, donates to all but accepts from few, but luckily this young lady over here had the same blood group as you, so we had no problem transfusing,” the doctor pointed towards Colins’ daughter.
Rahul looked at her, dressed in a navy blue frock she looked back at him. At one time in life, he had even lost the will to live and he would have gladly welcomed this accident then; but today, he did not believe in death as a relief from his woes. The pain was no problem, he would bear it, and wasn’t he accustomed to bigger pains by now?
“Thanks,” Rahul said.
“Oh, no. Not at all! My pleasure I could help. I had to, after what you did for me,” the girl maintained.
Rahul attempted to touch his forehead with his right hand but then he sensed that his hand was connected to a half-empty blood bottle and it would not be such a good idea to move it, so he checked his head with his free hand. He felt a bit feverish and shivered.
“Ah, don’t take too much strain. Nurse Anne, please do check on him at intervals. We informed your school and they in turn, informed your place. So don’t worry, someone would be here pretty soon,” the doctor assured him by placing a comforting palm on his free hand.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have informed my parents,” Rahul said, attempting to hoist himself up.
The doctor pushed him back gently.
“We didn’t, the school did and moreover you shouldn’t worry much. It’s not like they will scold you much or something, huh?” the doctor said in a friendly manner.
“Can I have a phone? I have got to make an urgent call,”
Rahul demanded.
“You are not in a position to make calls yet, so you better take rest. Trust me on that,” the doctor tried to pacify him.
“I need one, now!” Rahul almost shouted.
“Well, wait for some time; we’ll monitor your progress and
then maybe…”
“NOW!”
The doctor rushed out asking the nurse to follow him. He was going to get some morphine to calm him down.
“Don’t get too stressed up. Here, take my phone if you want to make calls to your family,” Colins’ daughter came upto him, offering him her cell phone.
Rahul was thinking of declining but he knew this would be his
best bet.
“It’s on intern
ational tariff,” he informed in a gruff voice.
“Ya, I could pretty much guess that much. Your family’s in India, isn’t it?” she nodded, her hand still extended.
He took it then and quickly dialled his father’s number.
“Namaste Papa, it’s me!” Rahul greeted him in a joyous voice with his facial muscles tensed. It clearly took some effort.
“Rahul beta, how are you? We heard about your accident.
We told you to be careful on roads and not venture out alone. Don’t you worry; I’m coming by tonight’s flight. Will reach tomorrow around…” his father went on in a worried voice. He could hear his mother’s frantic attempts to snatch the phone from his
father’s hand.
“Papa… relax, I’m all right. It’s nothing serious, really. I just got a few scratches and a couple of bruises,” Rahul assured his father.
“But your school authorities told me…” his father began.
“Oh, someone misinformed them and there has been some obvious miscommunication. Trust me, I’m perfectly fine, don’t I sound so?” Rahul asked, further emulating what he thought to be a healthy enough voice.
“Yeah, you do… but still I am coming!” his father insisted.
“Papa, cancel the ticket. There would be no one to watch over your work in office. It’s ok, the doctor has dressed up the little injuries and now I’m raring to go,” Rahul half-lied, clutching his hips and contorting his face as a spasm of pain shot through.
“No, no... you have to go… otherwise let me go on your ticket,” he heard his mother shout.
He sensed his father’s effort to keep talking while holding the instrument to his ear with one hand and his mother with
the other.
“Papa, I’m telling you… ok? Cancel the ticket and don’t worry, I’ll call you soon. I can’t talk more, it’s not my phone, so don’t call back on this number,” Rahul said.