As the days passed, I even started liking the song Papa kehte hain. It had started making a different sense to me. Soon, I wanted to become the one who could sing that song and prove to the world that I meant every word of what I was singing.
This time, there was a positive change within me. I no longer envied those who were ahead of me in the rat race. I felt calm, composed and focused solely on my own goals. And then, just like that, I returned to the rat race …
But this time, I no longer felt like a rat.
17
Grand Finale to School
Class XI started on a brand new note. I opted for the science stream. I promised myself that I would beat everyone else in my class. I now clearly knew what my goal was. And I had planned an entire strategy to achieve it. But then, there came an obstacle—a giant 6’ 1” of it—and placed itself right in between my goal and me.
He had a name as well—Nitin Ramchandani. A Sindhi who hailed from my own town, Burla, and had recently joined my school in Class XI, Nitin had one half-blackened tooth and a dark patch, almost half an inch in size, underneath his left jaw. Every time you looked at him, he would give you an unnecessary smile.
He had studied till Class X at St Joseph’s Convent School (yes, the one where girls wore skirts!) and had come to Guru Nanak Public School because the convent didn’t have Classes XI–XII, something I too would have had to do had I gone to that school.
In the initial days we used to treat him and all the other new entrants like step-classmates, if such a term can exist. It was not a nice thing to do, but it was our way of venting our frustration at not having the privilege of studying at the convent. Why had they had all the fun?
However, I was not at all jealous. I was happy that there was finally someone in my class who was from my hometown. In the past three years, I’d not known anyone in Burla to whom I could reach out and discuss homework, or sit with and prepare for examinations. It was quite natural, then, that Nitin and I formed a good bonding in the very first month. By the second month, we had visited each other’s houses and had eaten meals cooked by each other’s mothers. That made us best friends—so we were! And the last-minute preparations for a unit test, the late-night revisions at his place and other such things had made us grow even closer.
But the results of the unit test made me realize how wrong I was. That giant, with his half-black tooth, had grabbed the top rank in my class!
I had come second.
I could not believe it. I had beaten the old top-rank holders but had lost the battle to this grinning monster!
There is no pain more brutal than to see your good friend get ahead of you in the race that means a lot to you. From that day onwards, I started envying Nitin. His only crime was that he had scored better than me.
On his face I congratulated him. But behind his back, I started bad-mouthing him.
‘Itna lamba hai, phir bhi basketball nahi khelta—what a waste of height! He should have been playing basketball!’ I kept saying, until it became a matter of public embarrassment for him.
Just like other students from the convent school, he was good at English. He was also extremely good at biology. At times, even the Bio Ma’am would forget the scientific names of some of the organisms from the animal kingdom, but Nitin would remember. Not only that, he would, at times, correct the teacher when she ended up making an unconscious mistake.
‘No Ma’am, the scientific name of the chimpanzee is Pan troglodytes. Hominoidea is for apes,’ he once corrected the teacher.
‘Lagta hai zoo mein kaam karta hai!’[Seems like he works at the zoo] I immediately quipped, and everyone laughed. But Nitin laughed along with them, and that shut me up. I had wanted him to feel embarrassed. But, hell—it seemed like he didn’t even know the emotion!
There is no substitute to jealousy. No matter how many times I went over to Nitin’s place to study with him, I would still envy him for being a better student than me. I hated it when our common friends in class approached him, instead of me, to solve their problems. It was part of his practice to read a chapter the day before it was supposed to be taught in the class. So he had an answer for every question, and soon became the apple of every teacher’s eye. He was somewhat weak in maths, so he made a smart move to compensate—he started taking tuitions from the schoolteacher early in the mornings.
Nitin’s grey Chetak scooter was another reason for my jealousy. While I would go to his house on my bicycle, he would come to mine on his scooter. He was rich and, on weekends, used to ride a green Mahindra jeep with his leg out on the stepper. I only liked his scooter when he used to offer me the rear seat and take me for a ride to the Burla market.
There was a huge difference in Nitin’s and my unit test marks, despite the fact that I had doubled my efforts, and started praying as well. I no longer prayed to God for getting me good marks. Instead, as per my new strategy, I would pray to God to limit Nitin’s score.
Nitin, again, was one of those irritating people who just before the exam would say, ‘Phatt rahi hai meri. Bus, Bhagwaan, is subject mein passing marks aa jayein.’ [I’m in a terrible shape. Please, God, let me at least score passing marks in this subject.]
‘Amen!’ I would say in front of him, but would silently add to his prayer, ‘Please, God, hold him at the passing marks only.’
‘Sardaar, kyun chidta rehta hai tu mere se! Chal, aa, exam dete hain,’ [Sardar, why do you seem so upset with me! Come, let’s go and give the exam] he would say, dismissing the whole issue.
On the top of it, my mother and father loved Nitin. They found him sincere as well as easy-going. They would let me go to Sambalpur or other distant places late in the night, if only I went with Nitin. My father knew Nitin’s father well. There were only a handful of people in Burla who were highly respected in the society, and Nitin’s father was one of them. I loved his parents as well. Even before I knew Nitin, I knew his father—every summer, when we used to pluck jamuns from our jamun tree, Dad would ask me to take a basket to Nitin’s house. In return, Uncle would give me a packet of biscuits or a chocolate.
If only his son would have scored a little less than me, the two of us would have been best friends. But destiny had its own plans.
The next unit test went by. I slipped to the fourth place this time, while Nitin successfully stayed at the top. Slowly, half a year and a few more unit tests passed by, but nothing changed this pattern. The only change was that now, instead of just our class, the entire school knew Nitin. He became the head boy of the school. He came, he conquered and he ruled, in a school that was mine first, and only then his! It was his habit to agree with everything that the teachers said. If they said yes to something, Nitin would nod his head first, and only later think about what they had said. And when they said no to anything, he too would shake his head. Once I saw him agreeing to two opposite opinions over the same issue with two different schoolteachers. He was good at marketing. The product he marketed well was himself.
‘How can a boy like you, from a different school, become the head boy in this school?’ I asked him in frustration one night.
Nitin was very forthcoming and honest. He explained things to me that no one had taught me at school. He told me what to do and not to do in order to hold influence. He gave me some quick tips to get people’s attention. He was good at it.
Taking a chance, I implemented his lessons, and soon I became a house captain. I realized that it wasn’t such a big deal—just a little bit of tact, awareness and a play of words, and 75 per cent of the work was done. With this sense of achievement, my attitude towards Nitin also changed. He didn’t feel like a rival any more. Rather I began to respect his wisdom and sincerity towards me.
With that, in the last few days of Class XII, my hostility towards Nitin also went down. Just like it happens with a months-old new year’s resolution, the importance of becoming a topper in my class also became less. It was pointless to bang my head against the strong-willed wall called Nitin Ramchandan
i.
For the first time, I was very comfortable and relaxed during my exams. I had forgiven Nitin for his crime of being better than me. Actually, I was too tired of being jealous. I became more carefree, and that reduced the pressure I used to face while studying. I had again begun to enjoy games, and I did play some of them with Nitin, especially after the Class XII exams were over. What was more, I loved the change!
Nitin and I developed a great friendship during the vacation after Class XII.
I am nervous.
Finally that moment has arrived which each one of us has been waiting for. I know I have done well this time. But what if history repeats itself? Memories from what had happened almost two years back keep flashing in my mind.
The honking of a scooter temporarily interrupts my fearful thoughts. And then I hear him shouting, ‘Sardaar, jaldi aa ja!’ [Sardar, come here quickly!] Nitin is bang on time.
I tell Mom that Nitin has come to pick me up. I touch her feet and run out of the house. She shouts after me, ‘All the best and have faith in God!’
Outside the gate of my house, I see Nitin on his scooter. He too looks anxious. The two of us exchange smiles.
‘Chal, chal, jaldi kick maar, bhai!’ [Hey, kick-start the scooter quickly!] I say to him and hop on to the back seat.
The scooter springs to life and, in no time, we are on the highway from Burla to Sambalpur. We talk, but we don’t know what exactly we are talking about. We are talking just for the heck of it; just to make each other comfortable.
With every mile towards the school, our nervousness starts making its way to our faces. The enthusiastic smiles vanish and a familiar fear creeps in and makes its home between the lines of our foreheads. We know we are moments away from witnessing something that can either lead us to happiness or to sorrow. I am sure about Nitin. But I am only hopeful about my own self.
At the entrance of the school, we park the scooter. We are the early birds—there is no one yet out there. Still, we race between us to reach the entrance gallery of the school. The noticeboard in the corridor is our destination.
We make a hard stop at the gallery. Our bodies come to rest, but we continue to breathe hard. In no time, we make ourselves busy trying to spot the freshly clipped A4-sized paper on the board. There are so many of them! The last-minute flurry has muddled our minds. We are no longer calm or relaxed.
‘Here!’ Nitin finally shouts, pointing to the noticeboard behind me.
His words make time stop for a moment. I turn towards him and feel an adrenaline rush. I can almost hear my heartbeat now.
I read: ‘Rank-wise Class XII (Higher Secondary Examination) CBSE Results’. I am seconds away from seeing how I have done.
Nitin points his finger to the first row. I don’t follow his finger too carefully, knowing that he will top the school, as usual. I don’t want to waste my time congratulating him, as long as I’m fighting my own fear and trying to know my fate.
My eyes scroll down to the second row. I don’t see my name. The typing is terrible on the result sheet. I look down to number three, and then number four. In my hurry, all I am trying to look for is the initial letter ‘R’. I don’t see it.
My fear is again coming true. Oh God! I am not there in the top ten rows. I am about to break down. I am shouting that I don’t see my name! I am calling out to Nitin and telling him that I don’t see my name.
He grabs me by my shoulder. He is trying to tell me something, but I am not listening to him. I continue to shout aloud.
He slaps me hard.
I’m stunned. I ask him if he can find my name.
‘You arsehole! What else am I doing?’ he shouts at me, and then points his finger again to the first row.
I finally look at where his finger rests on the board. I read the first alphabet. It is ‘R’. I read the rest of the name. It’s me.
Oh God! It’s me! I take my time to understand what that means, and to come to terms with the reality.
‘Sardaar! Fattey chakte tu taan!’ [Sardar! You’ve made it!] Nitin screams out, and gives me a tight hug.
Oh boy! I have finally made it! Yes! Yes! Yesssssssssssssss!
I AM THE TOPPER. I–I–I–I–I–I–I–I—AMMMMM—THE—TOPPPPERRRRRR!
It is an unbelievable moment for me. I can’t express how I am feeling. I keep staring at the noticeboard. There are a thousand things I want to do. But, for the time being, I want to run to my parents. I want to tell them that I have come first in the school! Finally.
Author’s Note
Before you start reading my work and before I start narrating my story to you, let me take a minute first and thank you! for choosing to spend your precious hours and days with me. In this busy world, where everyone has a story, a status or a tweet to tell people what’s on their mind, your choosing to spend hours reading my story is praiseworthy. And if you are the one who chose not to borrow this novel, but buy, read and keep this personal copy on your bookshelf, then here is my Thank you again! to you. You could have spent that money watching a movie in a mall or eating a sandwich with French fries and cola, but you spent that money buying my work and supporting me in continuing to write—which means a lot to me. I have related this story with all my heart and I hope that in my experiences you will find a bit of yourself on every page.
It is interesting for me to recall, when I was a kid and used to go to school, I wanted to be a young man and go to college. And when I did grow into a young man and started going to college, I wanted to get a job and earn my own money. And, now that it has been a decade that I started earning my own money, guess what I wish for?
I now wish I could turn the time around and go back to school again. My life at present is not bad at all. But then there is something …
Something that makes me want to run back in time. Something that makes me believe that the then sense of satisfaction in saving my pocket money beats my current happiness of earning my own money. Something that makes me suspect that the expectation to finish my homework was a lot more easier to fulfil than the present expectations of twenty different things at work and at home!
Perhaps this is because, along with all the good things, every passing year of my life has dumped more and more responsibilities on my shoulders. Perhaps it’s because, apart from all the happy thoughts in my mind, there are a hundred concerns running in parallel. And all this makes me miss that time of my life when I had a relaxed and carefree mind. When the biggest worry in my life was to score well in the next test.
Childhood days are extremely special. I am sure you too feel the same about your own. But no matter how hard I wish to go back in time, the truth is that I can’t do so. And that’s why I am writing this book. Because, by doing so, I believe I am going to relive that time of my life—for one more time! Somewhere within the pages of this book, I want to capture those beautiful, innocent, crazy, curiosity-filled and memorable days of my life.
So the story in this book is about those days when mobile phones, the Internet and ATM cards hadn’t yet invaded lives. It is of the time when Doordarshan was the only available channel on Indian television sets, and the broadcast of Ramayan and Mahabharat on Sundays meant less traffic on the road for that one hour. When playing a movie at home meant renting a VCR along with the movie cassette. When having a bicycle of your own was the ultimate goal. It is of the time when it made sense for the shopkeeper and the buyer to return a change of twenty-five paise.
Indeed back then, many of the present world’s inventions that have made our lives easier, were yet to be made. But the beauty of those moments is that, even without those inventions, the life then was a lot simpler than what it is today.
Also because I believe, no matter where you go, what you do and what you become, the past remains an important part of your being. It shapes how you think, how you handle situations and how you finally turn out.
As I take you back to that era, my wish for you is that you too go back to your childhood and trace your steps to t
oday with me. I want you to discover your joys, your fears and your tears … the way everything happened with you back then. And when you do so, come back and share your childhood memories with me.
Happiness Always,
Ravin
Epilogue
I scored 76 per cent in my Class XII exams, and there wasn’t anyone in the entire Burla and Sambalpur who could level my score. For some reason, Nitin scored less than what everyone had expected of him. His rank had dropped by not one but three spots! Both he and I knew that he deserved a lot more than what he had got. He was the real topper, in a sense. He had been an outstanding student for the past two years. I was convinced that one board exam could not justify someone’s actual merit. The good thing was that Nitin was disappointed only for a few weeks. After that, he moved on.
I took admission at Guru Nanak Dev Engineering College in Bidar, Karnataka. Once again, just like it had been when I had moved from my old school in Burla to GNPS in Sambalpur, I was the only one in my class at college to have come from Orissa to Karnataka. Back then, there was a Sikh quota in that college, and with my grades I had managed to get a seat in Computer Science without having to pay any donation. They called it a free seat. Once again I was separated from my old friends, all of whom had stayed back in Orissa. I knew things were going to change, but what remained unbroken by this distance was the bond of friendship between Nitin and me.
As of today, Nitin is the Country Head (Sales and Marketing) of a construction equipment multinational in India. I think it is the perfect job for the boy who could influence teachers and become the head boy of a school in the very first year of his joining! Only last year, he got married to Anu. The two of them live in Pune. Nitin and I continue to meet at least once every six months, when we recall the old times and share a laugh.
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