by Pankaj Dubey
‘Will you join me for a walk?’ he asks abruptly, getting up.
‘I’ve got to work on Ritesh sir’s assignment.’
He accepts her refusal calmly and walks out. Out of the balcony, out of the admin block, out of the academy.
Just beyond the gates, she catches up with him, breathless. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘Meaning you’re not perfect,’ he teases.
‘Where are we going?’ she ignores his gibe.
‘Wherever the road takes us.’
Aamir smiles when the girl who has always planned every step in her life in excruciating detail says nothing and falls in step with him. To avoid the noisy traffic and the crowded tourist spots, he takes her through the winding paths that the locals prefer. It’s an easy climb mostly, although at some places there are rolling descents; they stroll amid the conifers, exploring each flower, bird and berry that comes their way.
He tells her about Kashmir, the picturesque Lolab and militarized Kupwara. He speaks of the rebellious lads back home who, although strictly disciplined at home, are hooligans in the streets with no compunction about pelting the symbols of authority. Aamir talks about the lessons that they learn in school and college . . . and the harder lessons to be learnt on their streets every day. The chinar and the lakes . . . the tourists and the stakes.
Sanam is lost in his words and his world. Her legs hardly register the number of kilometres she has walked. They break for momos, this place was known for it, someone had told Aamir.
She tells him how it had always been drilled into her since early childhood that ‘good’ was not good enough.
‘Everything had to be perfect. From my attire . . . to the way I sat . . . ate . . . spoke,’ Sanam pauses to take a deep breath. ‘I had to be dad’s perfect little daughter. Excel in school and shine at parties. His pride. Hence this urge to be the best everywhere, at everything, is deeply ingrained in me.’
Aamir puts an arm around her shoulders comfortingly, ‘You don’t have to be, you know?’
‘But it’s in my system now,’ she tells him. ‘If I try and change . . . something snaps inside me.’
Aamir says nothing. As soon as they are done with their momos, they take another route back to the academy. On the way, Aamir plucks a wild flower for Sanam. Three petals entwine to shape the violet blossom.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ she gasps. She sniffs tentatively and then rub its soft petals against her cheek.
‘It grows wild,’ he tells her. ‘No farmer worked to make it perfect. Yet, you’re loving it.’
Sanam understands. Perfection came naturally and effortlessly to mother nature. One just needs to sit back and let it happen without agonizing over it.
They enter the academy gates. Before running up to her room, Sanam squeezes his hand. It has been a perfect day! No, not perfect, she corrects herself, an almost perfect day!
17
After their gruelling selection process, every OT deludedly believes that their stint at the academy cannot be any harder than what they have already lived through and that the rest of their journey will be a breeze. It’s a shocking realization to find just how mistaken they were: hundreds of tough mock tests are followed by tougher term tests.
Every muscle in the mind and body is forced to undergo a stress test in sessions designed to ruffle them. For the body: the PT, the treks and the sports events; for the mind: apart from the regular curriculum, a series of guest lectures and a host of festivals to attend—literary and cultural—none of which is designed for enjoyment. The OTs must attend, analyze, question, review and report on each of them. While the extra-curricular activities are important, the OTs should comprehend that they are merely add-ons to their regular subjects. These subjects are held daily, in back-to-back classes, with multiple assignments tagged on to every subject that calls for continuous submissions.
In case this fails to fill all of the twenty-four hours that each OT has in his or her day, there are the sacred mid-term exams followed by the final exams that they must conquer. Much is at stake in these tests, even the mid-terms: how an OT scores will determine his or her future service trajectory.
Every other thought and activity gets shelved in the preparation fever. Tempers are frayed, nerves overstretched and alarms constantly ringing as each OT tries to outdo the other.
‘Aamir who?’ Sanam might have answered had you asked her the question while she pored over the voluminous books on polity for life had been reduced to the papers that they were preparing for.
All this study eats up three weeks while exams occupy a week, so the whole process covers an entire month before the mid-term malaise lets up and the OTs can breathe again—in between classrooms, PT and guest lecture sessions.
When Sanam sees Aamir again after this hectic period, she notices that his stubble has become a beard, adding to his aura of intensity. He is playing cricket with Badal, Saikia and some other boys. His fan club stands around, cheering. More girls from the batch seemed to have joined the club.
Sanam watches the game for a while as Aamir bowls his left arm off-spin. She knows that because of Nitin. Yes, her father’s favourite prospective son-in-law, the Bengaluru boy, Nitin. Nitin was cricket mad and together they had watched many matches at Feroz Shah Kotla grounds before work hijacked him to Bengaluru. Nitin’s running commentary during these field outings had tuned her to the finer details of the game. That it helps her appreciation of Aamir’s bowling talent is an unforeseen fringe benefit.
Aamir bowls a tight length and keeps the batsman guessing. After the over, he chooses to field close to where Sanam is standing and hops over to her in between balls for a quick word.
‘Momos again?’ he checks with her after stopping a hard hit and throwing the ball back to the wicketkeeper. ‘Or blueberry cheesecake?’
‘Neither,’ she replies the next time he runs up to her, and then turns and leaves abruptly.
The bowler is ready to pitch the next ball, giving Aamir no room to dwell on her departure.
He catches up with her in the library two hours later. He had looked for her in the Mess hall, the lounge and even on the balcony behind it. He had checked with Neeti, her roommate, whether she was in her room. He had jogged through all the places in the campus where she might have been and finally winds up in the library. And there she is, poring over a book.
Aamir takes the opposite chair. She deliberately ignores him. He reaches out a long arm and snatches her book in the manner that she had snatched his phone.
That makes her look up, scowling, ‘What?’
The word was fast becoming the key word in their relationship. Relationship?
‘I want to eat blueberry cheesecake!’ announces Aamir.
‘So?’
Aamir tilts his head and beckons her with a puppy-dog expression.
Tortured thus, Sanam blurts out what’s in her mind. ‘Take your fan club na? They’ll come even if there’s no blueberry cake.’
‘Cheesecake,’ he corrects her with a smile.
Sanam flings her book at him then. Ramya, who is manning the library at this hour, comes over to them and, with an admonitory tap on Aamir’s shoulder, issues a friendly warning to keep it down.
‘Take her,’ Sanam suggests as soon as Ramya leaves. She reclaims her book which she had used as a missile, thumbs through it to return to the page she was reading; a signal that this conversation is over.
However, Aamir isn’t done yet. ‘They don’t matter,’ Aamir tells her bent head. ‘None of them do.’
‘And yet you let them all dance around you?’ she glares at him.
‘And that matters to you because . . . ?’ he asks, his eyes dead serious now.
‘No reason. I was just asking.’ It’s Sanam’s turn to be defensive now.
‘No, tell me,’ Aamir insists.
‘Why must you always be surrounded by ten people?’
‘When I am out in the open with no other choice, maybe,’ he replies. ‘But I usually k
eep to myself.’
‘No one else?’ she asks.
‘Haven’t found anyone yet who will tolerate me,’ he laughs.
‘Melodramatic!’ she punches him.
‘I’m serious,’ he replies. ‘It’s not easy to be with Aamir. Do you want to give it a whirl?’
She looks up in confusion then. And finds his eyes twinkling merrily again.
She relaxes. ‘Okay, let’s go get that blueberry cheesecake.’ She puts her book away and they leave the library.
Ramya throws them a friendly look as he waves to her on his way out. Sanam decides to focus on her blueberry cheesecake and nothing else.
Goodnight, Aamir texts Sanam after the blueberry cheesecake date. Mid-terms had put their night chats on standby mode but now they can be back on.
Goodnight, replies Sanam, with a smiley emoji. The chatting however goes on and ends with a final exchange of goodnights fifteen minutes later.
* * *
It’s the first free weekend after the mid-term exams. Each OT has a different plan—some want to catch up on their sleep, some want to go rafting, some want to spend their time in the nearby mall and explore its shops and restaurants, and some want to drive up to Rokeby Manor for a meal that’s lit! Some have family and friends coming down to visit, and some, like Sanam, are travelling home to see their family and friends.
Sanam is ultra-excited. She has never been away from home for so long. There is so much she wants to tell them. Telephone calls, even video calls, are a poor substitute to actually talking face to face with loved ones. Her friends have hectic activities planned—dinners, clubbing, shopping—they are all set to spend time with her. But Sanam wants to spend the entire weekend exclusively with her parents, no one else. Not this time.
The minute she steps into her home, her dreams of spending quality time with her family crumble. Nitin. Her parents have invited him over from Bengaluru to surprise her. And he will be spending the entire weekend with them, taking a flight back home after he saw her off. This meant he would be around until the cab arrived to take her back to the academy.
Again, Sanam is wrong. The four faces is cut down to two. Her parents meet their daughter for a few micro minutes before sending her off on a romantic date with none other than Nitin. Sanam is deeply disappointed, but allows Nitin to drive her to an upscale restaurant with a multicuisine fare. To be fair to Nitin, he goes out of his way to pamper, cosset and spoil her. It is Sanam’s car, but Nitin is the one behind the wheel. That’s how it is every time. Nitin cannot ever sit in a car and not drive . . . except when he fears traffic congestion and parking issues. For those times, there is the chauffeur. Sanam knows the drill, so doesn’t bother to even offer to drive.
Once in the restaurant, Sanam relaxes. A familiar setting and time out from a packed timetable lifts her mood. Besides, she is not permitted to sulk around Nitin; that’s his exclusive prerogative as dictated by family and social norms.
Why is she getting so negative? Sanam admonishes herself. She ought to enjoy her evening out with someone so perfect . . . no, flawless—the word ‘perfect’ has taken on a different connotation after her debate with Aamir, so she hurriedly replaces it with an equivalent. Yes, Nitin is flawless—US-educated, well-read, widely-travelled, highly paid and socially savvy. In addition to wealth, he also has good taste that has been painstakingly cultivated. These made him finicky—be it his wine, theatre shows, tailored suits or holistic workouts, Nitin isn’t easy to please. But why had he picked her? The thought strikes her all of a sudden and Sanam can no longer focus on the menu in her hand. Okay, she is good-looking, has a good background and their parents are good friends. Furthermore, she is a topper—this is of paramount importance to Nitin. Like him, she dresses with taste and converses intelligently; but so do many other girls of his acquaintance. He had told her so himself; many times. Then, why her?
Her father has always considered him a very eligible alliance. Nitin’s father likes her too. But Nitin has mostly been a friend. Not really interested in her as a life-partner. Until lately. What has suddenly upped her brand value in his eyes?
Sanam eyes him surreptitiously . . . seeking some clue. Nitin studies the menu, checks with her and orders carefully before they get talking.
‘Missed you . . .’ he says.
‘I missed you too,’ replies Sanam dutifully.
He launches into an involved description of this new thing he is exploring which would help businesses use big data . . . seamlessly . . . and in real time. He drones on and on . . . about data pipelining . . . building a ‘solutionscape’ (whatever that is) . . . delivering value . . .
It is all very interesting. And highbrow. What he says is always interesting but it’s always all about his own interests.
Aamir, on the other hand, always draws her deeply into the topic. Even when he speaks of Kashmir, he transports her into the Valley, painting a picture with words and holding her hand as he tells his story. And he listens to hers.
‘Sanam!’
Nitin notices her abstraction and is mystified. How could anyone possibly get distracted when he is sharing such fascinating tech trends, the magic that will run the world and its commerce tomorrow? She is bright and clued in. Why then is she not captivated and edified by his pet project?
Sanam figuratively leaves Aamir back in his Valley and returns to her restaurant date with Nitin. Gives him her due attention and company. Her father is keen see her share her future with this guy, so she probably should.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Aamir’s words come back to haunt her, sending her thoughts into a tailspin again. The Kashmiri has hijacked her mind it seems!
She goes through the motions, sipping her drink, nodding and listening—pretending at times—mirroring Nitin’s expressions, laughing when he laughs and looking serious when he appears solemn.
Nitin is too sharp not to realize that her attention is wandering. Something is different about her tonight. She looks like she’s daydreaming. Instead of upsetting him, it draws him like nothing before. It was not emotion but cold calculation that brought him to Delhi this time—last time, events hadn’t panned out as planned. An IAS wife would be a prize catch as the alliance would bring both influence and prestige. Sanam has the balance tilting in her favour compared to his other dates because she is also ideally suited to his lifestyle.
‘Shall we . . .’ he rises, inviting her to the dancefloor. Sanam follows.
Music always does something to her. It plays her, elevates her mood and she loses herself in the world of dance until nothing exists but her own self and the rhythm. Nitin always finds this facet of her irresistible. He sways close to her, revelling in her exuberance.
‘I’ll need to cure this madness as soon as we’re officially hitched,’ he thinks. But for now, he is game. A slow number comes on and he pulls her to him.
Sanam synchronizes with the music and him as she has done many times before. But something has changed. Was it the beat? Her mood? Her rhythm? Or was it that when one leaves the hills, one inevitably feels dismally low?
Sanam shivers. Why did she feel this way? She has always been on the plains. A few months up there and everything seems to have changed . . . Can a person’s personality change overnight? Was it the hills? Or was it . . . ?
Nitin feels her tremble and presses her close. She pulls away.
‘Let’s just eat and go,’ she says impatiently when he follows her back to their table. ‘I’m tired . . . been on the road all day.’
Nitin looks at her. Notes the sudden change and signals to the waiter to fetch their order. They eat quickly and in silence. He clears the check even more quickly. The night isn’t going as he had planned. She is quiet all the way back home.
‘Hold it . . . ’ Nitin remembers needing to tell her every time, for she was prone to chattering non-stop. But tonight . . .
They exchange cool ‘goodnights’ after he drops her home. ‘See you at breakfast!’ she remembers to say, before he
reverses her car and drives back to his hotel.
Goodnight, she texts Aamir as soon as she is tucked in bed.
Did you kill anyone on the way to Delhi? her mountain boy responds to her goodnight.
They banter back and forth . . . until their sleepy fingers can text no further.
The next day dawns with a lot of hope for Mr and Mrs Jadhav, Sanam’s parents. Nitin had hinted to them that he was going to propose to their daughter and they want to get the confirmation from the horse’s mouth, so to speak; only, the horse is still fast asleep. Chatting into the wee hours combined with the exhausting travel the previous day and the joy of sleeping in her own bed after months has rendered her deaf to the daily alarm set on her phone.
When their princess deigns to awaken from her slumbers, they quiz her about the ring she ought to have been wearing, but isn’t.
‘Ring?’
Sanam almost dozes off again when all this ring business finally filters into her half-awake brain. That’s the only way she would unwind. The weekend she wanted with her mom and dad is not happening. The ring business has consumed it all. In the world of sleep, she could still dream that all was going right.
The doorbell rings and the maid knocks on her bedroom door to announce that Nitin has arrived. A flurry of activity follows as her parents rush out to greet him after ordering her to get ready quickly. Life is a blur until noon in which she gets ready, meets Nitin, makes all the right noises, with dad and mom closely listening.
And then she is back in a cab, on her way back to the academy. The cab barrels down the highway, but her mind races faster. Driven by thoughts as chaotic as the maddening traffic before hitting the highway.
She arrives in time, but only at the academy. Resolution is still not in sight.
18
Normally overrun by OTs with their classroom sessions and their non-stop grumbling, the academy has been noise-free and clutter-free over the weekend. It appears empty to Aamir, who has remained on campus. Forsaken. Barren.