Revolution 2020 (9 page)

I switched on the
same fan that helped Manoj check out of the entrance exam called
life. The moving blades re-circulated the hot air in the room.

I nodded.

‘Shankar,
originally from Alwar,’ he said. He extended his grease-stained
hand.

I shook it as little
as possible. ‘Gopal from Varanasi.’

He gave me a
business card for the tiffin service. Two meals a day for a monthly
cost of fifteen hundred bucks.

‘Let us take
care of the food. You boys study, it is such a tough exam.’

‘Which exam?’
I said.

‘For IIT it is
JEE. Come on, Gopal bhai. We are not that uneducated.’

♦

We reached the
Gayatri Society compound. A rusty iron gate protected a crumbling
block of apartments. A sweeper with a giant broom produced dust
clouds in the air in an attempt to clean the place. I went to the
small guard post at the entrance of the building. A watchman sat
inside.

‘Who do you
want to meet?’ the watchman said.

‘I want to
rent a room,’ I said.

The watchman looked
me over. He saw my two over-stuffed, overaged and over-repaired
suitcases. One held clothes, the other carried the books that had
failed to get me anywhere so far. My rucksack carried the stuff Aarti
had bought me. I missed her. I wondered if I should find an STD booth
and call her.

‘IIT or
Medical?’ the watchman asked, crushing tobacco in his hand.
Kota locals find it hard to place outsiders until they know what they
are there for.

‘IIT,’ I
said. I wished he would give me more attention than his nicotine fix,

‘First-timer
or repeater?’ the watchman asked next, still without looking
up.

‘Does it
matter?’ I said, somewhat irritated.

‘Yes,’
he said and popped the tobacco into his mouth. ‘If you are a
first-timer, you will join a school also. You will be out of the
house more. Repeaters only go for coaching classes. Many sleep all
day. Some landlords don’t like that. So, tell me and I can show
you the right place.’

‘Repeater,’
I said. I don’t know why I looked down as I said that. I guess
when you fail an entrance exam, even a tobacco-chewing watchman can
make you feel small.

‘Oh God,
another repeater,’ the watchman said. ‘Anyway, I will
try. Fix my fee first.’

‘What?’
I said.

‘I take half a
months rent. What’s your budget?’

‘Two thousand
a month.’

‘That’s
it?’ the watchman said. ‘Make it four thousand. I will
get you a nice, shared air-conditioned room.’

‘I can’t
afford to pay so much,’ I said.

The watchman
sneered, as if someone had asked for country liquor in a five-star
bar.

‘What?’
I said, wondering if I’d be spending my first night in Kota on
the streets.

‘Come,’
he beckoned. He opened the gate and kept my' suitcases in his cabin.
We climbed up the steps of the first apartment block.

‘Will you
share with other boys? Three to a room,’ the watchman

said.

‘I could,’
I said, ‘but how will I study? I want a private one, however
small.’

Studies or not, I
wanted to be left alone.

‘Okay, fifth
floor,’ the watchman said.

We climbed up three
floors. I panted due tu the exertion. The extreme heat did not help.
‘Kota is hot, get used to the weather,’ the watchman
said. ‘It is horrible outside. 1 hat is why it is a good place
to stay inside and study.’

We reached the
fourth floor. I struggled to catch my breath. He couldn’t stop
talking. ‘So you will study for real or you are just ...’
he paused mid-sentence.

‘Just what?’
I said.

‘Time-pass.
Many students come here because their parents push them.
^r
Ihey
know they won’t get in. At least the parents stop harassing
them for a year,’ he said.

‘I want to get
in. I will get in,’ I said, more to myself than him.

‘Good. But if
you need stuff like beer or cigarettes, tell me. This housing society
doesn’t allow it.’

‘So?’

‘When Birju is
your friend, you don't have to worry. He winked at

me.

We rang the bell of
the fifth-floor flat. An elderly lady opened the door.

‘Student,’
the watchman said.

The lady let us ia.
Her place smelt of medicines and damp. The watchman showed me the
room on rent. The lady had converted a storeroom into a study and
bedroom.
The lady, watchman and I could barely stand in
the tiny room together.

‘It’s
perfect for studying, said the watchman, who probably hadn’t
studied even one day in his whole life. ‘Take it, it is within
your budget.’

I shook my head. The
room had no windows. The old lady seemed arrogant or deaf or both.
She kept a grumpy face throughout. I did not want to live here. Why
couldn’t I study in my Varanasi? What was so special about this
godforsaken place? I wanted to get out of Kota ASAP.

I walked out of the
flat. The watchman came running after me.

‘If you fuss
so much, you won’t get anything.’

‘I’ll go
back to Varanasi then,’ I said.

I thought about how
different my life would have been if I had answered six more
multiple-choice questions. I thought of Raghav, who would, at this
moment, be attending his orientation at the BHU campus. I thought of
Aarti and our heart-to-heart conversations. I thought of Baba’s
ill health and his determination to kick me into this dump. I fought
back tears. I started to walk down the stairs.

‘Or increase
your budget,’ the watchman said as he came up behind

me.

‘I cant. I
have to pay for food and the coaching classes,’ I said.

We walked down the
steps and reached the ground floor. ‘It happens the first
time,’ the watchman said, ‘missing your mother?’

‘She’s
dead,’ I said

‘Recently?'
the watchman said. Some people find it perfectly normal to cross
examine strangers.

‘She died
fourteen years ago,’ I said.

I came to the guard
post and picked up my bags. ‘Thank you, Birju’ I said.

‘Where are you
going? Take a shared room,’ he pleaded.

‘I’ll
find a cheap hotel for now. I am used to being alone. I’ll
figure things out.’

Birju took the
suitcases from me and placed them down. ‘I have a proper room,’
he said, ‘double the size of what you saw. It has windows, a
big fan. A retired couple stays there. Within your budget...’

‘Then why
didn’t you show it to me earlier?’

‘There’s
a catch;

‘What?’

‘Someone died
in the house.’

‘Who?’ I
said. Big deal, I could take death. I’m from Varanasi, where
the world comes to die.

‘The student
who rented it. He didn’t get through, so he killed himself. Two
years ago. It has been empty since.’

I did not respond.

‘Now you see
why I didn’t show it to you,
⁵
Birju said,

‘I’ll
take it,’ I said.

‘Sure?’

‘I’ve
seen dead bodies burning and floating all my life. 1 don’t care
if some loser hanged himself.'

The watchman picked
up my suitcases. We went to the third floor in the next flat. A
couple in their sixties stayed there. They kept the place
immaculately clean. The spartan to-let room had a bed, table,
cupboard and fan.

‘Fifteen
hundred,’ I said to the couple. The watchman gave me a dirty
look.

The couple looked at
each other.

‘I know what
happened here,’ I said, ‘and it’s fine by me.’

‘Called home?’
Mr Soni said.

‘I did,’
I said. Mr Soni asked me this question at least twice a day. I guess
Manoj Dutta didn’t call home often enough, leading to his
loneliness and early demise.

‘Keep them
informed, okay? Nobody loves you more than your parents,’ Mr
Soni said as he left the room.

I shut the door and
removed my shirt. I hadn’t rowed in ten days. My arms felt
flabby. I wanted to exercise, but I had to figure out the ten million
brochures first.

I had indeed called
Baba, twice. He seemed fine. I told him I had started preparing for
next year, even though I couldn’t bear to open any textbook. I
didn’t care. Whichever coaching class I joined would make me
slog soon.

I wanted to talk to
Aarti first. I’d called her four times but could not speak to
her even once. Her mother had picked up the phone the first two
times. She told me politely that Aarti had gone out - with friends
once, and another time to submit her college admission form. I called
twice the next day and Aarti’s mother picked up again. I hung
up without saying anything. I did not want Aarti’s mother going
‘why is this boy calling you so many times from so far?’
It did not create a good impression. Aarti had mentioned she would
get a cellphone soon. I wished she would. Everyone seemed to be
getting one nowadays, at least the rich types.

Aarti did not have a
number to reach me. I would have to try again tomorrow.

I picked up a
green-coloured brochure. The cover had photographs of some of the
ugliest people on earth. The pictures belonged to the IIT toppers
from that institute. They had grins wider than models in toothpaste
ads but not the same kind of teeth.

Since my favourite
hobby was wasting time, I spent the afternoon comparing the
brochures. No, I didn’t compare the course material, success
rates or the fee structures. In any case, everyone claimed to be the
best in those areas. I compared the pictures of their successful
candidates; who had the ugliest boy, who had the cutest girl, if at
all. There was no point to this exercise, but there was no point to
me being in Kota.

I saw the Bansal
brochure, the holy grail of Kota-land. Bansal students had a chip on
their shoulder, even though they weren’t technically even in a
college. The Bansalites were Kota’s cool. I had to crack their
exam. However, I had little time to prepare for the test scheduled in
three days. In fact, many of the coaching classes had their exams
within a week. The next set of exams was a month away. I had to join
something now. Staying idle would make me go mad faster than the
earlier occupant of this room.

Each institute asked
for a thousand bucks for an application form. Whether they selected
you or not, whether you joined or not, the fee had to be paid. I had
fifty thousand rupees with me, and Baba had promised me more after
six months. I had limited money, I could only apply selectively.

I shortlisted five
coaching institutes - Bansal, Career Path, Resonance, and two new,
cheaper ones called AimllT and Careerlgnite.

The brochure of
AimllT said: ‘We believe in the democratic right of every
student to be coached, hence we don’t conduct our own entrance
tests’ It meant they weren’t in the same league as the
top ones to be choosy. They might as well have written: ‘If you
have the cash, you are welcome.’

I spent the rest of
the afternoon filling the tiresome and repetitive forms. I kept
myself motivated by saying I would call Aarti once more before
dinner.

                                                          ♦

I went out for an
evening walk at 7:00 p.m. 'The streets were filled with nerdy
students out for their daily dose of fresh air.

I found an STD
booth.

‘Hello?’
Mr Pradhan said in a firm voice. I cut the phone on reflex. The meter
at the STD booth whirred.

‘You still
have to pay,’ the shopkeeper said sourly. I nodded.

I needed to speak to
someone. I had already called Baba in the morning. I called Raghav.

‘Raghav, it’s
me. Gopal. From Kota,’ I said, my last word soft.

‘Gopal! Oh,
wow, we were just talking about you,’ Raghav said.

‘Me? Really?
With who?’ I said.

‘Aarti’s
here. How are you, man? How’s Kota? We miss you.’

‘Aarti is at
your place?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘Yeah, she
wanted me to help her choose her course. She is not sure about
Psychology.’

Aarti snatched the
phone from Raghav mid-sentence.

‘Gopal! Where
are you?’

‘In Kota, of
course. I called you,’ I said. I wanted to ask her why she had
come to Raghav’s place. However, it didn’t seem the best
way to start a conversation.

‘Why didn’t
you call back? I don’t even have a number to call you,’
she said.

‘Will ask my
landlord if I can receive calls. Tell me when you will be home. I
will call you. I want to talk.’

‘Talk now.
What’s up?’

‘How can I
talk now?’

‘Why?’

‘You are with
Raghav,’ I said.

‘So?’

‘What are you
doing at Raghav’s place?’

‘Nothing.
Generally.’

When girls use vague
terms like ‘generally’, it is cause for specific concern.
Or maybe not. It could be my overactive mind.

‘I have to
choose a course. Should I do Psychology or BSc Home Science?’
she said.

‘What do you
want to do?’ I said.

‘I have to
finish my graduation before becoming an air hostess. That’s the
only reason I am doing it. I want an easy course.’

‘Oh, so your
air hostess plans are not dead,' I said.

‘Well, Raghav
says one should not give up one’s dream so easily. Maybe BSc
Home Science is better, no? Sort of related to hospitality industry.
Or should I leave Agrasen and join hotel management?’

I kept quiet.
Raghav
’
s
advising
her?
Who
is
he?
A
career
counsellor?
Or
does
he
have
the
license
to
preach
now
because
he
has
a
fucking
JEE
rank?