25
A Day of Letters
THE FIRST DAY OF OUR FINAL SEMESTER FELT AS SPECIAL as the first day of classes in the institute. We got up at six-thirty for the eight o’ clock class. Ryan took a shower and then proceeded to carefully comb his hair for the next twenty minutes.
Even then we made it before class began. It was Prof Saxena’s ‘Refrigeration and Air-conditioning’ or RAC class. He was a senior prof, and touted to be next in line for head of the department. That is, if Cherian moved on to something else, retired or just died. None of that was imminent as of now so Prof Saxena was content teaching final year students how to keep things cool. We were the first students to arrive, and he was already in the class.
“Welcome, welcome,” Prof Saxena said, “now this is a surprise. Who would have thought fourth year students will reach early for class.”
I guess he was right. In the final semester, people were more interested preparing for job interviews and MBA admissions. We hadn’t even bothered to see which companies were recruiting this time, for we didn’t know if we were getting a degree this year.
“Good morning, sir,” Ryan said as we took front row seats. We were sitting in a classroom after four months. A blackboard never looked so great. I wondered when the class would begin.
“What are your names?” Prof Saxena asked.
“I have heard those names,” he said after we told him. His forehead developed creases as he tried to remember.
“We had a Disco last semester, sir. You were part of the committee,” Ryan said.
“Oh yes,” Prof Saxena said, “Yes, the Cherian case. So, this must be your first class in months.”
We nodded solemnly.
“That explains it. So, what is your situation? Will you be graduating on time?” Prof Saxena said. I couldn’t say if there was real concern in his voice or if he was just passing time before class.
“We are five credits short, sir. Even though we have loaded up courses for this semester,” Alok said.
“How many courses do you have?”
“Six,” I said.
“Wow. Most final semester students do just two. And that too they hardly attend class. You will be in classes all day,” Prof Saxena said.
“Yes sir. No choice.” I shrugged.
“Have you talked to Cherian about credits?” Prof Saxena said.
“Prof Veera is trying for us,” I said.
“Hmm. Anyway, the system is harsh. Look at you boys, could have got a job even with your low GPAs. Lots of software companies this time. But this Disco might spoil your entire degree,” Prof Saxena said.
A few other students trickled in over the next few minutes. I think there were ten of us in class, while over thirty had signed up for the course. I remembered earlier eight a.m. classes, how we never attended them even in the second and third years. But right now, I couldn’t wait to learn.
“Third law of thermodynamics,” Prof Saxena said as he got up to turn to the blackboard.
Ryan, Alok and I took out our pens and jotted down every word the prof spoke for the next hour.
I met Neha a couple of weeks into the final semester. For the first time, I had to scramble to make it for a date. I had to finish five assignments on the weekend, not to mention revise notes for the coming minor tests. I couldn’t afford to fail in any course, and somehow I had this big urge to learn a lot in my final days at IIT. But a date with Neha was a date with Neha, so stapling my sheets for the ergonomics assignment, I ran out to the ice-cream parlour.
“Twenty minutes late! Do you realize you are twenty minutes late?” Neha said.
“Sorry, this assignment…”
“I have to go back early today. Dad’s elder brother and family are coming for dinner. Dad is going mad preparing for them. And since when were you into assignments so much?” She hadn’t removed hands from hips.
“I don’t know. Just don’t want to take any chances. Can I buy you an ice-cream?”
“No thanks. I have already had one waiting for you. And with my relatives home tonight, there will be a big meal. And I am trying to reduce,” she said.
“Reduce what?” I asked.
“My weight,” she said.
“Really? Why? You look great,” I said.
“No way. You should see the girls in my college. Anyway, what have you been up to?” she said.
“Classes, classes and more classes. Eight to six ever y day. Then another three hours in the library. Then another two for assignments and revisions. I am going mad. But what to do? Never had this much course-load before.”
“What about Ryan and Alok?” she said.
“They are equally overworked. And we’ll still fall short of credits,” I said.
“What about your C2D, the whole cooperate to dominate…”
“That was all crap. It doesn’t work that way Neha. I know it doesn’t. I might be busy now, but at least I am learning something. I am not just cogging assignments and beating the system. That is not what it is about.”
“Wow, my loafer has become all serious. What is it about then?” Her voice went playful, always a good sign.
“It is about knowledge. And making the most of the system, even if it has flaws. And it is about not listening to bloody Ryan all the time,” I said.
“You are getting all wise. I miss my loafer,” she said.
I became quiet and looked into her eyes. Then, in one instant I got up and kissed her on the lips.
“Hari! Are you crazy? People know me here,” she said.
“Just to let you know the loafer is still there,” I said.
“Yeah right. Anyway, look what I got,” she said and took out a piece of paper from her bag.
“It’s your brother’s letter,” I said.
“Yes, his last. I want you to keep it,” she said.
“Why?” I said. It was a weird gift, to say the least.
“I don’t know. Dad doesn’t trust me anymore. And he comes and searches my room now and then. I don’t want him to find this.”
“Really? Is he giving you a lot of trouble?” I said.
“Not much. I just don’t speak to him much. I did hear him talk about you guys the other day though.”
“What? Where?”
“I’ll tell you. Will you keep my letter then?”
“You know I will. What did he say?”
“Dean Shastri came home the other day. They were talking about this proposal.”
“The lube project,” I said.
“Yes, something like that. Prof Veera had given each of them a copy. Dean Shastri was quite impressed with the findings.”
“What did your dad say?” I said.
“I don’t think you want to hear it,” she said.
“No tell me,” I fairly shouted. Why do girls take so long to come to the point?
“He said it was an okay-ish effort. But he told Dean Shastri not to trust these students. He said, ‘who knows? They have cheated once, they could have cheated to make the findings. They just want their credits,’ and that was it.”
“Complete crap. That is complete crap. You know Neha, how much we worked our asses off on it.”
“I know. But that is what he said. And Dean Shastri told him to think about it some more.”
I put the letter on the table. I spread it out; Samir’s last words. Someone so sick of his father’s desire to get him into IIT that he preferred death. I wondered how much a train passing over you could hurt.
“Two large bricks of strawberry please,” I heard a voice in the background.
“Hello Cherian sahib. What happened, big guests tonight?” the counter boy said.
“Yes, my brother is coming from Canada. He loves ice-cream,” I heard Prof Cherian’s voice.
I froze at my table, like all the flavors of ice-cream in the fridge. Neha froze too. We were sitting right opposite him, and couldn’t run out of the parlour. We silently prayed he wouldn’t see us. But this was Cherian. A reflection on the steel counter frame was enough.
“Neha!” He turned toward us. I think all the ice-cream in the parlour melted at that tone.
Neha didn’t say anything. I didn’t move. I recalled last seeing Cherian when he was head of the Disco. Will he ruin me again? I hadn’t even ordered my ice-cream.
Cherian came and sat next to me. My heart raced as it attempted to leave my body and escape the parlour.
“You have guts. You bloody rascal, you do have guts,” Cherian said as he stared at me.
Neha cleared her throat but he signaled her to keep quiet.
“Sir, I just…sir...just had to...sir just ran into her,” I said, talking and thinking at the same time.
“Are you bluffing me again?” Cherian banged his fist on the table. It landed on the open letter and almost tore it.
“Dad, be careful,” Neha said as she tried to push his angry fist away.
“What is this?” Cherian said.
Neha opened her palms and covered the letter.
“Nothing. It is nothing, Dad,” she said.
“What is it, you rascal?” Cherian said looking at me, his fist still firmly on the letter, “love letters you write to trap my daughter. I told you to stay away from her. So one Disco wasn’t enough?”
“It is Samir’s letter,” I said.
“Hari, shut up,” Neha said, as a reflex.
I don’t know why I said it. But I wasn’t going to repeat it.
“What did he say?” Prof Cherian said.
Neha and I kept silent.
“Remove your hands, Neha,” Cherian said and glared at her. She withdrew her hands, only to bring them to her face to wipe her tears. Cherian picked the letter up and read it silently.
He tried hard to retain his composure, but his eyes contracted and his fingers started to shiver. He read the letter again and again and then again. The two bricks of ice-cream he had bought were melting and creating a puddle on our table. but, the puddles in Cherian’s mind were causing us more concern. He removed his glasses, his eyes then did the unthinkable. Yes, here he was, the head of our department, the tormentor of my life and his eyes had just become wet. Two fat tears squeezed out of the edges. And there I was, sitting with the Cherian family as they cried. I could have joined in, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, ice-cream parlours are hardly the place for group cries.
“Dad, are you all right?” Neha said, wiping her tears.
Her father then cried uncontrollably. It was strange to see a grown-up man cry. I mean, you expect them to make you cry. I wished Ryan were here.
“Let’s go home, Dad,” Neha said as she got up.
Cherian surrendered himself to his daughter. I gave Neha the bag of ice-cream, mostly a syrupy mass now. Her father kept kissing the letter.
They left the parlour and I hadn’t gotten a chance to fix my next date with Neha. But I felt damn lucky to survive meeting Cherian again. Neha drove the car with her dad still sobbing in the front seat.
“Sir, are you going to pay for that ice-cream?” the counter boy asked me.
“You mean Cherian was in tears. Like real crying-crying?” Ryan was disbelieving.
“Howling man, with hands on face and lots of tears right until he left. Damn it, I had to pay for two bricks of ice-cream.”
“Totally worth it. I would pay for four for a repeat performance. Yes. Even he suffers. Yes!” Ryan performed a little jig.
“It isn’t funny Ryan. He must have been in shock,” Alok said.
“So? Not my problem. But I missed it. If only I was there,” Ryan said.
“Can we do the assignments for tomorrow then? Do we have RAC?” I said.
“Yes, we do,” Alok said, “So what is going on about the proposal?”
“I don’t know. Neha told me Cherian wasn’t so keen. Let us talk to Prof Veera some time next week.”
“The companies have arrived you know. I saw the recruitment notice board. Many new ones in the software sector,” Alok said.
“No point looking at them yet. If the credits don’t work out, we’ll have another year to think about it,” I said as we opened fresh sheets to do our assignment.
I slept at four that night. Cherian’s face after he’d read the letter swam before me. Sure, it was somewhat funny as Ryan said. But it was also sad. How could a strong man like Cherian get like that? What are these tough people really made of? And the way Neha took her father back, she must love him a lot. And Cherian must have loved his son a lot, even though he drove him mad enough to kill himself. Do all parents love their kids? What about Ryan? Did he love his parents? Did they love him?
And then I got up. At four a.m. I had the urge to write a letter. Maybe the havoc a letter had wreaked that morning influenced me. I left Kumaon and went to the computer centre. The twenty-four hour center had students working away on their resumes. The job interviews were coming, yes, but not for us.
Dear Dad and Mom,
This is Ryan. I am sorry for typing this. I just had to write tonight to tell you what has been going on in my life. And not all of it is good. But if I don’t tell you, who else will I talk to… I kept writing for like two hours. I don’t think I made much sense at all times, but I did write about a lot of things. About our GPAs, our Disco, our tainted grade sheets, Prof Veera, and our stuck lube project. I also wrote about how they had never really loved me enough to keep me with them. I kind of knew I was doing wrong, posing as Ryan and typing away his life story, his deepest secrets. Simply said, Ryan would kill me if he found out. But I kept writing until daybreak. I thought I’d done a good job with the text, better than Ryan for sure. When I finally took the printout, it was ten pages long. It was easy to fake Ryan’s signature, and his parents would hardly compare for identity. I had stolen the address from Ryan’s room. It took thirty rupees of stamps to mail the damn thing.
“Where are you coming from,” Ryan said as he noticed me come to my room at dawn.
“Nothing. Just went for a walk,” I said.
Is lying bad?