While introducing Tanker I forgot to include a thing or two, which Who’s Who(s) will not dare to forget in the years to come. I hasten to correct the error for it is vital to this story. Tanker or Bajrang, as Who’s Who(s) should list him, is the absolute king of jugaad. Jugaad, as it is popularly known in these parts, is the art of getting things done in a way which is slightly deviant from how it should be done. Example, you can say, a backdoor entry. Coming back to our hero, Tanker has all the links in the world and seldom is a distressed soul disappointed when he comes for help to our Tanker. He is the undisputed king of politics that form a vital part of one’s stay at IIT and has devoted his life to it and it seems that he would stay on here forever if there was not a clause in the IIT rule-book that states “…a student must not take more than six years to complete his degree…” it was Tanker’s sixth year and the authorities were already fretting, faced with the task of dislodging the monster from his den. Reminds me of a story about Hanumanji, after whom Bajrang is named, when he blocked the path of Bhima who tried to lift the monkey-god’s tail but even the mighty Pandava, with his infinite muscles, didn’t succeed.
I mentioned above that I felt we’d get away, and specified strictly that ‘we’ excluded Tanker, but I was proved wrong and rightly so. I committed the folly of forgetting Tanker’s talents and it was foolish. The gist of the story, without increasing the suspense of the length, is Tanker got away and saved us unscathed, too. How he produced medical proof that his wild act was nothing but an epileptic seizure is an amusing story, but must be excluded here. Thus no real case could be formed against us and, in the comedy of errors that followed, we were warned that we were on probation for the rest of our stay at IIT, and any adverse report would most certainly result in an expulsion.
The recent developments – the DISCO meeting, and the sleepless night had left me weary. And I slept like a dog. I remember my crazy dream in which the invading Pakistan army had come as far as my house and the entire mantle fell upon my heroic shoulders to save my colony. I was surprised to see that Pappi and the Dean were fighting for the Pakistan army, when I suddenly heard a bang… and again… and again. I feared that my house would be destroyed in that shelling when another bang woke me up and I jumped some feet in the air. Relief, which came to me on discovering that my house was safe, was momentary thought as I noticed that some idiot was banging my door and calling out my name. I managed to get up. It was Khosla, my friend, the Class Representative. He had formed a habit of waking me up and I hated that. He was everywhere, it seemed. Whenever I slept, he came quickly, like a nightmare.
“What do you want at this unearthly hour?” I asked.
“It is noon, my friend 12’o clock to be precise.”
“Oh!”
“And get ready, Pappi has called you.”
“Me?”
“And he is lived!”
“Oh!”
“Did you submit the interim project report?”
“No, when is it the last date?”
“It was to be submitted in the morning class at nine for which you didn’t appear. He was very cross at that.”
I had forgotten the report. It only decreased my chances to meet Shreya. The professor who was to hand my passport had been disgraced, or so he thought, by me and then I had not worked at all on project. He would eat me up for sure. The fact that I had thought him a gem just a day ago brought no solace. “How could I attend his class when he himself had caused me to land in front of the Disciplinary Committee?” I asked frustrated. “Yes, I forgot! What happened there?” and on asking this his face beamed in anticipation. How people derive joy from such abominable happenings is beyond me. The world is full of sadists, I reflected. I didn’t want to disappoint him by telling him I got away.
“Later, now, let me get ready!”
Life is not a bed of roses, someone has wisely said, but it wasn’t supposed to be a bed wholly constructed of thorns either. Reflecting on these lines I moved on to his highness’ room and he ushered me in after my polite, “Sir?”
He arose from the pile of books and looked at me like a dad eyeing the lover of his daughter.
“Mr. Tejas Narula,” he started and I was startled to hear that, for not often am I addressed as mister and when I am , it indeed spells doom, “I did not get your interim report.”
“Sir, I was at the disciplinary committee inquiry.”
“Inquiry forsooth, we’ll come to that farce later. How far have you reached in devising your cylinder?” he thundered.
“Sir, I am working on it…” I did no know what to say for I had nothing but fortunately or unfortunately he didn’t let me speak and interrupted, “I’ll tell you how far you have gone. You have gone as far as a deadbeat can go after bunking all the practical classes.”
“Sir?” I wanted to say that I had not bunked all but wasn’t given a chance.
“I know how to deal with rouges like you!”
“Sir?”
“Don’t go on mumbling sir-sir, you think you are very smart? You will get away with anything? But I tell you what, you are wrong and you’ll see when I fail you in this course. You were the one, if I remember correctly who sought permission for not going on the Industrial Tour. Right?”
I wished I could have said wrong but I was helpless. I just nodded in approval and tried to gulp in the shocker. I knew he would not exempt me from the Industrial Tour and that meant death.
“What did you say you had? Marriage of your brother? I am very sure that there is nothing like that and I am going to check it with your parents. You bunk classes and you think you can bunk anything?”
“Sir…”
Hell… I had not thought of that. I mean yes, I had thought, as a quick mind would, that due to the unfortunate events of the night my trip might be in danger but never had I thought that he would decide to call my parents to confirm the excuse. I was in hell and the deepest one. There was in front of me a different Pappi, a Pappi who was about to spoil his record of not failing a student ever, a Pappi who was mad, not the Pappi whom I had labeled a gem, not Pappi at all but Prof. P.P. Sidhu. The previous night’s insults had been too much for him. I agreed, but felt unlucky to be singled out. Why hadn’t I worked on my project? I thought. Again, because Pappi was known to be cool with grades. Rishabh had worked he was about to destroy.
“I told you to shut up! What do you think of yourselves? It is a shame to have students like you in IIT. You are a disgrace! Utter disgrace! You were laughing while you friend was showering whisky on three professors. On three Gurus! You know who a Guru is? We used to touch our Guru’s feet everyday! Every dingle day, you buffoon and that is why we are blessed with such life and knowledge. I wonder if you respect even your own parents! I bet you wouldn’t mind insulting you parents.”
“Sorry sir but…” I wish I could have told him that it was soda, not whisky and that I had goodness in me.
“Sorry! Sorry for what? British left but left their legacy, sorry! Damned word… used anywhere and everywhere. You think I am friendly with students and so you can take any liberty? You fool! I have been such an understanding professor, all these years, ask your seniors and this is the way you treat me…” he had been hurt and all his anger was coming out, “And do you feel sorry? Not a bit! If you were sorry you would have apologized in front of the committee today but what do you do? You make such an insane tale of your friend being epileptic! I couldn’t believe it when the committee told me. Epileptic! My foot! Never have I heard of such sacrilege! First you show the highest form of disrespect to your Gurus and then you choose to reprieve by the committee but there are other ways to punish and better ways. Take that in your head that I am not going to leave you like this. I will not rest till I have set you right! I have it from my sources that you are a good friend of Bajrang and you were a part of this derisive conspiracy.” “Sir, I did not know about it!” I said, defending myself. And I was honest. It was amazing the number of charges he had levelled against me when I hardly deserved any. “Honestly, sir, I was unaware!” I said, almost pleading and on the verge of breaking down.
“Honest! That will be confirmed soon. I know you are a liar, I have seen your conduct this semester… you attend classes as if you’re doing a favour to me! Yet I give you one chance, I am going to call your father and check if your brother I sindeed getting married. If this is a lie then God save you! Wait here, while I call the undergraduate office to get your phone number!”
He picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed the internet number for the UG section, the office where all the student records are kept. I felt what a victim when his head was stuck in a guillotine must have felt in those beastly times. Not many people witness death coming slowly to them but there I was waiting every second for the blade to fall. The ground escaped from under my feet, it felt as if someone was churning my intestines determined to reduce them to pulp; my knees grew weaker as I waited for the call to be picked. Often in these situations one gives up and I gave up too. I could do nothing but stand and stare at my fate being altered right in front of my eyes. He would tell all to my dad, who would want a suitable explanation for my actions. He’d also tell dad how I had insulted my Gurus by spilling whisky on them and what a student I was. It was the end. But what hurt most of all was that I would not be able to meet Shreya. I had tried so hard, planned end… I started to wonder if ever I’d be able to meet her… that her dad was against me and would not allow her to come to Delhi. It looked so hopeless. Life had been so full of problems lately yet I had fought them all. I had loved honestly and devotedly. And this was my reward! I was moved to tears but didn’t let them fall. My mind was full of thoughts. Why God was being so unjust, I did not know! Where I had gone wrong, I did not know. If trying to meet one’s loved one against all odds was wrong then I did not agree with it. I believed that I had done nothing wrong. But the thing was, that my life was about to end and I was not going to meet Shreya. I closed my eyes as Pappi spoke.
“Hello UG section, Prof P.P. Sidhu here. Good morning, can I have the number of a student… Yes… Tejas Narula? ... Yes, Home Telephone number… he is not there? When will he be back? Okay, yes… Okay, yes, call me after lunch then… yes, after two, fine… I’ll be in my room after one… thank you!”
I opened my eyes. He had replaced the receiver and looked at me. I had my eyes wide open in surprise and relief. I finally drew breath and a deep one that. I had got a life jacket and I was not going to lose it. I thanked God silently while Pappi told me, “So two it will be then! The man who looks after the records in out and will be back then. He’ll call m and give me the number. I don’t want your number from you. Get out.” I said sorry again and rushed off. There was no time to waste. It was twelve thirty. I had seen in professor’s clock. I had ninety minutes to save my life, not a minute more, not a minute less.
=========================================== ================Immediately reached my hostel and woke up Rishabh, who was resting his drained, though considerably less than mine, nerves with a sound sleep. Then I told him and Pritish about my near death experience and that I had 18 minutes to prevent the catastrophe. They asked how and I told them how.
“We will have to prevent Pappi from taking the cell.” “But how?”
“By keeping him out of his room when the call comes.” “But, won’t the UG office guy call again?”
“No, he won’t, because I will take the call as Pappi.” “What?” they both asked, puzzled.
I told them the plan, which had come to me in the ten minutes that had passed. There were risks, yes, but they had to be taken.
Pritish reached the UG office at one-fifty five and with his innate coolness asked for the official who kept the student’s records. To him he hopped and informed that Prof. Sidhu had sent him to get the required phone number. “Tejas Narula, isn’t in?” the official asked and started searching on his old computer. At that moment, Pritish gave me a missed call and, having got my signal, I reached Pappi’s room and saw him lost as usual in a heap of books. Good signs, I thought. I stopped at his door and started waiting for pardon. As expected, Pappi told me that it’d be of no use and that he’d soon call my dad.
Meanwhile, the UG official had completed his search and as he started scribbling the number on a piece of torn paper, Pritish gave a missed call to Rishabh. Having got his signal, Rishabh dialed Pappi’s mobile.
Pritish sat down in front of the official. He had to keep him engaged for some safe seconds. He began a cheery conversation with the official as he handed him the number. I wanted there, each second killing me, anticipating nervously Rishabh’s call on Pappi’s cell and then it came. Pappi started at the ting as if woken from a deep slumber. He looked at the cell phone like he had looked at my friend Murali, the previous night when he had compared him with some obnoxious pest.
“Mobiles! The ghastliest of man’s inventions! They have eradicated all the peace from this world… worse than the nuclear weapons and yet one can’t live without them in this age. Life is full of ironic. I have to pick up unknown numbers!”
He kept staring at the mobile and a nervous thought crept into my head, what if the fool didn’t pick the call! You could never be sure about their species, these professors, one could never predict with them. I prayed anxiously. But just at the moment his ‘Jingle Bells’ ring-tone was about to die, he received the call.
“Hullo,” he said, “Hullo, who is calling? ... I see… yes… hullo… you can’t hear me? … hullo… yes, I am on the bio-bus project…”Meanwhile, at the other end of the line, Rishabh played around coolly in an impeccable, business-like manner. He had called from a new sim card we had bought the moment he had got Pritish’s missed call and was playing his part to perfection.
“Yes sir, I can’t hear you at all, I am Prashant Oberoi. I wanted to speak to you about the funding of the bus…” said Rishabh. “Funding, oh yes…” replied Pappi ecstatically.
“Sir, I think you can hear me but can’t at all, could you move out?” asked Rishabh, according to the plan.
“Hullo… okay let me move out… hullo… is it clear now… no? ...hullo…” and with that Pappi moved farther away from the room into the open ground in front of his room. He didn’t even look at me in his excitement as I had envisaged. His Biobull had saved me and it was only the beginning of our beautiful friendship as you’d see later. I gave Pritish a missed call.
That completed the missed call network. And so Pritish got his signal too. He had the paper with my home phone number in his hand and was biding the time by entertaining the UG official with some cricket talk. Just when got my call, he got up abruptly and told the official that he had to go somewhere urgently; so couldn’t give the message personally to Prof. Sidhu.
“Could you please call Prof. Sidhu and give him the number now, so that I can go. I have to meet another professor in a minute of he’ll scold me badly. I got his call just now. I don’t have time to visit Professor Sidhu,” said Pritish, enacting his part to the T.
The official, who had been humoured adequately by Pritish so far, obliged and picked up the receiver to call Pappi’s office through the internal telephone network. Meanwhile I waited anxiously for the UG guy’s call. It is so strange how these nervous seconds seem like eternity. I had hardly waited for a minute when the call came but in that tension of what-if-the-call-doesn’t-some it had seemed like an hour. With Pappi safely than any panther would dream to be.
“Professor Sidhu?” said the UG guy.
“Yes,” I said in a low, nasal tone.
“Sir, your by had come to me and asked for the number.” “Yes, yes, give me!”
“Sir, it is 0129 – 2284804 in the name of Dr. Narula.” “Okay, thank you!” I rushed.
“Sir, anything else?”
“No, that will be it. Thanks,” and with that I quickly replaced the receiver and dashed out of his room to join Rishabh.
I just about managed a glance at the professor. He had his back towards me and was still talking, with his right hand gesticulating as if cutting a water melon. I reached the Ex. Hall in a flash, Pritish was already there. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that Rishabh was still talking to Pappi about the Biobull. I signaled him to get over with it quickly and he did it by telling the professor that he would call later and that he had in his mind big things for the Biobull. As soon as he cut the call, he shouted “Cracked it! Did you intercept the call?” he asked and I merely gave him a high five and then to Pritish. I thanked God once again. In carrying out that extremely dangerous plan I had counted on the fact that God himself had given me those ninety minutes. And so I could not mess it up and I had not.
“Your turn to speak to Sir Sidhu, now, Mr. Pritish! Enjoy!” said Rishabh laughing.
“Yes, yes but hope you are clear on what you have to talk!” I added cautiously.
“Chill, man!” he said and with that he picked up the receiver of the internal phone that lies in the Ex. Hall. He talked and talked well, changing his voice as far as he could.
“Professor Sidhu?” said Pritish “Sir, you had asked for the number… yes sir… sir, there is no landline number in record but his father’s mobile number… will that be fine, sir?... very well, sir… 98993999772… Sir, anything else?”
“No, that will be it, thanks,” replied Pappi as Pritish told me.
Pritish had given my mobile number to Pappi. I’d have to change my number but that was fine. Thus it was finally my chance to talk to the great man. In a second I got a call from Pappi which was short and sweet, I changed my voice to an extremely gruff one as I have so often done in this life and maybe previous too.
“Hullo is this Dr. Narula?” he asked in his irritating nasal tone. I said I was and asked who he was. He said he was P.P. Sidhu, professor, IIT Delhi.
“Good afternoon, doctor. I just wanted to speak to you about your son!”
“Hope he hasn’t done anything wrong, professor! You worry me, professor, please tell it soon ad I will speak to him,”
“No, no, no! I just wanted to inquire about your son’s marriage.” “What! He is getting married? Didn’t tell me! He is always full of surprises but this time one comes as a shock! How can he do that? Isn’t it too early? Tell me, professor. He is barely 21. What’s the hurry? Do you know the girl? Is she also from IIT? This generation is too fast!”
.”Oh! Not him, doctor. He told me his brother is getting married!” “Oh! Why, of course, he is! On 14th Dec, engagement on 12th. oh you scared me, Professor, I thought Tejas! Thank God, thank God, he is not getting married. Most distressing… this whole business of marriage! You agree professor?”
“Yes, yes! That is it, doctor, I just wanted to confirm, there are so may boys saying their brothers and sisters are getting married to bunk this Industrial Tour that I had to check.”
“You did the right thing, professor, these children; they lie so often these days. Distressing! But my son is a gem, sir. I hope he will get the permission, professor. Vineet is returning to India after two years… just to get married and Tejas must spend time with his brother, I hope you understand.”
“Yes, yes, I do. I will grant him permission.”
“O, thank you, sir, I am obliged, thank you!” And so the doctor hung up and so did professor, both satisfied, and thinking alike that the world wasn’t that bad a place, after all, as they were making it out be a few moments ago.