Anything for You, Ma'am by Tushar Raheja - HTML preview

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Said Rishabh: “It is best that you apply for a month long training in some Chennai firm. They excuse you for the Industrial Tour, then. No suspicious.”

The green lawns of IIT stretched out I delight. The trees smiled, the birds sang, the tall MS building shone and, our lectures over, we chirruped at the Holistic Food Centre, a cosy mess in IIT.

The month of October is ideal for plotting and planning. The weather invigorates you thoroughly. The mind is fresh and a smile adorns your face all day. In the heart joys abound, and in the mind idea. You don’t have to worry about wiping the sweat off your brow, nor about crossing your arms to counter the winter chill. You don’t have to bother about anything, just lie dormant in the mellow sun, while the mind ponders and does the necessary planning. The cool breeze brings with itself fresh ideas and the feeble sun is warm enough to ripen them. The breeze this year was sure an intelligent one.
All I had done for you the past two days was stretch out in the sun and let the mind wander and ponder. And now, I discussed the possibilities with two of my friends. “No way, yaar,” I said in response to Rishabh, “My dad knows what a sloth I am. I wouldn’t train for a day, he knows. One month and that too in Chennai! It will tell him all, ‘Who’s the gal, son?’ he’ll straightaway ask me.

Pritish, a sports freak like me, who was listening to it all quietly, suddenly erupted, “What about the Inter-IIT sports meet at Chennai in December? Perfect, man, perfect. No more discussion,” he said rubbing his hands excitedly, as is his habit.

“You mean I should tell at home that I have been selected?” I asked disapprovingly.
“Why not?”
“I can’t.”

It pricked my conscience. I bet 8some of you will laugh at this sudden discovery. “Are you not betraying your parent’s trust already?” you’d, no doubt, jibe and rub it in. but let me tell you that even the biggest knaves have some scruples. They all draw a line somewhere innocent women and children. And Tejas Narula would never hurt his father’s pride in him and his achievements. If I’d tell him that I was playing for the college, he’d hug me and say, “Well done, son.” And those very words would kill me.

He has always been so supportive and encouraging. A perfect dad. And to lie to him, who has blind faith in me, pains me no end. But you do understand, I hope, that meeting my love is not possible without keeping him in the dark. So I have no choice. But I better lie in a proper manner. Lie morally, you can say. It is not that bad to lie about what you did on a one-paisa tour; but to lie about winning gold in a marathon is too much. No, sir!

Rishabh reiterated, “I still maintain, get a training there.” “I told you, I can’t” I said peevishly.
“Fine, you wish,” he gave in, irritated.
“See, you don’t need to get into all that hassle. You don’t want to lie about Inter-IIT, you can’t train, then just fake the Industrial Tour,” summed up Pritish.

“Yes, I’ll bunk the Industrial Tour and instead go to Chennai. That’s the best chance I have. Only the risks involved are high. If, by any chance, my parents come to know, I’ll be dead,” I said. “But how, man? How? They won’t doubt you. And if they don’t see anything fishy, they’ll be normal,” Pritish spoke, excited. He had a point. And I knew it well, too. Over a life of lying and frauds one comes to know the importance of staying confident and calm. You can sell a ton of brass as gold if you have the right look on your face.
“The main problem is that if my phone is not reachable and they cal any one of you, I can be in trouble.”
“That we’ll manage, yaar. We’ll tell him that you are not with us but busy in some factory where your cell is not reachable, and that we’ll ask you to call them…”

I felt I was closer to my Shreya already. As Pritish and Rishabh fought over my plans, as if it was they who were going, I sat back, withdrawing from the conference and was transported two thousand kilometers across the country – blue sky, blue sea, cool breeze. And there I could see Shreya, with her hair blowing in the breeze, twenty paces from me in a white dress, angel like, adorned with the slightest of smiles, waiting for me to wrap her in my arms.

“Shhh,” said Pritish suddenly, breaking my dream. “There comes Pappi…”
“So?” I asked.
“He is the tour in-charge.”
“Who is in charge, brothers?” came a booming voice from behind. It was Tanker – ‘The Lord of IIT’. Take note, you all, two critical characters have just made you acquaintance.
For now though, let us keep aside these men of importance. The air is magical, the mood romantic, and all that comes to the mind is Shreya.