WE WERE asked to get our marksheets verified at first, buy a 100 rupees form from one of the windows and then get the rest of the documents verified. I looked around, just to immerse myself in the cacophonic atmosphere of the college, and I found like one million hot girls walking with bright smiles pasted across their faces. Girls are always so full of colors.
I was at the library, leaning against the wall and waiting for the door to open, when a guy wearing a black t-shirt came in and asked where the political science counter was. I peered through the glass doors and pointed towards the Pol science section. And then we started making small talks. Even though he said behn***d at the end of every sentence, he struck me as a decent fellow. He had a modest haircut and he would take UPSC exam after graduation. He asked me where I was from and I said Bihar. His expression changed for the smallest fraction of second, and then he said, sarcastically “oh! You’re growing toppers there! Behn***d. ”
He didn’t seem like a decent guy anymore.
I don’t like to boast about myself, but at that time, I desperately needed to tell that guy something he’d be impressed with. I mean, yeah, Bihar is establishing new standards of corruption every once in a while, but so are other places in this country. I never told a Delhi guy, “oh! You’re growing rapists there! ”
“I passed XII from JVM. The same school MS Dhoni went to. ”
“Really? Behn***d. “He asked, surprised.
“Yeah. “I told him and he acknowledged that and we started talking about girls and all. He told me he had a girlfriend.
“See. They want you to become nocturnal creatures, talk to them all night and be interesting. Behn***d. So it’s like you have to crack twenty jokes per hour after midnight for three years to stay with a girl. Behn***d. It’s so fucking ridiculous, Behn***d. ”
He somehow reminded me of that guy from BB ki Vines and I wondered if one of the reasons he isn’t in a relationship is because he cusses a lot.
Anyway, the doors opened half an hour later and teachers took up their chairs and asked the students to get in. The guy in black t-shirt said Behn***d for the 356th time and went in. I moved in too.
History (hons) counter was a lonely one. Even Hindi (hons) counter had a few people, two of them girls. I was the only creature enrolling in History. When you are the only creature enrolling in History, you realize how pointless your existence is. Brighter kids were lined up at English (hons) counter, and that sight just burned the hairs of my gonad.
“There’s a problem. “The teacher said as he worked on his calculator.
“You have 0.5 percentage more marks than the required figures. “He said. I didn’t say anything; I stared at him helplessly.
“Where are you from, boy? “The teacher asked. I wondered if I should just say Bihar, or say from a land where MS Dhoni was born. I chose the first option. See, this was a choice, unlike the course I was getting into.
“Bihar. “I said. The three people at the counter sprang with delight. It was the same reaction that people give when they win free recharge or something.
“Where in Bihar? “He asked.
Aha! He’s a Bihari too!
I gave him the details of my family, my ancient village and all, and he gave his details too, and had we talked for ten more minutes, I’m sure we’d have unearthed a relation or something. In Bihar, everybody is related to everybody, somehow. We talked about Simheshwar temple, and it felt like I was back in my motherland.
“You won’t have a problem, son. Get your marksheet signed by Rohan sir. He’s from Bihar too. “He said.
I wondered how many Biharis lived in Delhi. You could find one everywhere. I wondered if Bihar would ever become Delhi, in terms of education. It used to be the land of knowledge once.
At the second floor, where Rohan sir was probably signing documents, I saw a long cue that seemed frozen. Nobody budged. All those sweat-covered bodies let out small sighs and stared out blankly. There were North Indian guys, who never batted an eyelid.
The guy behind me asked the North Indian guy, in hindi, where he belonged to. The North Indian guy strained every sinew of his head, but he could decipher only one word. He spoke in a broken Hindi that would make Hindi professors want to jump off Niagara falls or something. I translated the question into English for his sake, and the boy behind me asked where I was from.
“Bihar. “I told him.
“Toppers. “He smirked at me.
Fuck you, behn***d, I said in my mind and turned to the North Indian. He seemed like the most harmless thing in the world.
After a long frustrating wait, I was called in. Rohan sir was so busy, you’d feel pity for him. That guy deserved two brains and four hands. I managed to get his signature after an eternity. I raced out, and barged into the library. The three teachers sat behind the counter as always, and on the other side, I was still the only creature enrolling in History.
That killed me.
TO BE CONTINUED…..