Allowed to keep terms, life comes a full circle

Anil Kadam turned the faucet after almost five minutes of being under the shower. The water was lukewarm for the summer, had set in with all its ferocity. He felt he needed a cold shower desperately. His mother called out to him a few times but he responded meekly, he felt his energy had sapped in his depressive state. The results were to be declared the next morning and he was, admittedly, too scared. The humiliation and the way his father would treat him in his characteristic ways made him shudder.

As he walked out of the bath his mobile buzz gave him tingles. He walked up to the bed where he had placed his phone and looked at its screen to find out who was calling. Shekhar Randhawa’s name was shown in bold letters in True Caller. Anil picked up the call even as the ring was at its fag end.

“Hey Anil, where are you? I am in the college. There are only a few guys from our class here but there is so much anticipation.”

“Hmmm.. okay.”

Shekhar took a moment to guage Anil’s mind. Then he continued regardless. “Why don’t you also come over? I know you are quite stressed about the results tomorrow, but then we all are, though not as much as you. I have no doubt I will certainly get through.”

“Yeah, I know. I will any way come to the college as I can’t stay at home. This place is giving me creeps.” Anil spoke the last few words softly lest his mother would overhear him.

“I know that, dear. Come over and let’s have a beer. It’s my treat today.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea. Only alcohol can calm me down.”

Though Shekhar was still talking Anil shut the call because his mind was wandering away. There was no point in listening to anyone’s pep talk when you know that your life is going to end miserably the next day.

Anil then quickly put on a faded denim jeans and red T-shirt with nothing underneath them. He took his bright yellow satchel, hung it diagonally across his shoulders. If he hurried up he would be able to catch the 17:11 fast local.

At 5:45 pm, just as Anil had predicted, the fast local rolled into CST. Even though it was Tuesday there was little rush of people scrambling in to get a ‘window seat’.

Shekhar was having a coffee at a branded stall, he kept a close watch on the people walking down the long stretch of platforms towards the main concourse. And true to his ability when he spotted the red T-shirt from afar he kept his coffee cup on the sill and waved ecstatically at Anil. Anil couldn’t have missed Shekhar’s antics more because the entire CST concourse had reverberated with his name a couple of times. A number of passengers were amused at Shekhar’s antics, while many office-goers shook their head in disdain.

Anil walked up to the stall but didn’t bother to smile nor acquiesce with Shekhar on whatever he said. He turned to the lady behind the counter and uttered the words barely audible, “pani-kam chai.” He dug up his wallet from the yellow satchel and placed a tenner on the counter top. The lady did not look at him when she filled a cup with half a cup of milk and a tea bag. Anil and Shekhar stood near the cafe counter for a while without speaking much though Shekhar was more gung ho about the unfolding events. “I will get my father’s job probably in a week after I submit my 12th certificate at his office in Mulund,” Shekhar said. He had lost his father a month ago in a train accident at Kalwa. His father was working with MTNL when the accident took place and the company had a policy of giving a job to any of the close relation as compensation. Shekhar knew that his life would look up if he starts to earn Rs40,000 a month, and he would be able to take his mother and sister to better living quarters than the Bumkhana slums.

Anil’s mind was far away because he knew that his father had planned to take him back to their village in Kolhapur to continue their family business of rearing goats and farming strawberry in a greenhouse set up. He did not dislike the idea of doing all that, but the culture shock of going away from the urbane environs and his friends circle was painful. Anil had set his mind on becoming an ethical hacker and working in a government office some day. But tomorrow’s outcome in 12th standard results would bring all his plans crashing. He could feel a lump in his throat as he fought tears and looked away from Shekhar.

“Why don’t we go to Gokul restaurant? It’s been a long time,” Shekhar said to break the long silence. Anil just nodded his agreement.

They both walked briskly towards the exit by the subway to hail a taxi. In the evening taxis are plentiful outside CST waiting to take people towards the central business districts where they would get longer rides.

At Gokul the situation was different. The crowds were filling up all the tables with every passing minute as office-goers would drop in for a drink before heading home.

Anil and Shekhar were ushered in their favourite dark corner of the restaurant where the decibel levels would be tolerably less. They did not have to order as the steward knew what to bring for them as usual. A tall bottle of Royal Stag and the ‘chilly-chicken’ with an overload of capsicum were served within about five minutes.

As clock ticked by the sun set behind the Gateway of India in all its splendour. The breeze was slow but that did not matter to Anil and Shekhar getting sozzled in liquor. In a couple of hours both had finished a bottle of whiskey each, and their conversation had become squeamish for anyone sober.

Anil had tears rolling down his cheeks when he spoke to Shekhar above the din, “I don’t know why I get this strong feeling that not only will I fail with miserable marks tomorrow but my father will upend my life though it is not any fault of his.”

Shekhar couldn’t find words of solace nor did it matter. Everyone drinking in the dimly lit restaurant were not in any state of consciousness to understand right from wrong or good from bad. At exactly 11:45 pm Anil and Shekhar got up from their seat holding each other’s elbow for support and made their way out. The steward came out of the restaurant to help them hail a taxi to CST.

ANIL WHIZZED PAST THE GATE OF Xaviers college and trotted up to the first floor classroom that was designated for 12th standard science mark sheet distribution. The education board website had become a dead link for over four hours now because of the avalanche of log ins. Anil went up the stairs wearing a baseball cap askew so that no one would recognise him. He hated every moment of it. As he entered the classroom, as luck would have it, none of his classmates were around. Most of them had picked up their mark sheets early and left.

Ms Smitha Metkar, his English teacher, behind the desk, smiled as he walked towards her. She handed him the mark sheet with a widening smile and said, “congratulations, now you can take English for degree.”

Anil froze for a long moment not wanting to look at his marksheet. He was sure that it was a mistake. She continued in her well-modulated voice waving the last marksheet in her hand, “your friend Shekhar though couldn’t make it. Unfortunately in 12th he can’t even keep terms.”