Ordinary ..... (Déjà vu)

Some day in April 2007, 02:00 AM 

‘Who …. Ohh Ani sir, yaar he is a good guy but a bit low at confidence.’

‘He is an average guy, good at programming because of Tarun sir’s influence. I have seen him working on codes, he is apprehensive and very non technical in approach – worried more about indentation, décor and nomenclature than the actual code.’

‘Ok here he comes … hi sir.’

As I got inside my room after the customary shower after the customary four hour sleep, I was surprised to see the juniors in my room in the wee hours of the morning, and then the very next instant I got the connection. Abhi was not in the hostel so they had, by the book, approached their secondary point of contact.

‘Wassup guys, so late in the night? Good boys sleep at this time.’

‘Then why are you awake?’

‘Hmm good question …. I guess we all are bad boys then.’ We all chuckled and almost forgot that others might be sleeping. It was the irritated look at Akshay’s face that made me realize that we have intruded his sound short-live sleep.

‘Ok guys, let us get into the common room, it’s not good to earn curses just before the final exams.’ It was all muted grins this time. I switched off the table lamp, latched the door and we moved to the common room.

I saw the laptop and the rickety note book in their hands. ‘No guys, no technical questions for me. I am not good at this stuff, just good at the mumbo-jumbo talks. Let’s do that, not this yaar … please I beg to you.’ I wish I had said these words, but it was too late now, we were in the common room.

‘Sir, this image compression thing is not working. Abhi sir helped us with the code yesterday but the result is not as desired. Please see what can be the issue here. ’

‘Ok let’s see.’

………………………….

03:30 AM

‘Are sir … you are a rock star. Thanks a lot for the help.’ They had a relieved look at their face. But I bet it was more relieving for me than it was for them. The hollow impression prevails – somevoice saves me yet again. I relived the past.

Someday in December 2001, at school 02:00 PM – day time.

‘Hey Ani, see this problem yaar. This multivariable equation thing is crap yaar, please help me.’ Then the conspired smile ‘The teacher praises you every other day; let’s see if you can get me through this.’

‘Shit yaar, even I am facing trouble with this stuff. It needs a lot of practice to master mathematics, why don’t you understand; I am not a magician that you come to with a celebrated tough problem and get the solution just like that.’ I never said that.

‘Hmm, let’s see.’

………………………….

02:55 PM

‘You are a rock star dude. Thanks a lot, I ll get you some more problems that are troubling me.’

It was a smile of relief on my face.

Someday in October 2008, at the company 02:00 PM after the lunch.

‘Hey jain, I have heard that you are good at quant? Yaar please help us out with this ‘distance and time’ problem man.’

‘No sir, it’s not like that. I am not that good but ….’

‘Are yaar dhek to ek baar … and besides everybody knows that you are preparing for the entrance exams.’

‘Ok sir, let me see that.’

………………………….

Next day, lunch time.

I rushed to Atif sir and pushed the solution on the desk.

‘I have solved it sir – 3 mins.’

’Well this is a good approach yaar, the mistake I committed was with the variation in the velocity of sound. It has been quite a while that I was thorough with this stuff. Thanks anyways … you are a rock star. ‘

Well yes I may be, but I doubt that. By the way, is this the way one defines the real déjà vu, I guess not. 

Ordinary .... (Excerpt)

This was my chance to erase the imprints of the infamous loss to the fragile D-Block team. The Super-six game-six overs in all; I occupied the crease with Gautam to chase down a target of 126 runs. Raju was standing on the other end, ready to deliver the first ball, the common-field all set, Vishal cheering from the stands with the monotonic ‘come-on’ cries, the make shift umpires analyzing the length and dimensions of the home, and Gautam shouting ‘shorter boundary Ani, shorter boundary.’ I recalled a situation, very similar and unpleasant, class 8th board examinations, when I had similar apprehensions and the same horrible some-voice echoed, ‘if you lose it would be humiliation yet again’.
‘Wait I am not ready to take this, I cannot accept this challenge. I just ….’ I never said those words, but the facial expressions revealed them all over. What if I fail yet again? What if … another one? No, I cannot stand the same depression, it’s just not possible, I have to win, and there is just no other alternative available. I just have to ..
As Raju took off with the familiar run up, he looked different, was it today that he was running so fast, fuming in to deliver the ball – or was he the same routine bowler, I have been facing all these years. The ball left the hand, swinging in air, landed just a bit fuller in length, a perfect half-volley, a sitter, a gift. A powerful swing of the bat, my eyes closed at the perfect imperfect time, and a miss! The sound of the stick getting uprooted, then falling head on, then toppling, and then falling again; the next thing I noticed was the disappointment at Gautam’s face. I heard the cries from Raju and Amit and with them the umpire shouting ‘Minus 5 for the loss of one wicket’.
Why me, why am I like this? Why I cannot deliver when it matters the most? Why me always? I felt like my shoulders were heavier than ever, I felt like throwing away the bat – which I doubt had transformed its chemical composition, getting heavier and heavier.
Gautam came running, ‘Forget it yaar Ani, just try and squeeze a single. I will see him through. We will manage the runs in Amit’s over.’ He grinned, probably to assure me I think, as he rushed to occupy the home at the other end.
As I saw the second ball, short of length, wide-outside off making its way and a perfectly miss-timed upper cut carved of the willow followed – straight to the insanely-square third man position, where waited the anxious pair of hands and eyes ...
…………………….
Last 10 minutes:
‘Three balls left and 23 runs required’ shouted the short square-leg umpire. Panting and sweating, Gautam came to me yet again, ‘Bro this is our last chance, just eye the 8-box, straight over Raju’s head.’
Can I hit that far? Is it possible? Do I really deserve to win? Cut the crap …
I saw Raju steaming in, and as he started running – so did I, started walking down the pitch, an attempted yorker, not to be, a low full-toss, tossed all over the bowlers head, clearing the square, coveted 8-box with perfection. ‘It’s a maxer, 8 runs!!’ shouted Vishal.
‘117/3 with 2 ducks, 15 needed for a straight win, 14 for a win by wicket count.’ The umpires announced the score.
Amit rushed to Raju to discuss the strategy for the coming two balls and rearrange the available common-field. It had to be atleast another maxer or a topple-shot to clear the opposite 8-box between the square short third man and short fine leg, almost an impossible shot to be played, but would fetch valuable 12 runs.
What will he bowl? May be another yorker, or a slower ball, as Raju started with the run-up, I was walking down the pitch. I saw the fingers rolling over the seam, a slower ball, a swing of the bat and …
…………………….
Next year, the club championship final ceremony:
As the team posed with the trophy, Gautam stood beside me and said ‘You failed me yet again.’
We both were smiling as we posed for the group photograph.

Ordinary .... (Excerpt)

Class 9th:
As I was sitting in the room waiting for ‘sir’ to come in, I could see the weary mathematics book lying on the table. Amit was sitting on the left grinning in his mischievous way as he always did – obnoxious moron. Next to him was Ajay, very calm and lost as usual. He, I wondered, did not know why he was where he was – sir came in.
‘Today we will just revise what was taught yesterday, linear equations. You will write a test.’
RS sir was an elderly figure; thick spectacles, a limping right leg, wearing a traditional semi sleeve brief and loosely tied pajamas. It seemed that he hardly shaved and if ever then not properly because I never saw him with a groomed and manicured face. The wrinkles all over the face depicted the immense experience in hand. If one believed in the visual perceptions, sir would never be judged a mathematical maestro, which he was.
‘The sum of digits of a number is one-seventh of the original number. Find the number (2 marks).
Next, find the number of integral solutions of the equation: x+y = x.y = xy (18 marks)
Solve. Remember, the cutoff is 50%’ he chuckled as he said the last sentence.
As soon as the questions were delivered, Amit, the eternal show off, pretended as if he already knew the answers. I knew that it was the second question that was the key and started working on it. Ajay was lost; he must have not even tried the first question, because he never looked like writing anything.
I was working on the 2nd problem:
x+y = x.y = xy
x+y = x.y
x – xy + y = 0
x – 2xy + y – xy = 0
(x - y)2 = xy
x – y = √xy
shitt .. I could not solve it, tried it ones again:
x.y = x.x.x.x …. y times
y = x.x.x.x …. y-1 times.
shitt … could not solve it.
‘Just 2 more minutes’ he said.
I jumped on the first question, to secure the miniscule 2 marks. As I completed the first question, rang the bell.
‘Time’s up, stop writing. Let’s see what you have done. Ajay? …. Ajay, I am talking to you.’ He almost shouted.
‘Yesss .. yes sir’
‘Show me your notebook …’ he almost snatched the notebook from his hands.
‘What …. What is this Aj ..’ he slapped the copy on the table. Ajay’s notebook had the following lines:
Solution 1:
21
………. Rest all blank.
Sir was furious, ‘What is this yaar Ajay, if you don’t want to study, then why wasting your father’s precious money. I wonder how such an intelligent man has sons like you and Nitesh. You are a disappointment not only for me but for your father as well. I have put a note here, get a signature here tomorrow, I want your father to see this.’
‘But sir, I …’
‘Shut up yaar, Amit show me what you have done.’
‘Ohh .. yes sir, I have solved the first question, the answer is 21’ he said that with such an authority as if it was one of the toughest problems ever encountered.
‘And for the second question I have been working on it and I think we will have to use differentiation and integration formulas which are beyond our syllabus, my elder brother in standard 12th has … ’
‘Are what differentiation and integration and your elder brothers, you both have disappointed me, cannot solve a simple logical question and working for NTSE’ NTSE stands for National Talent Search Examination.
‘What about you? … just tell me if you have solved the second question.’
‘No sir, I have not.’ I could see the disappointment on his face.
He declared the day as off and insisted that we work not only on conceptual but also on logical and observational skills. Later when we were walking back home, I took the notebook from Ajay’s hands; he had a dejected look on his face.
‘Are, koi naa yaar. The second problem was unsolvable and sir knows it’ said Amit as I nodded in agreement.
As I saw the note on Ajay’s notebook, he said ‘I have worked on the 2nd problem yaar, the answer is (2, 2).’
After a bit of silence, Amit chuckled, ‘This must be a joke man, how could you …. ’
‘Hey wait, the ordered pair (2, 2) satisfies the equations’ I interrupted, ‘Why you did not responded to sir in the class.’
‘He never listens. The anger was lesser on me but more on the failure of my elder brother Nitesh whom he taught and who could not get through. Tell me yaar Ani (that was my nick name), is a success in a competitive exam such an important parameter?’I was speechless.

Ordinary .... (Prologue)

Graduation is always a special, a memorable experience for people and probably the best phase of one’s life. When I was into my 12th standard, I was preparing and preparing hard for the IIT JEE examination. I must quote here that it was such a hard work that I gave up on cricket both watching and playing which, according to my mother was the best part of the preparation period. The good and the bad thing was that I had started enjoying the immense pressure and had set up such high and unrealistic benchmarks that eventually my own expectations were hard on me and I failed big time. Now the problem was that I had no alternative strategy, no planning to follow up the loss. Thus from a dedicated achiever of the past evolved a looser, an under-confident guy who knew nothing and did nothing, as if under the influence of sedatives or high on narcotic drugs. I got admitted to a B. Tech. degree graduation course in the year 2003, not by choice but because of the state of mental equivocation. To end up as software engineer was a social obligation and I opted for the same. Getting into some private institute with a hefty fee structure is not that difficult if you belong to a financially sound family. And even if you don’t, like me, education loan is a good but an expensive alternative. However, since I got admitted somewhere, parents were happy, grandparents were happier, relatives who mattered were happy and thus me, by analogy, had to be happy.
It was for the first time that I was moving away from home and the very thought of staying away was nostalgic. More so because now it was me to decide for me – right from choosing the shirt to wear to the management of expenses – which unfortunately I had never done. The loss of the cherished group of friends was also painful.

Things have been a bit difficult ...........

Last month I had to visit my grandparent’s place, somewhere in the remote interiors of Rajasthan. I was trying to figure out a good excuse to avoid the visit yet again, but it was inevitable this time. Grandma had laid down strict instructions: ‘This time it will be you who would have to come here, not us. It has been seven years since you last visited this place.’ None of the excuses worked and we left for a 4 hours drive.

It was not like I did not wanted to meet my grandparents, in fact it was for the first time since my brother got admitted to college that we both would be seeing grandpa and grandma; but it was the place that I did not liked. I pretend to have had not so good memories of the place. Same old haweli - the tenants; the well tamed baghicha; the outer open space – the chowk; the inner small square shaped amphitheatre – the bhaithak; the main entrance gate – giving the haweli a look of a small castle - though now the gate looked like a rickety lump of wood, unable to stop the street dogs to peek through and enjoy the shady and cool chowk area. I remember the pomegranate tree in the baghicha and wondered if it still existed and if Kalu kaka – the gardener would still allow me to grab a pomegranate or two. I remember the huge water tank in the backyard carrying muddy water where in me and my cousins used to bath and pretend as if we were swimming by making absurd strokes here and there knowing that it is too shallow to get us drained. I remember the adjoining school where my grandpa was one of the cofounders and that gave us the license to use the ground to play cricket even during the school hours – I could hardly keep a count of the number of glass windows panes of the academic block, we had thrashed while playing cricket. I also remember the market next to the school where I used to force grandma to buy me sour tamarind even though it would end up choking my throat. Then I remember the mason in the market, Bhola who never forgot to offer me an orange candy, every time I would visit the market. I remember the temple where in me and Ankur used to aim, throw stones and then collect the java plums from the nursery.

Oh yes, Ankur, that is what was missing in the description. Did I mention it or not, that in every act of mine, Ankur was very much an acquaintance, a follower, an unconditional friend. His family was one of the tenants we had in our haweli. In all the mischievous acts, it would be me who would plan the activity and it would be he to try it out first. Even if he would feel like disagreeing, all he would say will be: ‘It is not good baba (that’s what he called me), dada sahib (my grandpa) and kaka sahib (my father) would get angry. But if you want I will do it for you. ’ He would get the pomegranates from the baghicha without the permission of Kalu kaka for me, he would get the cricket ball out of the restricted area of the dargah for me – I still wonder how he managed that because the watchman Rahim Khan was considered to be cruel person and specially got pissed off by children looking for cricket balls.

But how is he now? Is he okay? Then I remember grandma telling me during the last visit that he had lost his father of a stroke and is engaged in a family feud over paternal land. He was in desperate need of cash. Financial help - shall I help him, I thought. But why should I help, he is just a tenant and I am the landlord, why should I get involved into this; I have enough problems to deal with myself so why strain myself with this.

As soon as I reached the place, I saw Raju the helper, waiting for us to take the luggage. From the corner of my eye I was looking for Ankur as I passed across the chowk near his room but I found no one. It was a warm welcome from the people there. Hugs and greetings from a dozen of people, I always fail to recognize. They all analyzing me and my brother as if we were the rare endangered species they have had a chance to see. Then there were people asking about the life in Delhi and Kolkata. In all this I almost forgot about Ankur. Then in the night I asked about him and grandma told me, the poor chap has been following up with the lawyers for his dispute and the sahukars (money lenders) for the money he desperately needed, his father’s death has taken a toll of his studies as well.

The next morning I woke up early in the morning to make sure I meet Ankur before he left. But by the time I came down, he was all set to leave. He saw me, I gave a smile and he returned a little dry grin.

‘Hey how are you baba, it has been long that I have seen you here.’ His chirpy smile and enthusiasm were all gone.

‘I am fine, how about you. You look down and low.’

‘Hm, things have been a bit difficult, but I am learning to live with it. How about you, your job, I hope that it is all going nicely.’ He had lost his father and almost all the assets and then he says that it has been a bit difficult.

‘If I may help, please don’t hesitate …. I mean …’ I wish I never said that, maybe I did not wanted to hurt his ego, these remote people rely a lot on ego; but primarily I was doubtful if I really wanted to help him financially. The mean me!

He shrugged ‘Thanks.’

Did he read my intensions of not helping actually? Did he realize that I am being a selfish guy just offering help for the sake of saying it? He left me with all these questions unanswered.