I had forgotten what a release lunch recess was for more than a thousand boys, as we barreled down the crowded stairs towards the open grounds. It was a heavy press and I didn’t speak till we reached our school canteen, innovatively named “Sip ‘N Snack”.
I sat down on the stone tier’s in the hot sun and loosened my tie and top button and tried to just gather my thoughts.
“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” asked Anupam, in tones of absolute wonder “you just gabbled out a lot of nonsense in class since morning and just now you nearly broke that bully’s arm. Who ARE you?”
I swallowed and sat in the hot sun, trying to look at my hands. They were flabby and soft and most importantly without any scars. The hands I remember were big, hard and especially scarred over with burns, nicks and cuts gathered over the years. I was a softy in school but lawschool and years spent out of home toughened me up so much that I remember my own father take a second look at the
These hands knew how to handle a butcher’s cleaver, a ladle & wok, steering wheels, gears, wrenches, spanners, knives, guns, ropes and keyboards at 60 words per minute. These hands were my tools of the trade, just like my tongue and brain and I had spent long years teaching them how to do things. Only thing, was that now, they were yet untrained so I looked at them and wondered if they would remember how to do the things I could take for granted.
“Are you going to look at your hands like you saw them for the first time or will you look at me?”
I could hear the tinge of anger in his usually even voice. My dentist, the cool and calm friend who would call himself “the molar mercenary” and fall in love with and marry and have kids. And also not grow very tall physically but grow mentally and in personality till he was one of the oaks of the forest of my life. This was a friend who had remained loyal all his life and saw me through the best and the worst times. Maybe he might understand, if I tried to explain. But how do I explain?
“Your favourite colour is aqua green and you dream of the day when you’ll have a cool bike and a girl behind you on your bike, yes?” I ventured.
“THAT is your answer?” queried Anupam, “after all that, you tell me my favourite colour and day-dream?”
Hmm….not that way then….
“Okay, you want to be a doctor, but you’re going to be a dentist” I tried.
“And Why won’t I be a doctor?” smirked the boy who was usually in one of top 5 positions in class throughout school.
I don’t know, I wanted to shout at his smiling visage. I went away to lawschool for 5 years and came back to see you studying dentistry and never had the courage to ask you what happened to med school and becoming a surgeon. I followed my dreams and didn’t care to ask about failed ambitions fearing to lose yet another friendship. As I looked at him blankly, I noticed he was still talking
“….and dentistry is so boring, why would I even consider poking around people’s mouth’s when the rest of the body is there to do all that”
I gave up, there was no bloody way I was going to explain to Anupam that I was from the future, albeit one in which he is a dentist.
“Nothing really, I’m just tired and hallucinating perhaps from my tummy-ache” I walked off leaving him open mouthed and went to splash some water on my boiled face. The over-abundance of hair was becoming a problem – I had forgotten how hot it could be with a full thatch on top. So I went and doused my head under taps in the drinking basin. Then I sat in the shade and waited for the bell to end recess so that I did not walk into any more goons awaiting me in the classroom.
The next class was chemistry, not one of my favourites. In fact, I would narrowly scrape through it in my matriculation or the high school leaving exams. It was taught by a middle-aged brother who was called Brother Augustine. The guy was not too bad, as I remembered him, however, it was simply not my subject.
Opening my textbook to the relevant chapter, I tried to listen to Brother Augustine’s steady drone about salts and acids as my eyes roamed the room and tried to identify the boys around me by memory….
Manab Kakti, now an expat in the
Riju Konwar, another doctor, though in the States, Baltimore presumably….
Sundeep Kapila, an engineer and entrepreneur with a divorce behind him, in
Sukhpreet Singh, a Ph.D in IPR, teaching in
Sarfaraz Nawaz, Marketing guy, now based in
Ron Barooah, French translator & project co-ordinator for
“And Debashish will kindly give us the formula for water, since he is all wet”
Bloody hell, where did that come from? Brother Augustine was waiting expectantly with the rest of the class sniggering at my present state of awareness.
“Water, brother?” I asked
“Water, my son” he replied with great solemnity. Brother Augustine loved to ‘make jokes’ as he would put it. Well, okay then, I thought.
“HIJKLMNO” I stated clearly
“What was that?” came back from the desk.
“The formula for water, brother. HIJKLMNO or if you would prefer it, H20”
The class held its silence for a tethering second before erupting into gales of laughter. I could see even Brother Augustine was trying very unsuccessfully to hold back a grin so I looked innocent and quirked my eyebrows. It was enough to push him over the edge as well.
Humour as a weapon or even as a defense mechanism was something I had taught myself in lawschool. I had completely forgotten about it. In fact, there was lots of stuff I had forgotten but using humour was unforgivable. After that, I was apparently forgiven and forgotten as the events of the day moved along.
The rest of the classes went without incident and when the final period bell rang, I was still packing up my satchel following the mass exodus of the class, leaving me alone in the classroom. As I got up, there was Amitabh with his two sidekicks at the doorway, trying their best to do a menacing smile.
Thing about menacing smiles – if you cant pull it off, you just end up looking silly and retarded. For all I knew, these guys WERE retards. However, they were big, I was fat and there was nowhere to run. So, I did, what I do best.
“You guys can beat me up or I can show you how to make easy money” I sat back on the bench and put my feet on the desk. Worst comes to worst, I can always shove it at them with my feet in case of an attack.
The easy money part however, did its trick as the heavies stopped in their tracks. It was the early nineties and parents would not part with money as easily as they would in the years to come. Smoking and drinking were cardinal sins and girls were of a different species (the devil’s own, my sons as Brother Anthony would expostulate!!)
“I can also show you how to get cigarette’s, whisky and girls” I drawled on, lying through my teeth.
The heavies were slower on the uptake, but Amitabh was the typical small minded hood, he would grow up to be.
“How?”
“Meet me after school tomorrow with casual clothes” I replied. I had no idea what I would or could do, but the idea was to escape today to fight tomorrow.
“If you’re lying…” started one of the heavies, when I got up, yawned and walked up at them “yeah, yeah, you’ll break my bones and kill me. In fact, if you want to, go right ahead.” I kept on walking towards them till I was face to face with Amitabh with barely an inch between both our chubby tummy’s.
“You hit me, injure me, I’ll fall down the stairs and actually break a bone and claim you beat me up for not giving you my pocket money. Chances are, with your previous record, you’ll be suspended and I’ll enjoy a holiday at home. Your choice.”
And pushed my way through them, with my heart thudding painfully in my ribcage - I couldn’t wait to grow up. It was sure going to be easier bluffing and negotiating as a lawyer with criminals rather than as a school kid with moronic goons.
Anupam was waiting a ways off watching the scene with bated breath, so I strode at him and asked if he wanted a lift.
As long as I would remember, my dad would try to drop us kids off at school and the chauffeur would pick us up and drive us to our respective classes (piano/swimming/tuitions) as per schedule. The minute I saw old Moni Singh, our Manipuri driver in the old (No it was brand new now) fiat premier padmini, I was happier than I had been the whole day.
That damned car was my jalopy for a long time. It lasted for about 23 years with us before dad finally sold it for scrap metal once I was away in
Moni Singh, the old retainer was a reliable old driver with a penchant for pretty girls and strong liquor which would eventually lead to him eloping with a girl when drunk and papa promptly firing him. However, he had one more vice which was not known to many – the poor bugger couldn’t resist gambling. So, as he opened the doors, I asked him
“Moni, do you want some really good whisky?”
I swear that man must have got whiplash from turning at me, “What are you talking about, baba?”
“Nothing, just that I would bet that I could take the car forward in first gear for 4 feet – if I cant move the car, you win and I’ll give you the thirty rupees I had saved up”
Moni looked at me for a minute and then at the empty street outside Bosco. It was late afternoon and there was practically no traffic. And of course, thirty rupees was thirty rupees in those days.
“Baba, your father would kill me….” He started whining but didn’t really do much as I tossed my school bag in the back seat with Anupam and gestured Moni to get in the front seat. I truly was a spoilt brat, I realized there and then.
Anupam was sweating buckets as his worried eyes told me in the rear view mirror, however, he stayed firm, holding his school bag in front of him, like an antique air bag. With utmost nonchalance, I checked if everyone’s door’s were locked and then started the car.
It was like coming home…..the engine gunned cleanly and the gear shift by the side of the wheel was new and smooth as it slot into first gear. I revved and let go the clutch softly and took off.
It was brilliant driving again and the blessed empty roads were like manna from heaven. Moni Singh and Anupam were too much of a captive audience to comment on my driving ability, till I reached the Ulubari overbridge. In a choked voice, Moni Singh asked me if I wanted him to take the wheel. I grinned at him and gunned the car through the familiar and yet unfamiliar streets of Guwahati.
When we reached near our farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, I quietly slowed the car to a stop, got out and got into the back seat. Moni took the wheel and drove me home without a word.
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