It was Excited O’Clock, I loved my existence.
May 2007: ‘87.38%, second in class, again!’, sighed Mom, as if she lost a long-running legal battle & rushed into the kitchen.
Yes! I scored an 87, though I was shit nervous about not hitting the 90 mark, under no circumstances, 87 was a bad score. It is indeed understood that for a syllabus where just mugging up things get’s you podium, it is even possible to crack a cent per cent score. But with all due respect, my cranium could only reach 87. Hopefully, my parents would ever get this. I remember not speaking to them for a day and I’ve got no clue why? It was not just about the competition in school, for Mom-Dad it was more about the competition lost within society. This was more of a social battle and they couldn’t sustain being runner ups.
‘Even your colony friends scored a 90’, Dad said with deep despair on his face and left for office. I wish I could make him understand that if 10 less than 100 is 90 then even mine was only 13 less than 100. Why was it so bad to claim negative recognition?
This result was the first punch on my face in my inaugural teenage phase, to be that rebel without a genuine cause, the one who is upset about not seeding things around him, the one who fails at developing a perception. And is not even close to it because social barriers force him to withstand wherever he is. They say, ‘Be the change you want to see in the world’, It was the 1st time I was subconsciously adopting these lines though yet to be totally convinced.
Junior college admissions in India are nothing different from a festive environment for everyone, apart from the few who’d end up mourning in despair (reality check on life expectations). Out of the available colleges in Mumbai, the top 3 dream colleges — don’t even buy their forms if you are below 90%, a perception authored by my family.
My father said, while in his *Mein Samay hun* from Mahabharat zone -
‘Son, you have to choose science and major in Biology’ — That’s it, the prediction made, life decision sealed, there was not a single chance to counter him — ‘Why?’, ‘Did I like it?’, ‘Did I want it?’, ‘Did I have the slightest interest in doing it?’ — Nothing. Just plan and execute things as directed. (Yes! even if it cost me my career…) So, here’s the objective — figure out what possibly could be an institution that’ll help me with a stethoscope around my neck for life!
My Brother and I had a strategy meet on the following emergency situation — ‘Where would I land with an 87%?’. With my grades, the 1st option was *My Junior College* — 25 minutes from my place and one of those reputed institutions in the city. (Fact: In Mumbai, we calculate distance by time. Words like KMs, Miles are forbidden). But, I wasn’t the sole proprietor here. It was me to choose a college and then Mom-Dad-Bhaiya-Didi to decide where would I land.
Attire: Yellow full shirt + blue shiny denim + Kino Sandals + 2-inch diameter digital watch. | Phone: Samsung Guru 100 with FM radio & the super cool, one-meter long white headset | Song on Playlist: Whatever on FM, mostly title track of ‘Chak De India’ | Mindset: ‘A new beginning’ | Time: Excited’o’Clock
2 weeks after my results I visited a few colleges to initiate my admission process and trust me it was such an experience — with ‘X’ number of students & ‘2X’ number of parents accompanying them.
Interestingly, the most anticipated people here are the watchmen, college peons and for that matter even the junk food vendors outside that college. These guys pertain this super pseudo-knowledge about the entire institution and its really hilarious to see people even entertaining them, while their anxiety’s reaching a new high, enquiring on admissions and even considering their views. I went with Bhaiya to procure admission forms at *My Junior College*.
Bhaiya, the biggest ‘bhukkad’ (Somebody with an abnormal appetite/craving for anything edible at regular intervals) was hungry within 2 hrs from breakfast. The admission forms had to wait, a sandwich by the road-side awaited us.
While we waited for the order, we just discussed the score & some random statements on college, admission, crowd etc. Amidst our conversation, out of nowhere, the sandwich maker interrupted us, ‘Bhaiya, what is your score?’
I don’t know why but spontaneously, maybe in that feel I responded,
‘87%’, and even before I could finish, he replied
‘Mushkil hai’, (Admission seems difficult) and even before he finished, his mid-20 dishwasher peeped in,
‘Iss saal competition jyada hai, 90 ke neeche cut off nahi aayega’ (This year the competition is too high, admission cutoff wouldn’t come below 90%). Bhaiya immediately went into that look of despair, not because he got offended by the words of a sandwich maker but that hot depressing news was out again — ‘I couldn’t score a 90'.
I was amazed, I mean how could this bread-butter-vegetable investor decide and rate my score low, who was he to judge my score and how could he predict the cut-offs so confidently like a news channel analyst? We took our sandwich, ate it quietly. The sandwich guy did mutter a lot of things but we only replied with facial attention (only Bhaiya did). Honestly, I wanted to punch that guy, put some decent butter on his face and roast it in that toaster, but thanks to my adolescence and rebel within the bathroom behaviour, I was quiet. Even if I wanted to, I did not have the balls to do it. I mean why would you want to get into an argument and fight on this planet, in spite of knowing it is your own loss — a wastage of energy, your voice, the facial tightening of your skin & hitting bad at your vocal cords. I let him go and proceeded with my plan of action, in other words — craft my destiny, the first kick of teenage, the first life-changing experience was about to begin, where this sincere obedient kid was about to learn rules of life, the real frenzy and weird ones.
I entered the campus & was awestruck by an ocean full of boys and girls. I stood tight just looking around for 5 minutes. This was indeed the first time I was smiling even without talking to anyone. It looked fun — groups chit chatting, there was some kind of energy, super positive one. I could see them all — the stud, the dumb, the fit, the bean bag, the smiling queen, the tom-boy, the sports personality, the ufff!! Babe, the literature stuck chick, the thick-framed spectacles, the first benchers, the under-confident ones, the outspoken ones, the overconfident ones, ‘the step up’ series inspired ones, the mawali’s, the senior with an accomplished look et cetera. You can just look at them and make out who they are. However, I couldn’t fit myself in any of these categories yet. Though it was just about a weeks time and I would fall into one.
‘Welcome to *My Junior College*, you are new and about to start your career in one of the most prestigious institutes of Mumbai. We’ve had students who’ve flourished and settled across as top performers in the current world. These were students seated right across where you are right now. They cracked it and it’s now your turn…………….’
That’s it, I couldn’t take it anymore, not because of the bragging part, but I thoroughly believed it was always any human’s calibre to achieve an aim. Indeed, the channel/medium is important, but in the end, what you do is what matters the most and it is NOT always that specified channel/medium which made it happen. (Yes, I had brains at 16, at least some theories I genuinely believed in).
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