That infernal number (#4)

                                                                       (IV)

Oct 10, 2013

06.00 PM

Venue: My home rooftop

    A group of mosquitoes hovered over my head, buzzing. I stood there, leaning, my hands resting on the balustrade for support, looking all around, yet seeing nothing. My focus was wandering in some long lost country. Being with people put me on edge these days. They went about their daily routine, following their ambitions, fulfilling their dreams or at least doing something, whereas I was adrift in the ocean seated in a boat heading nowhere. Aloofness was what I sought; that wasn't hard save for my parents. My father put on a brave face to cheer me up, but I could see right through the veil, that disappointed face. My mother, as always, was worried about my health, trying to stuff me at every chance she got. I had lost all taste for food; even my mother’s cooking which I craved for earlier.

    The silence of night hummed beside me. Every day, I came here to seek solace; instead I ended up diving into the sea of memories……

     =============================

    We were halfway through March. Our strength dwindled; few of us had made off while they could. When the ship is sinking, the rats jump off first and sometimes they prove to be smarter than men. I wasn’t smart enough. I remained hopeful. Our second semester classes were on. What a laugh!  Half of those present in the campus remained confined in the rooms. Only a few ones I encouraged accompanied me to class; they were not motivated, just modest.

    “Eat well! Sleep well!” said our HOD.

    “You are my children.” said our beloved Chairman offering us few almonds as blessings of Sai Baba. “I’ll never abandon you.”

    And I’ll not return a single penny, he added whenever anyone went asking a refund. The case is not yet over. And in refunding the money I’ll prove myself guilty, which I’m not. The judgment will come, and rest assured, it will be in our favour. His diplomacy heightened as time passed. So did our despair. April arrived. I grew restless. I itched to do something, not just sit and scratch my balls. We were the Facebook generation, so the first thing I did, I created a page, ‘Aero Students Plight’. I updated it regularly and asked my friends to share. Few obliged. Few didn't. I proposed other things, too: shooting a video and posting on YouTube, protests, interview for TV channels etc. etc. I don’t mean to be harsh, but sadly, it all fell on deaf ears.

    One day, reclining in the bed, I got an idea. My cellphone was close by. After some minutes of exploration, thanks to the internet, I was dialing a number. The conversation didn't go as planned. The ABP News guy didn't consider the matter of ours to be of much importance and subsequently I was forwarded to Deccan Herald which, I was glad, took down the story. That didn't change a thing, just gave a bit satisfaction of putting up the fight.

   

    On April 8, our story was published. Even if it did nothing it must have brought the slumbering authorities to action. We no longer wanted empty words. Just end it; this way or that. We were happy in both cases. We couldn't endure the wait any longer. It was already too late. We couldn't afford to risk another year. The hope ought to strengthen has rather weakened us. Our days were long, having nothing to do, just hog, slumber and sloth. The calls from home didn't help either. My mother repeatedly badgered me to come home. The pile of my read novels rose, the only worthy thing I did. Yet it didn't bring the joy it did earlier.

    I didn't stop at that. Next, I wrote down two letters explaining our miseries, sent one to The President who by the way is also the Chancellor of IGNOU; thought that would help; an sent the other one to the HRD minister. I sought nobody’s advice and told no one, just did it. I didn't stop even at that. Going through my Facebook contacts, I managed to call in an AISA (All India Students Association) fellow. He went back disheartened. 

    A lone gram cannot burst the oven.

    The pile of pending dates rose. July was knocking on the door; nonetheless the uncertainties hung on. No reply came of either of the two letters I sent. The Chairman’s chambers turned out to be one of our most frequently visited places. Our initial strength of 28 had tumbled down to 14. Some followed the rats; a few others planned to. My only backup plan for the worst case scenario was, with a heavy heart, to pursue graduation in science; not much of a plan, just a get away from this engineering menace; two years, first in Kota, then in Bangalore, a complete waste entirely. A change of line would certainly help; engineering was not the end of the world.

    And then it happened when all hope seemed lost. On July 23, the Delhi High Court returned the verdict. It favoured us. The university was directed to verify all the required documents of the concerned students and resume the previously scraped course for the year alone. Everyone was deeply content. They sighed out of relief, rang their families and celebrated. Some came back to college after hearing the news. Our studies recommenced of sort; the practical and Internal Assessments’ sword hung over our heads. We didn't complain, just worked day and night for it, enthusiastically, and helped one another. The sinking ship was now losing water, on the road to its recovery; we pitied the rats in loud voices.

    I carried along but never felt relieved. So much was left undone. I did call my parents, but that too after 3-4 days; just to be certain. A gut feeling nudged me all the time. The worse was not yet over.

    And my intuition turned out as it always does: not wrong.