The Dagger

“Sheilaben,” A shrill voice called out, with a hint of a British accent. “This table is not fully dusted.”

“Ha memsaab.” Sheila went to the table with her dusting cloth. It was the story of her life. The table was not fully dusted. The rent was not fully paid. The electric bill was overdue. The dinner she brought home every day was not enough to fill the stomach of her eleven-year-old son, Ajay.

Ever since her husband had died in a local train accident six months ago, life had become a daily struggle to survive. He was a good man, her husband. He hadn’t deserved the macabre death of being pushed onto the tracks at Dadar station, and being run over by the speeding train.

She had mourned his death for weeks, being consoled by relatives, neighbors and friends. Then, the debt collectors arrived. Her husband had taken loans from a few different people, using the money to pay the bribes needed to get his cushy job pushing papers around at the municipal office.

Sheila stalled and negotiated, but she couldn’t fend them off for long. She sold all her wedding jewelry, and paid off whosoever she could.

            It was not enough. Still some loans remained. Like the little particles of dust that remained on the tables, no matter how hard she dusted.

“And don’t forget to wipe the windows properly.” Memsaab said.

“Ha memsaab.”

            Memsaab and her husband had recently returned to Mumbai after many years in London. They had a penthouse flat in Andheri West, and wanted somebody to keep the house clean, and attend to the needs of their son. They preferred someone who spoke English. Sheila had studied for few years in an English medium school, and could speak passable English.

            Becoming a glorified maid was not something that Sheila had imagined her life would come to.

            She was down on her haunches, wiping the floor-to-ceiling windows, while her memsaab sat on the sofa, flipping pages of a magazine.

            “Sheila,” Memsaab said. “Come here one minute.”

           

            “What happened memsaab?”

            “Come, I have something for you.” Memsaab reached into a plastic bag, and produced a silk scarf, sky-blue in color.

            “Thank you memsaab,” Sheila wrapped the scarf around her neck. The cloth felt soft against her skin.

            “Happy Ganesh Chaturthi,” Memsaab smiled. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t give you the loan you asked for. Business has been tight for Saab. When he gets back to Mumbai by Diwali time, we’ll give you the loan.”

            “Ha memsaab.” Sheila nodded. Diwali was two months away. Her debt collectors wouldn’t wait that long. Her landlord definitely wouldn’t let her stay that long without getting the past due rent.

            “That’s a nice saree you’re wearing.” Memsaab said. It was a purple saree with white floral patterns.

            “Thank you memsaab.”

            “Tell me, how’s your son doing?” Memsaab asked.

            “Ajay is doing fine.” Sheila mumbled, concealing a grimace. Ajay wore the same dirty school uniform every day, because his poor mother couldn’t afford a new one. They would probably kick him out of school, if she didn’t pay up the full tuition fees soon.

            “Good, good.” Memsaab said, and went back to her magazine.

            Sheila resumed her cleaning. She had asked everyone she knew for money. Her employers, her neighbors and her friends. Everyone was either unwilling or unable to help.

            All she had gotten for her desperate pleas was that stupid blue silk scarf.

           

            She closed her eyes, and thought about her plan. It was a last resort, something that she wouldn’t do unless there was no alternative.

There really was no frickin alternative. It had come to this.

           

She glanced at the memsaab, who was leaning back on the sofa, with her feet up on the coffee table

After finishing the windows, Sheila went to the study, a square-shaped room at one end of the flat. She dusted the wooden bookshelf, and the long tables along the walls.

There were several decorative items on the tables, which the Saab used to show off to his guests. There was an ornate crystal giraffe, a silver sculpture of a galloping horse, a hand-carved Ganpati idol.

And the object she had been eyeing for weeks.

She looked back at the door to the study. She stood still, listening for any sounds.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, she turned her attention to the dagger.

It was a small metal blade, curved at the tip. The bronze handle had various symbols engraved on it. She had overheard the Saab say that he had purchased the dagger in an auction, and it had belonged to the legendary Tipu Sultan. He even showed the tiny bloodstains around the tip, to prove that it had been used in the sultan’s battles against the British.

But, what drew Sheila to the knife was the red ruby inserted at the point where the handle met the blade. The stone used to glitter in the afternoon sunlight, while she did her daily dusting. She didn’t know much about Tipu Sultan, but her gut told her that the red stone had to be valuable.

Sheila stared at the dagger. She clenched her fist to stop her hand from shaking. The arrangements had been made. There was no going back now.

She slid it into her handbag and closed the zipper.

Her breathing became rapid. It’ll be fine, she told herself. Nobody in the house went to the study, except during dinner parties, which wouldn’t happen till Diwali.

The tiny black eyes of the Ganpati idol seemed to be looking right at her.

“Sheilaben.”

Sheila spun around, dropping her handbag to the floor.

“…I forgot to tell you,” Memsaab was saying, “There are some samosas in the fridge. Put them in Kunal’s lunch dabba tomorrow, okay?”

“Ha memsaab,” Sheila exhaled, picking up the handbag.

She looked at the Ganpati again. Within few days, it would be visarjan time, and thousands of people would take many such idols and immerse them into the water in grand processions.

She knelt down in front of the idol, her eyes seeking some kind of reassurance.  Ganeshji just stared impassively back at her.

Sheila finished the rest of her housework as fast as she could.

“Okay, memsaab.” She said, putting on her chappals, near the door.

“See you tomorrow,” Memsaab said.

While walking towards the train station, Sheila’s mobile phone rang.

“Ha, hello.”

“Do you have it?” A gruff male voice asked.

“Yes, I have it.”

“Meet us in one hour where I told you.”

The line went dead.

The caller was a man named Sushank, who worked as a driver in a nearby high-rise building. She had been introduced to him by one of her neighbors. He didn’t have any money to lend her, but had asked her about the showpiece items at her employer’s house. He knew a guy who would buy such stuff for a good price.

At first, Sheila had been appalled at the suggestion. But a month later, she felt like she was at the edge of the cliff, and her life was teetering on the brink.

She had called Sushank and told him about the dagger. Not wanting to hold onto the thing for a minute longer than needed, she had scheduled the meeting for that evening after work.

Sheila caught the fast train from Andheri to Churchgate and walked to the meeting place.

She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf

The other customers at the café were all college kids dressed in flashy tops and jeans. She adjusted her saree, feeling thoroughly out of place. To justify her presence there, she bought a cup of coffee. It tasted bitter and was not even hot enough.

“Sheilaben.”

Sheila looked up. Sushank was wearing a white shirt over faded jeans. With him was a short, stout man with a thick moustache. He wore a blue shirt, and had gold rings on three of his fingers. Slung on his shoulder was a black rectangular bag, the kind she had seen the Saab carry his laptop computer in.

Sheila gripped the dagger tightly, as the two men sat down at her table.

“This is Ankur bhai.” Sushank tilted his head towards his companion.

She looked at Ankur bhai and nodded.

“What are you just sitting there woman?” Sushank demanded. “Where is your bloody knife?”

“Have you brought money?” She asked

“Yes, yes, we have money.” Sushank said. Ankur bhai tapped his fingers on the laptop bag.

Sheila hesitated for a moment. She thought she saw an odd glance exchanged between the two men.

“C’mon, C’mon, we don’t have all day.” Sushank said.

Slowly, Sheila lifted the dagger, unwrapped it from her scarf, and placed it on the table.

Ankur bhai ran his hands over the blade, peered at the handle, and then at the ruby.

“How much you think?” Sushank asked.

Ankur bhai shrugged. “I can take it off her hands for 4.”

“4?” Sheila asked. “4 lakhs?”

Ankur bhai just looked across at her.

“That’s too less.” Sheila said.

“That’s the best price you’ll get.”

“C’mon,” Sheila lifted the dagger. “Did you see this shiny red jewel? It sparkles so much every day.”

Ankur bhai twirled his moustache.

“This dagger belonged to Tipu Sultan, you know. He used it while fighting against the British. See, there are blood stains also.”

“Who told you that?” Ankur bhai eyed her with one eyebrow slightly raised.

“The Saab where I work tells the story to all his guests.”

Ankur bhai toyed with the dagger, “5.”

“The red thing has to be worth more.” Sheila protested. “Make it 8.”

Ankur bhai brought his elbows on the table. “No one cares about Tipu Sultan and all. This will be tough to sell in the market.”

He scratched his cheek. “6 is my final offer.”

“Otherwise, I’m going.” He started to push his chair back.

“No, no Ankur bhai,” Sushank touched his arm. “She’ll take that much. Sheilaben, don’t be stupid. Do you want to sell the bloody thing or not?”

Sheila looked at Sushank, and then at Ankur bhai. “Fine.”

Ankur bhai took a few stacks of notes from his laptop bag, and put them into a plastic bag. He slid the money across the table, and picked up the dagger.

Sheila opened the plastic bag under the table. There were bundles of thousand rupee notes. She started counting them.

Ankur bhai stood up. “It’s all there, don’t worry.”

Sheila looked up and saw a tiny glint in his eyes. Sushank nodded to her. “Ha, ha, its all fine, Sheilaben.”

He stood up. “You know where to find me.”

“Okay,” Sheila nodded.

Both the men exited the café. Sheila counted the money to her satisfaction, and then stuffed it into her handbag. She finished her last gulp of coffee, and looked around. All the kids seemed to be busy chatting and laughing in their little groups, oblivious of her presence.

She got up and walked onto the street. A wave of elation spread over her. The money in her bag was enough to pay off her remaining debts, the rent, the school fees, and there would still be more leftover.

A cacophony of car horns blared all around her. Through the glass window of some clothing store, she saw a male mannequin wearing a smart blue checked shirt and corduroy trousers. On an impulse, Sheila went inside, and found the shirt that was on display. Ajay deserved a new shirt.

In front of her in the checkout line, she saw a small boy playing with his mother’s dupatta. The boy looked just like the memsaab’s son, Kunal, whom she was supposed to pack samosas for tomorrow.

Sheila shifted her feet uneasily. What’s done is done, she told herself. Memsaab could always buy another dagger or anything else they wanted.

She reached the front of the line, and placed the shirt on the counter.

“It’s 30% discount today, maam,” The girl at the counter said.

“Discount?”

“Yes, maam,” The girl said. “Happy Ganesh Chaturthi.”

“Happy Ganesh Chaturthi,” Sheila mumbled, and handed over two thousand rupee notes.

“Show me those notes,” A man dressed in a shirt and tie, came up to them from behind the counter. His name tag indicated that he was a store manager.

He took the notes from the girl, and held them up against the light. Frowning, he went to a computer and started typing something.

He came back to the counter. “I’m sorry, maam, but these notes are fake.”

The color drained from Sheila’s face. “What??”

“These fake 1000 rupee notes are all over nowadays. We’ve been asked to be careful, maam. I checked these against the RBI’s blacklisted serial numbers.”

Sheila stared at him, her mouth wide open.

“Do you have any other notes, maam?”

With quivering hands, Sheila gave him another note from her handbag.

He repeated the procedure, and came back with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry maam, this is also fake.”

Sheila couldn’t breathe. She felt all the muscles in her body contracting.

“Somebody must have given you a bad batch of notes, maam.”

Sheila managed a weak nod. She went out of the store, and just walked around randomly on the road.

Her head was spinning with all kinds of thoughts. Ankur bhai had swindled her. Her instincts had told her there was something wrong about him. And that bastard Sushank. She would chase him down.

She kicked an empty plastic bottle lying on the road.

“Aaargh,” She yelled out loud.

She exhaled heavily. Suddenly becoming conscious of people around staring at her, she slinked into a quiet side gali.

She slumped down to the pavement. She took out a bunch of the fake notes, and flung them around.

How could this happen to her? How could she be so stupid?

She put her hands on her head. A blue silk scarf flapped on the ground next to her. She picked it up. Memsaab had always treated her well. Maybe, she genuinely intended to give the loan by Diwali. What would Ajay think of her if he knew what she had done to try to pay his school fees?

            The sounds of some chanting interrupted her brooding trance.

            “Ganpati Bappa, Morya.”

            “Mangal Murti, Morya.”

            Sheila stood up slowly, and walked to the main road. A procession of people carried a large Ganpati idol, and chanted in unison. Some people always did their visarjan early.

            She looked at the Ganpati idol being held aloft. The elephant god’s trunk curved left, and the palm of his right hand was held up in blessing. Her eyes locked onto the unblinking black pupils of Ganeshji.

            She knew she had gotten what she deserved.

What the f**k did I do?

            Naveen examined his appearance in front of the mirror. He ran a brush through his wavy hair to push it back.  Standard blue jeans, a red Nike t-shirt, a black-dial, metal-strap wristwatch reflected back at him.

           

            “Naveen?” His mother’s voice called out behind him. She walked into his room. “You’re still here? Aren’t you late? Isn’t the first class at eleven?”

            “Yeah, I’ll be done in a minute.”

            His mother picked up some empty plates, socks, pens and other things scattered here and there in the room and put them away, while Naveen continued brushing his hair.

            “What are you doing there? I’ve never seen you stand in front of the mirror for so long…”

            “It’s the first day of college...”

            Mumma stopped and looked at him. “Are you worried about being ragged? Is there lot of ragging at Jai Hind?”

            “I don’t know…”

            “Tell me…” Mumma persisted. “Is it really bad? What do they make freshers do? What have you heard?”

            “Nothing…it should be fine.” Naveen waved his hand dismissively. He peered at the mirror. Maybe, the red t-shirt was a bit too…..well, red.

            “He’s not going to tell me anything.” Mumma said aloud. She looked at the wall clock. “At least be on time, Naveen. It’s ten twenty. You should leave now.”

            “I’m waiting for Prakash to call…he’s picking me up in a cab.”

            The phone started ringing. Mumma smiled. “There it is…” She picked it up. “Hello, Prakash.”

            Naveen turned. “How do you assume it’s…”

            “Yes, yes, he’s ready to leave.” Mumma shoved the cordless phone at him.

            “Dude, when you getting here?” Naveen asked.

            “Ten minutes.” Prakash said. “Come down.”

            “And Sumeet?”

            “He’s with me. You come down…don’t make us hold the cab and come up.”

            “Yeah, yeah.” Naveen hung up the phone, and opened his cupboard. His eyes scanned the row of hanging t-shirts and settled on a dark blue, collared t-shirt with minimal patterns on it. He changed into it, casting aside the red one on the bed.

            Mumma immediately picked it up. “What’s wrong with this one?”

            “I don’t know…its red and stuff.” Naveen was putting on socks.

            “So what? It looks good.”

            “Whatever….I’m leaving.” Naveen had his shoes on and walked towards the door.

            “Wait, aren’t you carrying a bag?”

            “No, just this notebook,” Naveen had a spiral notebook in his hand. “And I have a pen in the pocket. Anyways, I got to go…”

            “Good luck.” Mumma called after him.

            He lumbered into the front seat of the cab. Prakash and Sumeet were sitting behind.

            “Dude, what are you wearing?” Prakash greeted him.

            Naveen looked down at his clothes. “Why? What’s the issue?”

            “Collared t-shirts are not cool man…that will draw attention,” Prakash said. “They’ll be hunting for freshers anyways.”

            “And it makes you look a bit old.” Sumeet added.

           

            “So? Isn’t that good? I won’t be assumed to be a fresher then.” Naveen shot back. “And what are you wearing?” He looked at Prakash’s black t-shirt with a big red Reebok logo. “Isn’t that logo a bit too red?”

            Prakash looked down “No man, it's fine….you’re seeing things.”

            “Looks pretty noticeable to me,” Naveen claimed. He paused, before going on. “I heard that last year some freshers were made to jump up and down on the desks, holding their shoes on top of their heads or something…”

            “Seriously?” Prakash said, tugging at his t-shirt’s logo.

            “Relax guys,” Sumeet cut in. “The whole ragging thing is overhyped. Nothing will happen. We’ll all walk in together, confidently.”

            “Just remember, if anyone asks which year you are, say SYJC.” Sumeet told them. Second Year Junior College is what they were going to pretend to be today, despite the fact that they had only been to Jai Hind College twice before, once while checking out the place and then during the admissions.

            It was ten fifty by the time they walked under the arched gates of Jai Hind. Naveen looked around. To their right was the main college building with predominantly beige paint and red borders on the ledges between each floor. At the far end was an open canteen with long lines of students outside.

            Naveen was struck by the throngs of students in all directions. Sitting on the steps, standing around in circles, walking about here and there. Jeans and some form of t-shirts or tops was the common attire. The variation was only in the color of the jeans (various shades of blue and black), and the fanciness of the tops.

            “Don’t stand there looking so clueless.” Prakash nudged him. “Let’s go.”

            “Are you’ll seeing all these girls?” Sumeet had the look of a hunter surveying his prey. “Damn.”

            “Here he goes.” Prakash rolled his eyes.

            Coming from St. Mary’s, an all-boys school, the omnipresence of girls everywhere was definitely noticed by all of them. Naveen saw that most groups had at least a few girls with them.

            They headed into the main building. Their classroom was on the third floor.

            “Wait,” Naveen said. “I have to pee.”

            “Really dude? Now?”

            “I’ll be quick, wait for me here.” With that, Naveen left for the bathroom. The men’s bathroom had a rush of dudes coming in and out. Inside was a small sink, four urinals and paint peeling off the walls. Naveen looked up at the wall in front of his urinal. It was filled with all kinds of scribbling.

            “Jai Hind Rocks”, “Neha loves Arun”, “When in doubt, go left" 

            Naveen smiled. His favorite was the one scribbled in small letters right at the top of his urinal. “No matter how hard you try, there’s always one drop remaining.”

            True indeed.

            As he washed up, Naveen cast a sideways glance at the other urinals. He would be sure to try a different one every time he was in there, to read Jai Hind’s finest literature. He liked this place already.

            He made his way his back to the stairs where his buddies were waiting.

            “That was not at all quick, man…” Prakash said.

            Right then, they noticed a group of five or six dudes walking towards them purposefully. Prakash’s expression froze mid-sentence.

            “Chill, guys.” Sumeet said. “Just keep talking normally.”

            Sumeet raised his volume a little, “Yea man, that was a crappy movie…she really can’t act for nuts..."

            The group reached the stairs and stopped right next to them. In front of them stood a stocky dude, who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. His chest was huge and his biceps bulging. His t-shirt was so tight that Naveen felt like it could rip at any moment.

            He stood one step ahead of the others, and appeared to be the de facto leader of the pack. He seized up all of them individually.

            “What’s up?” Sumeet asked.

            “Which year?” He demanded.

            “Ha?”

            “Which year are you’ll?”

            “SYJC.”

            “Really?”

            “Yea man.”

            The muscle dude peered at Sumeet a bit closer. “Show me your id.”

            “Yea sure.” Sumeet started taking out his wallet. Naveen stole a quick glance at Prakash. He hoped no one else had seen his expression.

            “Dude, you see that there?” Sumeet pointed at a small glass window to their right side, with a line of students forming in front of it. “That’s where you get the mark sheets attested, and get ids and things like that. The toilets are over there.” He gestured with his hands. “The book stall is further that way. The chem lab is on the second floor….I mean, would I know all this if I was a fresher?”

            The muscle dude scratched his unshaven chin and stared.

            “Should I go on…” Sumeet said. “…the physics lab is on the third floor…the computer lab is…”

            “Swami,” A tall lanky dude from the group addressed the leader. “See those guys there.” He pointed towards another group who had just entered the building. There were three boys, all of whom were wearing backpacks. Two of them had round spectacles.

            Swami looked at the new group, paused, and looked back at Sumeet. Sumeet returned his gaze.

            Swami scratched his chin again. He motioned his pack to follow him. He walked towards the new group. The decision had apparently been made.

            Without another word, Sumeet started walking up the stairs. Naveen and Prakash were right behind. When they reached the third floor, Sumeet turned around. “See, what I told you…its easy, just act confident…”

            “Yea dude, but if they had seen your id…” Prakash began.

            “But they didn’t…” Sumeet said. He punched Prakash on the shoulder. “You’re such a wimp.”

            “Screw you.” Prakash shot back.

            “How did you know all that stuff about the labs anyways?” Naveen asked.

            “I don’t know…I kinda remembered a bit from the tour we took before…” Sumeet said. “Also, didn’t those guys look like commerce students?”

            “Probably.”

            “So, they themselves didn’t know where the chem or physics labs are…”

            “Hmm…probably. Also, good thing we didn’t carry any backpacks like those other dudes.”

            “Yea.”

            Naveen looked at his watch. “Anyways, it’s already eleven…let’s go to this class…”

            They made their way into the classroom. It was a rather large room, much bigger than the ones they were used to at St. Mary’s school. There were more than thirty rows, each having two long benches with a passage in between them.

            Instinctively, they headed towards the back, but found the last few rows fully occupied. They ended up somewhere amongst the middle rows.

            “Middle bench it is ha.” Prakash grumbled.

            “At least not the first row.” Naveen said.

            Prakash shook his head, “True Marians never sit on the middle bench.”

            The classroom was almost filled up, with the students chattering amongst themselves. Most of the benches had a mix of girls and boys. Their own bench had a couple of girls sitting inside already. Sumeet had been the first one inside the bench to get the inner seat. Prakash had the outer one, with Naveen in the middle.

            A rotund man with a noticeable paunch, a thick black moustache, and square, gold-rimmed glasses walked inside, and shut the door behind him. He was a wearing a buttoned shirt and trousers.

            The students noticed his entry, particularly the front rows, but the back rows were still chattering

            “Silence.” The mustached man bellowed, announcing himself as the first teacher they would encounter at Jai Hind College.

            He picked up a chalk and started scrawling on the blackboard. “This is going to your syllabus. “ He wrote down the chapter names. “And the breakdown of the marks is like this: there will be two unit tests, fifty marks each, final exam...”

            “They get straight to it, don’t they?” Naveen said, flipping open notebook. He knocked a pen off the desk in the process.

            “Dude, my pen.” Prakash said. He bent down looking for it under the desk. He resurfaced. “Where did you throw it?”

            Naveen looked around a bit. “Can’t see it man.”

            “Find it then…”

            “Dude, forget it, borrow another pen…”

            “No.” Prakash dismissed him. “That’s my lucky pen.”

            “Your what?”

            “You dropped my lucky pen.”

            “Lucky pen? You have a lucky pen?”

            “Of course,” Prakash said indignantly. “You don’t??”

            Naveen gave him a half-amused, half-flabbergasted look. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

            He shifted his position in the seat. His foot brushed against something on the side.

            “Here it is,” Naveen bent down. “Your lucky pen.” He smirked.

            “Thanks.” Prakash grabbed the pen.

            “You’re a weird guy, you know that.” Naveen said.

            Meanwhile, Sumeet had apparently ignored their conversation. Sitting next to him was a short, petite looking girl, wearing a light pink top. Her long, curly locks of hair were held together with a butterfly-shaped hair clip.

            “Hi,” Sumeet turned to her, putting on what his buddies knew to be his ‘sweet’ voice. “Can I borrow a pen?”

            “Sure.” She had a full pencil box out on the desk, from which she handed him a pen.

            “Thanks.” Sumeet smiled. Sheepishly, he added, “And…do you also have some paper?”

            She giggled, and tore off a few pages from her notebook.

            Sumeet took them from her, “You must think I’m quite a clown, coming in on the first day without pen and paper…”

            Naveen and Prakash exchanged a knowing look. They let Sumeet do his thing while they turned to the other side.

            “Speaking of freaks…” Prakash began.

            “Freaks?”

            “Yea, didn’t you call me a weird guy…”

            “Oh you…yeah, total freak you are…”

            Prakash pointed towards a tall, broad-shoulder dude with round spectacles, sitting on the first row. “See that guy? Now, he’s a real freak…”

            Naveen looked at the dude. There was something discordant about him. His physique looked strong and athletic, yet his glasses and his choice of bench proclaimed him to be a nerd.

            “My dad knows his dad….he keeps telling me about this dude.” Prakash said. “Did you know Arvind is a national-level quizzer? He wins gold medals in quiz competitions all over the country.”

            Prakash went on in a mock dad-like voice. “Did you know Arvind is a also national-level badminton player? His coach says he has the talent to represent India at the Olympics and all…what a multi-talented boy. And what are you doing with your life?”

            Naveen laughed, and looked at Arvind again. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

            “National-level freak he is man,” Prakash declared, “That’s what he is…”

            Naveen laughed a bit louder this time, and caught himself. The teacher was drawing some diagrams on the board and lecturing in a dull monotone, seemingly oblivious to the constant chatter in the class.

            Naveen glanced at Sumeet who remained focused on the girl in pink, engaged in some cute conversation undoubtedly.

            “How do you think our national-level romeo is doing over there?” Naveen asked Prakash, a bit softer, out of earshot of the girl in pink.

            “Pretty good I think,” Prakash replied. “His batting average is always high…”

            “Yeah, very consistent performer.”

            “Stop talking.” All of a sudden, the teacher yelled from the front of the class. His voice sounded hoarse. Everyone stopped their conversations momentarily. Even Sumeet looked up.

            The teacher stood still and glared at the whole class. He tapped a blackboard eraser on the table. “Be quiet.”

            Slowly, he turned back to the blackboard. For a couple of minutes, there was relative silence. Then, some talking started in the last few rows. And soon the other rows resumed their chattering.

            “This one looks like a freak too.” Prakash motioned towards the teacher.

            “Yea,” Naveen nodded. “Doesn’t his voice sound like he has a mobile on vibrator stuck in his throat?”

            Prakash burst out laughing.

            The teacher turned from the blackboard and stared at the classroom. Students paused what they were doing again. Naveen nudged Prakash on the shoulder.

            There had been too much noise from all over the classroom to identify the source of laughter. With a scowl, the teacher resumed his lecture.

            After a few minutes, the noise in the class again regained its original level. Sumeet too resumed his conversation.

            “You think our national-level romeo is going to rock it on the first day of college itself?” Prakash wondered.

            Naveen looked at Sumeet and the girl in pink, chatting in hushed tones. “May the force be strong with him…”

            “Yea, he has it I think…” Prakash said. “The winning formula…”

            Suddenly, Prakash frowned and looked at Naveen’s notebook. “What is all that?”

            “Ha?”

            “What are you writing there?”

            “You know…what the vibrator-throat over there is mumbling away and drawing on the board…”

            Prakash looked his friend up and down incredulously, “So, you’re actually making class notes??”

            “Yeah.”

            “You should be ashamed of yourself. True Marians are never caught dead taking notes in class. You’re an embarrassment to our school man.”

            Naveen grinned. “Sorry man, it happens to the best of us.”

            Prakash shook his head. “Pathetic.” He moved Naveen’s hand aside, and looked at the notebook. “Let’s see what you got there…”

            “What kind of handwriting is this man…I can barely read anything…” Prakash squinted his eyes and looked closer. “What’s that at the top?”

            “What?”

            “The big title you have written there…”

            Naveen looked at his own writing. “It's Physics.”

            “Physics?”

            “Yea.”

            Prakash looked puzzled. “Oh, so this is a physics class going on?”

            Naveen couldn’t contain himself. He erupted in laughter.

            “Shut up,” The teacher shouted.

            The class went silent, while the teacher surveyed everyone’s faces.

            The teacher took long strides in the passage between the benches of each row. He came to a halt at their row. His unblinking eyes bore down on Prakash from behind the spectacles.

            “Get out.”

            Prakash blinked.

            “Stand up and get out of my class.” The teacher commanded.

            “Who me?" Prakash blurter. “What the fuck did I do?”

            There were giggles of laughter from the last few rows. Naveen winced. Did the guy realize what he just said?

            The teacher glared at Prakash. “Get out. NOW.”

            “I didn’t do anything.” Prakash protested. He pointed his fingers sideways. “It was him.”

            Naveen gritted his teeth. His friend had sold him out.  He looked up at the teacher, expecting to face the music. He saw that the gold-rimmed glasses were looking past him, further down the bench to where Prakash’s finger pointed.

            Sumeet saw it too. He looked stunned, “We didn’t…I mean I wasn’t…” He paused. “What did I do?”

            The girl in pink turned away from Sumeet. Her cheeks turned a shade not dissimilar from the color of her top. A smile crept up on Naveen’s face. Before he could stop it, a chuckle escaped from his lips.

            The teacher’s irate eyes moved him Sumeet to Naveen and back to Prakash. “All of you’ll get out. This whole row get up, and leave this classroom.”

            Everyone remained still for a moment.

            “Right NOW.” The teacher roared.

            The girl in pink made a tearful expression, “I wasn’t part of this, sir…”

            The other group of two girls and another guy on the other side of the bench looked baffled, still unsure if they were somehow included in all of this.

            “Not a word from any of you.” The teacher said. “Every single person in this row will stand up this second and walk out of the class.”

            Prakash rose first, and walked towards the door, with Naveen close behind him. Then came Sumeet, glancing at the girl in pink who was gathering her things. She didn’t return his look. The other students on the row also collected their things and made their way outside.

            Prakash stood outside and looked back at the teacher.

            “Close the door behind you.” The teacher said.

            The remaining three students, who had been caught in the crossfire, gave Prakash and Naveen dirty looks, and went off somewhere.

            “Where’s your lucky pen now?” Naveen asked. “We got kicked out in our first lecture, on our first day…not only that, we got so many others kicked out.”

            Prakash just shrugged.

            The girl in pink stormed off towards the women’s toilet, without a backward glance.

            Sumeet opened his mouth to call out to her, and then thought better off it. He turned to his buddies instead. “What haraams you’ll are.”

            Both of them sort of grinned.

            “Absolute haraams.” Sumeet repeated. “I was really getting somewhere...”

            “Yea, yea, we saw…” Prakash said. “Chill out, man.”

            “Even Sachin didn’t score a century on his debut you know,” Naveen added.

            “Exactly,” Prakash agreed.

            “What the fuck happened in there?” Sumeet demanded. “I was nicely sitting and chatting with Priya …and then I look up, I see this haram pointing at me…”

            “Priya ha?” Prakash interrupted. “Did we get a number also?”

            “No, ‘we’ didn’t get anything. ‘We’ were thrown of class and screwed over…”

            “What are friends for,” Prakash said.

            “Did you know that you openly abused in there?” Naveen asked.

            “Me?” Prakash said.

            “Yea you…who else? The guy told you to get out and you said ‘what the fuck did I do?’”

            “Seriously? I said that?”

            “Yea man…everyone was laughing…I don’t know if the teacher registered it…he was anyways pissed…”

            “I didn’t even realize I said that.”

            Sumeet shook his head. “What freaks.”

            “Anyways, want to get out of here?” Naveen asked. They were still standing right outside the classroom.

            “There’s a pretty cool sandwich place around here…” Prakash said. “I’m kinda hungry.”

            “Sandwich is on me,” Prakash told Sumeet. “I owe you…I think…”

            “Shut up.” The teacher shouted from inside the class, loud enough to be heard out in the corridor. They heard him banging something against the table.

            “Whoa, looks like he’s really pissed now.” Naveen said. “Nice job, man…you pissed him off properly and left the class to suffer.”

            “Yea,” Prakash said. “I’m sure others will get kicked out today.”

            Suddenly, Prakash’s gaze shifted towards the door. A weird sort of twinkle appeared in his eyes.

            “I have an idea,” He said.

            Naveen and Sumeet stared at him.

            “Why don’t we get revenge on that haraam?”

            “Revenge?”

            “Let's create some tamasha…”

            “Haven’t we done enough already?” Naveen interjected.

            Prakash ignored him. “He’s probably going to throw someone else out today. Why don’t we lock the door? Then, the next person who gets kicked out won’t be able to leave only…”

            “You want to do what??” Naveen looked at him.

            “Lock the class from outside…”

            “Huh?” Naveen couldn’t quite believe it. “What do you mean?”

            “What I mean is this…” Prakash took two steps towards the closed classroom door. It had a small metal latch. He bolted it shut. “…this is what I mean.”

            “What the fuck did you do?” Sumeet demanded.

            Prakash smirked. “It’s done...”

            “Dude…have you lost it?” Sumeet asked.

            “I don’t think he ever had it…” Naveen stared at the classroom door.

            “What, you’re scared?” Prakash shot back at Sumeet. “Who’s the wimp now ha?”

            “They won’t know who did it…” Prakash said. “Nobody saw me…”

            Naveen looked around. There were some students walking here and there in the corridor, but they all seemed to be in their own worlds.

            “C’mon guys…” Prakash said. “Chill out…”

            “Get out,” They heard the teacher shout from inside.

            “Here we go…” Prakash said.

            A minute later, they heard a set of footsteps inside the class. Then, a push against the door. The latch rattled. The door didn’t budge. Another harder push.

            All three of them took a step back.

            “It’s not opening,” They heard a dude’s voice say.

            “What do you mean?” The vibrator-throat voice demanded. “I said get out.”

            Another shove against the door.

            Naveen, Sumeet and Prakash looked at each other.

            “Sir, I’m not lying…the door is not opening…”

            “What nonsense…” Heavy footsteps approached the door. A big heave rattled the latch again.

            “What is the meaning of this…” said the gruff voice. A fist banged against the inside of the door.

            “Let’s get out of here,” Sumeet.

            “Yea,” Prakash agreed.

            “Open this door.” The gruff voice shouted.

            Naveen stood there, dazed. Prakash tugged his arm. “Snap out of it. We got to go.”

            He pulled him down the corridor. They scampered down the stairs to the ground floor, then out of the building, then out of the front gates.

            “Whew,” Prakash exhaled.

            “I can’t believe this…” Naveen shook his head. “Did that really happen? What the hell did you make us do?”

            Prakash grinned. “I can’t wait to hear the story from someone tomorrow about what it was like inside the classroom…must have been crazy…”

            “How much longer do you think they’ll be stuck inside?” Sumeet asked.

            “Someone passing by will open the door…”

            Meanwhile, Naveen still looked dazed. “I can’t believe…”

            Prakash slapped him on the back. “Believe it or not….it happened.”

            “I think I’ll take that sandwich now.” Sumeet said.

            “Let’s go…” Prakash said.

            Naveen stood there, looking at the college building. Students were still walking in and out, sitting around at the steps, standing in groups, chatting.

            “Dude, you coming or what?” Prakash called out.

            “Yeah, coming.” Naveen replied. He slowly turned away from the college.

            What a first day. Who would have thought it would turn out like this. He wondered what the second day would be like. And the first month, and the first year.

            With these haraams around, it was going to be one wild ride…