Growing up in a small town blinkers one’s perspective of life. Being educated in a catholic school in a small town braces your neck and restricts your neck movement; having Varun as your best friend in a catholic school in a small town, sets you hurtling off on a straight track right off a cliff.
While my other classmates secretly met and read up on new math formulas that would help them redesign jet-engines to revolutionize the future of the aviation industry, I was busy trying to set my own record of the number of movies I could watch in a single evening back to back. While others devised complex new statistical algorithms and laid snare traps in English grammar rules for me, I sat back and basked in the glory of Varun’s appreciation for my new ‘Stairway to Heaven’ rendition on my new study table. On the rare occasions when I felt a little panicky, I would turn to him for comfort:
‘What do you want to do, finally?’
‘I was thinking may be, if we could go out and, like, roam around,’ he would reply excitedly.
‘No, no. I mean in a more metaphysical sense…you know, in the long run. “What do you want to do in life” sort of way…’
His big round eyes kept starring back at me, till I realized that he was in fact answering my question.
The wake-up call came during the summer of 98. The vacations were over, and there was the small matter of the class twelve board examinations. The education system had given me a last bus out of oblivion by scoring respectable grades in Physics, Chemistry and Math, and metamorphose into a worthy statistic for society. Standing in the crowd in front of the notice board, I scanned the results sheet for my roll number. As expected, it lay right in the middle, a comforting distance from all possible edges. Relieved, I was just about to leave when I thought I might as well check up for Varun too. Over the last eight years, both of us had somehow managed to maintain a steady distance of not more than or three numbers other roll numbers between us. So, a bit of panic set in when I couldn’t find his number anywhere in the vicinity. Widening the search perimeter by a couple of more rows and columns, I ran my fingers over the numbers again. It wasn’t there. Suddenly, pangs of guilt paralyzed me as I considered the worst – he’d not made the cut! I feared looking around and seeing my friend’s shocked face. How was I to deal with this? What could I possibly say to him? Not making through the board exams wasn’t the same as flunking class quizzes. It was like a huge court sentence one had to carry around one’s neck for the rest of his life. With a deep breath, I finally pulled myself off the notice board, and turned around. He wasn’t there. May be he hadn’t looked up the results yet – may be I could get to him before he did, and somehow cushion the blow. I tore through the corridors of the school, stopping over at all the usual places I expected to find my friend, my companion, my foil for 8 years. With each passing moment, and every vacant spot, I could feel my heart beat become louder.
I finally spotted his familiar figure perched on the 2nd floor half wall. The plastic cups of coffee lying around on the floor indicated that he had been there for quite a while. I silently walked up to him, and exaggerated my panting to make my presence known. What could possibly comfort him at this moment? Should I try and lighten up the mood with a joke? Perhaps distract his mind for a while? But, who was I kidding? This was pretty serious, and if I led him to believe otherwise, I was only going to mislead him further. Perhaps that’s what I’d been doing all this while. Had I not been with him all this while, may be he would have done better. Without me around, he’d probably have spent more time reading his text books, than wasting away days and nights listening to music, watching movies and attempting home-made rocket launches. I had ruined Varun’s last chance.
‘I’m sorry, Rishi,’ Varun blurted out, suddenly turning towards me. His eyes were welling up with tears. His words were almost cruel, as if designed to make me feel even more guilty. I sighed again, and patted him on his back, still at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry I let you down.’
‘You’ve not let me down, Varun. I don’t give a damn about the results, you idiot.’
By now, he had his arms around me, sobbing inconsolably, while I gently patted his back. It was a touching moment. He was like the kid brother I never had, and I felt responsible for him. He seemed so vulnerable that my heart ached.
‘I was only trying to do as much as was required, I swear. I didn’t know I was going to top the class,’ he said between sobs.
Had this been a movie, the next few shots would have been a rapid flashback, showing the viewer an alternate perspective on the last few months – scenes of Varun returning home from our game of cricket, and studying physics all night; scenes of Varun getting up in the morning and going for his tuition classes; of Varun violently scribbling notes in class, while I was fine-tuning the projectile for my next spit-ball. Would it seem inappropriate if I suddenly stopped patting him now? It was an awkward moment. When did they get to him? When did he cross over from being my side-kick to a completely independent person? When did he too start thinking in terms of grades, percentages, and the future? ‘This is not fair! You’re my dumb friend. You’ve no business doing well!’ I felt like telling him.
‘I’m happy for you, Yaar. Grades are completely irrelevant for me,’ i said, wondering why I was still patting him.
I didn’t see much of Varun after that day. We did hang out together in school for a while, but hearing him say, ‘Tu artist hair Yaar,’ for my new caricature of Miss Lyn from math class didn’t have the same ring to it anymore. In fact, words like ‘artist’ and ‘creative’ felt like insults now – something you’d say to humor a crying kid. I felt betrayed and misled. Someone had forgotten to inform me I was in a race till it was about to end.
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Photograph Courtesy: © Rishi S
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