Revolution 2020 (11 page)

I didn’t say
anything. I cried like a child, as if my remorse would make him feel
better.

‘How do we
return the money?’ Baba said, turning to practical matters
faster than I thought.

I had improved my
rank, I wanted to tell him. The teachers at Career Path had told me I
had potential. Yes, I did get distracted for a little while, and
maybe that was why I hadn’t made it. Anyway, not everyone in
Kota had made it. Most students of Career Path had not made it. In
fact, Vineet, the boy from Varanasi who went before me to Kota,
hadn’t made it either. But all I showed Baba was my sullen
face.

‘What are you
thinking? Do you have any shame?’ he said and went into a
coughing fit. His body shook, he found it hard to balance.

‘Sit down,
Baba,’ I said as I moved forward to hold him. His body felt
warm.

‘Don’t
come near me.’ He pushed me away.

‘You have
fever,’ I said.

‘Guess who
gave it?’ he said.

I didn’t know
what to say or do. I didn’t even find myself worthy enough to
fetch his medicines from the other room. I had to let him be. When
you screw up someone’s life, the least you can do is leave the
person alone.

‘I have gone
through it all. You must be so fucked,’ Vineet said to me.

We sat on the steps
of Assi Ghat, close to the pier. I had arranged a secret meeting with
Vineet. I did not know him too well. I had only exchanged some emails
with him before I left for Kota. But he seemed an ideal companion
right now. Yes, Aarti kept in touch, asking me about my well-being
and even going on boat rides with me. Yet, I had not
hing
to
say to her. I thought about jumping into the Ganga and ending my
life. Raghav was someone I avoided automatically now. I did not want
reassurance from an IT-BHU guy, especially someone who did not even
seem to care about his degree.

Vineet, an ordinary
guy like me, was someone I felt comfortable with. He had joined a
private engineering college. ‘So I can tell people I am doing
BTech,’ Vineet said and laughed. ‘Just avoid the college
name. Anyway, it is unknown to most people.’

I collected a few
pebbles from the ghat steps and sent them skipping on the holy river.

‘You will be
fine, dude,’ Vineet said. ‘Never completely fine, but at
least better than right now.’

‘How did you
choose among the private colleges?’ I said. There were dozens
of them, with new ones opening every week.

‘I went to a
career fair. I asked around. RSTC seemed slightly better than others.
I don’t think there’s much difference.’

‘What’s
RSTC?’ I said.

‘Riddhi Siddhi
Technical College. The owners have a sari business with the same
name.’

‘Oh,’ I
said, trying to make a connection between saris and education.

‘Quite a
backward name, no? So we say RSTC, sounds cooler.’ Vineet
grinned.

‘Do you get a
job afterwards?’

‘If you are
lucky. Sixty per cent placements. Not bad.’

‘Forty per
cent students don’t get placed?’ I said, shocked. This
could be worse than Kota, to finish your degree and get nothing at
the end of it.

‘The stats are
improving every year. Plus, you can manage some job. There are call
centres, credit card sales. Be open-minded and things work out.’

‘Finish
engineering and join a call centre?’

‘Dude, don’t
be so shocked. We, like millions of other students, are the losers in
the Great Indian Education Race. Be happy with whatever you get. Of
course, if your parents are rich, do an MBA after BTech. Another shot
at a job.’

‘And if not?’
I said.

Vineet said nothing.
Exasperated, I threw all the pebbles into the Ganga. Like low-ranked
students, the stones sank and disappeared without a trace.

‘Hey, don’t
be mad at me. I didn’t make the system.’ Vineet patted my
shoulder. ‘The longer you sit idle, the worse you will feel.
The dream is over. Join a college, any college, at least you will be
with other students’ ‘Other losers,’ I said.

‘Don’t
look down upon your own kind,’ Vineet said.

He had a point. ‘I
am sorry,’ I said. ‘How much does your BTech cost?’

‘One lakh a
year for four years, including hostel.’

‘Fuck,’
I said. ‘That’s many years of salary a job would pay, if
there is a job at the end of it.’

‘I know. But
your parents pay the fee. And they get to brag to everyone their son
is becoming an engineer. You are free for the next four years. Think
about it, not a bad trade.’

‘We have no
money,’ I said flatly.

Vineet stood up.
‘That, my friend, is going to be an issue.’

‘Leaving?’
I said.

‘Yeah, campus
is twenty kilometres out of Varanasi. Cheer up. You have seen life at
its most fucked-up stage. It only gets better from here.’

I stood up and
brushed the dust off my trousers. I dreaded going home. Baba had not
spoken to me for three days.

We walked through
the narrow Vishwanath Gali to reach the Gadholia main road.

‘I have gone
through it all. You must be so fucked,’ Vineet said to me.

We sat on the steps
of Assi Ghat, close to the pier. I had arranged a secret meeting with
Vineet. I did not know him too well. I had only exchanged some emails
with him before I left for Kota. But he seemed an ideal companion
right now. Yes, Aarti kept in touch, asking me about my well-being
and even going on boat rides with me. Yet, I had not
hing
to
say to her. I thought about jumping into the Ganga and ending my
life. Raghav was someone I avoided automatically now. I did not want
reassurance from an IT-BHU guy, especially someone who did not even
seem to care about his degree.

Vineet, an ordinary
guy like me, was someone I felt comfortable with. He had joined a
private engineering college. ‘So I can tell people I am doing
BTech,’ Vineet said and laughed. ‘Just avoid the college
name. Anyway, it is unknown to most people.’

I collected a few
pebbles from the ghat steps and sent them skipping on the holy river.

‘You will be
fine, dude,’ Vineet said. ‘Never completely fine, but at
least better than right now.’

‘How did you
choose among the private colleges?’ I said. There were dozens
of them, with new ones opening every week.

‘I went to a
career fair. I asked around. RSTC seemed slightly better than others.
I don’t think there’s much difference.’

‘What’s
RSTC?’ I said.

‘Riddhi Siddhi
Technical College. The owners have a sari business with the same
name.’

‘Oh,’ I
said, trying to make a connection between saris and education.

‘Quite a
backward name, no? So we say RSTC, sounds cooler.’ Vineet
grinned.

‘Do you get a
job afterwards?’

‘If you are
lucky. Sixty per cent placements. Not bad.’

‘Forty per
cent students don’t get placed?’ I said, shocked. This
could be worse than Kota, to finish your degree and get nothing at
the end of it.

‘The stats are
improving every year. Plus, you can manage some job. There are call
centres, credit card sales. Be open-minded and things work out.’

‘Finish
engineering and join a call centre?’

‘Dude, don’t
be so shocked. We, like millions of other students, are the losers in
the Great Indian Education Race. Be happy with whatever you get. Of
course, if your parents are rich, do an MBA after BTech. Another shot
at a job.’

‘And if not?’
I said.

Vineet said nothing.
Exasperated, I threw all the pebbles into the Ganga. Like low-ranked
students, the stones sank and disappeared without a trace.

‘Hey, don’t
be mad at me. I didn’t make the system.’ Vineet patted my
shoulder. ‘The longer you sit idle, the worse you will feel.
The dream is over. Join a college, any college, at least you will be
with other students’ ‘Other losers,’ I said.

‘Don’t
look down upon your own kind,’ Vineet said.

He had a point. ‘I
am sorry,’ I said. ‘How much does your BTech cost?’

‘One lakh a
year for four years, including hostel.’

‘Fuck,’
I said. ‘That’s many years of salary a job would pay, if
there is a job at the end of it.’

‘I know. But
your parents pay the fee. And they get to brag to everyone their son
is becoming an engineer. You are free for the next four years. Think
about it, not a bad trade.’

‘We have no
money,’ I said flatly.

Vineet stood up.
‘That, my friend, is going to be an issue.’

‘Leaving?’
I said.

‘Yeah, campus
is twenty kilometres out of Varanasi. Cheer up. You have seen life at
its most fucked-up stage. It only gets better from here.’

I stood up and
brushed the dust off my trousers. I dreaded going home. Baba had not
spoken to me for three days.

We walked through
the narrow Vishwanath Gali to reach the Gadholia main road.

‘There’s
a career fair at Dr Sampooranand Sports Stadium in two weeks,’
Vineet said. ‘Go, maybe you will find cheaper colleges’

‘There is no
money. We are neck-deep in debt,’ I said.

‘Well, no harm
in paying a visit. You can get a discount, especially from the new
ones, if you have a decent AIEEE rank.’

                                                       ♦

I walked back home.
The one-hour walk in the fresh air made me feel better temporarily. I
should not talk to Baba about expensive private colleges, I thought.
Maybe I should talk to him about me making money in a job rather than
spending more. First, I would have to end his sulking though.

I went to his room.
He was lying in bed.

‘I want to get
a job, Baba. Let me make some money before I decide about college.’

He didn’t say
a word. I continued, ‘I understand you are upset. It is
justified. There is a Cafe Coffee Day opening in Sigra. It is a
high-class coffee chain. They want staff. Class XH-pass can apply.’

I only heard the
slow whirr of the fan in response.

‘I’ve
applied. I won’t be working in a coffee shop forever. But they
pay five thousand a month. Not bad, right?’

Baba kept quiet.

‘If you remain
quiet, I will assume you are okay with it.’

Baba continued to
mope silently despite my provocative comment. I wanted him to scold,
yell, anything, and end this silence.

I leaned over him.
‘Baba, don’t punish me like this,’ I said. I held
his arm to shake him. It felt limp and cold. ‘Baba?’ I
said again. His body felt stiff.

‘Baba?’
I said again. It finally dawned on me: I had become an orphan.

Ease of cremation is
one solid advantage of being in Varanasi. The death industry drives
the city. The electric crematorium at Harishchandra Ghat and the
original, and still revered, Manikarnika Ghat burn nearly forty-five
thousand bodies a year, or more than a hundred corpses a day. Only
little children and people bitten by cobras are not cremated; their
bodies are often dumped straight into the river. ‘
Kasyam
maranam
mukti
’
,
goes the
Sanskrit saying, which means dying in Kashi leads to liberation.
Hindus believe that if they die here, there is an automatic upgrade
to heaven, no matter what the sin committed on earth. It is amazing
how god provides this wild-card entry at death, which in turn allows
my city to earn a living.

Specialist one-stop
shops provide you everything from firewood to priests and urns to
ensure that the dead person departs with dignity. Touts on
Manikarnika Ghat lure foreigners to come watch the funeral pyres and
take pictures for a fee, thereby creating an additional source of
revenue. Varanasi is probably the only city on earth where Death is a
tourist attraction.

But for all my
city’s expertise in death, I had personally never dealt with a
dead body in my entire life, let alone that of my father. I did not
know how to react to Baba's still body I did not, or rather could
not, cry. 1 don’t know why. Perhaps because I was too stunned,
and emotionally drained out. Perhaps I had few emotions left after
mourning my second entrance-exam disaster. Perhaps I had too much
work related to the funeral. Or perhaps it was because I thought I
had killed him.

I had to organise a
cremation, then a couple of pujas. I didn’t know who to invite.
My father had very few friends. I called some of

his old students who
had kept in touch. I informed Dubey uncle, our lawyer, more for
practical reasons than anything else. The lawyer told Ghanshyam
taya-ji. My uncle had sucked my father’s blood all his life.
However, his family now offered unlimited sympathy. I found his wife,
Neeta tayi-ji, at my doorstep. She saw me, extended her arms and
broke down.

‘Its okay,
tayi-ji,’ I said, extracting myself from the bosom hug. 'You
need not have come.’

‘What are you
saying? Husbands younger brother is like a son,’ she

said.

Of course, she did
not mention the land she stole from her ‘son’. ‘When
is the puja?’ she asked me.

‘I have no
idea,’ I said. ‘I have to get the cremation done first.’

‘Who is doing
that?’ she said.

I shrugged my
shoulders.

‘Do you have
the money to do a cremation at Manikarnika?’ she

said.

I shook my head.
‘The electric one at Harishchandra Ghat is cheaper,’ I
said.

‘What
electric? It is broken most of the time, anyway. We have to do a
proper one. What are we here for?’

Soon, Ghanshyam
taya-ji arrived with the rest of his brood. He had two sons and two
daughters, all dressed in rich clothes. I didn’t look like
their relative at all. After my uncle arrived, they took over the
cremation. They called more kith and kin. They arranged for a priest,
who offered a ten-thousand-rupee package for the cremation. My uncle
bargained him down to seven. It felt macabre to bargain for a
funeral, but someone had to do it. My uncle paid the priest in crisp
five-hundred-rupee notes.