And she would ask me why I write about love.
Is love the only subject I have known?
Why not I write about sparrows and tiger and dove?
Love is love, I tell her, and don’t you moan.
I know very little than love as such.
I think of thoughts and my heart unfold,
Many a tests against me she would hold.
I try to tell her that I love her much.
Keenly I glance at her and I do see:
She thinks not of this man but many a man.
Oh, she thinks of men better than me!
Ah, how do I confess my love for her then?
The bureaucrats can betray us; can do anything with their prowess and by administering their powers wrongfully. Of course there are few exceptions. But what most of them do is only for their own benefit. Seldom can one catch them doing something unethical and illegal. Even if they get caught, they can easily get away with their misdoing, they have all the means as you, dear readers, may know. After all, aren’t the lawmakers the lawbreakers, and vice versa? I mean, they show the way: the wrong way, the selfish way.
But, I cannot help being happy now. This short story will elaborate the reason for my happiness… read it.
You see, I went to the MTNL office to pay my internet bill for the previous month. I asked the women on the billing counter to give me my bill. She was playing chess (or something) in her computer and didn’t pay me attention. Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t mind sitting there till she was done with her game. But I did mind, and I made my displeasure known. She left the game, and after muttering something under her breath and glancing at me disapprovingly, started looking for my bill in the computer.
“What’s you number?” she asked, meaning she wanted my telephone number by which she could get my information and printout my bill. I didn’t remember what my number was. However, I saved it in my cell phone, and so I took my cell phone out from my pocket and gave her the number. The woman was slightly deaf, for I had to repeat the same numbers thrice and I had to speak with all my strength.
She typed the numbers on the keyboard, and looked at the screen. I guess she was not only slightly deaf, but also slightly blind. Although the screen of the computer was really very big (twenty inches, I suppose), but she had to move her head as close to the monitor as it was possible. It seemed, as though, she would get inside it.
“You are,” She said looking gravely at me, “Ramu Das?”
“Right,” I confirmed. Then she said that there were no bills pending. I thought she was joking. As far as I could remember, I didn’t pay the bill, and nobody would pay the bill on my behalf. I’m always on my own.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Hundred and ten percent, take my word for it!” she answered impatiently.
“Good heavens! How is that possible? Please check the database one more time,” I suggested. But by that time the women was already busy with her game. She raised her brow and gave me weird look, I was petrified. Why? Why isn’t she behaving in the right manner? Perhaps she has not known about the new philosophy that ‘customers are the kings and queens’. Doesn’t she care about her business? I thought.
“Ma’am, you need to be a little more diligent in your duty,” I blurted out. When she heard what I said she smiled by opening her mouth as far as it stretched. I saw she was absolutely toothless – a sign of old age. She, then, suggested that I should go to the left corner counter and speak with the gentleman reclining on his chair. “Out there,” she pointed out, “he might be able to help you.”
What, I didn’t need any help. In fact, I was the one trying to help them out, because as it seemed they made a mistake in their entries, and therefore, could not generate my bill. I felt it was my moral duty to speak the truth, so I did. I spoke with the gentleman. He said the same thing as the women.
I was happy, I considered myself lucky, moreover, I was in great need of money at the time, I had to take care of those needs, and the MTNL people proved to be a saving grace. Oh, it happens very rarely. I didn’t try to fool them by any means. But what should I say about their stupidity?
I think these MTNL people should get some vigorous training from the high level bureaucrats and politicians, especially from the officials of UPA (Under-Privileged Alcoholics’) government. Of course, in the mean time, they will also learn some Italian cuisine. And y-y- yes… some Italian political tactics as well. Ha! That goes without saying.
‘Modern college’ had been the name of the center where I had to go along with other friends – or classmates – to write the eggjam. The college changed the idea of modern which I had for quite a long time. I thought a college with such a name should have clean classrooms, air-conditioned or something like that, fashionable and stylish, ahead of times.
As I started moving in the corridor of college (modern college), all I could get was the stinking wee-wee smell, the battered classrooms were not even close to my notion of modern ; there were no ventilation in the classrooms; the windows were all at their worst condition ; everything looked as though it wasn’t renovated for a decade or so.
The invigilator sat on the chair, her legs crisscrossed. The students kept staring at the answer papers (booklets) which were distributed to them. A very strange kind of a paper it was. In the answer sheet there were too many instructions to be followed, which I, for one, could not understand, nor could the other students, they all looked bemused. We’re all hoping that the invigilator might say something about the instructions, but she didn’t.
Time was running out of hand, suddenly some students spoke unanimously, “Ma’am, won’t you tell us anything about the instructions?”
“Oh, do I need to?” asked the invigilator, total surprised. The invigilator, then, started speaking a foreign language until the moment someone interrupted pleadingly, “Ma’am, English please!”
Soon she obliged to speak in English, but then, she was murdering English, and someone had to tell her once again, “Ma’am, please switch on to a different language, if possible, Hindi.”
She herself wasn’t aware of how to fill the instructions on the booklet, “Just give me a moment,” she said and went out to the other class room, I assume to ask the other invigilator about the instructions. She came back, told us what to do and what not to do.
While filling the instructions it took us more than twenty minutes. That meant we had to write the answers at a bullet pace ( faster than Toronto express ), out of two hours, twenty minutes were gone!
I was amazed at the skills some of my fellow examinees possessed, the skills of cheating I mean. Some wrote the answers beforehand on their fingers, on their nails, legs, toes, palms, almost everywhere. And though it was strictly prohibited to carry any kind of papers, I saw some students seemingly gleefully inserted their hands into their pockets and brought out small pieces of paper in which the font size of the letters were perhaps lesser than four. One more thing is that the students were asked not to write anything on the question papers, but who cared? They wrote it anyway, and played pass-pass with the question papers, as long as the invigilator did not see.
I heard a continuous beeping sound and looked around to find where it was coming from. A guy who sat next to me was punching the keys of his cell phone. I kept staring at him for few seconds unbelievably, “What are you looking at?” he bellowed and clutched his headgear.
“You are brave,” I commented. He smiled and clutched his headgear once again, and said boldly, “I’m a Sardar!”
Now, the invigilator heard the beeping sound and found where it was coming from, she shouted: “Yanna Rascalla!” and, with that, I knew the invigilator must be a Tamilian or a huge fan of Rajnikant, moreover she smelt of coconut and coffee as she walked past me. She got the hold of the brave Sardar’s phone, and gave a warning, which, I believe, was the first as well as the last warning.
I was writing with full concentration when all of a sudden a hulk of a man came inside the classroom, spitted paan(betel leaf combined with areca nut) stained saliva from the window of the classroom to the ground, and said boastfully and mercilessly: “ Stop writing. Time’s up!”
That took me by total surprise. At that time I didn’t even write for forty-five marks, the paper consisted of sixty marks. I think I’m amongst one of the slowest writers in the world, but then, what I write makes sense. The invigilator after collecting the other students’ paper came to me and asked to submit the paper; I was reluctant to do that. The invigilator, then, started snatching the paper from me. “Wait,” I protested, “Let me write, or else I’ll fail.”
“Give!”
“Wait!”
“Give, I said!”
“Wait, I said,” I retorted then added, “Please.”
This went on for two minutes or so. I knew all answers, but the invigilator was adamant and persisted that I should submit the paper; I had no other option left, so I gave up.
Depressed. What does my future hold?
I was depressed (still am) and all other papers (except for one) after the first paper did not go as per my expectations, I’m just hoping to get the passing mark, that’s it and nothing more.
Ramu Das 