Wow, what a week it had been! First we had our annual fest and then there was the eggjam’s result.
The twin-brothers (called so and so) who are my close friends in the college had scared me by creating a fake site which showed our eggjam’s results when the results were not yet declared by Mumbai University. The brother who was elder to the other by seven minutes put his eggjam’s seat number on that site in his phone (of course, the phone had internet connection), and it showed he had passed the eggjam, he started grinning. Then, he put another number, this time his brother’s, it, too, showed he too had passed.
Then he asked me what my seat number was, I told him, and much to my disbelieve and dismay, the result showed that I had failed. I felt a pounding in my head. But it took me sometime to realize that it was a fake site, that is, when the twins could not bear with my pitiful lamentation they admitted that the real results were not yet out. “Screw you, both!” I blurted out in anger, and they laughed, and I laughed as well.
The next day, however, as we were gratefully enjoying the concert – the famous Indian Rock Band called “Agnee” was rocking the stage with their fantastic music, they were invited to perform for our college as a part of the annual fest – at night, the twin brothers had once again informed me, glancing at their cell phone that the results were out. “No more pranks,” I declared.
“No, it’s the real result, I swear,” said one of the twins, very earnestly.
“Oh, the real result, eh? I said mockingly, and then added, “Don’t want to know what it is.” I was really not ready to play yesterday’s prank, moreover, I was fully engrossed with one of Agnee’s famous number (“Sadho Re”), and which was also one of my favorite song.
Agnee, oh what a band it is! They played with such melody that I felt I should not be bothered by anyone while listening to their tracks. It was live. Opportunities may hardly come twice. But the stubborn twins were determined to know what my number was: “C’mon! Tell us your seat number, dude?”
I was still cynical, “Oh, if you so care, why don’t you check yours first?”
“Beg your pardon, but we have already done it, and we both have passed.”
“Oh la la, passed! Just like yesterday, eh?” The cynical me was saying that. “I gave the number yesterday; don’t you guys remember what it was?”
“No, we don’t. It’s your result, what do we care! Don’t say what your number is, and no one would tell ye right away if ye have passed or not.” That was one of the twins, giving me a kind of emotional demand. Suddenly, I became curios, and made my willingness known to them, “Yes, I want to know the result,” I said. “Without minding if it was fake or real,” that I did not say as both the brothers were getting sentimental. “You want my number, so be it!” I said and gave them the number.
“Dude, you have passed!” exclaimed both the brothers with enthusiasm.
“Oh, have I?” My sarcasm was hidden somewhere within myself. Ah, at least they didn’t say that I had failed like they did yesterday.
“Yes, yes, you have, and we have. Now, we must party!” suggested both the twins.
“And who is throwing the party?” I enquired.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Who? Me? ha-ha! You see, I have a hole in my purse, and everything I had in it, has fallen down. Everything is lost, you see.” That was my way of telling them that I wasn’t paying a penny for anything.
“No problem, we will, we will. After all, we are the sons of a big gun.” That came from one of the twins, a sarcastic remark indeed.
“Well, well, there you said it. Canteen or some other place?”
“Canteen, of course,” said one of the more sensible, miser brother, because eatables in canteen were much cheaper than any other hotels nearby.
“Saving money, eh?” I cajoled them to go somewhere else, but to no avail.
I was still not sure if the brothers were lying about the results or speaking the truth, so right after coming back home, I opened Mumbai University’s site, and I inserted my seat number into a box, and there it was, my result. It said: “You have passed. Congratulations!”
Now, I have one more semester, and one more eggjam coming up in the month of April, and then I can call myself a graduate. After all, I can say, Mumbai University is not that bad.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS