Five Point Someone Read online

  So when Alok asked me to his house for lunch I found myself agreeing if only for the food. I had learnt to ride now and Ryan’s scooter was free that day (though Ryan did give us the task of noting down the kilometres back and forth).

  Delhi roads are a nightmare and I couldn’t dream of driving as fast as Ryan. Alok and I couldn’t go beyond fifty, and Alok kept talking as I navigated the cows and the cops to the suburbs.

  “You think Ryan will get the project?” Alok said, sitting pillion.

  “I think so. His proposal alone is eighty pages, which I think is a project in itself. And I mean, it is original work.”

  “Yes, but you know he has to put a cover sheet on the proposal.”

  “So?”

  “The cover sheet carries the student’s name and GPA. You think they’ll fund a five-point something?”

  “Why not? They’ll read the proposal and decide.”

  “They are profs,” Alok said, “and you know how they think.”

  “Prof Veera is with him.”

  “Yeah, let’s see.”

  We reached Alok’s house in an hour. I kind of stopped breathing to skip the medicine smells. Of course, couldn’t do without oxygen forever but luckily Alok’s mom laid out the food soon.

  “Alok, see I have made paneer for you and your friend,” his mother said.

  For a poor family, Alok’s family ate quite well. I mean, there was rice, rotis, daal, gobi-aloo, mango chutney, raita and of course, matar-paneer. I guess that explained the corpulence running in the family.

  “Eat beta, eat. Don’t be shy,” Alok’s mother egged me on.

  The food was delicious but the conversation tasteless. Alok’s mother recounted her last week, which was full of problems. The funny thing was almost all her problems had one solution – more money. On Monday, the five-time-repaired geyser had broken down and there was no money for a new one. On Wednesday, the TV antenna took a toss and a new one was too expensive. The family had to live with grainy reception until they could save some money. On Friday, Alok’s father fell off the bed, which required a doctor to come home, another hundred bucks. There were other stories too – the ration shop had started charging double for sugar, and the maid had ditched twice that week.

  “Ma, can you stop boring my friend,” Alok said.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, reaching for more daal. Actually, the life Alok’s mother led at home intrigued me. Somehow, her clutching her sari to wipe her tears had been the only image I had been stuck with for the past year but now I realized she had a life too. The challenges she faced were not quite lube research proposals, but pricey tomatoes nonetheless.

  “And you know the sofa springs are coming out…” she was saying when Alok interrupted her.

  “Mom, can you please keep quiet. I have come home after a month and that is all you have to tell me.”

  She looked surprised. “Who else will I tell my problems to? I have only one son.”

  “Enough mom,” Alok said, his face turning red like an expensive tomato.

  “I will keep quiet,” Alok’s mom agreed and started mumbling to herself as she ate her food, “earn for them, then work like a servant for them and then they don’t even want to listen to you. Physics teacher Mrs Sharma tells me, these days sons forget their parents.”

  Clang, Alok threw his plate on the floor. Bits of lunch splattered all across the living room and he got up and left the room.

  What was I supposed to do? Follow my friend, who had brought me here? Or sit and watch Alok’s mother wipe her tears with her sari? I decided to do none of the above, focusing on the matar-paneer. The food was good, that is what I came here for, I kept telling myself, looking intently at the plate.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t a happy visit home. Alok kind of cooled down, came back to the living room, and sat on the sofa. Alok’s mother cried her stock of tears, and went in to get kheer.

  “Alok, what are you doing man?”

  “You stay out of this Hari. You won’t understand.”

  Yeah right, I should stay out of this, I thought. But he was the one who had got me into this.

  “She has made kheer and everything. What is your problem?”

  “They are my problem. You won’t understand, shut up and wait for the kheer.”

  We did wait for the kheer, which was perfect. I was sure that Alok’s family could solve half their problems if they stuck to a more frugal diet but good food seemed vital to them, even at the cost of TV reception. It was their situation, so I stayed out of it until we were on our way back.

  “I know what you are thinking,” Alok said.

  “What?”

  “That how can I be so heartless.”

  The only thing I had thought about Alok’s heart was that it would be under tremendous strain with such a fat-intensive diet.

  “Nah, just haven’t seen you like that,” I said as I turned on the Munirka crossing, narrowly avoiding a peanut seller.

  “That is all they talk to me about; problems, problems and more problems,” Alok said, “and what can I bloody do about them?”

  “Hmmm. That is true,” I said, wondering if Alok was now telling me a problem I couldn’t do anything about.

  Vivas – the most hated, dreaded moments of my student life. I avoided them like I did cows on the road with their tails twitched up. But like the cattle in Delhi traffic, sometimes you just couldn’t avoid running into them. And this one Wednesday was the design viva. It was my course under the C2D, and I was supposed to take the lead on all questions. I tried to convince Ryan and Alok to help me, but the bastards didn’t care and had gone to sleep at ten the previous night, leaving me to mug through the night and prepare for all expected questions. It wasn’t much use, for in my case it wasn’t about knowing the answers.

  “Hari, what makes C40 steel better than C20 steel for making rigid structures?”

  More carbon in C40, hence harder steel, I thought. Also, probably cheaper in terms of costs. C20 was soft and could buckle. I knew the answer… if only Prof Vohra would stop looking me in the eye.

  “Sir, C40 steel is…” I said as I looked back at Ryan and Alok to evoke some pity.

  “Look at me Hari,” Prof Vohra said, “I am asking you.”

  I didn’t want to look at him, and I really wanted to get the answer out. But all I got out was fat drops of sweat, on my face, arms and hands.

  Four tries and three different questions later, Prof Vohra gave up. Ryan shook his head and smiled, as if he’d known all along that this would happen. Alok kept quiet, as he mentally calculated how many marks we had lost.

  “Sorry guys,” I said at dinner, “I let you down again. I hate vivas man.”

  The mess workers tossed rotis that you could make jeans out of; I tore one hard, hoping to relieve my tension.

  “What happens to you?” Alok said.

  “I don’t know. Whenever someone asks me a question in a stressful situation, I can’t say anything.”

  “Since when?” Alok said.

  “Since high school,” I said.

  “Something happened?” Ryan said.

  “No…I mean yeah, nothing,” I said.

  “What?” Alok said.

  “Forget it. Pass the rice, I can’t digest these rotis. They are like chewing gum,” I said.

  Neha’s birthday was on December 1 and as usual I was clueless about what to get her.

  “You have to make it special,” Ryan said. We were skipping class and having lunch in the canteen.

  “Special how? I have no cash. I can’t even afford toothpaste right now,” I said.

  “You are not brushing your teeth?” Alok said, looking up.

  “No man I’m using Ryan’s,” I said. “Anyway, come to the point Fatso, what should I do?”

  “Think,” Ryan said, knocking his head like he was solving a nuclear physics problem. He is a patronizing bastard, I tell you.

  “I can’t think of anything,” I said. “No more ‘make-your-own-