Five Point Someone Read online

  “You know guys, this whole IIT system is sick,” Ryan declared.

  “There he goes again,” I rolled my eyes. We were in my room.

  I expected Alok to ignore Ryan, but this time he led him on with a monosyllable. “Why?”

  “Because, tell me, how many great engineers or scientists have come out of IIT?”

  “What do you mean? Many CEOs and entrepreneurs have,” I said, a mistake as Ryan had not finished yet.

  “I mean this is supposed to be the best college in India, the best technology institute for a country of a billion. But has IIT ever invented anything? Or made any technical contribution to India?”

  “Doesn’t it contribute in making engineers?” Alok asked, snapping shut his book. I knew that with Alok not keeping us in check, we were not going to study any more that day. I suggested we go out to Sasi’s for paranthas and skip the mess dinner. Everyone agreed.

  Ryan continued to muse. “Over thirty years of IITs, yet, all it does is train some bright kids to work in multinationals. I mean look at MIT in the USA.”

  “This is not the USA,” I said, signalling Sasi’s minions to bring three plates of paranthas. “MITs have budgets of millions of dollars.”

  “And anyway, who cares, I want to get the degree and land a good job,” Alok said.

  Sasi’s was a ramshackle, illegal roadside establishment right outside the IIT hostel gates. Using tents and stools, the alfresco dining menu included paranthas, lemonade and cigarettes. At two rupees each, the butter paranthas were a bargain, even by student standards. Proprietor Sasi knew the quality of food in the mess and did a voluminous business serving dozens of students each day from every hostel. We got three plates of paranthas, and the dollop of butter on top melted and produced a delicious aroma.

  “See, it is not always the money,” Ryan said, flicking ash. “So IITs cannot do space research, but we surely can make some cheaper products? And frankly, money is just an excuse. If there is value, the industry will pay for research even at IIT.”

  “So what the hell is wrong then?” I was irritated. I seriously wanted Ryan to shut up, now that the food was here. I mean, if he did not want to study, fine, but spare us the bloody lecture, it wreaks havoc on digestion.

  “What is wrong is the system,” Ryan denounced soundly, sounding like a local politician. Blame the whole damn system if you can’t figure anything out.

  But Ryan had more. “This system of relative grading and overburdening the students. I mean it kills the best fun years of your life. But it kills something else. Where is the room for original thought? Where is the time for creativity? It is not fair.”

  “What about it is not fair? It gets me work, that’s all I care,” Alok shrugged, taking a break from devouring his rations.

  “Wow, that rhymes,” I said.

  “See your attitude is another problem. You won’t get it, forget it,” Ryan said.

  “That rhymes too,” I said and Alok and I broke into giggles. I knew I was annoying Ryan like hell, but I really wanted him to shut up or at least change the topic. That lazy bastard would find any reason to goof off.

  “Screw you,” Ryan gestured, diving back to his plate.

  “Anyway,” I said, “so what is the plan for the weekend?”

  “Nothing, why?” Alok looked up.

  “Well, we have the scooter now.”

  Ryan stayed silent.

  “Hey, stop sulking like a woman.” I nudged his elbow until he had to laugh.

  “Yes, we can go, you dope. Connaught Place?”

  “Why?” Alok repeated.

  “Well, they have this cheap dhabha there with the best butter chicken and we can catch a good Hindi movie. And then maybe check out some girls in the market.” Ryan’s eyes were exaggeratedly lecherous.

  “Sounds good,” I said, the mention of girls making me think of Neha. I had not bumped into her again, maybe I should go jogging again.

  “Alok, you’ll come too, right? Or will you mug all day?”

  “Uh..there is this ApMech worksheet…anyway, screw it man…yes, I will come,” Alok capitulated.

  We did go to Connaught Place that weekend and had quite a blast. The movie was what every Hindi movie is like – regular boy meets girl, boy is poor and honest, girl’s dad is rich and a crook. However, the heroine was new and eager to please the crowds so she bathed in the rain, played tennis in mini-skirts and wore sequined negligees to discos. Since all her hobbies involved wearing less or transparent clothing, the audience loved her. The girl’s father damn near killed the boy who flirted with his hot daughter, but ultimately the hero’s love and lust prevailed. The hero had no damn assignments to finish and no freaky profs breathing down his neck. I know, these Hindi movies are all crap, but they do kind of take your mind away from the crap of real life like nothing else.

  After movie came lunch. The dhabha was great as Ryan is never wrong about these things. He ordered for everyone, which he always does. And he orders big – right from boneless butter chicken to daal to paranthas to raita. The spoilt brat even orders the overpriced Coke, I mean, which student orders Coke in restaurants? Anyway, the meal was great, and an overactive desert-cooler sprayed water on our faces and kept the ambience cool.

  Tearing his rotis like a famished Unicef kid, Alok got chatty. “This is too good man, the chicken is fundoo here.”

  “So tell me, Fatso, did you have fun today or not?” Ryan asked.

  “Uh-huh,” said Alok, mouth too stuffed with food, but he meant yes.

  “Then tell me, why the hell do you want to kill yourself with books?”

  “Aw, don’t you guys start arguing again,” I groaned. I had enjoyed my day so far and watching these jokers go at it is really not funny after a while.

  “We are not arguing,” Ryan said, in a tone that sounded like he was arguing with me now. He took a deep breath. “Okay, here is the thing. I have been thinking.”

  Oh please, spare us, I thought. But it was too late.

  “Guys, these are the best years of our life. They really are. I mean, especially for someone like Alok.”

  “What, why specially me?” Alok was baffled, nibbling at a chilli from the salad bowl.

  “It brings out the amino acids in your eyes,” I joked, when he coughed at the tangy spiciness.

  “Because,” Ryan told Alok, “look at your life before this. I mean, I know you love your dad and everything. But like, you were just nursing him and studying for the past two years. And after college, you’ll probably have to live with them again, right?”

  “I’ll take up a job in Delhi,” Alok nodded, a bit more serious now, though his mind was still preoccupied with chicken breast.

  “Exactly, so it is back to the same responsibility again. I mean, you will earn and everything, and maybe hire a servant. But still, would you be able to have this kind of fun?”

  “I love my parents, Ryan, it is not a responsibility,” Alok said and stopped eating. Boy, this must have affected him. Usually, the Fatso will not leave chicken for his life.

  “Of course, you love them,” Ryan waved a hand. “I mean, I can understand that even though I don’t love my parents.”

  “What?” I said, though I had not wanted to be part of their argument.

  “I said I don’t love my parents. Is that a big deal?”

  Alok raised his eyebrows at me. I mean, if Alok could love his dad, who if you think about it, is no more than a vegetable with vision, how could this brat not love his parents? And his parents were nice, I mean they gave him everything - the blue scooter, clothes from Gap and money for the damn colas at restaurants. His parents had worked their asses off all their lives, started selling flower pots with two potters, and then moved all over India to make a name until two years ago when they went overseas. They weren’t making any big money out there yet but wanted to keep sonny boy happy, this spoilt, pigheaded, marginally good-looking ass who did not love them!

  “Screw you,” I blessed.

&nbs