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  ‘Forget it. Let’s go,’ she said. She tugged at my elbow and dragged me out of the shop.

  ‘How much?’ I said as I fumbled with my wallet.

  She took my wallet and placed it back in my shirt pocket. She placed a finger on my lips.

  Why do girls send confusing signals? She had rebuffed me on the boat the other day. Yet she comes to shop with me for boring clothes hangers and doesn’t let me pay. She calls me three times a day to check if I’ve had my meals. Does she care for me or not?

  ‘You want to try the new Domino’s at Sigra?’ she said.

  ‘Can we go to the ghats?’ I said.

  ‘Ghats?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘I want to soak in as much Varanasi as possible before I leave.’

  We walked to the steps of the Lalita Ghat, quieter than the busy Dashashwamedh on our right. We sat next to each other and watched the Ganga change colours with the evening sun. On our left, flames flickered from the never-ending funeral pyres in the Manikarnika Ghat. The ghat, named after Shiva’s earring that he dropped here during a dance, is considered the holiest place for cremation.

  She held my elbow lightly. I looked around. Apart from some tourists and sadhus, I spotted a few locals. I shook my elbow free.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t. It’s not good. Especially for you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you are a girl.’

  She smacked my elbow. ‘So what?’

  ‘People talk. They don’t say good things about girls who sit on the ghats holding elbows.’

  ‘We are just really good friends,’ she said.

  I hated that term. I wanted to talk about my place in her life, even though I did not want to make things unpleasant. ‘But now I am leaving,’ I said.

  ‘So? We will be in touch. We will call. We can chat on the net. There are cyber cafés in Kota, right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Don’t look so glum,’ she said. We heard the temple bells ring in the distance. The evening aarti was about to begin.

  ‘What is your problem?’ I said.

  ‘About what?’ she said.

  ‘About us. Us being more than friends.’

  ‘Please, Gopal, not again.’

  I became quiet. We saw the evening aarti from a distance. A dozen priests, holding giant lamps the size of flaming torches, prayed in synchronised moves as singers chanted in the background. Hundreds of tourists gathered around the priests. No matter how many times you see it, the aarti on Varanasi ghats manages to mesmerise each time. Much like the Aarti next to me. She wore a peacock blue salwar-kameez and fish-shaped silver earrings.

  ‘I don’t feel that way, Gopal,’ she said.

  ‘About me?’

  ‘About anyone. And I like what you and I share. Don’t you?’

  ‘I do. But I am leaving now. If we had a commitment, wouldn’t it be better?’

  ‘Commitment? Gopal, we are so young!’ She laughed. She stood up. ‘Come, let’s float diyas. For your trip.’

  Girls are the best topic switchers in the world.

  We walked down to the waters. She purchased a set of six lit diyas for five rupees. She passed one to me. She set one diya afloat. Holding my hand, she said, ‘Let’s pray together, for success.’

  ‘May you get what you want in Kota,’ she said, eyes shut.

  I looked at her. What I really want is not in Kota, I am leaving it behind in Varanasi …

  Kota

  6

  It took me twenty-three hours in the hot and stuffy Dwarka Express to reach Kota.

  I had emailed Vineet, a Varanasi boy who’d spent the last year in Kota. I learnt about the coaching classes; Bansal and Resonance had the best reputation. However, they screened students with their own tests. If I did not get into Bansal or Resonance, Kota had other, less selective coaching classes that catered to losers like me.

  However, before I joined a coaching ghetto I had to find a place to live in. Vineet had told me about some paying guest accommodations. I hailed an auto from the railway station. ‘Gayatri Society Building,’ I said, ‘in Mahavir Nagar, near Bansal classes.’

  The auto drove down the dusty streets of Kota. It looked like any other small town in India, with too much traffic and pollution and too many telecom, underwear and coaching-class hoardings. I wondered what was so special about this place. How could it make thousands of students clear the most competitive exam in the world?

  ‘IIT or Medical?’ asked the auto driver, who had gray hair and matching teeth.

  I figured out what made Kota different. Every one was clued into the entrance exams.

  ‘IIT,’ I said.

  ‘Bansal is the best. But their entrance exam is scheduled for next week.’

  ‘You know all this?’ I said, baffled by the driver’s knowledge.

  He laughed and turned around. ‘My whole family is into education. My wife runs a tiffin business. You want food delivered?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shankar, originally from Alwar,’ he said. He extended his grease-stained hand.

  I shook it as little as possible. ‘Gopal from Varanasi.’

  He gave me a business card for the tiffin service. Two meals a day for a monthly cost of fifteen hundred bucks.

  ‘Let us take care of the food. You boys study, it is such a tough exam.’

  ‘Which exam?’ I said.

  ‘For IIT it is JEE. Come on, Gopal bhai. We are not that uneducated.’

  We reached the Gayatri Society compound. A rusty iron gate protected a crumbling block of apartments. A sweeper with a giant broom produced dust clouds in the air in an attempt to clean the place. I went to the small guard post at the entrance of the building. A watchman sat inside.

  ‘Who do you want to meet?’ the watchman said.

  ‘I want to rent a room,’ I said.

  The watchman looked me over. He saw my two over-stuffed, over-aged and over-repaired suitcases. One held clothes, the other carried the books that had failed to get me anywhere so far. My rucksack carried the stuff Aarti had bought me. I missed her. I wondered if I should find an STD booth and call her.

  ‘IIT or Medical?’ the watchman asked, crushing tobacco in his hand. Kota locals find it hard to place outsiders until they know what they are there for.

  ‘IIT,’ I said. I wished he would give me more attention than his nicotine fix.

  ‘First-timer or repeater?’ the watchman asked next, still without looking up.

  ‘Does it matter?’ I said, somewhat irritated.

  ‘Yes,’ he said and popped the tobacco into his mouth. ‘If you are a first-timer, you will join a school also. You will be out of the house more. Repeaters only go for coaching classes. Many sleep all day. Some landlords don’t like that. So, tell me and I can show you the right place.’

  ‘Repeater,’ I said. I don’t know why I looked down as I said that. I guess when you fail an entrance exam, even a tobacco-chewing watchman can make you feel small.

  ‘Oh God, another repeater,’ the watchman said. ‘Anyway, I will try. Fix my fee first.’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘I take half a month’s rent. What’s your budget?’

  ‘Two thousand a month.’

  ‘That’s it?’ the watchman said. ‘Make it four thousand. I will get you a nice, shared air-conditioned room.’

  ‘I can’t afford to pay so much,’ I said.

  The watchman sneered, as if someone had asked for country liquor in a five-star bar.

  ‘What?’ I said, wondering if I’d be spending my first night in Kota on the streets.

  ‘Come,’ he beckoned. He opened the gate and kept my suitcases in his cabin. We climbed up the steps of the first apartment block.

  ‘Will you share with other boys? Three to a room,’ the watchman said.

  ‘I could,’ I said, ‘but how will I study? I want a private one, however small.’

  Studies or not, I wanted to be left alone.

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