So, eventually, my fingers stopped shivering, my heart beat fell to normal and like a dead man walking, I scrolled through the list. Where's the fun when you know that you've missed the bus but can try your luck with the next one? I reached 300. The theoritical probability of my name existing in the last 100 numbers was 0.5. However, when you've gone through 800 names out of 900 and you failed, you believe you were born to fail. In short, Eternal FAIL. So, when you are destined to fail, why even look in the last 100? I was turning hopelessly psychotic. The cynical side in me emerged to walk me through the last 100, laughing at me hysterically and asking me, "Why so serious?". It was only a matter of time before I bite the dust.
Breaking the news to the family required another strategy of tremendous resilience. I couldn't have planned for that anyways. I was already almost brain dead.
The last name in the next page, going upwards, sounded similar. It actually rhymed with my name. Somehow, I couldn't understand it at first glance. But it looked familiar. My heart started to beat faster. The length, the curves and the shape of the two words in the name looked similar. I could feel blood flow back into my ears. The first letters of both words matched with those of mine. My finger started to twitch like the hero in the last scene of the film where he lies dead in the ICU, his love interest barges in and shouts in his ear, "Aaaaiiii Lovvvvvvv Uiioouuuoo" and his fingers start to twitch like he's a starving dog and she just bought him some Pedigree. Like tunnel vision, everything in my Span of vision gets out of focus, I feel like being thrown in a trance, every part of my body goes numb and my head reels in delusion. Is this a dream? How is it that I find my name in this list? Did I pass this exam? The number beside my name read 250.
I come back to life.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
400
Every 100 ranks that went by, I got reminded of the India Pakistan World T20 final when Misbah got disturbingly close to chasing the Indian total. At that time, every Harbhajan ball that was clobbered out of the park by Misbah left me with a awefully distressing feeling of helplessness. I could do nothing. It was like a mathematical programme that was in a terminal decline. There was no stopping. From 900, I reached 600. No respite. Hope still flickered. The dum aloo debate stopped. The mood was placid. The room was heavily curtained and thus was dark for an extremely humid and hot afternoon. The room was below ambient temperature as the air conditioner worked silently. Womenfolk, tired of the discussion were getting ready for a siesta. And I saw myself all alone in this mad bad world with just 400 more numbers to go. Chills down my spine and I start traveling upwards.
As soon as I reached 400 and my name no where in sight, I realized it was high time I started the fire fighting exercise. I had to become mentally strong. I had to brace for impact. I had to make sure I retain my composure on the arrival of the bad news. I planned for failure. I was searching for a parachute. What had I to do in case I crash landed. First, Chronicle and Times magazines of the last one year. Second, DD Basu and Ravindran sir notes for Polity. Third, Goh Cheng Leong, Savindra Singh, K siddhartha and Shabbir sir notes for geography. Fourth, Misra puri and Dutt and Sundaram for Economy. I didn't have the wherewithal to think about the other subjects. I stopped. But I knew I would be alive to think about another attempt. Yes, if I failed, I knew I wouldn't die.
As soon as I reached 400 and my name no where in sight, I realized it was high time I started the fire fighting exercise. I had to become mentally strong. I had to brace for impact. I had to make sure I retain my composure on the arrival of the bad news. I planned for failure. I was searching for a parachute. What had I to do in case I crash landed. First, Chronicle and Times magazines of the last one year. Second, DD Basu and Ravindran sir notes for Polity. Third, Goh Cheng Leong, Savindra Singh, K siddhartha and Shabbir sir notes for geography. Fourth, Misra puri and Dutt and Sundaram for Economy. I didn't have the wherewithal to think about the other subjects. I stopped. But I knew I would be alive to think about another attempt. Yes, if I failed, I knew I wouldn't die.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The search continues
Hmmm... One milestone had been reached. Rather, breached. I didn't find my name in the top 200. Ok. Now what? I didn't have much time to think. I could sense the dum aloo debate ending. The momentous discussion of Socratic proportions was drawing to a close. So, there was a distinct chance of the women shifting course to another awe inspiring discussion and it being more than a month that my interview was done, there was an even more distinct chance of the discussion veering towards my result and its aftermath. It was another matter, that the female members, at that moment, as ignorant as bull ants looking amorously at a pitcher plant, did not know that their fellow comrade did not end up in the top 200.
After going through the top 200, I came back to ground zero. Most of my rosy expectations landed safely and got docked happily in the warehouse to be dismantled and sold at scrap rates. I now, quite shamefully and earnestly had only simple expectations, those that reminded me of my middle class roots. To land safely in the list. No matter where. I wanted to be an employed youth. I needed nothing more.
So, this time around, the better of my reflexes worked and I decided to enter from the other end. I scrolled down to the end of the list and started searching my name upwards. So that this time, the sense of rapidly falling off from a cliff wasn't there. The execution would be less painful this way. I desperately wanted to pat my back and jump in eternal bliss to have produced such a mind boggling idea. But the female folk would know. So, I stay put. Infact I had a feeling of confidence as soon I read through 10 names. I wasn't in the bottom 10. What ignominy, what shame? Though the chances of me not being in the list were perpetually increasing, I also had hope flickering at some corner of my heart. Peace! Tension! What the!
After going through the top 200, I came back to ground zero. Most of my rosy expectations landed safely and got docked happily in the warehouse to be dismantled and sold at scrap rates. I now, quite shamefully and earnestly had only simple expectations, those that reminded me of my middle class roots. To land safely in the list. No matter where. I wanted to be an employed youth. I needed nothing more.
So, this time around, the better of my reflexes worked and I decided to enter from the other end. I scrolled down to the end of the list and started searching my name upwards. So that this time, the sense of rapidly falling off from a cliff wasn't there. The execution would be less painful this way. I desperately wanted to pat my back and jump in eternal bliss to have produced such a mind boggling idea. But the female folk would know. So, I stay put. Infact I had a feeling of confidence as soon I read through 10 names. I wasn't in the bottom 10. What ignominy, what shame? Though the chances of me not being in the list were perpetually increasing, I also had hope flickering at some corner of my heart. Peace! Tension! What the!
Friday, May 27, 2011
The miraculous day
I shouted nothing. I eagerly took part in their discussion about dum aloo. I proposed adding half a tea spoon full of salt against my sister's view of one fourth a tea spoon. There were distinct reasons why I did not accede to my sister's stance on this contentious issue, the conclusion of which, it appeared, from the intensity of the expressions of the females faces, had international ramifications. The two distinct reasons were nerve wrangling tension and tooth grinding anticipation. I downloaded the list from the website of the captor. Now the amazing race began. The search for my name started. In the background the dum aloo debate raged on incessantly.
The list was a pdf file which was embedded in an HTML page. This meant that the search option (Ctrl+F) wouldn't work. Even if it did, I wouldn't have used it for the gut wrenching feeling which pervades all through your body when the dialog box appears on the screen saying, " The search string does not exist ", is truly something hard to swallow. All dreams dreamt laboriously over the last two years would come crashing down in an instant. So, I preferred to go the long way, search for my name manually.
I started from the top, Divyadarshini was her name, I could already imagine the front page of the newspapers next day, 40 font, bold, underlined, with her happydent white picture below somewhere, with the caption, "girls do it again". I went lower. There were names, funny ones, unique ones, masculine ones, but none was mine. The top ten was done. My heart sank a bit. The rosiest of my dreams were gone, for ever. I would not be bragging live to NDTV or CNN the next day about my absolutely immaculate strategy to top the examination. I knew I could settle for less. I let go off a few edges of my ego and I went further down.
Top 50 done. My throat went dry. The dum aloo discussion continued in the background. My fingers wouldn't stop shivering. Back in some convoluted corner of the brain, I wished I could redo the top 50. But I was convinced otherwise, I seldom missed my name in lists. Latecomers list, absentee lists, traveling-without-bus pass lists, caught-copying-in-exam lists and some other worthless ones. So I decided to go further lower. I felt like a scuba diver going below 130 feet with no information about his gas mixture. I dived.
Top 200 out.
The list was a pdf file which was embedded in an HTML page. This meant that the search option (Ctrl+F) wouldn't work. Even if it did, I wouldn't have used it for the gut wrenching feeling which pervades all through your body when the dialog box appears on the screen saying, " The search string does not exist ", is truly something hard to swallow. All dreams dreamt laboriously over the last two years would come crashing down in an instant. So, I preferred to go the long way, search for my name manually.
I started from the top, Divyadarshini was her name, I could already imagine the front page of the newspapers next day, 40 font, bold, underlined, with her happydent white picture below somewhere, with the caption, "girls do it again". I went lower. There were names, funny ones, unique ones, masculine ones, but none was mine. The top ten was done. My heart sank a bit. The rosiest of my dreams were gone, for ever. I would not be bragging live to NDTV or CNN the next day about my absolutely immaculate strategy to top the examination. I knew I could settle for less. I let go off a few edges of my ego and I went further down.
Top 50 done. My throat went dry. The dum aloo discussion continued in the background. My fingers wouldn't stop shivering. Back in some convoluted corner of the brain, I wished I could redo the top 50. But I was convinced otherwise, I seldom missed my name in lists. Latecomers list, absentee lists, traveling-without-bus pass lists, caught-copying-in-exam lists and some other worthless ones. So I decided to go further lower. I felt like a scuba diver going below 130 feet with no information about his gas mixture. I dived.
Top 200 out.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The thing
11th MAy 10:00 AM There was an eerie sense of calm. The thing was about to get out. It was about to be released from captivity. All onlookers, pregnant with anticipation waited in bated breath. They had been treacherously drawn into submission a week before when the captors signalled an early release. It was only later that the onlookers realized that it was a red herring. They were decieved by the sleight of the captors hand. But this time, everything was in place for the final thing to come out. I was among the impatient onlookers. No one at home knew that the results of the CIvil Services Examination 2010 would be released that day. But I knew. With a pregnant sister blessed with horrendously sensitive nerves and a spiritual mother gifted with the keeness of a lioness but the calmness of a hare, I was mighty apprehensive of revealing the truth at home. But i knew.
11th May 1:30PM. My hands shiver and my legs fritter. My laptop was in its designated position, the dusty sliding rack that hid under the sunmica shelf of the Balsam fir cupboard in the corner of my room. It was neatly covered by a piece of half white turkish cloth emblazoned with floral designs. I had no patience or perseverance to appreciate my mother's attention to detail. I logged on to the online forum where most aspirants to the civil service discussed, rabbled, fought, flirted and flaunted. There was news. Yes, the beast was released. The result was out. Bare in the sunlight withthe names of the 900 odd fortunately and awesomely lucky guys. Was my name in it? I was still to check. But my ability to withstand that pressure was running thin. My sister and mother in all sheer handsome ignorance were ranting quite eloquently about the amount of salt that should go into the preparation of dum aloo. They were of the view that I should take them out that day. They were seriously discussing the possibility of eating dum aloo that evening. And i was being asked my views. What do i say? Do I shout, "shut up, my lovely female family, shut up, The result for which i got my posteriors screwn in all wholesomeness for the last two years has been put up. So, if you can shut up, i can think of searching for my name in the form!"
11th May 1:30PM. My hands shiver and my legs fritter. My laptop was in its designated position, the dusty sliding rack that hid under the sunmica shelf of the Balsam fir cupboard in the corner of my room. It was neatly covered by a piece of half white turkish cloth emblazoned with floral designs. I had no patience or perseverance to appreciate my mother's attention to detail. I logged on to the online forum where most aspirants to the civil service discussed, rabbled, fought, flirted and flaunted. There was news. Yes, the beast was released. The result was out. Bare in the sunlight withthe names of the 900 odd fortunately and awesomely lucky guys. Was my name in it? I was still to check. But my ability to withstand that pressure was running thin. My sister and mother in all sheer handsome ignorance were ranting quite eloquently about the amount of salt that should go into the preparation of dum aloo. They were of the view that I should take them out that day. They were seriously discussing the possibility of eating dum aloo that evening. And i was being asked my views. What do i say? Do I shout, "shut up, my lovely female family, shut up, The result for which i got my posteriors screwn in all wholesomeness for the last two years has been put up. So, if you can shut up, i can think of searching for my name in the form!"
It has just started
Chaos. Utter chaos. The last two weeks perhaps broke the record for the two most consecutively rambunctious weeks of all time at home since I was born. A record by some standards when it comes to my home where dad is particularly averse to breaking rules, records and ranks.
Never did the watchman's son witness so many people ask for my flat number, he was convinced, I either committed suicide or broke into the bedroom of the beasty businessman's daughter who lived in the third floor. He was sure it was the latter, for he earnestly doubted my integrity and humility.
The phone kept ringing for two days, non stop. And more dramatically, dad's phone kept ringing for about a day. Again non stop. The poor thing was in perpetual hibernation from the day it was manufactured to this day, for no one called it and it cared to call none.
The household help, usually used to the unnerving calmness at home, stood dazed the whole day, like a cat, just electrified by a 12000 volt thunderbolt. Hair raising indeed. She was amazed at the newly gained popularity of her household which could never stand even one day of her absence.
The lift had its own genre of problems. It never had a day when it had to break bulk at the fourth floor, a hundred times. It got so tired, it voluntarily disabled the button numbered 4 in the cabin and made sure everyone who pressed that darn button had one hell of a ride up to the fifth floor and back to the ground. It disabled the light too. This move was well appreciated by most youngsters in our apartment. I am not sure why.
But the question remains, what was the event of such magnanimous proportions that it threw a middle class family, eking out a living by selling grains of rice and watching the IPL, into limelight? Limelight of lilliputian proportions that is. That's enough to throw most middle class families Into limbo.
Never did the watchman's son witness so many people ask for my flat number, he was convinced, I either committed suicide or broke into the bedroom of the beasty businessman's daughter who lived in the third floor. He was sure it was the latter, for he earnestly doubted my integrity and humility.
The phone kept ringing for two days, non stop. And more dramatically, dad's phone kept ringing for about a day. Again non stop. The poor thing was in perpetual hibernation from the day it was manufactured to this day, for no one called it and it cared to call none.
The household help, usually used to the unnerving calmness at home, stood dazed the whole day, like a cat, just electrified by a 12000 volt thunderbolt. Hair raising indeed. She was amazed at the newly gained popularity of her household which could never stand even one day of her absence.
The lift had its own genre of problems. It never had a day when it had to break bulk at the fourth floor, a hundred times. It got so tired, it voluntarily disabled the button numbered 4 in the cabin and made sure everyone who pressed that darn button had one hell of a ride up to the fifth floor and back to the ground. It disabled the light too. This move was well appreciated by most youngsters in our apartment. I am not sure why.
But the question remains, what was the event of such magnanimous proportions that it threw a middle class family, eking out a living by selling grains of rice and watching the IPL, into limelight? Limelight of lilliputian proportions that is. That's enough to throw most middle class families Into limbo.
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