The June sun was furious. Its ruthlessness was evident on the light and dark skin tones of boys and girls waiting for the University-special. At the bus stop outside Patel Nagar market, Sushant Banerjee preferred to roll his eyeballs around some neatly waxed legs, his eyes admiring their sheen, his heart craving to feel their softness. Personally, Sushant disapproved of clothes that revealed one’s body parts, but the voyeur in him couldn't resist to take a look. He himself was happy in his regular refuge of a full-sleeved shirt and trousers, a gift from last year’s Durga Puja. This was but a part of the act he put up as a Mathematics lecturer at the prestigious Lord Stevens College
Fair enough for his secret indulgences, his life, he believed, was everything except extraordinary. And even as he turned 30 today, little had changed in his world, despite his mind embarking on an Odyssean journey to the past. A cherub-like face had always betrayed his potential to assert his manhood, so he thought. But being thirty was a landmark. In his mind, Sushant kept convincing himself, "Today is just another day." He had spent many birthdays trying to solve tough problems --- both in mathematics and his life. He owed loyalty to the subject as it saved him from realising several truths. And he found peace in this imposed ignorance. Be it the screams coming from the adjoining room, his mother’s tears that fell on the pages of his books when she taught him or the urgency to pay the school fee, no factor was factor enough to intervene in his love affair with Mathematics. On his fifteenth birthday, the mother insisted on a small celebration at school. Sushant, however, was reluctant. He loathed the idea of selling old newspapers to buy toffees for classmates who did not even care to speak to him. But his resistance wasn’t strong enough.
Later that evening, as Sushant rejoiced the last Kismi in his toffee packet, he felt jubilant. He looked at his unshaven chest in the mirror and felt the freshness of adolescence. The joys of boyhood, he grinned. The narcissistic indulgence would have continued for a while had the mother not called. "Baba modey daariye aache. Niye aashte paarbe, shona? Aamaar shorir khaaraap laagje." (Father is standing across the street. Would you get him here, dear? I am feeling sick). Sushant evidently had no choice. He hated helping an intoxicated father find way to their house. On several sleepless nights, he had seen his mother waiting till midnight for his father. Sushant wanted to contribute to that little gesture of care, but couldn’t. He didn’t seek any reason for the detachment, just felt it. Fifteen years later, things were different. The ageing father had surrendered to what he believed was cruel fate, and Sushant took over as the breadwinner of the family.
Lost in the memories of a joyless childhood, Sushant noticed the U-special making its way to the bus stop. As he stepped in to see bright young faces and all-sized figures draped in branded apparels, the excitement of turning 30 took a backseat and the anxiety of a lecture with Maths Hons second year took over. Sushant perspired once again. For a reason unknown to him, he had forgotten to prepare the third chapter of Mechanics. The over-enthusiastic second year students were known to be the inquisitive lot---the kind that often left the teachers breathless in their quest for knowledge.
To deal with the unpleasant challenge that these students posed, a lecturer needed a sound strategy. A STRATEGY rather than a teaching skill. As the U-Special reached Maurice Nagar bus stop, he climbed down. Making his way to 39 A, he nodded many times as a young group of girls and boys wished him. "Being wished good morning is much better than being wished Happy Birthday," he thought, his mind refusing to accept that he liked being wished on his birthday. As the mathematician entered the classroom, his probing eyes scrutinised each and every student. "I'm planning to take a surprise test today on Mechanics Chapter 2. I hope all of you are ready," he announced, with a grin so wide that it exposed the last tooth of his lower jaw. "What the f*** !" Sushant's hatred was matched by an irreverent student. Though the Mechanics teacher pretended to ignore the comment, he knew it was Charles Eapen, the rebel who was also the class representative. As the CR, Charles had asked the class to contribute Rs 100 each to buy a Reebok t-shirt for their ‘favourite’ teacher. But surprise tests have a way of bringing out the worst in students, and Charles was no different. With the ‘burden’ of conducting a surprise test, Sushant Banerjee can very well do without a Reebok tee, he thought.
Fifty-five minutes passed when the bell rang and Sushant snatched the papers from his students' desks. Will these papers be checked? This was a question in each student’s mind. Sushant’s sloth had the answer. As he entered the staff room with a pile of papers, the entire department greeted him. And such was the excitement that he feared an impending demand for a party. "What if they ask me to order a cake? 500 taka joley jaabe! (Rs 500 will go down the drain)," he mumbled. Sushant’s miserly ways, however, were no secret to his colleagues. A gentle handshake and chapter was closed for a year.
The clock struck 2.55 pm as Sushant’s last lecture got over. He wouldn't have to feed to anyone's culinary fancy. As he boarded the U-special once again, the 30-year-old 'man' felt the tiredness his work brought to him. His sister, a journalist at Bharat Times, worked almost 14 hours every day. Sometimes he couldn't thank his stars enough that he chose lecturership. He may not have become a permanent faculty yet, but the eighth year, according to the family astrologer, was lucky one. A smile lightened an otherwise pale face at the thought as the bus stopped.
Hoping to take a quick bath, Sushant rang the doorbell, only to be informed by the mother that there was no water in the tap. In the absence of a shower, a sleep would do some amount of good, he thought. A dreamless sleep was not unusual to Sushant. He had spent many nights seeing nothing but darkness. "Please get aata and cheeni baba," mother woke him up from what was a deep slumber. The frown on his face was true to the anger he felt at being woken up at 7 in the evening. But the mother’s knowledge of his slothful ways only helped her remain calm on such occasions.
Seven to nine pm was a time that Sushant dedicated to Mathematics. As he saw the clock striking seven, hunger took precedence over Mechanics. Mother was quick enough to lay the table with a glint in her eyes that gave her an assurance of being complimented for her culinary skills. As Sushant made himself comfortable in an old wooden chair, his disapproval of the elaborate dinner was evident."Pomfret? Do you know how much it costs? Rs 400 a kilo," screamed Sushant, aghast to see a seemingly sumptuous but expensive meal laid out at the table. On occasions like these, Sushant couldn't help but brand his mother a spendthrift. “Kintu onek din pore baanalaam,” (But I cooked it after long) was her explanation for cooking her son's favourite dish on his thirtieth birthday. When he threatened not to eat, the helpless mother offered an assurance that the money was spent from her own savings. Sitting next to Sushant was the speechless father, who often blamed himself for Sushant's irreverence towards his wife and himself. He had conditioned himself into believing that the son loved them despite the irreverence that his agitation and miserly ways exhibited. Silence, on such occasions, was the father's defence against an arrogant yet lovable son. Finally, Sushant decided to sleep hungry on the special day to prove that he was by no means to be taken lightly.
The lazy alarm was the first sound Sushant heard every morning. As he woke up, he found an unusually silent mother preparing lunch and tea for him. Fresh from last night’s hurt, the mother laid down the breakfast. Sushant’s apologetic gaze towards his mother defeated its purpose as she chose to look at everything except her beloved child’s eyes, the child for whom she had decided to stay in the marriage. They sat quietly, finishing the last crumbs of bread on their plates. “Durga! Durga!” the mother mumbled as she picked Sushant’s bag and offered it to him. Leaving for the bus stop, Sushant felt compelled to look at the verandah of his two-bedroom flat. This was an indulgence that had transformed into a habit with time. Like always, the mother stood there, her vision blurred by the tears that gathered in her eyes. The tears complained and mourned a rejection that she felt first from her husband and now her son. Several minutes of guilt passed. At the bus stop, new pairs of glistening legs had replaced the guilt the mathematician felt till about few minutes back. As the U-special stood in front of the dusty lanes, Sushant was, as usual, the last one to climb up. "Today is just another day," he assured himself.
Ends
Fair enough for his secret indulgences, his life, he believed, was everything except extraordinary. And even as he turned 30 today, little had changed in his world, despite his mind embarking on an Odyssean journey to the past. A cherub-like face had always betrayed his potential to assert his manhood, so he thought. But being thirty was a landmark. In his mind, Sushant kept convincing himself, "Today is just another day." He had spent many birthdays trying to solve tough problems --- both in mathematics and his life. He owed loyalty to the subject as it saved him from realising several truths. And he found peace in this imposed ignorance. Be it the screams coming from the adjoining room, his mother’s tears that fell on the pages of his books when she taught him or the urgency to pay the school fee, no factor was factor enough to intervene in his love affair with Mathematics. On his fifteenth birthday, the mother insisted on a small celebration at school. Sushant, however, was reluctant. He loathed the idea of selling old newspapers to buy toffees for classmates who did not even care to speak to him. But his resistance wasn’t strong enough.
Later that evening, as Sushant rejoiced the last Kismi in his toffee packet, he felt jubilant. He looked at his unshaven chest in the mirror and felt the freshness of adolescence. The joys of boyhood, he grinned. The narcissistic indulgence would have continued for a while had the mother not called. "Baba modey daariye aache. Niye aashte paarbe, shona? Aamaar shorir khaaraap laagje." (Father is standing across the street. Would you get him here, dear? I am feeling sick). Sushant evidently had no choice. He hated helping an intoxicated father find way to their house. On several sleepless nights, he had seen his mother waiting till midnight for his father. Sushant wanted to contribute to that little gesture of care, but couldn’t. He didn’t seek any reason for the detachment, just felt it. Fifteen years later, things were different. The ageing father had surrendered to what he believed was cruel fate, and Sushant took over as the breadwinner of the family.
Lost in the memories of a joyless childhood, Sushant noticed the U-special making its way to the bus stop. As he stepped in to see bright young faces and all-sized figures draped in branded apparels, the excitement of turning 30 took a backseat and the anxiety of a lecture with Maths Hons second year took over. Sushant perspired once again. For a reason unknown to him, he had forgotten to prepare the third chapter of Mechanics. The over-enthusiastic second year students were known to be the inquisitive lot---the kind that often left the teachers breathless in their quest for knowledge.
To deal with the unpleasant challenge that these students posed, a lecturer needed a sound strategy. A STRATEGY rather than a teaching skill. As the U-Special reached Maurice Nagar bus stop, he climbed down. Making his way to 39 A, he nodded many times as a young group of girls and boys wished him. "Being wished good morning is much better than being wished Happy Birthday," he thought, his mind refusing to accept that he liked being wished on his birthday. As the mathematician entered the classroom, his probing eyes scrutinised each and every student. "I'm planning to take a surprise test today on Mechanics Chapter 2. I hope all of you are ready," he announced, with a grin so wide that it exposed the last tooth of his lower jaw. "What the f*** !" Sushant's hatred was matched by an irreverent student. Though the Mechanics teacher pretended to ignore the comment, he knew it was Charles Eapen, the rebel who was also the class representative. As the CR, Charles had asked the class to contribute Rs 100 each to buy a Reebok t-shirt for their ‘favourite’ teacher. But surprise tests have a way of bringing out the worst in students, and Charles was no different. With the ‘burden’ of conducting a surprise test, Sushant Banerjee can very well do without a Reebok tee, he thought.
Fifty-five minutes passed when the bell rang and Sushant snatched the papers from his students' desks. Will these papers be checked? This was a question in each student’s mind. Sushant’s sloth had the answer. As he entered the staff room with a pile of papers, the entire department greeted him. And such was the excitement that he feared an impending demand for a party. "What if they ask me to order a cake? 500 taka joley jaabe! (Rs 500 will go down the drain)," he mumbled. Sushant’s miserly ways, however, were no secret to his colleagues. A gentle handshake and chapter was closed for a year.
The clock struck 2.55 pm as Sushant’s last lecture got over. He wouldn't have to feed to anyone's culinary fancy. As he boarded the U-special once again, the 30-year-old 'man' felt the tiredness his work brought to him. His sister, a journalist at Bharat Times, worked almost 14 hours every day. Sometimes he couldn't thank his stars enough that he chose lecturership. He may not have become a permanent faculty yet, but the eighth year, according to the family astrologer, was lucky one. A smile lightened an otherwise pale face at the thought as the bus stopped.
Hoping to take a quick bath, Sushant rang the doorbell, only to be informed by the mother that there was no water in the tap. In the absence of a shower, a sleep would do some amount of good, he thought. A dreamless sleep was not unusual to Sushant. He had spent many nights seeing nothing but darkness. "Please get aata and cheeni baba," mother woke him up from what was a deep slumber. The frown on his face was true to the anger he felt at being woken up at 7 in the evening. But the mother’s knowledge of his slothful ways only helped her remain calm on such occasions.
Seven to nine pm was a time that Sushant dedicated to Mathematics. As he saw the clock striking seven, hunger took precedence over Mechanics. Mother was quick enough to lay the table with a glint in her eyes that gave her an assurance of being complimented for her culinary skills. As Sushant made himself comfortable in an old wooden chair, his disapproval of the elaborate dinner was evident."Pomfret? Do you know how much it costs? Rs 400 a kilo," screamed Sushant, aghast to see a seemingly sumptuous but expensive meal laid out at the table. On occasions like these, Sushant couldn't help but brand his mother a spendthrift. “Kintu onek din pore baanalaam,” (But I cooked it after long) was her explanation for cooking her son's favourite dish on his thirtieth birthday. When he threatened not to eat, the helpless mother offered an assurance that the money was spent from her own savings. Sitting next to Sushant was the speechless father, who often blamed himself for Sushant's irreverence towards his wife and himself. He had conditioned himself into believing that the son loved them despite the irreverence that his agitation and miserly ways exhibited. Silence, on such occasions, was the father's defence against an arrogant yet lovable son. Finally, Sushant decided to sleep hungry on the special day to prove that he was by no means to be taken lightly.
The lazy alarm was the first sound Sushant heard every morning. As he woke up, he found an unusually silent mother preparing lunch and tea for him. Fresh from last night’s hurt, the mother laid down the breakfast. Sushant’s apologetic gaze towards his mother defeated its purpose as she chose to look at everything except her beloved child’s eyes, the child for whom she had decided to stay in the marriage. They sat quietly, finishing the last crumbs of bread on their plates. “Durga! Durga!” the mother mumbled as she picked Sushant’s bag and offered it to him. Leaving for the bus stop, Sushant felt compelled to look at the verandah of his two-bedroom flat. This was an indulgence that had transformed into a habit with time. Like always, the mother stood there, her vision blurred by the tears that gathered in her eyes. The tears complained and mourned a rejection that she felt first from her husband and now her son. Several minutes of guilt passed. At the bus stop, new pairs of glistening legs had replaced the guilt the mathematician felt till about few minutes back. As the U-special stood in front of the dusty lanes, Sushant was, as usual, the last one to climb up. "Today is just another day," he assured himself.
Ends
