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| | | | | | | I had learnt about wishing people before an interview. I had even practised it. âGood morning, sir.â âThere are a few of us here,â said the man in the middle. He seemed to be around fifty-five years old and wore square, black-rimmed glasses and a checked jacket. âGood morning, sir, sir and sir,â I said. They smiled. I didnât think it was a good smile. It was the high- class-to-low-class smile. The smile of superiority, the smile of delight that they knew English and I didnât. Of course, I had no choice but to smile back. The man in the middle was Professor Pereira, the head of sociology, the course I had applied for. Professor Fernandez, who taught physics, and Professor Gupta, whose subject was English, sat on his left and right respectively. âSports quota, eh?â Prof. Pereira said. âWhy isnât Yadav here?â âIâm here, sir,â a voice called out from behind me. I turned around to see a man in a tracksuit standing at the door. He looked too old to be a student but too young to be faculty. âThis one is 85 per cent your decision,â Prof. Pereira said. âNo way, sir.You are the final authority.â He sat down next to the professors. PiyushYadav was the sports coach for the college and sat in on all sports-quota interviews. He seemed simpler and friendlier than the professors. He didnât have a fancy accent either. âBasketball?â Prof. Fernandez asked, scanning through my file.
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