‘Sir, I have played state-level basketball for six years. Last year, I was in the waiting list for the BFI national team.’ 'BFI?’ said Prof. Gupta. ‘Basketball Federation of India,’ Piyush answered for me, even though I knew the answer. ‘And you want to do sociology. Why?’ Prof. Fernandez said. ‘It’s an easy course, No need to study. Is that it?’ Prof. Gupta remarked. I didn’t, know whether Gupta had something against me, was generally grumpy or suffered from constipation. ‘I am from rural area.’ ‘I am from a rural area,’ Gupta said, emphasizing the ‘a' as if omitting it was a criminal offence. ‘Hindi, sir? Can I explain in Hindi?’ Nobody answered. I had little choice. I took my chances and responded in my language. ‘My mother runs a school and works with the villagers. I wanted to learn more about our society. Why are our villages so backward? Why do we have so many differences based on caste and religion? I thought I could find some answers in this course.’ Prof. Gupta understood me perfectly well. However, he was what English-speaking people would call an ‘uptight prick’. He asked Piyush to translate what I had said. ‘That’s a good reason,’ Prof. Pereira said once Piyush was done. ‘But now you are in Delhi. If you pass out of Stephen’s, you will get jobs in big companies. Will you go back to your native place?’ His concern seemed genuine. It took me a few seconds to understand his question. Piyush offered to translate but I gestured for him not to. 'I will, sir,’ I finally replied. I didn’t give a reason. I didn't feel the need to tell them I would go back because my mother was alone there. I didn’t say we were from the royal family of Durnraon. Even though there was nothing royal about us any more, we belonged there. And, of course, I didn’t mention the fact that I couldn’t stand any of the people I had met in this city so far. ‘We’ll ask you something about Bihar then?’ Prof. Fernandez said. ‘Sure.’ ‘What’s the population of Bihar?’ ‘Ten crores.’ ‘Who | |
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