The outcast

The strangest thing about some memories is that, when they happen, they will be grittiest and saddest of all… later turning out to be the brightest corners of past…

It was a night I could never forget… (Trust me, I am not exaggerating…)

Yet another Monday it was. After the exam, I guess I was in pretty hyperactive mood. So I was staying back in the college for doing a futile scrutiny into the question paper, assessing how far I got it right (How far I lost the game, to put it in another way).  There was a tradition of writing the name of those who went for reference in a register at Pala House (Rather a cheap notebook with a savagely disfigured picture of Asin…). We used to sign in it next to our name when we came back in the evening. It turned out that this signing tradition was rather a serious factor of proving your presence at the college, when you are under any interrogation from Manjesh sir, for misadventures like late-coming and bunking classes.

So on this particular Monday your humble narrator due to his overloaded and over wrought brain cells forgot to sign the register in the evening. I was totally lost in my own pocket sized ‘freak-a-topia’ that I didn’t even care to look into the register. It happened once in a while, but usually I would get somebody in the ground floor to sign in for me (Mind you, Manjesh sir had exceptional sixth sense to spot out counterfeit...Hehe). of course if it was some other day, I could have got partners in crime.

At 7, we were down in the courtyard awaiting another blast (These meetings were the rare times, when everybody laughed and sang in unison. A real tension buster it was…). I was standing at my usual place, near the window, beside Hari and Vishnu. Long before the usual procedures were to start, Biji sir took a look into the register, and can you believe what did he find?

Everybody needs a medium of perpetual entertainment. It seemed like god’s entertainment at that point of time was me… (Not even the usual ‘unsigning’ brats were there to keep me company)

So he found out this unlucky human’s name in the register minus a glorious sign. He came to the entrance (the dais, from where the meeting was presided over), and asked for me.

I was pretty brave to offer a shrug and nod to justify my cause. Two pairs of eyes were staring right at me, while another 82 pairs were staring at those two.

“Jesus Mary Joseph, what a grave crime, have I committed? I should be beheaded for such a crime…”

“Get out”. An ice cold voice blurted out. (I can hear the cynics murmuring, that Biji sir never had an ice cold voice as that of Lord Voldemort. Yet a little drama won’t do any bad)

“Sir…”

“Get out…” it was rather a threat. Since the meeting was held outdoor, I had no place to go ‘out’. But it was evident that I was banished from the rest of the spectators to stand at the farthest corner of the hostel building, the gateway.

It was Biji sir, for Christ sake. That man was not that mean or ruthless. And we always thought that he had a certain understanding to what we were doing. I didn’t expect him to banish me just like that.

I started walking out of the party, amidst all the murmurs and hush-hush. My heart sank in some endless ocean (jokes apart, I was really sad.)

Have I done anything that grave that I now have to face this kind of a tragedy? I mean, there were times when much much more serious crimes were going unpunished. He could have scolded me a bit, rather than sending me out like this…

Out there in front of me, there was another universe playing in itself. Amal M Paul had some kind of a one man show going on. And nobody cared to think that somebody among them was standing out there like an outcast. Everybody was laughing. Everybody was clapping. I was feeling like an imbecile, completely severed from all kinds of emotions. I could not concentrate on what was going around. My mind wandered around and every sound that emanated from the crowd made me curse myself.

It felt awfully sour then. I mean, right now I am writing about it, and I am feeling only ten percent of what I felt then. Even that meager ten percent is giving me pangs of pain.

I was counting second after second, minute after minute, with time itself playing shylock with me. The angst inside my head was growing strong, replacing confidence from every dark corner of my mind and filling it with shear hopelessness.

Finally after an infernal 20 minutes when the crowd was dispersed, I was relieved to a lesser extent. Those who were going upstairs were finding it fun to toss in mockery and sympathy, as if they are trying to lessen my pain. But their darts never hit the target, as I already have fallen prey to a full grown pessimism.

When Biji sir excused me to my room, I fought hard to pull myself together. I now felt how bad Hari felt when he was banished once from an earlier meeting by Manjesh sir. I was running back to my room and as soon as I reached into my room, I broke down.

I hesitated to turn on the light, as darkness seemed to pacify me a bit. Inside the bathroom, I stood, and cried. When tears rushed down I felt like I should run to my mom and find solace in her arms. I felt like I was a 5 year old lad who came running home with a bruise so as to fall into his mother’s arms and cry it loud.

I thought my life was going to end at that particular point. There was no tomorrow it seemed. I was even denied of the freedom to cry out loud. Your humble narrator here actually felt like packing bags and leaving the next morning, and never come back. But something was pulling me back.

Was it my pride? Was it the shame I may encounter when it came to explain the whole thing to my parents? Or was it the feeling of remorse of leaving everything in midway and running away into uncertainty?

Somehow, with eyes closed and eyes opened, I spent the entire night, even wishing never to open my eyes again so as to live the life of a petty loser (I must get whipped for writing this…)

The wounds took time to heal. Yet, i managed to escape into the world of weekly tests and other scholastic cacophonies. Of course, the tea and snacks at brilliant canteen helped, as they were served with all the love in the world (Our famed Canteen chechis were tailor made for that task).

Once again the momentary pain and guilt were washed away by the sands of good times. Yet, like a log thrown into the sea, the waves always brought back the bad times, later erasing them with the same tides. Rising and falling with that endless ocean were thousands of lost souls including me.

And all we could do was to rub our asses each time we fell and get on with it…

Coz all is well…that ends well…