Your Dreams Are Mine Now Read online

  Unfortunately, the party that got voted out never believed their clarifications. Their members continued to think that the music club was the prime cause for their defeat, or at least, that it all started from the show it had performed. The impact of their performance on the elections was high because of the clean image of the members of the music club and the issues which they had stood for in the past.

  ‘The guys who vandalized the set-up today, are people from that very party that was voted out,’ Tenzing said.

  As he finished, Tenzing kept the empty glass of tea back on the table. He looked at the faces around him. Everyone was listening to his story with keen interest. For the present members of the club, it was an unpleasant walk down memory lane. Something they wished they could undo.

  ‘So does that give them the right to vandalize things whenever they want? Can’t we complain against them?’ the guy who was supposed to play the congo asked.

  Tenzing looked at him and thought for a second before he spoke again. ‘We can. But this time we had unintentionally provided them the opportunity to do so.’

  No one understood what Tenzing meant when he said that. So he clarified, ‘Actually, we have a dedicated music room. And we are supposed to practise in that room only. To perform anywhere on campus we need to take official permission, something that we didn’t do this time. The voltage has been fluctuating in the music room for the past few weeks. Two of our electronic guitars have gone bad and the adapter of the keyboards is dead because of this fluctuation. The administration was supposed to fix the issue but as usual the music room isn’t their priority. Taking permission to practise in a different place is a long process and the department generally doesn’t allow this. Else, we would have this audition in the first week of the new session itself.’

  ‘But then we had also assumed that the department would fix the electrical mess in the music room, which they didn’t till the last day, despite our requests. With no choice left, we thought of using one of the classroom after college hours. Moreover, the party members who destroyed our set-up today had been lying low for a long time. So we thought we could go ahead without fear.’

  Tenzing paused for a moment and continued ‘. . . that plan now has gone for a toss. Those guys must have somehow found out that we hadn’t taken permission.’ As he sighed at their lapse in judgement he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Chal koi na yaar! Never mind. These things happen.’ It was Sheetal patting his shoulder, trying to cheer him up.

  A moment of silence passed. People took their time to digest the logic behind what had happened. It still appeared illogical that anyone could come and damage things just like that. Some of them sipped the tea slowly, thinking about it all. Some of them hung their heads in disappointment. Some played with the empty tea glasses between their hands on the table and kept staring at them.

  ‘So what do we do now? Can’t we take the help of the party that is at present in power? After all, even though it was unintentional from the music club’s side, the club is an important reason behind their coming to power. They will surely help us.’ This was Rupali who’d thought a lot about this.

  ‘That’s not an option for us. As a cultural club we have clearly protested against the ruling party’s actions last year. If we reach out to them, it will only justify what they had been claiming till now—that we sang for them. We don’t want to make this political again,’ Sheetal said.

  Tenzing then got up and announced, ‘We will meet after a week. Meanwhile, I will seek permission from the administration to issue us a specific place to practise.’

  ‘Alright, then! Now let’s change the topic and talk about something else,’ Sheetal offered and a few people smiled.

  ‘I agree, how about another round of tea, guys?’ Tenzing raised his empty glass.

  ‘Kya baat hai, Tenzing! Another round of tea for the juniors!’ Harpreet teased him.

  ‘And Shafi bhai, samosas only for Harpreet!’ Tenzing shouted, looking towards the teashop counter.

  Harpreet looked confused, wondering why Tenzing was being so nice to him.

  ‘You are going to repair the broken instruments, na!’ Tenzing chuckled.

  Everyone laughed as Harpreet made a face.

  With that everyone began chatting amongst themselves. While the juniors talked about their personal backgrounds, the members of the music club shared their insights from their college and campus so far. They told stories about a few interesting musical nights that they had hosted in the past and the awards that they had bagged in inter-college competitions.

  Sheetal mentioned a few funny events from her memory of previous year’s annual festival at the university level. With great joy Harpreet narrated how Tenzing was in the middle of singing a patriotic song when he received an electric shock from his mike on stage. Instantly, he ended up saying ‘O Bhen****’ on his mike. Everyone heard him and the whole patriotic mood went for a toss. The crowd whistled and shouted—‘Once more! Once more!’

  Listening to that, laughter erupted all around the tables outside Shafi’s teashop. It lightened the mood. Rupali felt a bit awkward at that, but Sheetal’s joyful presence next to her helped. Soon the samosas arrived, not just for Harpreet, but for everyone.

  That evening the group didn’t play any music, but a new bond developed on the grounds of a common interest— music. The auditions appeared to be a mere formality now. Rupali would be in the group for sure. As the only girl who had appeared for the audition, she turned out to be the right replacement for Sheetal, who was going to pass out of DU the same year.

  But amidst all this, Rupali was thinking about something else; rather someone else. It was a face that had looked familiar. The face she had seen among those who had gatecrashed and disrupted the auditions. He hadn’t stepped inside the class, but had stood at the entrance, his arms folded across his chest, just like the other day. Just when they were all stepping out of the vandalized classroom, she had tried to recall that face. And when she succeeded in doing so, it came as a shock—he was the same guy who had interrogated her on the evening when she had been planting the sapling.

  Five

  ‘What are you saying?’ Rupali asked Saloni in sheer disbelief.

  It was late in the night and as usual the two roommates were busy gossiping. Their chat sessions had started almost a month ago and, while Saloni would often transform their midnight talk into bitching sessions, Rupali would sit listening carefully. Most times, Rupali wasn’t too bothered about what she heard but she enjoyed being with Saloni and having a friend to talk to. For Saloni there was the satisfaction of talking her heart out and sharing what was on her mind with someone who she knew to be a sensible girl—the kind didn’t exist in her own social group.

  But it wasn’t that Saloni thought of Rupali as only a good friend and a mature girl whom she could trust. There had been times when Saloni had also helped Rupali.

  Improving Rupali’s style quotient and making her more fashionable was always on Saloni’s to-do list.

  ‘I swear to change your typical behenji-type fashion sense into a cosmopolitan one. And if I do not, you can change my name,’ Saloni had claimed and she made sure she stuck to her words. There was rarely a day on which she did not advise Rupali on what to take off and what to try on. Saloni, who was usually possessive about all her belongings, was generous with Rupali. She would often encourage her friend to wear her accessories, in spite of several refusals from Rupali. As much as Rupali appreciated her roommate’s gesture, she was embarrassed on certain occasions, especially when Saloni would change her clothes in front of her. Rupali would turn her head to give Saloni the privacy that she never asked for. Saloni was a confident and bold girl who did not have any problems in undressing in front of her roommate. On one occasion, when, after taking a bath, Saloni entered the room and threw aside her wet towel, she had especially asked for her roommate’s attention.

  ‘See, I bought this polka-dotted bra for myself. Isn’t it sexy?�
� she had said while trying to hook it on.

  Rupali had to battle her sense of shame to look at her roommate’s bra and appreciate it. But gradually, she learnt to adjust to hostel life.

  At times, Rupali found it extremely difficult to accept Saloni’s idea of westernizing someone who had lived all her life in the desi attire of salwar kameez. Not that she had anything against western clothes like jeans and skirts, but she felt uncomfortable in these clothes. Though, she had to admit to herself, sometimes she wished to try them on. However, she would also wonder about what her parents would think if they saw her in short skirts. Rupali’s battle between her wishes and fears was an interesting and challenging space for Saloni to invade and influence.

  But come midnight and Saloni wasn’t her style coach any more. Instead, she expected her friend to react to her anecdotes from the day.

  ‘Really? You brought him here?’ Rupali exclaimed, double-checking if what she had heard moments before was correct.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ Saloni hushed, placing her finger on her lips, her eyes wide open. Then she looked at the door in order to make sure that it was locked from inside.

  Rupali tried to control her reaction. She asked again, but this time in a soft yet suspicious voice. ‘You brought Imran here, to THIS room?’

  Saloni nodded, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she smiled proudly, almost as if she was expecting a pat on her back from her roommate for her bravery. After all, she had sneaked in a boy to the girls’ hostel, that too in broad daylight!

  Rupali held her head in dismay. She immediately looked around her, wondering what all Imran would have seen in the room that was personal to her.

  ‘How come you . . .’ Rupali hadn’t even completed her protest, when Saloni cut her off midway and said, ‘Don’t worry, as usual your portion of the room was neat and tidy and nothing was out. So Imran didn’t see anything. In any case he was more interested in me than in your stuff. Okay?’

  Rupali wasn’t convinced. She looked worried.

  ‘Teri itni phatt ti kyun hai yaar?’ (Why do you get so scared?) Saloni tried to comfort her in her own way.

  Rupali didn’t know what to say. She was just not comfortable with having a boy in her room, that’s it. Why could Saloni not understand that!

  ‘Hello! Madam! I am having an affair. Not you! So don’t be worried about anything. Chill!’ In her excitement Saloni got up from her chair and shifted onto her bed. She sat cross-legged. She was overjoyed to reveal all that had happened after she’d secretly sneaked Imran into their room. She had expected Rupali to say, ‘Oh my God! Really? How did you do that? Teach me also, na!’ But all she got was silence.

  Rupali lay on her bed staring at Saloni. She wondered if her roomie was gutsy or mad. She decided Saloni was a bit of both.

  ‘You are unbelievable!’ Rupali finally spoke, shaking her head. In spite of herself, she could not hold back her smile.

  Saloni took that gesture as her reward for her brave act. She threw her hands up in the air and smiled back. Then she blew a few flying kisses.

  ‘You’re mad!’ Rupali laughed and further asked, ‘But isn’t Imran from science section?’

  Seeing her roomie’s level of interest increase, Saloni replied, ‘Yes, he is! But how did you know?’

  ‘I just know. But you first tell me, how did you guys meet?’ Rupali inquired.

  An overexcited Saloni jumped out of her bed and jumped in to join Rupali on her bed.

  ‘Udhar ho, phir sunaati hun saari kahaani.’ (Make some space, and I will tell you the whole story.)

  Saloni loved telling stories. She also knew how to make them spicy and extra gossipy. She derived a lot of pleasure in narrating the whole episode of how she had met Imran, for the very first time, at the basketball court. It had happened in the first week of the semester. It wasn’t love at first sight for her. But she had definitely found Imran to be one of the most handsome guys in the first year batch.

  While she was an amateur in the game of basketball, Imran was a champion. Besides his good looks, Imran’s sporty personality was like icing on the cake. Saloni herself was a head-turner on campus. They’d met quite by coincidence.

  There weren’t many girls who played basketball in the first year. One late evening, Saloni had jogged to the basketball court. But finding no one there she decided to jog back to the hostel. Suddenly, she heard someone shout, asking her to stop.

  Saloni turned around to see Imran. He stood on the other side of the court in the dark, holding the ball in his hands. It took Saloni a few seconds to spot him in the darkness. Imran switched on the floodlights from the corner of the court. The lights took their time to come on, only gradually lighting up the court.

  ‘You came here to play?’ Imran asked as he walked towards Saloni, juggling the ball in his hands.

  ‘Yes, but the other girls haven’t come today. I am not sure why,’ Saloni said.

  ‘That’s strange, not many boys turned up today as well and, those who did, left early. That’s why I had just switched off the lights,’ Imran explained.

  Then there was silence as both didn’t have anything to say. They looked at each other and smiled. The two of them knew each other’s names, but they pretended as if they didn’t. So they introduced themselves. Then Imran offered his hand for a handshake. Saloni was delighted to accept. Secretly, Imran was overjoyed feeling Saloni’s palm in his own hand.

  They might not have officially known each other, but they had definitely had a few quick interactions on the court earlier—sometimes while passing the ball, it fell into the other side of the court. But that evening was definitely the first time when they were alone together, with no one else around them. The darkness around them till the floodlights came on actually helped to build a bond. Till then, they had been mere acquaintances. But after that evening, their lives took a different turn. Imran invited Saloni to play a game, if she didn’t mind—just the two of them.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know. I am not very good at the game . . . And we don’t even have the team,’ she blurted out. Of course she wanted to play with Imran when no one was there. Then why had she given this silly excuse?

  She didn’t know. She only cursed herself and wished if by some means she could take her words back.

  Imran came to her rescue and offered a quick reason for Saloni to play. ‘Oh! We can just play a half court three-pointer. And don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ he said with a smile.

  Saloni nodded. She was looking forward to Imran’s company. They played for about half an hour, enjoying each other’s company.

  Saloni gave Rupali, who listened in rapt silence, a detailed description of how wonderful it had been.

  ‘Oh baby, you should look at him when he jumps to dunk the ball. He holds the ring and does a chin-up. Too hot to handle!’ Saloni said clapping her hands, her eyes twinkling as she recounted her love story so far.

  Rupali heard her as if it was a magical story. Was she going to have her own love story? Would anyone ever fall in love with her?

  Six

  One hot afternoon, Rupali stepped out of her hostel for a brief interaction with one of her professors to clear a doubt she had regarding his paper. Prof. Mahajan taught accounts in the college. He was one of the more well-known faculty members. Getting a 10-minute one-to-one meeting with him was a big deal and he had accepted Rupali’s request only after seeing her enthusiasm on the subject. ‘If I am here day after tomorrow, you can come by 2 p.m.,’ he had said.

  Rupali wouldn’t have required to meet Prof. Mahajan in person had it not been for the upcoming student union elections that had disrupted classes in the entire DU in an unimaginable way. Prominent walls of the campus buildings shamelessly mocked the election regulators’ norm of not pasting bills and posters on the wall. They were all over the place, from the main entrance gates to inside the college toilets.

  Amid the high drama of political outfits announcing their manifestos and their candidates, the loud sloganeering and clash
es in the campus, and the numerous print media reporters hovering around, attending classes was the last thing on students’ minds.

  But then there were students like Rupali, who instead of wasting their time, thought of utilizing the same to kick-start their upcoming project work for the semester. Politics never interested Rupali. She was far apart from the world of elections, so much so that, unlike the majority of DU students, she didn’t even know who all were standing for the posts and which parties they belonged to. She wasn’t too sure if she knew the names of all the political outfits fighting the elections in DU and it didn’t bother her. She had her priorities. She had come all the way from Patna to Delhi to study. She wanted to stay away from taking sides in campus politics.

  Rupali and Saloni were in the same project group. Both of them had one individual project, as well as one group project to complete by the subsequent month-end. When it came to her group project, Rupali had little expectation from Saloni. In fact, Saloni had opted to do a project with Rupali because she knew that she could relax and let the studious girl in their group complete it. Any interference from her would only bring the quality down, is what she kept reminding Rupali.

  Given the circumstances in college and the nature of her roommate, Rupali thought it wise to use the election period to accomplish as much of the project as possible. The project was on the subject of accounts and she sought Prof. Mahajan’s time with regard to the same.

  Rupali reached the college on time. The unofficial mass bunk of all classes had turned the college block into a lifeless building. The open lawns and the main administrative blocks stole the limelight—for they were the new centres of mass gatherings.