Candles at the Altar

Stepping off the Avadh-Assam Express, I was very conscious of the fact that my greatest dream is being realized into my greatest achievement. I had a smile on my face, the one you have when you feel all giggly—just like when you get that first smile from someone special, like when you write something beautiful, or like when you land from a bungee jump. Near the stairs two sweet-smiling guys were standing, obviously not Assamese. They held a chart with IIT Guwahati-1999 batch freshers written across in sketch pen—not even remotely a calligraphic attempt. It was not the way I would have written anything on a chart paper. A fresher was standing there with his dad. My dad engaged his dad while I engaged him in a light chat. He had joined the Bachelor of Design course, something I hadn't heard of before receiving the all-IIT pamphlet from IITD upon my selection. In India, your choice of specialization during Engineering depends on the job prospects of the branch rather than your interests. You consult anyone whose consultancy you can remotely trust; and he considers your rank and invariably suggest you to go for the branch with the highest probability of getting you a job with a good pay. So my first choice during the counseling was CSE even though I had never seen a computer till then in my life, leave alone knowing what a job with a computer in front of you meant.

In about fifteen minutes, five other guys, all with that same smile as mine had gathered around the chart paper. The chart paper guys lead us outside the station into a green colored Green Valley bus. The scene outside the Guwahati station was no different from that of any other North-Indian railway station I had seen in my very travel-some life.

It was a 52-seater bus, 3-seater benches on the right and 2-seaters on the left. I took the first 3-seater, Ashish sat next to me and we went into a chatter about our schools and JEE counseling experience. Our dads took a seat somewhere behind. I vaguely noticed when a tall guy came in the bus with a lady and a gentleman. The three sat behind on fourth or fifth 3-seater bench.

The chart paper guys introduced themselves as Babulal and Shekhar, 4th yearites. They took our attendance and we were told that we will be first taken to Euphoria hostel where the B.Des. guys will get down, B.Tech. guys will then be taken to Hostel # 1. That meant Ashish will be living in a different hostel, which was kind of bad as I had already started to like this guy. He was nice, smiled warmly, listened with attentive eyes and talked wisely. The bus soon started moving, giving out a strange chhuk-chhuk sound from the back. I never understood what caused that sound, but for the next four years, I remembered of this first day whenever I sat in this bus and heard that sound.

For some reason I turned back to look at my dad when I saw the tall guy's mom pushing him and asking him to go and talk to us. The tall guy got up, not reluctantly, not eagerly; came and sat behind us and said "Hi, I am Sanjog." We introduced ourselves—usual guy-to-guy handshakes. I looked at Sanjog, tall but not imposing, broad shoulders but not gymly-build, handsome but not striking, tidy hair but not combed, small mustache but not mature looking, not shy but not outspoken, not reluctant but not eager……

"So where are you guys from?" Sanjog asked. I was from Bareilly, Ashish was from Nainital. "I am from Lucknow" he said. When I told him that I am in ECE, there was a sudden smile on his face. "Me too" there was a simultaneous excitement and relief in his smile, almost as if he had opted for ECE with the sole hope of having me as his batchmate. His eye brows rose, eyes widened and mouth stretched into a smile as his face came an inch forward, and moved back a half inch. We three talked insignia and by the time the bus pulled into the hostel Euphoria porch, there was an angle rather than triangle of talk going on, with Sanjog as the vertex. The bus dropped Ashish and another guy and their parents and shuttled for Hostel # 1. Though the seat next to me was empty now, Sanjog kept sitting on the seat behind me.

As we entered the hostel, the Akhomiya guards showed us to a counter. We were asked to stand in a queue and get rooms allotted. I was first in the queue with Sanjog behind me. His mom came to me and told that the rooms are 2-seaters, so I can take room with Sanjog. I agreed. We got keys with "205" written on them. As we started to carry our luggage to our rooms,…

I was standing on the balcony at the end of the corridor leading to my room. Sanjog was standing next to me. Within a matter of few hours I had realized I was too glad to have this guy as my roommate—he was a down to earth and simple guy without any pretense. He was not comfortable mingling with strangers like me; so we both stood there watching the people pouring into the hostel, taking comfort in that safe distance of two floors. We were up above all others, like two gods; watching humans below wander about in their petty pursuits of life.

Soon our solitary refuge was intruded by a skinny guy with a V-shaped face, big eyes that were accentuated with those four or five power glasses and an even bigger forehead. He was so thin and his face had such a perfect V shape that it seemed at the first look as if he was being sucked up from inside and his lips and chin are on the verge of disappearing. His name was Abhishek Gupta. He had come for a small introduction and left soon. So many years have passed, but I don't know why I still remember this small incident—may be it was his face.

Me and Sanjog were alone again…with an empty corridor behind, stars above and people walking into the hostel below us. He was as much of a frustu as I was, so standing up there we went into a discussion about the girls we had met during counseling. Sanjog, with a subtle but visible pride in his voice, told me that he overheard his mom convincing a hot girl to join Guwahati during counseling. I enjoyed the look in his eyes, the innocence I had seen in the morning when we were two strangers had disappeared. The guy who stood in front of me had a very calculating look in his half closed eyes and a smirk on his face. Years later when busied with our lives and I got to see less and less of those looks on Sanjog's face; Sarav introduced me to the volumes of Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes. It was in those expressions of Calvin that I think I could fully comprehend what hid between those contrasting faces of Sanjog.

Sanjog had just finished his mom-and-hot-girl-at-counseling story when we noticed a really really black guy entering the hostel gates with a girl along his side. We looked at each other, there was a smile and I knew that instant there was only one question in both our minds—will she be in ECE? As life turned out, neither that girl nor that guy was in ECE. The girl was the black guy's sister and had come to see him off. I never saw the girl again; I'll never see the black guy again.

When I look back at that evening now, I can see myself standing at the end of that empty corridor, with that innocence in my eyes—like a lamb about to be slain at the altars of the "real world" and its demands to "grow up". It was this day—24th of July when the hatchet first tugged at my jugular; all those faces are still lit like candles in front of that altar. I can see their lights, some are far, and some are near. The black guy has gone and his black candle burns no more, it sleeps there as black wax, but there's something about it that every time I turn my head back to look at that pile of burning candles, I always notice its black wax—soundless, still, not crackling anymore; but the very sight of it is deafening.

A thought crosses my mind—may be life is all about collecting those candles at your tomb. And it's their lights and the burnt out wax that justifies all the sacrifice that the real world demanded from you.