Introvert by nature I had a very small group of pals and it was nothing more than cigarettes, bikes and the great IIT dream that glued us together. In the four of us Akhilesh (Akhil to us) was the only moron with poetic leanings. The rest had developed an all consuming appetite for physics and math.
Engineering seemed to be the only sane career choice then. The choice was more of an influence than an exercise of will. Apart from medicine no other profession is a career of choice in Kanpur, the city where we grew as a bunch of wannabes.
Akhil’s father was a tailor by profession. His parents saw their son as the only genuine chance of earning respectability something which they felt that their family occupation was deprived of. We were 16 and that is the number of hours that we put in each day towards that elusive seat.
I got lucky the first time. 2 others got through the next time. Akhil did not even make through the prelims on both occasions. However the dream had entrenched itself firmly and Akhil could not see the obvious.
It was difficult to convince Akhil to change course. He wanted to realize his parent’s dreams. I tried in vain to make the numbers obvious. Few had cleared this obstacle course after faltering twice. More than capable, those who got through were plain fortunate. Other institutes were good alternatives and though they offered a lesser brand made you an engineer never the less. I told him that there were no more than 2000 seats and he retorted that he wanted no more than one. I wished him luck as that was all that I could do.
Akhil cleared his prelims this year around. His chances improved. He could finally see the great dream taking shape. His parents visited atleast a dozen temples. They had put in much toil and years of labour and sacrifice were about to fructify.
The day his results were to be released I went to his place. They did not have an internet connection at home and so I took Akhil to my hostel dorm. I saw his world shatter when the final shortlist did not include his name. Akhil did not speak for some time. His eyes were riveted to the screen with hope. Fate could not be this cruel.
He asked me to pull my bike out. He grabbed a paperback from my room and asked me to ride to Neer Ghat. This Ghat had witnessed many a raucous gathering where we had cursed everything under and above the Sun. The Ganges flew past its banks swiftly and silently. On the other side were plenty of chimneys emanating from industrial units. These smoke spewing cylinders symbolized our engineering dreams.
The setting could not have been more appropriate. Akhil got off the pillion and with the paperback clenched firmly he sat by the Ganges. His posture was Yogic with legs folded and his calm spoke everything. I got a glimpse of the cover and as expected it turned out to be a Harivanshrai creation. “Madhushala”. He lifted his face and his eyes took in all that the polluting factories had to offer.
I offered him a cigarette which he did not accept. I did not see the point of saying anything. Akhil turned the cover and started reading couplets from Madhushala. When he was done with the first page he tore the leaf and offered it to the Ganges. All other leaves too suffered the same fate. This ritual continued and with each leaf that swam and sank in the Ganges, Akhil cleansed his self.
Akhil asked me to drop him home. His mother seemed to already know the result. She unbolted the door and asked us in. Akhil’s father passed a taunt which did not seem to affect Akhil. He broke down but Akhil seemed unperturbed. Finally Akhil’s father recovered. He looked at Akhil in the eye and asked him “Now what”?
Akhil was equally laconic in reply. He asked what they expected a tailor’s son to be.
It has been four years since. Akhil is now known as “master” (Chief tailors here are called by this name). He is one of the few tailors in town with poetic leanings.
