Cut-Offs
Everyone will suggest you how to live your life. No one, no one will give you good advice on how to end it. Worse, they will tell you to continue living, without any respect for individual choice.
Hi, I’m Akash Joshi , and after eighteen wonderful years in Chikhli, I’ve decided to end my life.
I sat with my best friends Amit and Shyam at Kailas (Best place to discuss useless things from girls to politics). The tea and Samosa is way overpriced, but considering I had a day to live, I didn’t mind getting ripped off.
“Are you serious?,” Amit said, after dipping his second samosa in chatani.
“Do I look like I am joking? You are in medical college, and as a friend and someone two years elder to me, I am asking your advice on what is the most painless, graceful way to go. And ideally, it should be available at the friendly neighborhood chemist,” I said. I ordered another tea. What are a few extra rupees spending on your last day?
Shyam kept quiet, he is more interested in learning functionalities of his new mobile which is gifted by his father on getting distinction in HSC(75.33% precisely).
“Dude, you topped your college. How much did you score in your class XII boards?” Amit said.
“92 per cent,” I said.
“How much did you score in your CET exams again?” Amit said.
“172” I said
“With 92 in boards and 172 in CET, you should be fine,” Amit said.
“Not according to BITS, not according to Autonomous and not according to Governments, oh what the heck,” I said as I opened my rucksack.
I gave him the special cut-off pages from last year. I had downloaded it from one and only and the costliest Cyber café in Chikhli and the world respectively.
“Wow, check COEP is at 190!” Amit said.
“Don’t worry; he wouldn’t have made it anyway. Shyam (Finally!), why don’t you go spend some talktime of your new mobile on your girlfriend” Amit said and winked at me.
Shyam left.
Seriously, don’t kill yourself. To us, you are still the college topper,” Amit said after Shyam left.
“So what do I do?” I said, my voice loud, “stay back in college? This topper tag makes things worse. So many people in my vicinity visiting my house, to meet me and my parents already throwing a party for them like, I have made it big time in life.
I cut a cake with the icing ‘family superstar’.”
“Nice,” Amit said.
“Not nice at all. All relatives congratulated my mother. They see me as the next to Tatas and Ambanies. The least they expect me to do is get into a good Autonomous college.”
“There are still some colleges that you will get,” Amit said as I cut him off.
“But none with the same brand value. Thus, you can’t get a decent job after them. You can’t get into the top MNCs.”
Amit pushed my tea cup towards me. I hadn’t touched it. I picked it up and brought it close to my mouth but couldn’t drink it.
“I made tiny calculation errors in my math paper,” I said,
“If only you could chill out. You are going to college, dude! Branded or not, it is always fun.”
“Screw fun,” I said.
“I don’t know, That stupid calculations...”
“Akash, relax. That paper is done. And sticklers don’t do well in life. Innovative and imaginative people do.”
“That’s not what Autonomous colleges think. You don’t understand, my father has proclaimed in college that I will join COEP. I can’t go to him with a second rung college admission. It’s like his whole life image will alter. Hell, I won’t be able to deal with it myself.”
“I think we should go,” I said. Amit took out the money to pay. I stopped him. “My treat,” I said. Leave people happy on your last day, I thought. “Of course, I take this as your treat for cracking your boards,” Amit said and smiled. He ruffled my hair and left. I came out of the canteen and walk back home.
I met my parents at the dinner table. “So when will admission procedures begin” my father said.
“In a few days,” I said. I looked up at the dining table fan. No, I couldn’t hang myself. I can’t bear suffocation.
My mother cut mangoes after dinner. The knife made me think of slitting my wrists. Too painful, I thought and dropped the idea.
“So now, my college staff are asking me, ‘when is our party?” my father said as he took a slice.
(Being the son of teacher is always bad thing for you in your student life. You have to score well in exams to keep father’s dignity alive. And you have to be ahead of all his colleague teachers)
“I told you to call them to the party we did for neighbors and relatives,” my mother said.
“How will they fit with your brothers and sisters? My colleagues are very sophisticated,” my father said.
“My brothers are no less sophisticated. They went to Nepal last year on vacation. At least they are better than your family,” she said.
My father laughed at my mother’s sullen expression. His happiness levels had not receded since the day I received my result.
“Don’t worry; I’ll do another one for them when he gets into COEP”.
“Even MLA of our vicinity called to congratulate me for Aakash. He said – nothing like COEP for your brilliant son,” my father said.
“Jaiswal aunty came from next door. She wanted to see if you can help her daughter who is in class XI,” my mother said.
Is she pretty, I wanted to ask, but didn’t. It didn’t matter.
I came to my room post dinner. I should start working on the suicide letter anyway. I didn’t want it to be one of the clichéd ones – I love you all and it is no one’s fault, and I’m sorry mom and dad. Yuck, just like first impressions, last impressions are important too. When it is your last, you’d better make it important. I remembered dad mentioning MLA so I decided to write it to the education minister. I switched on my computer and went to the Education Department website. Half the site links were broken. There was a link called “What after class XII?” I clicked on it, it took me to a blank page with an under construction sign. I sighed as I closed the site. I opened Microsoft Word to type.
Dear Education Minister,
Hi dude,
I hope you are doing fine and the large staff of your massive bungalow is treating you well. I won’t take much of your time.
I’ve passed out of class XII and I’ve decided to end my life. I scored 92 per cent in my boards and 172 in state CET, and I have a one foot high trophy from my College for scoring the highest. However, there are so many trophy holding students in this country and so few college seats, that I didn’t get into a college that will train me to the next level or open up good opportunities.
I know I have screwed up. I should have worked harder to get another 20 marks. However, I do want to point out a few things to you. When my siblings were young, certain colleges were considered prestigious. Now, 20 years later, the same colleges are considered prestigious. What’s interesting is that no new colleges have come up with the same brand or reputation level. Neither have the seats expanded in existing colleges fast enough to accommodate the rising number of students.
I’ll give you an example. Just doing some meaningless surfing, I saw that 3.8 lakh candidates took the HSC exam in 2001, a number that has grown to 12.3 lakh in 2011. This is just one board, and if you take CBSE and all other state boards, the all India total number is over twenty times that of State Board. We probably had one crore students taking the class XII exam this year.
While not everyone can get a good college seat, I just want to talk about the so-called good students. The top 10 per cent alone of these one crore students is ten lakh children. Yes, these ten lakh students are their class toppers. In a class of fifty, they will have the top-5 ranks.
One could argue that these bright kids deserve a good college to realize their full potential. Come to think of it, it would be good for our country too if we train our bright children well to be part of the new, shining, gleaming, glistening or whatever you like to call the globalised India.
But then, it looks like you have stopped making universities. Are there ten lakh top college seats in the country? Are there even one lakh? Ever wondered what happens to the rest of us, year after year? Do we join a second rung college? A deemed university? A distance learning programme?
Your government runs a lot of things. You run an airline that never makes money. You run hotels. You want to be involved in making basic stuff like steel and aluminum, which can easily be made by more efficient players. However, in something as important as shaping the young generation, you have stepped back. You have stopped making new universities. Why?
You have all the land you want, teachers love to get a government job, education funds are never questioned. Still, why? Why don’t we have new, A-grade universities in every state capital for instance?Oh well, sorry. I am over reacting. If only I had not done that calculations error in my CET paper, I’d be fine. In fact, I am one of the lucky ones. In four years, the number of candidates will double. So then we will have a college that only has 199 scorers. My parents were a bit deluded about my abilities, and I do feel bad for them. I didn’t have a girlfriend or too many friends, as people who want to get into a good college are not supposed to have a life. If only I knew that slogging for twelve years would not amount to much, I’d have had more fun. Apart from that, do well, and say hello to the PM, who as I understand, used to teach in college.
Yours truly,
Akash Joshi
(Poor student)
I took a printout of the letter and kept it in my pocket. I decided to do the act the next morning. I woke up as our maid was making noise. She brought a box of sweets. A fifty-year-old woman, she had served us for over ten years.
“What?” I said as she gave me the box. It had kaju-barfi, from one of the more expensive shops in the town. The maid had spent a week’s salary distributing sweets to anyone known to her.
“My son passed class XII,” she said as she started her work. “How much did he score?” I said, still rubbing my eyes.
“42 per cent. He passed English too,” she said as her face beamed with pride.
“What will he do now?” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe his own business, he can repair mobile phones,” she said.
I went to take a bath. I took out the cut-off pages, crumpled it and threw it in the dustbin kept outside the house. I left the house mid-day. I took bicycle and went to the
‘Krishi Kendra’. I’m Science student; I knew that certain chemicals like Copper Sulphate or Ammonium Nitrate could kill you. I bought a pack of both compounds. As I passed through the lanes of my small town, I passed a tiny hundred square feet Chat shop. It did brisk business. I thought my last meal had to be delicious. I went to the counter and took a bite on very delicious varieties of Chat.
A couple with a four-year-old boy came and sat on the next bench. The mother fed the boy chat and kissed him after each bite. It reminded me of my childhood and my parents, when they used to love me unconditionally and marks didn’t exist. I saw the box of Ammonium Nitrate and tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t eat the chat then. I came back home. I wondered if I should use my chemicals before or after dinner. Maybe it is better after everyone has slept, I thought.
We sat at the dinner table. Dad had told mom not to cook as he’d brought dinner parceled from best hotel in town for us.
We ate Palak Paneer on stainless steel plates. I looked at my watch, it was 8 pm. Three more hours, I thought as I let out a sigh.
“One thing Shobha,” my father said to my mother, “these COEP or other Autonomous college students aren’t what they used to be these days. I went to Deshmukh Sir home today what I saw there was disappointing.”
“Why, what happened?” my mother said.
“Like Mr. Deshmukh’s boy from VIT, very bright kid. But only when he was here in chikhli”
“Really?” my mother said.
“Yeah, when he went into VIT he changed completely. He used to be well behaved, but now he flirts with his classmate in front of his father. Mr. Deshmukh told me he found cigarettes in his pocket. He got influenced by the metro city things and forgot for what purpose he went there; but I asked him a question. I said how your study is going? that kid replied ‘I have taken year drop’” eating dessert. My mother served us Gulab Jamun my favorite and last few also.
“And the same thing I found about Mr. Shinde’s son from COEP.
I could tell my father was upset from his serious tone.
“If you ask me,” my father continued,
My father kept quiet. He spoke after a pause. “Actually, after today, I’d say don’t just go by the name. Study the college, figure out their dedication, and make sure they don’t create nerds. Then whatever the brand, you will be fine. The world needs good people.”
I looked at my parents as they continued to talk. Excuse me, but I have a plan to execute here. And now you are confusing me, I thought. “So should I study some more colleges and make a decision after that?” I said. “Yes, of course. No need for herd-mentality.
Post-dinner, my parents watched TV in the living room while eating fruits. I retracted to my room. I sat on my desk wondering what to do next. The landline phone rang in my parent’s room. I went inside and picked it up.
“Hello Akash?” the voice on the other side said.
It was Deshmukh Uncle. “Hello, uncle,” I said. “Hi,” he said, “congratulations on your boards.” “Thanks uncle,” I said, “dad is in the living room finishing dinner, should I call him?” “Dinner? Oh, don’t disturb him. Just tell him I came from Aurangabad he can call me after dinner”
“Aurangabad? Did my father come to your home today?” I said. “No, we all were in Aurangabad” he said.
I wished him good night and hung up the phone. I switched on the bedside lamp in my parents’ room. Confused, I sat down on my father’s bed, wondering what to do next. To make space, I moved his pillow. Under the pillow lay a crumpled pages. I picked it up. It was the same cut-offs pages I had threw in the dust-bin this morning. My father had circled the cut-offs table.
I left the paper there and came to the living room. My father was arguing with my mother over the choice of channels. I looked at my father. He smiled at me and offered me watermelon. I declined.
I came back to my room. I picked up the chemical boxes and took them to the toilet. I opened both boxes and poured the contents in the toilet commode. One press, and everything, everything flushed out.
“Akash,” my mother knocked on the door, “I forgot to tell you. Jaiswal aunty came again. Can you teach her daughter?”
“Maybe,” I said as I came out of the toilet, “by the way, is she pretty?”
Dhaval Gulhane
