Jayaram - An Excerpt from Never Mind Yaar

Chapter 2

Billimoria’s office overlooked the gate. Some of the faculty were already at the window, highly amused as they watched the clerk at the entrance. With the familiarity of old colleagues, they smiled Dr. Naakwaa a quick greeting and shuffled to make room before turning their attention back to the gate. Not wanting to miss out on the action, Dr. Naakwaa hurried across to join them. 

Good old Jayaram. He had been with the college since its inception, almost thirty years ago. Thin, neat and small, with an ego inversely proportioned to his stature, he was their very efficient, one man admin department. 

Jayaram disliked students, tolerating their very presence at the college with grim determination. He found their exuberance loud and brash, unless they were quiet, when he labelled them dumb. As expected, he was being perfectly disagreeable with the new comers. Seated on a hard chair just outside the gate, he watched crossly as a queue of sorts approached him. To get a better view of what was transpiring at his desk, each student moved slightly to the left of the one in front. After a point, having reached the furthest distance from which they could see his desk clearly, the sideways queue of students doubled back on itself. Soon they were standing two deep in front of him. As the second row slowly started snaking out rightward, Jayaram glared with irritation. 

"Line, line," he yelled in his thin, reedy voice. 

The youngsters shuffled obligingly, almost aligning them-selves behind each other. He ignored the young lady standing at the head of the queue for as long as possible. Assuming a grave expression he fussed with his list. With great deliberation he removed the doily from his glass of water and sipped it before carefully replacing it. Bent in concentration he polished his glasses with a large handkerchief. His eyes fell on his watch. “Tch,” he said with an accusing glance at the young woman who tried not to look ruffled or guilty about wasting his time. Running out of things to do he finally deigned to look at her, barking out in Hindi, "Which line?" 

"What?" said the poor, baffled thing, darting a quick look at the line behind her and wondering if she ought to be in another one. "Arré Arts, Science, Commerce?" he said, enjoying himself hugely as he glowered at her. The four professors, safely out of sight behind the reflective glass couldn’t help laughing as the luckless sixteen-year-old mumbled, "Commerce". 

Jayaram, unable to resist a final well-aimed jibe, raised a bushy eyebrow high above the rim of his thick glasses and wondered out loud how she would go through five years of college if she couldn’t understand a simple question like his. Having scored his victory, he pretended to lose interest. Glancing at the young man behind her, his next victim, he cleared the formalities with the young woman and dismissed her.

The hopelessly disintegrated queue took one step forward en masse. 

And so it was for much of the next hour as Jayaram, eyebrows high, barked at the youth in his thin, high pitched voice. The new students shrugged off his mocking tones and disdainful superiority. 

Chalta hai yaar, they seemed to say, never mind. There isn’t much we can do if the man wants to extract full mileage from his moment by being rude and obnoxious. 

Within no time, at his insulting best, the impossible yet indispensible clerk had efficiently despatched six hundred new comers to their rightful classrooms. The faculty on the first floor breathed a sigh of relief.

Excerpt 1 from the book.
Excerpt 3
HOME

AT GYAN SHAKTI - An Excerpt from Never Mind Yaar

Chapter 1

Dr. Naakwaa of Gyan Shakti College couldn't help smiling to himself as he looked at the sea of eager, animated young faces. They all seemed to speak at once, or so it seemed to an old man like himself, their ceaseless chatter outdone only by sudden bursts of loud laughter. Even as they talked and laughed in their own groups, he saw their eyes covertly watching the others. An air of breathless expectancy hung about them, as if something momentous would sweep them up on a wing and fly them away to an unknown destination. Without exception, they all clamoured to go, even the ones standing at the periphery, hesitant and slightly lost though they appeared to be.

Without any warning a wild screech hit his eardrums. He turned, mildly reproachful, to look at the youngster responsible. Even as he tried coming to terms with the sheer pitch and volume of that awful, grating sound, a sudden whoop of joy caught his attention. Sheer relief written all over her face, a young lady dashed across the room, grinning and waving to someone she recognised in the roomful of strangers. The sudden flurry of action startled those nearby. Whatever they were doing suspended mid stream, they turned to watch the five meter dash and a very joyous reunion. Sweeping somebody completely off her feet, the young woman refused to put her down. Uncaring of curious onlookers, the two laughed, one a little helplessly, suspended as she was in mid air, and the other, in blissful abandonment. Suddenly noticing Dr. Naakwa in the doorway, they stilled. And following the direction of their eyes, so did everyone else.

This was the new batch of ‘99. They were the brightest in Mumbai, the crème de la crème. Dr. Naakwaa had every reason to feel satisfied. Like every other college affiliated to the University of Mumbai - good or bad, near or far – the college had to turn away more students than they enrolled each year. There just weren't enough seats. Gyan Shakti’s reputation ensured they had the pick of the herd. Their seats were blocked for the toppers, those who earned maximum marks in school …unless they were blocked for the progeny of families with connexions like the erstwhile politicians of Mumbai, their minions, doctors, judges, actors, producers and of course, the underworld.

The college was on the outskirts of Mumbai. Started in the early sixties by a philanthropist who named it Gyan Shakti – Gyan for knowledge and Shakti for strength - it boasted wide open spaces, plenty of resources and the very best faculty Mumbai could provide. The fees were hefty but parents, many of them middle-income, paid up happily. It was their sincere belief that an education was the only inheritance they could give their children. An education at Gyan Shakti was even better. The ones who gained admission through the clout of their parents' influence or money eventually passed too, knowing it gave them an advantage simply to say they'd studied at GS.

That reputation could have suffered a minor setback today. When Dr. Naakwa had reached the college early that morning Jayaram was in a flap. The list of new students and their respective classrooms had gone missing. It had simply disappeared. As they hunted around for the precious printout, he wondered what good it was to anyone except themselves. This had to be someone’s utterly juvenile sense of humour, unless whoever did this was trying to get at the clerk. It was too much of a co-incidence that even the backup from the front office had disappeared. Admittedly, Jayaram was insufferable with the students and deserved everything they gave back. But he wished they wouldn’t play their pranks at the expense of the college. Well, there was only one thing to do. Dr. Naakwaa marched through the corridors that were as yet quite deserted, to the computer room. Then, to add to his woes, the electricity chose that very moment to black them out as it did from time to time. He cursed his luck. How was he to get a copy of the list? It could take the Electricity Board minutes, or even hours, to locate and repair the fault.

A hundred and fifty gleaming new machines, 128 MB of RAM, 1 GB of hard disk, Windows ‘98 – the latest oper-ating system, 17” monitors, internet connection for the faculty.... All this technology brought to its knees in one fell stroke by the MSEB, (the Maharashtra State Electricity Board), he fumed, aware with a feeling of total helplessness that there was nothing he could do. Well, I had better do something pretty damn quick, he thought with a mounting sense of panic. I know, he decided in desperation, we’ll use the originals. No, he shook his head, dismissing the idea almost immediately. Jayaram wouldn’t thank me for having to sift through six hundred handwritten forms. At least they are in alpha order, he argued as nothing else came to mind. I must convince Bhathena, Reddy and other members of the Board of Trustees to get us a generator of our own, he thought crossly, getting set to hurry back to his office for the originals when with a flicker the lights came on.  

Jai-Sri-Ram, the heartfelt words of thanks burst from him. Jai-ya-ram, you are in luck, he thought, feeling quite chipper on the one hand and aware with slight self-disgust on the other, that he allowed his mood to be dictated to by the vagaries of the MSEB, Rushing to get his precious printout, he prayed there wouldn’t be yet another blackout. He knew from experience a second, slightly longer one might soon follow. Within no time, feeling decidedly upbeat, he hurried with as much dignity as possible to hand over the new list to Jayaram waiting impatiently at the entrance.

On his way back, he saw that the corridors weren’t quite so deserted anymore. An ever increasing trickle of students had begun to fill them. Much relieved to have averted that slight calamity, he was more receptive to the ‘good mornings’ and ‘hello sirs’ that came his way. He headed for the stairs, anticipating the pleasure of meeting up with some of the other faculty who ritually gathered in old Billimoria’s room at the beginning of each term.

 Chapter 2 from the book

Mumbai's Psyche - Excerpt from the book 

HOME


 

Mumbai’s Psyche - Excerpt from Never Mind Yaar

Today, we know there is nothing unusual about living with diverse cultures. It is a world wide phenomenon. But there is this other dimension to Mumbai, which makes it so unique. Except for scholars of religions, no other people in so many numbers seem to know so much about the philosophies of different religions. 

The knowledge almost seems to be acquired by symbiosis. If analysed, it may, no doubt, be very superficial and even inaccurate. But borne out of this has been a slight blending of faiths. Thus, it isn't unusual to see, a Parsi lady paying her respects to Sai Baba - offering Indian sweets and praying fervently for all things most human beings pray for (health of a loved one, success in an exam) - without losing her devotion for and prayers to Zoroaster; a non-Buddhist declaring a fast on Thursday out of respect for Lord Buddha; Many Mumbaikars, irrespective of the religion they were born in, believe in putting garlands of Marigold at the entrance to their homes for good luck during Dusshera - the day Ram returned to his kingdom, victorious, after defeating the evil rakshas or demon, Ravan, who had captured his wife Sita; And many believe in the Hindu Goddess of Wealth - Laxmi, (the word is now synonymous with wealth in many an Indian vocabulary) who, it is said, only enters brightly lit places during Diwali.

Rachana - Mrs. D’Costa’s maid - being a very devout Buddhist, celebrated Lord Buddha and prayed to him through the year. But she also went on foot for seven continuous Wednesdays, to attend the ‘Novenas’ at the Church of Mahim, about 5 km from her home.  Over there she prayed to the Virgin Mary to turn her alcoholic, wife-beating husband into a new leaf, which was asking for nothing short of a miracle.

Perhaps it is sights like these - the willingness to gain succour and strength from saints of other religions without feeling one is letting down one's own - that has made Mumbai so unique in the eyes of her residents. And perhaps, that is why, so many of them seem to have this implicit belief in the truly secular nature of their city.

For reviews and more about the book go here  
Excerpt 1

Excerpt 2
HOME



.