The next day it was Vichitra’s turn to arrive late to the class. He was full twenty minutes late.
As soon as Vichitra reached the door, he saw Ajitabh ducked behind the table, and the angry young man was just about to fling his pen at him. Today also it was someone’s entry right at this crucial moment that saved Ajitabh from the guy’s vicious temper.
Fortunately Vichitra wouldn’t have to sit with him today. Shararati Jaat was sitting with someone else. Vichitra ran his eyes around the class. Two seats were empty in the last row. He went and sat there.
The tension between Ajitabh and Shararati Jaat had died down by now, and the class resumed as usual.
The first thing Vichitra noticed while he sat down was; today again two girls were sitting in the row right in front of him. He resolved to stick to plain English, no French this time.
Fortunately those were the same two girls who he had tried to initiate the conversation with the day before. Unfortunately one of them was the same black belt in French. He cursed her French instructress for not coming to class second day in a row. And secondly why did she have to sit with this girl only.
Five minutes after, the black belt girl turned around and spoke in flawless French – ‘Est-ce que tu prends des notes? Vichitra Kumar?’
Vichitra of course had no idea what this meant. It was beyond whatever French he had learnt until now. All he could make out from her rapid-fire speech was a single word ‘notes’. He assumed it meant whether he was taking notes.
The French word for Yes is Oui, and he knew it very well. He so much wanted to reply in French but at the last moment refrained from doing so. Instead he simply said yes.
This at last broke the ice between Swati and Vichitra. Otherwise she was determined that if Vichitra had replied in French this time also she’d have gotten his whole history out of him and that too in French. On the other hand, Vichitra was interested in starting a conversation with the other girl, the one sitting next to Swati.
Chanchal as the name implies was equally chanchal. She had joined the French class just for the heck of it. Since she had nothing better to do at home she thought of joining this course.
She was much more interested in the histrionics of Shararati Jaat and Ajitabh than in learning French. She would be eagerly waiting when that angry guy would get up and something new would happen. The opportunity did present itself to Chanchal very soon.
‘Sir what is the French word for cat?’ asked Chanchal very sweetly.
She had asked this question because she owned a cat.
‘Chat’ replied Ajitabh.
‘Sir what is the French word for dog?’ asked Shararati in his heavy voice.
He had asked this because he wanted to own a dog.
‘Chien’
‘Sir can you please pronounce it again? I didn’t quite get it’ asked Chanchal.
‘Chien; she-an’ replied Ajitabh stressing on each syllable.
‘Sir I still haven’t gotten it.’ Chanchal was in a mood of mischief.
For all the time Ajitabh was in the class, he would always keep an eye on Shararati Jaat.
Shararati looked towards Chanchal and she nodded in agreement.
Just then out of the corner of his eyes, Ajitabh saw a ruffling movement in Shararati’s direction. He understood at once. Just as Shararati was about to get up Ajitabh got into action. He abandoned the idea of pronouncing the word again and quickly wrote it on the blackboard instead.
He was safe now. Chanchal would have to wait for another chance.
When the class got over she asked Vichitra for his notes. She thought he must have written everything what all was taught in the class.
Instead Vichitra had scribbled the following prose in his notebook…
‘She comes in my dreams
Her halo is indescribable
Her aura is mystical
Is she real?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She walks to my bed
Her walk is majestic
In my dream, I dream
about our endless walks
Will those walks ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She whispers in my ears
Her silky hair caressing my face
In my dream, I dream
about our incessant prattle
Will those innocent talks ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She laughs like a child
Her laughter echoes in my head
In my dream, I dream
about our infectious laughs
Will those wonderful moments ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
Will she ever come to me?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion’
Vichitra was already in love with Chanchal.
And he refused to give his notebook to her.
© 2007 Ankur Shanker
Archives
As soon as Vichitra reached the door, he saw Ajitabh ducked behind the table, and the angry young man was just about to fling his pen at him. Today also it was someone’s entry right at this crucial moment that saved Ajitabh from the guy’s vicious temper.
Fortunately Vichitra wouldn’t have to sit with him today. Shararati Jaat was sitting with someone else. Vichitra ran his eyes around the class. Two seats were empty in the last row. He went and sat there.
The tension between Ajitabh and Shararati Jaat had died down by now, and the class resumed as usual.
The first thing Vichitra noticed while he sat down was; today again two girls were sitting in the row right in front of him. He resolved to stick to plain English, no French this time.
Fortunately those were the same two girls who he had tried to initiate the conversation with the day before. Unfortunately one of them was the same black belt in French. He cursed her French instructress for not coming to class second day in a row. And secondly why did she have to sit with this girl only.
Five minutes after, the black belt girl turned around and spoke in flawless French – ‘Est-ce que tu prends des notes? Vichitra Kumar?’
Vichitra of course had no idea what this meant. It was beyond whatever French he had learnt until now. All he could make out from her rapid-fire speech was a single word ‘notes’. He assumed it meant whether he was taking notes.
The French word for Yes is Oui, and he knew it very well. He so much wanted to reply in French but at the last moment refrained from doing so. Instead he simply said yes.
This at last broke the ice between Swati and Vichitra. Otherwise she was determined that if Vichitra had replied in French this time also she’d have gotten his whole history out of him and that too in French. On the other hand, Vichitra was interested in starting a conversation with the other girl, the one sitting next to Swati.
Chanchal as the name implies was equally chanchal. She had joined the French class just for the heck of it. Since she had nothing better to do at home she thought of joining this course.
She was much more interested in the histrionics of Shararati Jaat and Ajitabh than in learning French. She would be eagerly waiting when that angry guy would get up and something new would happen. The opportunity did present itself to Chanchal very soon.
‘Sir what is the French word for cat?’ asked Chanchal very sweetly.
She had asked this question because she owned a cat.
‘Chat’ replied Ajitabh.
‘Sir what is the French word for dog?’ asked Shararati in his heavy voice.
He had asked this because he wanted to own a dog.
‘Chien’
‘Sir can you please pronounce it again? I didn’t quite get it’ asked Chanchal.
‘Chien; she-an’ replied Ajitabh stressing on each syllable.
‘Sir I still haven’t gotten it.’ Chanchal was in a mood of mischief.
For all the time Ajitabh was in the class, he would always keep an eye on Shararati Jaat.
Shararati looked towards Chanchal and she nodded in agreement.
Just then out of the corner of his eyes, Ajitabh saw a ruffling movement in Shararati’s direction. He understood at once. Just as Shararati was about to get up Ajitabh got into action. He abandoned the idea of pronouncing the word again and quickly wrote it on the blackboard instead.
He was safe now. Chanchal would have to wait for another chance.
When the class got over she asked Vichitra for his notes. She thought he must have written everything what all was taught in the class.
Instead Vichitra had scribbled the following prose in his notebook…
‘She comes in my dreams
Her halo is indescribable
Her aura is mystical
Is she real?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She walks to my bed
Her walk is majestic
In my dream, I dream
about our endless walks
Will those walks ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She whispers in my ears
Her silky hair caressing my face
In my dream, I dream
about our incessant prattle
Will those innocent talks ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
She laughs like a child
Her laughter echoes in my head
In my dream, I dream
about our infectious laughs
Will those wonderful moments ever come?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion
Will she ever come to me?
No, b'cos I know
She is just an illusion’
Vichitra was already in love with Chanchal.
And he refused to give his notebook to her.
© 2007 Ankur Shanker
Archives
3 comments:
this is a nice one...
[Pauperji] Thank you.
Good going God bless u
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