I was standing in the balcony watching the
rain. It was a steady downpour. Puddles had already formed and were running in
mini rivulets and falling into the drain on the roadside. There was no one on
the road and it seemed to be a lazy afternoon. That was when I saw them. There
were seven of them. They seemed to be in their early twenties and were drenched
to the bone. They were looking around about them as though searching for some
address.
They stopped at the security booth near the
apartment gates. While one of them went to talk to the security the others
stood near the gate looking inside. They didn’t bother to find shelter, as
though they did not mind the rain.
My mind wandered back to my school years.
It was during one such rainy day, a similar group of boys had stopped in front
of our gate. I had opened the door when the bell had rung and was shocked to
find a group of boys who tried to get in as soon as I opened the door. I
blocked the doorway without letting them in calling out to my father.
Dad who was immersed in Walden came out of
his room, irritation written on his face at having been disturbed. Seeing the
group of boys waiting to enter he asked them what they wanted.
“Sir, we are coming from Trichy. We have
given our final year exams,” said the boy in front and who seemed to be the
spokesperson for the group.
My father looked as though he understood
why they had come visiting.
“I don’t have your papers, you may leave,”
he said.
But the boys weren’t prepared to leave. “We
are willing to pay you sir, a voice from the back added.”
My father was livid with rage. “Whose money
are you planning to give me? Your parents’ hard earned money? Do they even know
you are here to pay me for grading pass marks for you? Don’t waste my time, get
out!” He had shouted at them and pulled me inside and locked the door shut.
As if on cue the rain began. It was a heavy
downpour. The boys were unperturbed. They went outside the gates and were
loitering outside the house oblivious to the rain and discussing among
themselves. I could only hear snatches of conversation as the rest were drowned
in the sound of the rain and the thunder accompanying it.
It seemed that three of the boys needed the
marks and four of their friends had accompanied them on this mission. They had
bribed the clerk at the university to get the number and address of the
professor who was grading their papers. Did they think that if they arrived in
a group the professor would be bullied into giving them pass marks? I wondered.
The boys were in the rain for nearly an
hour and left only when my father told them he would call the police.
Of course, later on, my father gave us his
usual sermon on how studies were important and that he would not pay a penny or
grovel at someone’s feet to get us admission into college.
My father was known to be a very strict
teacher. While many respected him, he was also ridiculed for not cashing in on
the situation, especially with two daughters. He never heeded such remarks and
was glad when he didn’t have to pay through his nose for college admissions of
his daughters.
The rains never fail to evoke memories.
Whenever I read in the newspapers about malpractices in colleges, I remember
that rainy day.
No comments:
Post a Comment