Awaiting Reparations

Ridden with dissonance the mind of her father was, in his intentions towards her that extended to enable the plucking of fruit, and fell short just of following through to allow her to savour its juices. With the number of times, she has done this to support her judgement, it seemed to her that she enjoyed asking her father how he thinks she should put her education to use if not in earning herself dignity, equal in amounts that he and his new wife stripped off her. He played evasion for sport as it fed him all four of his meals.

(Her mother went with the wind and left with her only ambition and misplaced bitterness for a pastime.)

A town she did not want to spend four years of her life in, a study forced upon her for the fulfilment of her father’s interest in it—the mind knows no bounds with all that it can conceive, but many find it unimaginable that there should be difficulty in walking a decided path. Her father paved for her, more an anomaly than a road. Nobody sees it.

It was not expected of VNIT to be so gracious as to accommodate the needs of individual no-name students in times of their sickness, so it was entirely on her to compensate for the week she spent rushing her body to recover from the fever that a harsh knee to tar fall induced. Sandra sat up that day with a bloodied salwar and noticed upon reaching the hostel room that there were barely any traces of skin left on her kneecap. Soon washed over an overwhelming fever; with the weight of various conditions of her body, she could only manage shuffling of feet to carry out even her sustenance duties. Often during her time spent with her spine pressed into the fossilised mattress, she thought back to her successful admission four months ago, when it first came to her in the realisation that the reward to working to keep her place in the institute was implicit, the process to which was difficult in more ways than the struggle she pursued to enter the gates of this campus.

The biggest impediment to her decision to manoeuvre, without a noise, through the years she will be spending in the institute, was curiously something that did not have anything to do with her or the students of her year of study. It was the conflict between the third year and the fourth year, so fully blown out of all bounds, which began with the announcement of the annual elections and concluded in the shedding of dignity, hostel accommodation rights, and a little blood.

What happened in a few days time was no small thing—in the third year of his study, scum of the earth, Rahul Singh, with an affinity for all things that tickle his ego, did things as if it were by his grace that this institute functioned and it was in nobody else’s favour that decisions would be made.

As much as it worried her that she missed out on many classes and material and will have to ask for help, she was grateful for the safety of her room in a time filled with conflict drawn to its extremes.

She was presently seated in the cafeteria. At the corner that people frequented for the window seat, she sat scribbling into her notes, making the best of the mess of a “mind map” that her dear seatmate in the class had drawn in his book. When a distinct voice from the chatter beside her, familiar by how full of sneer it was, reached her ears, body stiffened in alert, all her energies began pouring into slowing down her movements and packing up to make a safe exit as a conditioned response.

In the time her hands moved with calculated calm, words that should not spread in open-air reached her ears, “Oh, how I wish it were in my hands to make our seniors have their best time yet in the college from now on,” Rahul’s tone and words each sang different tunes, “...what do you say, I ask them to corner our Machhar next time he leaves the campus? We can do anything and nothing will reach anybody’s ears...I can’t just forget what they did to Tiwari.”

“What exactly are you thinking of?”

“Nothing special,” he paused, “We’ll just give him some rough treatment...a gift before he graduates,” he said, eliciting light laughter, “it’s irritating to see how he walks and talks without a care on the campus and thinks nothing will happen to him.”

Sandra knew if she didn’t leave right away at that moment, she will have to get badgered at what she heard. What a bad day to be a first-year student, she thought to herself, and how fortunate I am to have not forgotten my identity card on this day.

Assuming a demeanour of calm, she walked like bending her knee is not breaking scabs and causing it to ooze blood and serum. With every brush of cloth to skin, she felt alcohol and needles on her knee; she walked still calm, and after a distance, began running the fastest her legs could take her. If he was so free of the fear that he didn’t hesitate to speak of doing those things out in the open air, the girls’ hostel that was spared last time might not receive the same luck this time.

By the time she reached the hostel gates, her salwar was pasted to her knee. She decided it would be best to tear it from her skin and face the pain in the safety of her room than to spend any more time outside.

Each hostel room housed three students and spanned to accommodate a shared closet with distinct divisions, three single beds and in between them, just enough space for two legs to stand comfortably. She had heard of some girls making adjustments and finding their way into the boys’ hostel for their romantic getaways, but she had neither the need to do it nor the heart to bear the brunt of those actions in the case that she was unsuccessful. From what she had heard, the shared bathrooms were centrally spaced because of which reek of ammonia pierced through every door in the building and haunted them day and night. She decided a long time ago that this was reason enough to keep away from that building regardless of situations that may come and pass by with time.

“Do we vote as an act of charity?” The distance from which the voices of her roommates were reaching her seemed to be shortening as words began to persist through the echo as distinct sounds, “They ask us to vote to get our demands fulfilled but even if they start construction work or a renovation or, whatever,” she nodded as she spoke slowly settling into a mild seriousness, “it’ll take them at least next year to complete the work—‘’ They paused, noticing Sandra in the room, “Sandra, hi! You’re early here today; you didn’t have classes or what?”

“No, they got cancelled today, last minute.”

“Man, the one we were supposed to have this hour got cancelled, but I wish they had let us off before that too,” she laughed a little. In this small town that students from the entire country had gathered, it presented as an instance of fortune that she was assigned to a room with a student from the same place as her, from a higher year of study too. It was relieving to watch someone decide to live in their comfort, bearing the confidence to speak their language and practice only their food culture in an almost foreign land. Sandra was grateful for her roommate, Niloufer.

“What was I talking about? Yes, the elections,” she continued, “We’re voting for benefits that we won’t enjoy ourselves?” She laughed.

Some students in their second year of study, including Niloufer and friends she was with presently, were required to stay in the first year hostel building due to lack of vacancies in the second year building. Though it was a situation of convenience, students who consider themselves safe from the events such as the breakout of violence a few days ago, wake up to a continuing dream that leaves a stale aftertaste.

Sandra couldn’t treat her knee with the company in the room.

Everything served as a reminder to her. The wound she will have to hide from them—the secrets she let fall upon her hearing—but should uncover soon so as to treat it—to inform Rohit of forthcoming danger. It wasn’t the biggest injury she had hitherto had the misfortune of receiving but it wasn’t small enough to disappear without a trace. It wasn’t so small as to heal within a matter of days, even. If not treated immediately, infection is inevitable—she will have to reach Rohit soon.