The 5C Girl

The 5C Girl

‘Out of sight, out of mind’ was my mantra on the days immediately following a parent-teacher meeting. I didn’t stumble upon this life hack by myself. Make yourself scarce, Shambhu used to say. He was always good at that. He didn’t come to class that often either. So, you knew he was good at this. I wasn’t sure how to make myself a non-renewable entity all of a sudden but after a few meetings I got the hang of it. This meeting was particularly brutal. He is the least bit perturbed about his non-existent intellectual capabilities to make out in this hyper competitive world—was my class teacher’s review. If I was a movie, I wouldn’t be playing the day after my release. My father kept smiling. Not perturbed, that ought to be a good thing, he must have thought. Luckily, he stopped short of saying attaboy. I spurted out a laugh when the teacher said make out. It made her go on a tangent about my inappropriateness but soon found her way back and stuck to her thesis defence about how I would never amount to anything. I focused on the picture of Gandhiji on the wall to make myself serious. The colours were beginning to fade on that photo and it was turning black and white. And I thought colour photos can decompose into monochrome but monochrome photos cannot decompose into colour. Strange circle of life. The teacher emptied her water bottle after being done with me. She might need some Red Bull to get her energy level back up.

The drive home from school was sombre as if we were coming back from a funeral. The corpse was in the back seat resting his chin on the window, my fingers arranging the dust on the rubber beading. They had buried their hopes for me and now the grieving period was in full swing. Appa took out his phone and checked the mutual fund app. His SIP was giving a 1% return now. All Indian parents have an SIP—their kids. They invest in them periodically hoping for a windfall in some distant future. As they say in those mutual fund ads – past performance is not an indicator of future performance. My past performance should not be giving them any hope and yet they do. Amma wants to make a doctor out of me. Her family had their share of engineers, architects, lawyers, tax evaders, and assholes. But not many doctors. There were homeopathy and ayurveda doctors on some distant bough of the family tree. They were quacks according to her.

There was no school the next day. They sadistically gave us the day off so the parents could really get into their kids. I had my scarce mode on. I woke up and then had a little nap with my face on the Polymers chapter of the Organic Chemistry textbook. So, if anyone saw me, they would think I was up all-night studying. Another trick I learned from Shambhu. Nobody came though and now my neck hurts. All that effort wasted. I got out when I was sure both of them had left for work. Appa was the first one to go at nine. He always closed the door with a gentle thud, almost apologetically. He usually forgets something and then comes back. The thud was more pronounced the second time. Still, it cannot be mistaken with the thud Amma makes. Hers was closer to that of a piledriver. The vibrations of her seismic leaving lingered. Today there was all three thuds and now the coast was clear. I emerged from the bedroom. The breakfast was there on the table. It was Tuesday. So, it would be idli. I shuffled through the tv channels while munching on the idli. I spilled some chutney on the floor and used the wedding invitation on the teapoy to wipe it off. Arun weds Soumya. We used to keep the wedding cards safe till the wedding was over. Ammooma believed if the wedding card was discarded before the date, it brought bad luck to the couple. If that was true, many couples owe their unhappiness to me. I have used them as coasters, as blunt force instruments to kill cockroaches, to make paper boats and what not, with no regard for the date. I could not ask the cockroach to stay put till the wedding was over. Ammooma still had the wedding card of her daughter. I saw it when we went through the family photo albums one vacation we were there. She must think that was what’s keeping my parents’ marriage intact.

I decided to go for a walk in the hallway. There was always a line of ants on the edge of the floor. I would take the leader ant and put him somewhere else. The rest of the pack would be lost for a bit before they found the leader ant and continued their journey. I would repeat this a few times till the ants started doubting the leadership of the main ant and organised a coup. There were no ants today. I could hear someone talking outside while I was watching the tv. The voice became clearer as I got out. It was coming from 5C, the flat next to ours. A guy was slamming on the door, shouting and pleading to be let inside. I suddenly felt like I was in no man’s land. I felt like an intruder. Going back inside was the easier option but inexplicably I continued my walk down the hallway. He was too occupied trying to get to the other side of the door that he didn’t notice me passing by. He was saying things like Please give me another chance, we can work this out, the usual jargon of someone who had just been dumped. Polite at first, then his pleadings began to have a proliferation of the word bitch. I figured he would give up after a while. And he did. There was a moment of silence, a welcome one after all the shouting. The kind of silence preceding a downpour. I had reached the end of the hallway and had to turn around. He was still standing there by the door. Must be saying his goodbye, I thought. Then I heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. The plip of liquid against wood was followed by the sound of him scampering down the stairs. The door finally opened and that was when I saw the 5C Girl for the first time.

I never got her name. It was Nirma aunty who first called her that. Nirma aunty loved keeping track of everyone in the apartment complex. And she would update my mother on the latest developments as soon as they developed. She had been very busy ever since the 5C Girl moved in. Her news updates now almost always began with you know what that 5C girl did now. I only heard fragments of these news reports but the 5C Girl began to acquire a celebrity status in my mind. Nirma aunty said something about her strap showing all the time. Doesn’t she know there are married men here, Nirma aunty said in her trademark exasperation tone. I wondered what the strap was that was married men’s kryptonite.

Her hair was bouncing on the side even though she was staying still. She was wearing a Friends series t-shirt printed with some quotes from the show. I read we were on a break and Joey doesn’t share food before I looked at her face. Ah there is the strap Nirma aunty was talking about. The stench of ammonia in the air gave me awkward company. I curled and pressed my toe on to the floor as hard as I could. It wasn’t me, I mumbled. She had a mop in her hand and began wiping the piss from the doorstep. I could hear her scrubbing as I walked away. I wondered if I could ever feel so strongly about somebody so as to pee at their doorstep.

#

It had been a good five minutes since the previous class ended. The English teacher must be absent today. If so, the next few minutes would be crucial. Some guys were already plotting to approach the PT sir to let us play for this hour. It had to be done on the sly. If the Maths teacher got wind of it, then we will be muscling it out with integral calculus instead of running on the football ground. The PT sir should also be approached with caution. He must be having his siesta in the store room. We should not startle him while waking him up. He was so fragile. As the guys were ready to make their move, she walked in. What the hell was the 5C Girl doing in my class.

It took us some time to get over the disappointment that we won’t be playing this hour. Shambhu looked at the bright side that it was not Maths at least. I imagined her standing in front of the class with a mop in her hand. She had some books in her hand this time. She scanned the whole class. I smiled when her eyes passed over my row. There was enough of a reaction on her face to signal she recognised me. The Principal came in and introduced her. She was the new guest teacher. She had not been assigned any classes yet and was filling in the free periods for now. I imagined her roaming the halls looking for teacherless classes. The Principal asked us to go easy on her before leaving.

I figured she would ask all of us to introduce ourselves. That’s what all new teachers did. Has anyone seen the movie Groundhog Day, was what she asked though. The only time I have raised my hand in class was to ask permission to go for number one. I looked around and there were no hands raised. Before I knew it, my hand was in the air.

Oh, you have?

Yes, it’s the Bill Murray one where he lives the same day over and over.

Correct. Now I want all of you to think which one day from your life you would choose to relive again.

Shambhu was now beginning to think integral calculus would have been better. He never liked being put in the precarious activity of thinking. There was a buzz around the classroom. Whenever you are ready, you can stand up and share it with the class. There was curiosity in her voice. I thought adults were over that.

Slowly they all started sharing their Groundhog Day. The first day of summer vacation, the day they got a prize, their birthday when they had a party, the day their parents bought a new car or moved into a new house.

They all had their picks. It was surprising to see they were all different. Soon I was the only one left. Even Shambhu had shared his—the day he rammed his bicycle on to a wall and broke it to pieces but nothing happened to him. He said he never felt so alive. My mind was blank when she asked me.

Maybe the day Manchester United won the Champions League or the one time I came top of the class when I was in fourth standard. My mind was scrambling for a good answer. Why does this feel so important? As if the answer would define me. I begrudged her for asking such a personal question. Then it hit me.

It would be the Onam day from last year. Like my peers I also have a Groundhog Day now. When I walk around the school, kids won’t point and make fun of me saying there goes that boy without a Groundhog Day.

Did you have lot of fun that day? I was the first to get a follow-up question from her. Not really.

Then why would you choose that day?

My toes were poking holes inside my shoe. Guys pee at your door and married men are scared of you, I wanted to shout at her. Let the class know who she was. Then she asked me to sit down. She must have sensed my uneasiness. I did not know what to do with that kindness. The boy on the front bench asked her about her Groundhog Day. She did not answer. Adults do not have to answer such questions.

They all talked about her after she left. Unlike Nirma aunty, the reviews were mostly positive. They (we) didn’t mind that she cost us the chance to go out and play. I felt like a proud neighbour.

The year was in its last leg. October was putting up some resistance but it was no match for November’s onslaught. December would do the same to November. The school adjourned for Christmas. I didn’t feel like cycling so I walked home pushing the bicycle. The pedals kept hitting my shin and I trudged along grimacing. I saw her a few steps ahead. She hadn’t been to our class in some time. I had seen glimpses of her in the staff room and the cafeteria. The most recent sighting was two days ago when I was standing outside my class. The Maths teacher viewed the class as his kingdom. His favourite mode of punishment was banishing people out of his territory. He asked me to solve the integral of Sin to the power of 4 on the board. The problem looked much bigger on the board. I wouldn’t have solved the problem on any writing surface to be honest. So, I wrote: ∫Sin cerely no idea. The whole class laughed but I was exiled. I was standing with my legs crossed like the stance of a batsman at the non-striker’s end when she walked past me. A passing smile as she hurried away. I felt embarrassed. Not any small embarrassment but a big one, of the sporting kind maybe. Something akin to losing to a landlocked country in beach volleyball.

I hurried to catch up with her. I rang the cycle’s bell and she turned around.

You know you can actually ride it, don’t you? I couldn’t tell if she was being serious. Yeah, I am giving it a break. You mind if I gave it a go? By all means. The bicycle changed hands. She secured her bag on the back seat, tilted the cycle and got on it. See you there, she said as she rode away. I walked home. What if she was a bicycle thief. She had planned it all along. That’s why she came to live there and took the job at my school. When I got home, my cycle was there. She was waiting for me in the lobby. We took the stairs to our floor. So, you never told why you chose that day. What day? Your Groundhog Day. It’s no big deal. Come on, spill it.

They used to show recently released movies on tv on festive days. So last Onam we were at our ancestral home. I wanted to see what movies were on. My Grandpa was watching the tv. He did not care for the new movies. He always put on the local cable channel or Doordarshan. Some old Mohanlal movie was playing. So I took the remote from him and shuffled through the channels. He did not say anything. He died three days later. I just want to give him his remote back.

She put her hand on my shoulder. I asked her what day would she choose. After a pause, she said she was still waiting for such a day. She did not say anything after that and when we reached the fifth floor, she went back to being the 5C Girl. The world must be pretty hard for a girl without a Groundhog Day.

Nirma aunty was there when I got home. She was telling Amma how the 5C Girl went down to pick her parcel in just her shorts.

Later that night we went carolling. A hastily assembled group of kids and adults who had nothing better to do. We knocked on each house in the flat complex, beat our plastic drums, sang the usual Christmas carol playlist, gobbled up the cake and wine that came our way. When we knocked on the 5C door, there was no answer. We waited a bit and then left without desecrating her doorstep. I remembered the times when I was eager to look up my birthday on the new calendar. We had two birthdays—the actual birth date and then the star sign day in the Malayalam month. Now the calendar just lay there—no excited peep into the future.

With each exam Amma’s hopes of getting a doctor in the house was fading away. The class teacher collected passport size photos from students. It was for the school’s advertisement if the results were good. They didn’t ask me. I don’t blame them. It would have been nice to feel included though. The exams that matter came and went. I participated. I tried to display an air of confidence so I could enjoy the vacation. I had my contingency in place. I was going to run away before the results came. I would come back years later, rich of course, and they would all be proud of me. I had an uncle who went to work as usual one day and nobody saw him ever again. We are still waiting for him to come back. Grandma used to say I was like him. She must feel vindicated now. The day before the result came, I got the ball rolling on my plan. I waited for my parents to leave for work and after the three thuds of the door, I got some clothes in my back-pack and got out. I had a little money saved. I was so restless that I kept pressing the elevator button. These things always take time when you are in a hurry. And when it opened, the 5C Girl came out. She was in her shorts and had a parcel in her hand. I tried to limit our interaction to a customary smile but she asked me where I was going. She picked today of all days to be chatty. And I picked today to be honest. I told her I was leaving for good. I expected the 5C Girl to transform into a teacher and give me a lecture. But she wished me good luck and gave me a side hug. I was out in the world.

I don’t know if it was my nervous energy or something but the walk to the railway station felt strangely calming. There was this guy on the sidewalk who extended his arm out as if to high-five me. Like he was rooting for me and glad that I took this step. How did he know my life, I wondered. Then I saw the lottery tickets in his hand. He was a lottery seller and was just showing the tickets. I had already tried my luck for the day and so had to disappoint him. A few metres ahead there was a small gathering by the roadside. There was still time for the Kurla Express and so I stopped by to see what it was all about. It was a meeting of the pickpockets’ association. The speaker was saying because of the proliferation of digital payment people no longer carried money in their wallets and it was getting hard for them to make both ends meet. They were even talking about holding a protest march. A placard said Down with Google Pay. I felt solidarity with their cause. But I had money in my wallet. I felt my right pant pocket with my hand for reassurance, but it was flat. Where is my wallet? Oh, these guys are good!

The lottery vendor was gracious enough to offer the shade of his umbrella. It was ripped at places and looked like an ozone layer that had given up. Some passersby bought the tickets. They spent a good amount of time picking their tickets too. Finally, they figured the right combination of numbers that would make them millionaires and walked away with a reason to live another day. The Kurla express must have left now. I walked back home. My exile from the Maths class lasted longer than this.

The entrance exam results were to be published at 11 am. Nirma aunty was at our door at 11.05 am. She did not even factor in our internet speed. Amma did not open the door.

She was in the kitchen pouring rice into the steel measuring glass. I went in and told her I did not want to be a doctor. She was not in the mood to talk. I realised that when I saw the steel glass coming towards me. I ducked and the steel glass hit the cupboard behind and came to rest after a few twirls on the floor. The piledriver came down on her bedroom door. I picked the glass up. It had years of rice dust accumulated on it. One could write our entire family history on it. Most of it got wiped out now with its use as a projectile. I smudged the rest of it. I counted the rice grains from the floor and the countertop, collected it in the steel glass before depositing it in the bin.

It was back to making myself scarce the following days. After a few days, there was détente. In those days Amma was growing increasingly thankful for the disintegration of the Soviet Union. She discovered all these medical colleges in Georgia, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. It was easy to get in. All you needed was money. Appa parted with some SIPs, took some fixed deposit out and we were good on the money front. Amma worked with the enthusiasm of someone given a second shot at their dream and before I knew it, I was all set to be shipped out.

I counted the days and felt like I was running out of oxygen. Once the number hit single digits, I was really gasping. I went and knocked on 5C to give her the news. I thought she should know. It was rude to leave without telling your neighbours. I did not expect her to answer the door but she did. Always surprising me. I told her I was leaving. She asked didn’t I already, with a chuckle. That did not work out, I said sheepishly. When she asked where I was going, I could not remember whether it was Kazakhstan or Kyrgyzstan. I rolled the dice and chose one. She asked me to wait a minute and closed the door. Maybe she wanted to give me a parting gift or she had someone there in that country I was going to and wanted me to take something with me to them. The door opened before me for a second time. She thrusted something in my hand and closed the door. It was my wallet.

My parents were in a buoyant mood. I could not understand how they could be after throwing more money at a lost cause. I was happy to give them a sense of purpose at least. The bags were all packed. The cab was waiting outside. Nirma aunty came in just then. She was also very buoyant. The number of people you can make happy by leaving. She said the 5C girl had left. She could not contain her excitement while dispersing that information. Even Nirma aunty was late with this news. She only came to know about her leaving post facto. If leaving this place was a competition, the 5C Girl had won. I was late by a day. We got my bags out and waited for the elevator. It opened and a couple with a kid tumbled out. They had the same smile on all their faces. It was as if they all got together in front of the mirror and decided to wear this smile for the day. They introduced themselves. They were the new tenants at 5C. Appa welcomed them to the building and we got in the elevator. I could hear the locks turning on the 5C door before the elevator door closed. Nirma aunty was still lurking in the hallway for any scoop. They looked like a boring couple. Nobody is going to pee at their doorstep. I looked at the red blinking floor numbers on the display as the elevator went down.