The Ball

It was the last day of her trip, and she had an invitation to a fancy ball. She didn’t want to go. There were a hundred reasons not too. 

“I don’t have a dress.”

“I don’t know anyone there.”

“It gets over too late.” 

“I don’t feel that great.”

“It is too far.”

But her friends would hear none of it. She did have legitimate reason not to go. The invite came too late; she had nothing to match the dress code.
“Listen, no one is going to adhere to the dress code anyway. Wear whatever.” 

She honestly knew no one there.
“You know us.” The rag-tag team of 3 people she had met two days before. 

It did get over late.
“We’ve hired a car. We’ll drop you.”

The cold weather (she came from warmer shores) had taken a toll as she had traveled non-stop for days with little sleep. She didn’t feel great and to top that, she was leaving early the next morning.
“Suuure, you’re not feeling good.” She was in the hotel room, at the desk with a copy of Annie Zaidi’s Gulab, and had only finished the first page. 

It was too far.
“Like I said, we’ve already hired a car and we’ll drop you.”

Fine.

She went in the bathroom, washed her face, put on the last pair of clean clothes she had. They were sort of close to the dress code, but mainly they were clean. Although it didn’t matter, since it was too cold and everyone would have to cover up eventually to stay warm. It wasn’t anything snazzy or over the top, but she was just glad that it was a bit formal. She put on a pair of earrings and was out of the door and in the car within a minute. 

They spoke about the Dalai Lama in the car. Conversation was endless with these people she known for a few days, but they’d been together for these days yet the endless conversation didn’t bore her. She rarely found such people in her own home-town. There, people wanted to make money. She did too, but not the pace her counterparts were going at it. These people spoke about travel and books and about the other people they had met on similar travels. She opened the window on her side to let the cold air in as she wondered if they would ever tell a story about her. The car stopped. They stepped out. She wanted to be in bed, but now she was there, what could she do? 

There was a grand entrance to the ball. There were jugglers and dancers and fire-eaters and rope-walkers. There were numerous little bonfires lit around the place to keep people warm. It was a modern day ball, so right up ahead there was a stage, well lit, yet seamlessly integrated with the dim lighting all around. The local band was already playing the folk music of the village. She was relieved there was no ‘BUT FIRST LET ME TAKE A SELFIE’ playing. Candle lit dinner tables were set a bit further along with fancy plate settings. She picked up a glass of wine from the tray that was presented the moment she entered and looked around. She saw him. Her friends had already found their friends she stood awkwardly as they hugged them and they introduced her to them. She didn’t bother with remembering their names. 

“Let’s go up ahead. They’re already serving dinner. If we go now, we can finish dinner quick and get to the stage before they play their final set.” She didn’t argue. They never left her alone, and she loved that about them and since the band was going to play for another two hours or so, they ate. She was glad she came. It was a great way to end the trip. 

She stood up and once again looked around. There he was, standing by one of the bonfires, immaculately dressed, talking to some people. She turned around and saw her friends dancing already. She joined them. She had this nagging feeling that someone was looking at her. The band that was playing was known worldwide for their folk music. Why would anyone look at her and not them? He was closer now. Someone tapped her shoulder from behind. It was another girl she had met the day before. They hugged, and she realized he stood right behind the girl she’d just hugged. He was standing there, with a drink in his hand, looking around her, and then at the stage. He didn’t look at her. 

“LET’S GO UP AHEAD, I WANT TO TAKE SOME CLEAR PICTURES OF THE BAND.” Her friend yelled into her ear as the music went on. It wasn’t a request, a mere notification, as her friend grabbed her hand and started pushing through the crowd as they went ahead. She turned around, as he was still standing there, looking around her, but not at her. She started to make her way back, back to where the crowd ended and where he stood as he watched over her. She had barely taken a step, when one of her companions interrupted her, “WHERE ARE YOU GOING, THEY’VE  STARTED” “I’M GOING TO GO REFILL THIS” she yelled as she dangled her empty wine glass in front of her mate. “HERE, DRINK MINE, I JUST GOT IT, BUT I SHOULD STOP.” She looked over again, and he still looked around her, not at her. She agreed and took the glass. 

He made his way close to her again. Whenever she spoke to one of her friends, she had to yell because the music was too loud. He could hear bits and pieces mixed in with the symphony of the tabla. She had gone up a bit further but had turned around, but her friend handed her a glass of wine and so she had turned to the stage again. He waited at the same place looking at her sing along with the folk music that played as she swayed with her friends. He was within an earshot. 

Finally there was lull in the music. Since it was folk ensemble, some of the tabla players were getting off-stage to make way for some other instrument players. The main singer was still on stage singing an old song and the area around the stage kept getting crowded. “HEY, I’M GOING TO GO A BIT BEHIND, IT’S GETTING A LITTLE CLAUSTROPHOBIC IN HERE.” She hated crowds. “YEAH, OKAY, LET’S GO.” She wanted to go alone, but they always accompanied her. 

He stood looking, still nursing the same drink in his hand, though it had sweated off, he’d barely taken more than a few sips. She seemed to making her way to the back, but her friends followed as he looked around. He wanted to stand next to her alone for a second, but she was always surrounded by these people. Where the time went, he didn’t know. It was a pleasure to see her laugh and talk to her friends, as she sipped red wine, but whenever she looked his way, he looked away. There was no way to talk to her without invading her entourage. 

“HEY, DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD START GETTING BACK TO THE HOTEL? THAT ONE HAS AN EARLY FLIGHT” said one of her friends, pointing at her but not realizing she didn’t want to leave any more. “YEAH, LET’S GET SOME DESSERT FIRST” She saw a window. The dessert counter was all the way in the back and it was a bit isolated since everyone was still dancing to the music even though it was the end of it. She yelled out. “YEAH, DESSERT.” She knew he heard her. Why else would he make his way back to the dessert area when he hadn’t even eaten? He started walking and her friends, not knowingly followed the same path as him. He turned around once, to make sure she was still there, and there, behind them, she was. 

There were different dessert counters. Twenty feet away from each other, in the opposite direction. She was handed something she didn’t care about and furiously looked around. He wasn’t there. He did the same, but twenty feet away from her, with many people in between. Somewhere in the few feet between them, they had turned to the different counters. They couldn’t see each other. She wanted to leave again. She felt almost violated by a man who never touched her, who never spoke to her, who barely even looked anywhere else but around her. She felt violated because she was being looked out for without even being some annoying damsel in distress who clearly didn’t even wanted to be there in the first place. ‘You know what, fuck this. I want to go home,’ she thought as she looked back at her friends as they enjoyed the sweet delicacies. “Guys, let’s hurry this up.” There was no longer any need to yell as the band was far in the background. She didn’t want anything now. 

She held up one of her friends who was now a bit drunk, most of them were. She wasn’t sure if it was the third glass of wine she had had, or the bitter abandonment from someone she didn’t even know, but there were hints of tears in her eyes. She wanted to get out, and so did her companions since the drunken one was making a bit of a scene. As they neared the exit, the car pulled up. They got in. She got in last, shut the door and rolled down the window. 

There he was. She looked out the window. There he was. Finally, for a moment, they looked at each other. Their eyes met.  For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Her eyes were moist. His eyes, wanted more. They both looked abandoned by each other. They both look at each other with equal parts of anger at the random universe and equal parts of shame since they never pulled away to talk to each other. They stared into each others souls for a moment and knew they wanted more. They never spoke to each other. They never danced with each other. But, in that one moment, the lived a lifetime with each other. 

The car sped off.

If you do happen to read it and share, please do so with the hashtag #TheBall so it's easier to keep track of. Do leave your comments, should you have any or you can tweet to me @IsAnathema.

AN OPEN LETTER TO DR. SHOBA VENKATESH GHOSH

(HOD OF THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT OF MUMBAI UNIVERSITY)

 

(AN INSUFFERABLE BULLY)

I am not the one to write these things, but today, the ill-fated day when I had the displeasure of meeting Dr. Shoba Venkatesh Ghosh, I am being forced to write this letter. I will keep it simple worded and *try* to be polite.

First, let me start off with some background. It has been raining incessantly for the past few days, and the past two weeks have been really hard on my health, but thankfully I am recovering. My results were declared about week ago, and I am now a graduate. I majored in English Literature from Jai Hind College, which is affiliated with the University. So far, so good. However, my 5^th Semester and 6^th Semester mark-sheets are held up at the University due to some technical issues and this has hindered my ability to seek admissions in many different universities as the mark-sheets are required for the admissions process. This only leaves MU open for me. My father and I have been scrambling around since the day my results were declared for my mark-sheets, yet nothing seems to let up.

Now for the part you’ve been waiting. My dad has been accompanying on the account of my health, as I am heavily medicated and do have a history of passing out and MU’s campus is the size of a small city. We reach the Dept. of English just after lunch, very visibly drenched by the rains, tired (and just looking for a little ray of sunshine) to submit the form well before the due date. However the problems of the mark-sheets remain, and so the clerk takes us to see the HOD to discuss this further. First off, we’re made to stand with the clerk even though there are some seven chairs open there and just us in the room. Now quite frankly, I’m not at my best, I’m dripping wet, I have no make-up on, you can still see the marks of the needles that administered the IV drugs at the hospital, my hair is in a messy bun and for some reason I have pink floaters on, so yeah, go right ahead and judge me. This woman just takes one look at me and scowls at me. As my dad is explaining the issue to her, she immediately cuts him off, looks at me and sternly says, “this isn’t my problem, you have to go there and sort it out.” There where? A different office? Timbuktu? Heaven? Hell? I’m guessing Hell, because this woman’s office sure seems like Pandemonium right about now. So, as expected I ask her blankly “where?” “DO NOT TALK TO ME LIKE THAT. YOU ARE AN INSOLENT GIRL. *looks at my dad* ASK YOUR INSOLENT DAUGHTER NOT TO TALK IN SUCH A MANNER.” Right, I am just flabbergasted at this. Just a simple “where?” has got this woman all riled up. Still, my dad immediately apologizes to her, even though he doesn’t need to, and she is still going on at him.

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I have been running around from one place to another, just tell me where to go and I will.”

Her : “THIS IS NOT MY PROBLEM. *points at me* I DO NOT NEED TO DEAL WITH YOU”

By now, I have obviously lost it. Call me a drama queen, call me hormonal, call me whatever, but I will not, WILL NOT have anyone talk to me in such a manner, and I will retort. I am not some common street-walker that she is asking to get lost nor am I a beggar that she needs to shoo away.

Me: “Okay ma’am, first of YOU WILL TALK ME CALMLY AND WITH A MODICUM OF RESPECT”

Her: “HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT? YOU ARE BEING SO INSOLENT. *she seems to love the word ‘insolent’ for some reason* GET OUT OF THE ROOM. PLEASE STAND OUTSIDE WHILE I DEAL WITH YOUR FATHER*

Me: “NOW JUST BECAUSE I AM YOUNG AND A STUDENT DOESN’T NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO TALK TO ME IN THIS MANNER. YOU WILL SHOW SOME DEGREE OF RESPECT WHILE YOU ARE TALKING TO ME.”

My father and the clerk standing next to him are begging me to leave the room, and in the best interests of all of us, I pick up my bag and umbrella and leave the room. I did not slam any doors, I did not mock anyone. I simple left had sip of water while I was waiting. Within a few minutes, my father and the clerk come out, they speak in inaudible voices, and the clerk walks to his desk and my father walks towards me. My father tells me that he apologized on my behalf, and she has accepted it, and that we can submit the form with a letter from the registrar and my college stating the issues with the mark-sheets. Here I think, what the hell, let me go in and say I’m sorry, even though I do not think I did any wrong, but in the end she is a government bureaucrat and we all know how they are.

 

Me: “Ma’am, may I please have a word with you?”

 

Her: “Yes, come in” *at this point I enter and my father is right behind me.*

 

Me: “Ma’am, I am really sorry, I’ve had a terrible day, a really bad week and I’m not trying to be rude or impolite, and the way you spoke to me was uncalled for, but *she cuts me off*

 

Her: “WHY DO YOU THINK YOU CAN COME AND TALK TO ME LIKE THAT? THIS IS NOT MY ISSUE, GO THERE.”

 

Me: “YOU CAN SAY THIS CALMLY AS WELL. ONCE AGAIN, JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE SITTING THERE DOES NOT GIVE YOU RIGHT TO TALK TO ANYONE LIKE THAT.”

 

Her: “YOU ARE AN INSOLENT *there’s that word again* GIRL WHO DOESN’T RESPECT ANYONE *here my dad sees that I am about to say something and thus tries to stop and I ask him not too* DO NOT TALK TO YOUR FATHER LIKE THAT, YOU DON’T EVEN RESPECT HIM.*

 

Me: “I HAVE THE UTMOST AND IMMENSE RESPECT FOR MY FATHER AND EVERY OTHER MEMBER OF MY FAMILY; YOU DO NOT NEED TO TELL ME HOW TO TALK TO THEM. I JUST WANT TO ASK YOU A QUESTION- WILL YOU CONSIDER MY APPLICATION AFTER THIS ALTERCATION OR SHOULD NOT EVEN BOTHER APPLYING?’

 

Her: “YOU CAN SUBMIT THE FORM AND SEE THE MERIT LIST FOR YOURSELF, NOW GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

 

Me: “So basically you’re not going to consider me?”

 

Her: “YOU CAN FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF ONCE THE MERIT LIST COMES, AND WHEN YOU DON’T GET IN YOU CAN SUE ME, NOW GET OUT!”

 

Me: “Why can’t you just answer a question as it is? No one wants to sue you or anyone for that matter.”

 

Her: *looks at my dad* “GET HER OUT OF HERE OR I WILL CALL SECURITY AND HAVE HER THROWN OUT”

 

Me: “Calm down, I’ll leave.”

 

I obviously do not want to deal with this woman anymore, but just as I exit, this is what she tells my dad: “My condolences are with you for having such a daughter.”

 

Excuse the goddamned fuck out me, but condolences? No, no, no. Congratulate my father on having a daughter who can speak for herself and is not a fool. Congratulate my father on having a daughter who even though has a learning disability still appears in the General Category during her exams and for admissions. Congratulate my father on having a daughter who will not succumb to ridiculous bureaucrats like Dr. Shoba Venkatesh Ghosh. Congratulate my father on having a daughter who will stand up for herself no matter who she is pitted against. Congratulate my father.

 

I know this will generate a lot of hate mail towards me, and by posting this, I am confident that I will probably not be admitted to any college at-least here in Mumbai, and I know for a fact that my fellow students who are seeking admission at MU will definitely not be willing to share this on their Facebook walls or on Twitter, but at this point of time, I’ve had enough of this hypocrisy of the bureaucracy.

 

Just before meeting this horrific woman, we met up with Dr. Suresh Wakchaure, Head of the English Department, Associate Professor and Vice-Principal of Mithibai College. The minute we walked in, he asked to sit down with him. He in fact took the time out to talk to us, explain the situation to us and what exactly we should do in this matter. He asked me what I wanted to do, and where I see myself in a few years from now, asked me about my previous colleges and school. Spoke to me about my hobbies and we even joked about infrastructures of certain colleges. Here is a man who is the epitome of understanding. He spoke to us as an equal, seeing the stresses of admission and bureaucratic nuances taking a toll on us made a sincere effort to do explain to us what is needed to be done in this situation. Just like Dr. Kamal R. Jadhav, the Head of the English Department of Jai Hind College, he too comes off as intimidating, yet both these remarkable professors are completely approachable and friendly. I guess that is the difference between skilled and compassionate educators who give a damn about students (whether they’re students of their colleges or not) people like Dr. Shoba Venkatesh Ghosh who are just in a secure government job and treat prospective students like trash.