Chapter Twenty Eight: Education Burdens

“Keep in mind everyone, once you graduate, you’ll become an integral part of society.” It was another one of those lectures that the final year students had to sit through. The lecturer was their principal. They had a lot of those nowadays. The principal spoke most of the time, but occasionally, they invited famous pep speakers to give guest lectures. It was a routine torture for the final years. Old people talking, and insisting about the importance of higher education and the social recognition it creates.

A lot of students grew annoyed every time this happened; a handful of students felt higher education was just an excuse to live off their parents’ money. A few others had had enough of text books and studying. They wanted to move on, and start living their lives.

Some others paid attention to every little detail of the lectures. They considered higher formal education, and MBA seemed like a good idea. They were most of the rich people who had access to mounds of gold their parents and grandparents had preserved. But they were just a small group.

The majority, like Praveena, had decided to end their formal education. Praveena felt as if college had taken over the best years of her life; that she was spending her life being miserable, by choice, when she could have done something meaningful. She now thought about it a lot. She wondered of the future, and what it would hold for her. She had always evaded thinking ahead, but now the time was ripe to make some serious plans — ‘and a few contingency plans too’ her inner voice added. She remained undecided though.

Anil had decided to do his MBA; he had decided to remain in Bangalore. He wanted to take on a part time job and fend for himself — at least a portion of his personal expenses.

“What would you do?” Anil asked one day as they sat in the canteen, having lunch.

Praveena shrugged. She knew she should have made a decision by now, but she couldn’t make her mind up. The thought of graduating without Niveda still disturbed her. “Stay at home for some time, maybe. Have some fun, until I come up with something.” she said hoping for something of another holiday. Anil didn’t seem to think likewise.

“You going to settle down?” he asked, looking disappointed.

“Ya, I’m thinking,” she said unsure “for a while.”

Anil almost laughed. “I was talking about marriage, you idiot!” he tried to control his laughter, and failing.

“Oh,” Praveena smiled sheepishly, “nope, not marriage.” she said, and added indignantly “I’m too young for that!” Anil laughed with her.

“So,” he probed again, once the laughter had died down, “you’re going to stay home, for a while?”

Praveena nodded chewing on her lunch, not saying anything.


As Praveena’s final exams approached, she couldn’t miss the tension and the excitement that was obvious in almost every soul in the college. The teachers were the most happy with the end of the course. They often referred to Praveena’s batch as the worst batch they had had to teach. Niveda’s issue had been an added negative for them to cling on to. They showed their eagerness to be rid of the troublesome batch.

The students were on par with the teachers in terms of joy. There were plenty of goodbye parties in the hostels. From the girls’ hostel, Praveena could hear the racket coming from the boys’ hostel. It was the same every night. These parties usually happened after the exams, some seniors had told her, but this time, the parties had begun way ahead. She too felt like putting her book down and partying. Knowing they would be free after this one final exam made it all the more difficult to concentrate. Praveena’s mind kept wandering to the enjoying phase after the exams.

She forced herself to study. ‘One last time,’ convincing herself.


The final paper of the final exam was upon them. That morning, Anil and Praveena met in the canteen as usual and had an unusual, quiet breakfast. Praveena was feeling plenty of emotions at the same time. She was happy college life had come to a close. She was reluctant to leave Bangalore; she had enjoyed the city’s refreshing climate. She would leave Anil behind, and that was painful too. He had been her closest friend and only comfort after Niveda. She was thankful to him for staying by her side, throughout the tough episodes of Niveda’s treatment and death.

But most of all, it was the thought of Niveda. During the first year, when Praveena was just beginning to get accustomed to Niveda’s regular chatter, she would imagine themselves graduating together, and then remaining friends for life. Every time she thought of it, she wanted to weep. She cast the thought aside, deciding instead, to focus on her sandwich.

“Last day,” Anil observed. He sneaked a look at Praveena to catch her reaction. “Yeah,” She nodded as memories swivelled in her head.

They finished the exam, and met again for a quiet lunch.

“I’ll miss you, Praveena” Anil said flatly. “You are my best friend, you know.” he pursed his lips in a tight smile.

Praveena looked at him, a long calculating look. She knew she would miss him too, more than she could say.

“Me too,” she ended the conversation.

The End. Of Another Month

As November comes to a rainy close, at least here in Chennai, I’m proud of myself for dedicating a month-full of posts on this blog. Though it was just an edited chapter of my two-year old attempt at something of a novel, I’m happy with how things turned out.

But I’m still not done. I’ve published 26 chapters, but I have more on the way. So I’ve decided to take on another full month of publishing every day.

This month, however, instead of publishing a chapter everyday, I’ll alternate my chapters with random thoughts as well.

If you’ve been reading the novel in parts, let me know what you think. I’d love to hear how others felt reading whatever I wrote.

Thanks for stopping by today. It means so much to have you here. Have a nice day, you.

Sometimes it takes ketchup to bring us together.

It was 2 pm at the office, and everyone was busy staring into their computer screens. On one corner were a few Windows users sitting by the window, sneaking glances down at the barren streets; anything is distraction. On another corner were the few Mac users, caressing their fingers over delicate keys. They all knew the value of metal, the value of technology.

Time crept away. From 2 pm, to 2.30, and 3.30 and then at last, 4.00 pm.

Like a bunch of young girls hypnotized by a famous boy band, they rose from their places. It was time to take a break from the monitors. They grabbed their smartphones instead and headed towards the pantry for a cup of coffee and something to munch on. Some of them queued up, while some others hung around in the pantry, all of them checking their phones for updates from friends, colleagues and loved ones.

Ah ha. There’s a funny video a colleague had shared — they hit Like and moved a step closer to the vending machine.

In walked a maintenance staff, her arms laden with a tray of steamy samosas. As soon as the scent spread across the pantry, everyone darted their eyes from their mobiles just in time to crowd around the snack tray. They all grabbed a samosa — or two — and stepped back, with a questioning glance at the staff. She stared back, nonplussed, and in complete wonder.

As more and more people turned a glaring eye at her, she grew visibly uncomfortable. One young man decided to ask, “Sauce?”

Oh, right! She hit herself on the head and rushed out of the pantry. The young man and many others shook their heads in exasperation. With the few minutes’ break they had, the delays!

Seconds went by, but the maintenance staff didn’t return. People began shuffling their feet in restless abandon. Some even snorted and left the pantry staring into their handphones. They only just managed to go through the door frame without colliding into it.

Of the few who remained however, was a girl who, remembering something, rushed out the pantry in a hurry. The others stared at the new girl who had just run off. These kids nowadays, had no sense at all. They waited around, their patience ebbing away.

As more of them decided to leave, the new girl strode back into the pantry, head held high and a bottle of ketchup in her hand. She poured herself a generous splash and handed the bottle around.

Not sure how to react, some of the seniors stared at her, while more and more people decided to take the ketchup. Bit by bit, the bottle emptied and everyone had had their share. The tension within the clutter had reduced as the bottle went around, and they began talking.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“Really? That’s where I live. You know Mr. Weatherby?”

“Who’s your team leader?”

“Oh, pity you. I heard he is a tough boss.”

“Hey, where did you learn design?”

Soon, they all knew each other. Someone cracked a joke, and the rest of the party threw their heads back laughing, when the maintenance staff returned with a fresh bottle of ketchup. Out of breath, she apologized and said something about running short of stock.

Curious, they all turned to the new girl. A little red in the cheeks, she explained that she had bought that bottle of ketchup to bring home with her.

They all turned to look at the almost-empty bottle. Everyone felt the gratitude, but no one knew how to convey it.

And then the young man saw it. A little label on the bottle. Something about buying seeds online. He pulled out his smartphone from his pocket, and did a quick search.

After a few moments of confused silence, he handed his smartphone to the rest of the group. As they all peered into the screen, they saw that the ketchup brand had a new campaign that let them buy tomato seeds online. As one, they all knew what to do. The young man placed an order at once.

When they all met again at the pantry, the young man had a tiny box-ful of seeds. He handed them to the new girl. He said it was on behalf of everyone.

Flushing a little, she accepted the gift. On one condition, she said. She told them about her plan. Together, they moved towards the window and peered down at the brown soil around their building.

The HR in the group promised to get clearance and permission. Something good was about to happen.

Life went on. Day in and day out, they all clocked in, and clocked out. Like machines, staring into machines, serving machines.

But exactly at 4.00 pm everyday, they bloomed into a group of friends. Over a cup of coffee, and oily samosas coated with fresh tomato ketchup.

And the tomato seedlings grew on. Into trees that would last the test of time.


This post is for a campaign by Kissan India about #RealTogetherness.

Every day at work, I see people with their heads together over a cup of tea and a snack. I wasn’t sure how to connect nature and ketchup, until this scene popped into my head. If joining hands for the greater good isn’t real togetherness, I don’t know what is!