I learnt that this school was based on the ancient Indian system of gurukuls. Where you enter at 12, get mentored by a bunch of old wise sages, hang around only with dudes, wear traditional attire and pray to the Gods and acquire the wisdom of Vedas, our sacred texts. But this school neither had the wise old dudes, nor do they teach Vedas. It was just a simple boarding school that kept you away from home and taught the same things any other normal school would. It was an easy decision. I knew my grandmother would be disappointed but I had to refuse. It was too much for me. I would have to leave all my friends here. Leave my mom's home cooked food. All for what? Repeating to everybody what a great school I studied in and how crazy my daily routine was. My father learnt from somewhere that this was a really prestigious school to attend from one of his friends and found out a guy who would teach students specifically for this exam. I was forced to go there, get beatings for no reason from the teacher and stopped going because of my eye accident midway. After my vision returned, it was time to decide whether to send me there again. My mom and dad had a huge fight. She was against sending me, while my father wanted me to just sit for the exams as it would soothe my grandma's atma...her soul. At that time my guilt ridden self couldn't refuse, I decided to give my best for the few months that were left before the exams. By this time it was a done deal, students studied for two years before attempting and here I was, giving a sincere effort for only ten months. The second round with the teacher was way worse. He thought I had left the course midway because I was a coward and never forgot to put me down using harsh insulting words. He would sigh and berate me in the presence of my and the other students' parents whenever they came to pick up their children. The other children also had a weird sense of competitiveness among themselves and treated me as if I was not on their level. It was understandable, considering they too have been taking beatings for a period longer than mine. I toiled hard for a year, soaking up concepts as much as I could, as many times as I could. I was thinking about the problems while in school, during my commutes, in the bathroom... As if a fire was lit inside me to prove people wrong and to win. This period left a deep impression in my character as only winning and losing mattered to me. I wanted to shove the results in the faces of my fellow 'getting beaten up' mates, their parents and my teacher. And after lots of sleepless nights, countless revisions and losing my seat in the school ranking list the judgement day arrived. I ate two rasgullas for a sugar rush to put my brain into overdrive mode and tackled the question paper. Honestly, the exam was a blur. As if it ended as soon as I started reading the questions. Our teacher gave a lot of importance to clear and concise answers along with a neat and beautiful handwriting,  which was right up my alley. There were a few unknown questions that I skipped instead of bullshitting my way to fill up the paper and even drew some chitras in the final rough page during the last 5 minutes. It resembled a mongoose that I saw for the first time in the mango orchard right in front of the school. It was scurrying around looking for something as it caught my interest. I knew that they are badass predators, pro at taking down venomous snakes like none other. My respect for snakes were already at an all time high from watching the anaconda series and an animal that bested such beings deserved much more praise. I came back from the beautiful campus, thinking at the back of my head that being in such a school might not be bad after all. Apparently a group of exam takers had seen monitor lizards in a nearby lake chilling on the banks like crocodiles. I have to go back to see them, I wished fervently. The stress during the exam preparation also left a bad taste in my mouth. Being at home now brought back memories of the insane grind I had partaken in. Only two of my friends had tried to contact me during the days of my rehabilitation that too only once. I felt like there was something working behind the scenes to close all other doors leaving me only with the choice of attending Gurukul. When the results came, I wasn't even surprised. All the fire inside me lost its fuel. I was instead thanking all the people I wanted to prove wrong for giving me enough motivation to embark on such a path of self serving vengeance. I was the only one who benefited after all. The expression of pity I had on my face while looking back at all the other parents whose children didn't qualify was so satisfying. There were two other guys who also got selected and finally free from all the competitiveness I had a conversation with one of them for the first time. We asked each other when we had our interviews and wished each other best of luck hoping to meet after getting admitted. On the day of the interview, I was asked about fast multiplications based on techniques in Vedic mathematics, generic questions on what sports I liked to play and what I did for hobbies. 'It's been a while since I played cricket, you know, for the exam preparations. I would like to play here with a full team' I said.

" We have a huge playground where students 'have' to play daily." one of the teachers said. "Sometimes we also come to play with you. I won't go easy on you during the teacher vs student matches" he said laughing. "Which handed are you? Fast bowler or spinner?"

" Left arm spinner." I answered.

"Ohh, we got a rare one here." Another teacher chimed in. "Which hand do you use while eating then?"

I knew this was a question that would come as soon as I mentioned being a left handed person. In our culture, we are supposed to use our right hand for sacred and pure rituals that included 'offering' things to both the Gods and our body. While the left hand is supposed to be used for getting rid of the filth inside. When you mix both of them up, apparently you have a problem. Weird concept but yeah, classic human psychology. If I was right handed maybe my views would be the same. My mother came out as left handed, and was forcibly converted to use her right hand by daily practice. But she didn't impose the same on me. She often told me that she regretted doing so as her once beautiful handwriting got worse after changing hands. She wanted me to be comfortable with whatever I got naturally, that probably included my scrawny body and smaller than average height I guess. I still have some room for growth, hopefully... I wished deeply.

"Right hand." I replied, "I have been trained to use the right from the very beginning for eating." I saw them getting bored at the wasted opportunity of teasing me and the other teachers moved on to mundane questions. Whether I knew some of the test takers or not. If I have talked with anybody around while waiting in line and if so what we talked about. They were probably judging on what we usually do while tackling nervousness. The final interview was for the parents. They never told me what they were asked, well, most children inherit their morals based on their parents. Children are a reflection of the habits and disciplines that their parent follow. While I was waiting for my parents' interview to end, a guy sitting beside me suddenly started talking. He was the guy who was sitting beside me during a little what-if character test that was conducted before we were called for the interviews. And yes, I chose to save my grandmother in the ethical trolley problem by sacrificing 5 other people. Their fates were sealed the moment the question setter chose to pick grandmothers as the single person on the other track.

"You probably know that I received a bit of help from you, so allow me to say my thanks. But that glare you gave me when I got caught looking at your answer was the funniest. Can you try that again?" He said with a smirk.

"It wasn't a glare. I got irritated that you didn't even try to be stealthy while doing so. They would have kicked both of us out if you got caught" I expressed my intentions in a tamed manner.

"Ohh, so you aren't angry I guess. You're a pretty chill guy it seems. Nice to meet you, Dhruva!" He gave an all knowing expression expecting me to commend him for even knowing my name.

"Hope you didn't copy that too..." I snickered, getting interrupted as a teacher came out to call the next set of parents. That would be my new acquaintance's.

"Nice to meet you too..." I also gave him a smirk. "Saiyan" I snorted, repeating his name from the announcement as he got embarrassed.

"It's the name of a great ancient sage" he defended, "Not what you think it is."

"Yeah yeah, son of a dragon ball fan~" I laughed at his red face as he went to fetch his parents.

I didn't see him afterwards as I left the venue to explore the campus. I asked around where I could find the monitor lizards but as my luck would dictate, I failed to see even a single one. I guess I've got no choice other than coming here to stay for the rest of my student days. A weird motivation but a motivation indeed. A few days later we were notified that I got admitted and more details were communicated from their side giving us lists of what to and not to bring. Rules and regulations to take care of and various other things. They all translated to being a good boy and not creating trouble. But the list of troubles seemed flexible depending on the mood of the teacher. After all necessary arrangements were made, it was finally time to leave for the Gurukul. The only skills in my arsenal were drawing that I inherited from my grandmother, art of chanting which I had come to hate because of my mother's strict instructions, but I must say I was good at it none the less. Memorization was a huge part of chanting and it had helped me immensely for my exams too and the last one was a somewhat fit body. Will I be able to make trust worthy friends this time? I kept wondering as a sudden thought crossed my mind.

"My friends also expected me to talk about my situation... But did I ever tell them that I was preparing to leave my school for a new one? What right do I have expecting them to be worried over me? Did I ever ask them why they didn't try to ask about my health? Why did I even come to this conclusion that they never bothered to worry about me? Even after I returned to school having my eye healed I never talked with them properly and only focused on my studies for the transfer." I told myself.

I would like to talk directly if I have grievances from now on. I'll meet sincere people by only being a sincere person. I wondered where the sudden thought came from. Just in a moment I felt myself relaxing, getting hopeful about the future. Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to rid my brain off its worries. Or a sudden flash of enlightenment born from experiencing the adversities I have overcome over the last year. I won't repeat the same mistakes for now, I decided and got ready for the journey to my new school.

If I lose something, I'll get something even better the next time I guess. I've finally fulfilled your wish, Grandma. Hope you're having fun seeing me from above. I hope you're proud too... I thought as I felt a lingering sensation that was locked and lost behind a barrier of guilt and regret. The feeling of her soft hands as she held mine while sitting on that relaxing chair more than one and a half years ago. A strange sensation started building up behind my eyes as I tried hard not to blink, afraid that any kind of movement will break whatever that was holding it back. I held my hands close to my chest as I looked forward to my new life, smiling at myself and  remembering that I once had outright rejected the suggestion itself.