After dragging out for way too long, the induction week was finally over. I spent the weekend just thinking, and observing the gloom in my house. My father had started to pack his bags. He had made plans to move into my grandmother’s house, back in his hometown of Angamaly, which was over forty kilometres away. Which meant that it would be a hassle to visit him, especially when taking the hellish traffic into consideration. Most likely, I would have to sit in traffic for the first three-fourths of the day, and then spend a very quick night at Appa’s, after which I’d have to immediately head back to Thrissur—unless I decided to stay there, which I too wasn’t sure about.

I didn’t even know if I wanted to visit him or not. Don’t get me wrong, I do like him. It’s just that we have a bit of a disconnect between us. Which was already there when the three of us—me, my mother and him—were living together in South Africa. Yeah, cat’s out the bag. I am an NRI. And disconnect has always been a part of my life.

I was born in India, brought to Johannesburg, South Africa at age two. I lived there till I was thirteen, and only saw my “home country” once every two years. I walked the Jozi way, talked the Mzanzi slang, but never learnt any of the native tongues—not a phrase in Xhosa, Zulu, or even Afrikaans. So all I could do when my relatives asked me “Do you speak African?” during my short trips to India, was awkwardly blurt out, “No, I can’t…” But yeah, I lived the South African way—chatted about football, basketball, movies. I wore dope threads, listened to the new rap hits, spoke like a faux American gangsta. I joked around, and made fun of Zuma, the crime rate, unemployment…

And yet, Indian culture was all around me there. Especially inside my house. Malayalam devotional songs were the first thing I heard, early in the morning when even the Sun wasn’t up yet. A. R. Rahman’s hits pumped out of the car stereo during the school runs. We regularly went to the Hindu temples there every Saturday. I ate cornflakes for breakfast and had sandwiches as a breaktime snack, sure, but lunch was always rice, accompanied by Kerala style curries and thorans. I’m not complaining, the food tasted great. Much better than the poorly-cooked pasta that the other kids got from the school tuck-shop.

And then, from age 14 onwards, I studied in India. The 11-year gap became evident very quickly. I wasn’t built for the Indian schooling system. The workload here, which was ten times higher than at my school in South Africa, crushed me during the first two years. Ninth and tenth standard made me lose whatever confidence I had in academics. It was a miracle that I was sorta able to bounce back in the Plus Two course—being able to use calculators for Maths and other subjects helped out. And even then, like with Gauri, I had some massive fumbles during the whole course. Surprisingly, though, I managed to pass with flying colours.

And no, I’m not that NRI returnee—the one that bitches about every little thing about India. Even though some things I just don’t vibe with, other things, I do! I love the chill, laid-back culture of Kerala, and the various places where you hear and see so much, it becomes sensory overload. The poorams where they play the drums so fast, and yet so rhythmically, until the listener falls into a euphoric trance, and can’t help but swing his arms around wildly. The. You only have to see the backwaters of my native land once to understand why we wanted the Brits to leave us alone. Forcing their way of life on one of the richest cultures in the world? No, sir, that just wouldn’t cut it…

Some might say that I have an identity crisis. To be honest, it was never a crisis, just… an inner turmoil. I know “who I am”, but I what I don’t know is which part is my “real self”—the Jozi kid, or the Mallu guy? To my utter disappointment, India gave no answers, and so I left life’s exam sheet blank on that question for a long time. Because some parts of life are like that. When this is all over, I just hope that was an optional question…

All this was whirling around in my mind as I entered class for the first time that Monday, after getting lost—again. Just like the first induction session, I squeezed through thighs and mumbled a few “sorrys” until I got a spot in the fourth-last bench, which was where Alfred sat too. This was where I sat for the rest of the month.

Class was in session. On paper at least. For the first month, the professors just chatted with us and made us introduce ourselves. This was so that they could waste time, and allow management to weed out the “lucky few” that managed to get a seat at other institutions, and thus not start from scratch when the newcomers joined via the seat dropped by those who left.

Every week, one or two people dropped out. Every week, I hoped that I would be next. The counselling session for those who wrote entrance exams moved at a glacial pace. I got frustrated really quickly. Why are they delaying the results so much? I thought. Are they intent on torturing us?

I checked and rechecked the various websites of the exams I’d written. Same with the news. I waited in anticipation for a glimmer of hope. And then, the allotment lists came in. And there was no good news for me. I somehow couldn’t get a seat anywhere. Not surprising—my scores on all the exams I wrote were low. Like, “Below the Earth’s crust and burning in the inner core” low.

Everything was terrible in my life during the first month of college, save for the “view”. Yes, I had found what I had been looking for. The thing about arts-and-science colleges is this: there are plenty of fine looking girls all around. “Plenty of fish in the sea”, is what they to those who go through a breakup. Let me tell you, man, I was in the damn aquarium. Options just swimming around, waiting to be reeled in. It came as a surprise that the “fish” I wanted was in the same class as me!

She sat in the desk opposite to mine, and thus received my full attention during our major course. Her name was Anamika. Her black hair glistened with a hypnotic metallic lustre. Her soft lips were a nice, earthy shade. Her teeth sparkled like the brightest stars in the night sky. And my goodness, in terms of figure, damn! She was like a marble sculpture come to life in that department…

In short, way out of my league. Just like Gauri. And yet, dammit, my foolish heart said I had a chance. Delusion, man. It’s a mental disorder that everyone has at some point in their lives.

“Just say it to her face man!” said Alfred.

“What’s stopping you? It’s just four words: “Do you like me?”…” said Subash.

Every friend in college that I spoke to had the same opinion: “Just say it”. But damn, rejection is hell. You have all these feelings for someone, and then they say “No” to all that? Ruins your day, your week, your month… Let it fester, it’ll ruin you life, perhaps.

I got what I wished for, a steal-your-heart college crush. Anamika was perfect. Her beautiful image came into my thoughts during every idle moment. She quickly became the new queen of my mind. In an instant, she got rid of Gauri from the throne. Anamika… she was the future I wanted. But of course, it would be quite a hell of a climb towards her, ‘cause I needed to know her first, so that we could get on, at the very least, speaking terms.

Every small moment that I could slip a word over to her, I took. Every opportunity to crack a joke in front of her, I took as well. Over the entirety of Month 1, and the first part of Month 2, I built up both my confidence, and my rapport with her. Or so I thought. Because it was clear as day that there was no chemistry. Nothing was bubbling. Her replies to my queries and stuff was dry. Which was not how she talked to the other guys. Since she only speaks like that to me, does that mean she likes me? I thought. Or, did she find me too repulsive to say more than a couple words to? My mind swung between these two extremes like an out-of-order pendulum clock.

I didn’t try anything wild. I bided my time. I waited for an opportunity where I could get close to her, tell her how I felt about her. And then, just as I was about to lose hope, opportunity knocked. And rocked…