It begins with this one hour.
"There is some news I have to give you", I say. "And its not good news. And I have lied to you for some time now." What is it, she asks quietly. I take her deep breath and tell her the whole story.
For the first time in my life, I truly feel bad about what I have done. All my friends are sending home money. I am asking my mother for another semester's worth of fees.
Shame is a strange thing. It can keep you sleepless and ashamed for a while. But if you let it die down, it passes away. We reason with ourselves and assure our consciences that it is not that bad. That anybody could have made the same mistake. Having created that web of perfunctory satisfaction, we are able to settle back into a wayward ease: the ability to sit around and watch while things get more fucked up.
I must not let that happen. Cannot. And the only way to salvage what is left, is to remember this moment and the shame it brought. That is why I write this story. So that I can tell you the past, and take you through my present. And perhaps watch with me while I try my best to fix what I had screwed up.
"Send me all your emails and college information", my mother says on the phone. I send her a year's worth of interactions between myself and the college authorities. Mother and father go through the details quietly.
"You say the issue is sorted?", mother asks.
"Yes", I reply. "I attended my first class today."
"You'll finish it without any further problems?"
"Yes. I will."
"Okay. We do not have any money right now. We will have to put it on your father's credit card perhaps. But I guess we will come up with money somehow. There is no other choice."
I think about how much trouble I have already caused to my parents. And how they still stand behind me, supporting, loving. And when I think about it, I feel like crying.
That night, for the first time in months, I sleep like a baby. Knowing somebody is out there to help you out, is the most amazing feeling in the world. Considering everything I have gone through the last one year, this feeling is truly a blessing.
See it for yourself.
***
{Part One: Back to America. Sept 2007}
I returned to the United States on the 11th of September, 2007. After three amazing months of talking philosophy, hanging out with friends, rediscovering the joys of flirting and throwing caution to the wind, I returned to a country where nobody has time.
And I returned completely unprepared.
I returned, without a place to stay, relying entirely upon the two girls I had met and befriended here in Jersey. They were my best friends here. Hell, they were my only friends. And having spent the last two semesters discovering the beauty of a new friendship - something as complete and limitless as the friendships I had unwitting chanced upon in India (the ASBs I mean), I took them for granted, recklessly believing they would take care of anything; Be there every little time that I wanted them to be there.
I did not put too much of a thought into it. I just assumed that they would put up with me. What were friends for after all? A year later, I realize how I had perhaps intruded upon them. Expected much more than what was right for me to have asked. And I cannot say that without accepting (perhaps as a second thought) that they dealt with the situation splendidly. It was not always easy for them. But they understood that I had returned with a different mind frame. It would take a while for me to adjust to this new scenario.
I returned to the United States, lugging three pieces of suitcases, and no apartment of my own. But the future, despite this little problem seemed bright. I was back here after a vacation. And Papi was here. My friend for many years, whom I had hung out with, with whom I had exercised the constant excuse of being an expert cancerstick quitter was now going to be my roomie!
Things couldn't have been better. At least that's how it appeared.
***
(Part 2: The Apartment Situation)
Finding an apartment wasn't turning out to be as simple as I had imagined.
Papi and I spent days hunting, roaming the streets of Harrison, New Jersey trying to find a place. We left in the mornings and returned at nights, looking up rental Ads, and calling people. In the nights, Papi stayed with my old roomies, the ones I had left behind. I, on the other hand, felt no urge to give those guys any sort of inconvenience. Not when my two friends, the two girls, were here to help me out.
And yet, as the days slipped into the second week, and moved dangerously close to the third week of September, there was a tension in the air. Classes had begun, of course. But I unwittingly ended up missing a few, considering that I still had to find an apartment to move into.
One day, as I was on the road searching for an apartment, the girl calls me up.
"Have you found an apartment yet?", she asks.
"I am still looking", I reply.
"Find it quickly. What are you doing?", she asks, her tone accusatory. I understand months later, that she perhaps had her own issues and reasons to react the way she did, but at that moment, her accusation came to me like a bolt of shock.
I tell her that I have been looking, and that even now, I am out, meeting landlords. But when I hang up the phone, I am not feeling good anymore. I turn to Papi and tell him, I need to find an apartment today. I need to sign the contract. I will sleep on the contract if I have to but I will not go back to their place for the night.
As luck would have it, we find the apartment we will live the next one year. It is not the best of apartments, considering that the rent is a trifle too high for me. Papi and me end up sharing a big room. But it has got to do. I have no time to search.
We move out that weekend, and the last night at the girl's place, they finally open up and tell me the story. About how the girl has been continuously complaining about my presence in the apartment. And how my friends had to alleviate, argue and fight them, just to keep me unaware of the issues she had.
It was a new relationship for her. In a way, I had been intruding.
"I am moving out now", I tell the girls. "Thanks for sticking by me."
***
(Part 3: The New Apartment. Oct 2007)The new apartment had a very large kitchen. That was its saving grace, really. The fact that when you walked in through the main door you saw this very large kitchen. That's why we took the apartment, I think. That and the fact that I was running short of options. We might have thought twice if we had an option, but what made me jump on the line and sign it, was that very large kitchen.
The fact that the kitchen also doubled up as a living room, never occurred to us at the time. All that we saw back then was that we could sit on any side of the counter that ran from one end to other. There was also this very big backyard, which was another saving grace, but what really made us take the house, like I said before, was the very large kitchen.
Because there was nothing else about the apartment really. It had a small independent room, which we offered to the third roomie, Tumululu. A guy I picked up through orkut. And then it had a huge double room sort of, with a doorless archway separating each side. I took one side, Papi took the other.
Now the biggest drawback of this apartment was the fact that the only bathroom in the apartment, lay at Papi's end of the room, which meant that Tumululu, had to come through all our rooms to use the bathroom. It didn't seem much of a drawback in the beginning, (considering how we were all charmed by the very large kitchen) and it doesn't seem like much of a hassle right now (we still love the kitchen). But there were times when this system
tested us. Times when we didn't wanna see each other's faces and were forced to.
But all said and done, the month of October began with a promise. With a new apartment, some new furniture and classes that I finally began to attend.
Things still looked good.
***
{Part 4: When things got bad. November/December 2007 }It is hard to pinpoint exactly
when things went wrong. But if you ask me to think about it, and deliberate upon when exactly I had started fucking things up, I will have to accept a very simple and basic fact.
That things were
always bad. Some people learn from other people's mistakes. Some people need to get fucked to learn. I guess I fall in the latter category. My every action, my lack of regard or responsibility was a disaster waiting to happen.
If there was any chance of me saving myself, it should begin with me accepting this basic fact.
As the month of November began, I was already lagging behind in one class. I couldn't bring myself to attend it. I had begun that particular class on a bad note, did not like the professor too much. Besides, the class required a considerable amount of input that I found impossible. To make things worse, I was forced to give an impromptu talk in the first class, and that somehow spiralled into me being nominated as a project manager.
I have had a tough time owning up to responsibility. In November 2007, I wasn't ready. The job description of Project manager required a consistent effort which was not too easy to achieve for me. Things have changed since then. Today, I am working hard, running behind classes and work. Today, I am planning what to do with the rest of my week.
I realize, as I write these words, that this one year is going to be the year that changes me. I could learn now, perhaps. Or I could forever be the bum. It isn't easy getting up on time for work, or telling yourself that you
HAVE to sleep at eleven in the night. I am usually the kind that is up till four in the morning. But that is exactly what I have to avoid.
The only thing that keeps me going, keeps me getting up, going to work and doing my assignments is my fear that I am prone to fuck up. That I am very much capable of still fucking everything up!
And honestly, I don't want to fuck up anymore.
Back in November 2007, I couldn't bring myself to attend the classes regularly. I did manage to perform well in two of the subjects. But the responsibility of being a project manager was causing some adverse effects on my third paper. It was going bad. Really bad. And still, I stuck to the motions of making it to classes. Barely.
During my trip to India, I had taken two distance learning classes. But faced with the prospects of meeting my friends, meeting women and having yet another stab at love, I ignored them completely. And then one day, I realized with alarm that I was lagging backwards in several submissions. There was only one option left. I dropped the courses. A bit too late it was, incurring a fee of four thousand dollars. No small amount. But hell, it was not my money. And things could be deliberated on a more serious day when I was back in the U.S.
Some time during November 2007, the serious day should have come. It didn't. I had already incurred a fee of four thousand. But somehow I still took things lightly. The current semester fees was another eight thousand dollars. Father sent me the money. I should have paid it immediately.
I didn't.
The money instead was spent on rents, grocery and frequent eat outs. I remember a certain night when Papi suddenly decided that we need cheesecakes after dinner. The Eight thousand dollars had just arrived, and even as I paid for the outrageously expensive cheese cakes, I remember thinking that this was my fees money I was spending. It did occur to me that at some point, I would have to start working. However that day would come in a future, when this money didn't last, and I spent it, on cheesecakes, beef steaks in Hoboken and rounds of shots for everybody. I had cash, I wasn't working and money flowed out of my hands like water.
{Part 5: The Down slide begins. December 2007}The first week of December 2007 brought with it the semester finals. Three exams, one of which I had fucked up irrevocably. An email was shot to the professor and he offered me a chance to redo the exams next semester. That satisfied me.
The other two finals went well, with an above average grade that would have still put me in a decent standing. At least that's what I thought.
On December 15th, just as the semesters finished, I realized I was not able to access my grades. One of my friends had called, informing me that I got a B+ in one of the courses. Unable to access it online, I clicked on student records and stared at the screen in horror.
"THE STUDENT IS REMOVED FROM ROLLS FOR NON PAYMENT OF FEES".
I broke into a cold sweat as I hurriedly got dressed and made my way to school. I had Eight thousand dollars (or close to it), in cash. I ran to the Registrar office and stammered incoherently about how I had made it with the fees. The lady looked at my records and shook her head.
"No", she says. "You are no longer a student here. You will have to reapply."
The remainder of the day constituted trips to graduate advisers, the Dean and the office of international students. Nobody was ready to meet me. It was the last day of the semester. Holiday mood had already set in. Everybody was thinking vacations.
I returned home defeated, unable to believe that I had somehow managed to get myself removed from rolls. Holidays had begun. Christmas and New Years were on their way. Whatever would happen, could only be done after school started again.
I sat home two days in depression. At home, Papi and Sandheep were in holiday mood too. Papi could not understand my lack of reasons to stay home. I could not bring myself to tell him about what had happened.
With a wary glance at my bank balance, I did the only thing I could, given that it was holiday season.
I went out and partied.
***
{Part 6: Trauma (Jan-May 2008)}The second week of January, when school finally reopened, I made a visit to the admissions department to try get readmitted. I was informed that I would need to show up with financial documents to prove I had enough funds for another year at NJIT.
Such a document would have to be produced from home. I made a call to mother with some bullshit about considering to opt for PhD. Mother promised to send the required documents as soon as she could.
Mother acted promptly enough, sending me the statements. I made my way with the documents to school. The lady at the admission office took my documents and told me I would be informed by mail if my admission was approved.
"No", I tried to explain. "I was already a student here. I have finished half my course. I got expelled for not paying the fees."
"You will be informed by mail", she replied, unyielding and unhelping.
I returned home not knowing what else to do. The new semester started in a week. I was yet to choose any classes. I sat home awaiting a mail.
January passed. February began. The mail never came.
What came instead is five months of joblessness.
The first few weeks of January involved trips to college. A desperate attempt to get back into the rolls. As I realized that this little task would not be possible, I settled back into the securities of my apartment.
I sat at home. No school to go to. No job. Slowly spending the eight thousand dollars in my bank account, and was faced with a more immediate worry.
How do I
appear to be doing something useful?
I shared a double room with Papi, as I mentioned before. He had a strict schedule of work, when he had to, and party when he could afford to. I had neither the means to work, nor the funds to party. And this led to what I can now reflect back on, to a few months of trauma.
He wakes up every morning at the first ring of his alarm and gets ready for a productive day at work. He does not dwell unnecessarily or waste time. He is ready and out, in the least possible amount of time. Sometimes, before he heads out, he throws an expression at me.
I usually wither under that expression. It kills me. I might be awake till six fifty. But just as Papi's biological clock starts to stir, I shut down the laptop and dive under the covers of my blanket - my cover from the harsh cruelties of reality. I hide under the cover, while Papi sometimes grunts, pissed off at eternity for having created creatures like me. At other times, he leaves quietly. An equally mortifying silence.
He knows I am awake under the covers. I know he knows, but I wait there patiently, unwilling to hear his condescending tone or any hurting remarks about the loser I am becoming. I stay this way until he closes the door behind him. And then, I am free.
Until he returns at least.
I spent days, hell months, following this schedule. I am awake most of the day. But just before Papi, or Tumululu, return from their individual school and job, at about 7pm, I am already inside my blanket and deep in sleep. Sometimes, I wake up at around eleven, and can hear them as they move around the apartment. I close my eyes and go back to sleep.
I finally wake up at about 12 am, after the lights have switched and both have passed out for the night. I stay awake till the morning, like a vampire, feasting on conversations in Google talk or writing stupid little stories that will never see the light of a publication.
Now there have been times, when I have tried to break this habit.
Sometimes, Papi cannot stand me sleeping anymore, and plays loud music. He wakes me up, or calls my phone or lets me know through chat messengers that he intends to go out, and expects me to join him. I try. Several times, attempts to have a good time, end with them ridiculing the fact that I am not going for classes or doing anything useful. Stuck between Papi and Tumululu, who is irritating in his own unexplainable ways, I realize that these attempts to hang out with him, leave me more depressed than ever.
And so, I return to my sleeping.
There have been times when I am tired of sleeping. I leave home with Papi, in the pretext of going for a class. I hang around school, writing stories, walking around, reading a book, knowing even as I do it, that this activity doesn't change the fact that I don't have a class to attend. Or that I am still irreversibly in a slump.
Will I ever finish my degree?
It was a question I had no answer to, as I spent those days.
The most of the trauma I felt between Jan and April came from the fact that I had no clue what I was doing and two people to remind me about that everyday. The reminders came suddenly, unexpectedly, when I was least expecting it, and there wasn't anything I could do to refute it. I couldn't explain my situation and what happened. I couldn't help it.
Sometime in April, Papi went to India for his vacation. And this is something I have to give credit to him and acknowledge as one of his good qualities. He asked me before he left to India, about what exactly he should be telling to folks there about what I am up to.
"Tell them I am looking out for consultants", I said.
He said that exactly. No more no less. Back in Jersey he might be sarcastic and compulsive. But he is no back stabber. And when he went back home, he kept mum. That is something I appreciate.
After Papi left for his vacations, I got ready for the next semester to begin. In May 2008, I reapplied for admission at NJIT. I was informed that the documents I had submitted would not be accepted. I needed to get new documents again. Again, I called home. It took a week for the papers to come. I was a few days too late to register. Just before my eyes, even as I strived to get the documents, yet another semester went down the drain.
What I was looking at, was three more months of despair. Getting admitted wasn't as easy as I expected. My bank balance showed about $3000 remaining. I had spent the remaining money on nothing.
I believe now, that if things had gone on that way, I could have gone crazy. I would have. But three people entered my life at that point.Two of them helped preserve my sanity in the crazy world I lived in. And they did it unwittingly. The third, provided me with the guts to stand up on my own two feet. She pursued me relentlessly, even at times when I was mean to her, and convinced me I could break through the system.
It is to her that I dedicate this post.
But before that, came the month of June. Papi returned from a vacation to India, and we sat at a bar on my birthday. I was twenty five years old.
And completely clueless.
***
{Part 7: Darkness and Hope. (July-August 2008)} If I could sum up my life in one line, I would call it an avalanche of mistakes.
I have thrown away some of the best things that came my way. I have spoiled relationships, wasted opportunities and shrugged off responsibilities. And I made all these mistakes often with a casual indifference, sometimes with a premeditated arrogance and at other times, just caught up in the comforting familiarity of laziness.
And yet amidst all this chaos and despair, there have still been a few electrifying moments. The sort of moments that helped preserve my faith. Faith that there really was such a thing called destiny and that the impulsive brash mistakes and series of wrong turns I had taken, could somehow lead me to a right person and a right future.
And one day, when I reach that crucial point when all would be well, I would look behind me and finally see that every mistake, every failure is but a way of teaching me and leading me on to my moment of bliss.
My moment of all.
But sometimes only faith is not enough. You need a ray of hope and a muse to help you along. And in the moments of extreme darkness when it so frickin' hard to sacrifice the solidarity of a painstakingly lazy existence with routine everyday drudgery, we need somebody to tell us it will be worth it. Tell us that we too would reach our moment of all. We need somebody to tell us the darkness, however dark, can still be beaten. We all need that girl. The one with a velvet glove and an iron fist, who reaches out to the goodness in us and reminds us it still exists.
Her name is hope.
Hope entered my life unwittingly. It was a chance encounter - a random event I could not have stumbled upon if I hadn't made those mistakes and walked the path I now did. And accustomed to the darkness that had settled all around me, I let her in very hesitantly.
But Hope is a strong girl. She is not always logical or rational about how things stand. She can be whimsical and give you dreams that seem so impossible to achieve that even their thought exhausts you. And yet sometimes, it is the mere extent of her optimism that helps you take your first step.
And once that step is taken an avalanche of mistakes can quickly turn into a series of rightful albeit slow steps that help you trudge uphill.
In early August 2008, life was still dark. I reached home one night, after whiling away time in New York and realized unwittingly that I had lost my phone on the way.
Unsure of what to do, I sat in the backyard and mulled over all the things I had lost that year. The money I had spent, the classes I hadn't attended, and the family back home that still believed in me.
And I broke down and cried for the first time in one year.
There was a moment of clarity after the crying, while I sat and thought it out. I needed money. I needed a part time job. I needed to get back in school.
Yes, life was dark. But the ray of Hope had touched the sky of despair. And despite the fact that the goal was a very distant point uphill, there seemed no harm in taking a tiny little step towards it.
The first step was finding a part time job. Armed with a persuasive Hope and a few friends who helped me look around, I finally found a job that sent me to work three days a week. I was finally breaking the crazy sleep routine and fixing a pattern in my life. It was a small step. Nevertheless, it put things in motion. Hope told me I should try harder and I realized she was right.
I began to try.
Trying began with an attempt to get back into school. Easier said than done though, because school was not going to let me get back so easily. The documents I had submitted in May 2007 had by some remarkably unsurprising act of bureaucracy remained unchecked by the authorities. Two weeks before yet another semester would begin, I was informed that I would need new documents because the documents I had submitted could not be accepted.
I was exasperated. But Hope pushed me on, believing in me and tricking me into believing in myself.
And so yet again, I called home. Yet again, mother dearest sent me the required papers. And yet again, as I submitted the documents, I was informed by the authorities that I would need to show another $9000 in cash. I had two days left to submit that statement.
It was a race against time.
Now, banks in the United States don't give statements that easily, specially when you have just transferred a large sum of money. Statements are usually mailed to you, and take anywhere between a week to ten days to reach. Also, these statements are never signed by a manager. It is usually a photocopy of your online statement.
As a direct mockery of Bank procedures, school authorities were very specific about wanting a hand signed document showing the exact figure, and duly notarized. Given that I had only two days, God would have to come down from heaven and sign those statements for me.
But I decided to worry about God later, and concentrated on getting money into the account first.
In a desperate effort, I turned to two friends I had written off as uninterested in my life. Two friends to whom I had often given a cold shoulder based mostly on their lack of constant touch and attention. Two girls - friends, who had at one time being my sole support in an unfriendly country, and upon whom, I had heaped a load full of grievances because they had gone on their ways and found their own little acquaintances and friends.
They came through in fine style, supporting me in my moment of need. They did not giving me a single second to mull over it. In less than a day, I had $7000 in cash in my account.
That evening as I returned to my apartment, I had a clear thought in my head.
We spend our entire lives catering to people who we believe are cooler, more sophisticated and more fun to be around. We can hang around them and mock lesser mortals who live more mundane (or so we believe) lives. But when the moment of truth comes along and it is time to prove the mettle of friendship, we often find that the more sophisticated, cooler people we clung on to, don't give a damn. And it's the ones we had written away as uninterested (or uninteresting) that really care.
I called another friend, one I rarely made time for, Rahul Bhansali and asked him for cash. He transferred $2000 to my account without a word.
A life crunched up in mistakes and thrown away for other people's pleasure has finally has taught me this one big lesson- It is friends like these that I must learn to treasure. If I could take this lesson with me, I have won half the battle.
With the required $9000 in my account, and less than a day left to submit an almost impossible to get bank statement, I realized only God could help me out now. Hope told me he would. But I would have to ask really hard.
That night, I knelt my head on the prayer mat. And prayed to Allah.
***
{Part 8: The day this story began (September 10th 2008) }Listen now.
Listen well, because what I'm going to write about now is a miracle. There is no other word for it. You, as you read it, might be tempted to trivialize it. You might be tempted to explain it away as a lucky coincidence. Or you might turn a philosopher and say that sometimes in life, when you really want something, life just gives it to you. You wouldn't be wrong. But you wouldn't be entirely right. Because what happened in my case was a miracle, and just like the Bad Motherfucker says in Pulp Fiction - This was divine intervention.
Over a period of time, while I wrote this blog, I learned many things about life. I also professed an insight on many other things that I perhaps new nothing about. All I had really, was a way with words, and putting into writing the thoughts that plague us in our waking hours. However, there
were a few lessons that I really did learn. And some
did help me change my perspective of life forever. One of them was about God.
Because sometimes, in a world of causes and effect, where you reap what you sow and success or failure is merely the fruit of what you plough, it helps to have a God to believe in - a miracle, (if you like that word better), to guide you through and tell you that you are not alone.
My miracle came to me that morning, as I woke up with $9000 worth of cash in my bank and roughly four hours to submit a bank statement and secure my admission.
My interactions with Bank of America had taught me this much. They never go out of the way to help you. Twice, I had spent entire days sitting in their waiting room. Several times I had spoken to several managers requesting an urgent Bank statement. Several times, they had informed me that indeed, such a statement was possible. And indeed, such a statement would be mailed to me.
It would cost me $10 and take me ten days to reach.
Several times, it was too late. And every single time, it was a photocopy, while I had specially requested an original.
On the day in question, I woke up to what would be my final attempt.
I began the day with a prayer. I prayed for a solution to all my problems. I prayed for happiness for my parents, who had for too long supported and suffered for me. I prayed for a good future. But most importantly, I prayed for the bank statement.
As I left home, a sudden (divine?) inspiration came to me. Perhaps, I could try a different bank in a different city, I thought. I looked through google maps and found an obscure branch in a bad neighborhood.
With less than two hours left for the statement submission deadline, I hopped on my bike and made my way to the other city. Even as I rode my bike through the ghetto, I knew that this was going to my last attempt. It was either getting the statement today, or forgoing the masters degree and returning home unsuccessful.
However, I couldn't afford to think that way. I couldn't afford to dwell in pessimism in that last minute. This time, I had diligently spent day after day pursuing college authorities. I had borrowed money from friends. I had met everybody from Dean to Class Advisor. I had cycled to a different city. I had prayed.
This was me having put my best effort ever.
The Bank manager was a bubbly short black lady. She smiled at me when I entered and motioned me to a seat.
"How can I help you?", she asked.
I explained my problem to her.
She smiled again and pranced to her feet, almost eager to please. I sat waiting. She returned ten minutes later with a statement. I opened it with my hopes raising and felt them sinking again as I looked at the statement. This was not a letter. This was a statement showing my online transactions.
I told her that I would need a letter of the "To whomever it may concern" format. Her smile disappeared.
"We don't do that", she said, suddenly distant. I looked at her desperately and realized this was the moment of my test.
"I have been waiting for this statement for the last ten months, Ma'am", I told her.
"I have wasted a year of my life waiting for Bank of America to issue me this statement. I am trying to get readmitted at NJIT. The college authorities are very adamant of requiring a letter stating my funds. Bank of America has been consistently refusing to do that. And caught between their bureaucracy, I have wasted Ten thousand dollars doing nothing. I just sit at home, hoping each semester that my admission goes through. I cannot do this anymore. If you do not help me today and my admission does not go through, I will have to return to my country."
The lady looked at me thoughtfully for a minute. And then a smile appeared on her face.
"Schools can be very adamant", she said. "Just give me one minute while I print the letter for you."
As the printer was printing out the document, she looked at me and smile. "There are a lot of Indians in my neighborhood", she said. "They are very sweet people."
"You are one of the sweetest people I have met", I told her, as she beamed and smiled.
The statement took a few minutes to print, and while I sat there, I couldn't help feel tremors in my body. It had taken me roughly nine months to get to this point. And suddenly, out of the blue, everything was falling into place oh-so-easily.
It was a miracle.
With the bank statement kept carefully in my bag, I raced my way to school. I spoke to a college official - an uninterested man who had dismissed me offhandedly only one day ago, asking for a new bank statement, knowing that in all probability such a statement would be impossible.
I reached him on time with an impossible document. He looked a little surprised, but he tried to hide it. "Hold on", he said gruffly.
Twenty minutes later, he returned with an I-20.
"You are admitted", he said. "You can register and attend your classes."
In another twenty minutes, my classes were registered for. My class advisor was a lovely lady called Kathleen Price, who kept herself available during all my times of need. Without her assistance it couldn't have been possible. With her help, here I was finally.
Having run around all day, I suddenly realized I had nothing left to do. I sat down for the first time that day. I looked at my class schedule. I felt numb. I am unable to believe that I am finally here. I looked at my schedule again. I noticed that my first class begins in one hour. My first class in the last one year.
I am delirious.
Getting here has been a milestone by itself. Where it will lead from now is another journey altogether, but it is a journey I can write about. And shape as I go.
I do not know who else to call. I am bursting with the need to tell this story. There is only one solution. I open my laptop and click on new post.
And so, I sat outside Cryptography & Security class as I wrote those first words.
***
{Part 9: The Long Walk Uphill (Sept-December 2008) }
In the midst of finding myself attending classes after one whole year, coming to terms with the fact that I was out of touch with mathematics, and dealing with telling my parents the real truth for the first time, that first week was September was very tough.
My parents reacted considerably well, given that it was at least ten thousand dollars in cash that I had blown away doing nothing. At yet, as the full extent of my waywardness finally sunk in, they began to demand a daily update. They wanted frequent assurances that any further expenditure toward me would be worthwhile. It was more than understandable, their expecting this. And yet, the repeated task of assuring them often became cumbersome.
The reason why it was cumbersome was this: I still had no idea about the future. Because though I had managed to get myself registered for the classes, my GPA was low - Way below average. I had taken things very lightly thusfar. And in order to graduate, my performance would now have to be exemplary.
My confidence levels were at a minimal. I have never truly worked hard before, and this was the first time such an effort would be required. Also, I had begun writing this post and accrued an interested audience who wanted to know what the hell was I really up to. The post was meant to help me succeed. By mid September, the post became one of the reasons I worked so hard.
I wanted it to end successfully.
I registered for four courses that semester. Three of them were advanced level courses, requiring a lot of work. One was a management course (already taken, graded and NOT posted on my transcript because I hadn't paid the fees, requiring me to register for it again).
As the month of September began, I was working three days a week. Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. 9.30 am to 7 pm. The work was strenuous. Both back and mind breaking. Yet, it was required. I had spent too much cash already.
But as a consequence of the work, weekends became offlimit for anything but work. And sleep.
I had classes Mondays through Thursdays. There were tons of assignments, submissions and deadlines. It was required that I sit after class and complete these. I had no time or energy in the weekends.
I worked very hard. And when I felt that I was going in the right direction, I wrote this post. I lost touch with friends with whom I had dilly dallied on Gtalk and orkut for months and months. They were important, yes. But this was much much more important. For the first time in my life, I understood the lessons my father had harped upon me time and again. Friends will wait. Work and money is of prime importance.
September to December 2008 turned out to be the most productive months of my life. Although a majority of those months passed with constant body ache and lack of sleep, they were also some of the happiest months of my life. For the first time since eternity, I finally had a direction.
As quickly as the last one year had passed, I found these three months to be the slowest time in my life. Deadlines for project submissions came endlessly, each deadline like a minor heart attack, and each successful score like an assurance that a decent grade was possible. I was not fucking up another ten thousand dollars. Yet.
In the onset of November, RSK flew down from Clemson to visit me. He is one of my best friends - the sort of friend who is more like a brother. In normal circumstances, I would have put everything on hold for him and given him undivided attention. This time, I was not facing normal circumstances.
RSK stayed at my apartment, hung out with my roomies, but saw very little of me. He complained. But as true friends usually do, he understood that I was caught in the circle of duty. I, on the other hand, could see that he had put away all his work to spend a weekend with me.
I made additional efforts.
The whole of that week, I worked till 9 p.m, returned home by 10, and called RSK's phone. He was usually in New York with Papi and Samson. I took a hot shower to get rid of the bodyache, and made my way to the city. I usually reached New York by 11.30 in the night. We roamed the city and returned by 4 a.m. I slept for three hours and got up for work. I had to be there by 8.
I could go on and on, being descriptive about the rest of December- about friends, assignments and all the extra time I began to put at work. I could explain how hard I worked and how many times I was on the verge of cracking.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is somewhere in the end of December, my results came out. I logged on to the college website to see my results. As I saw my grades, a surge of relief washed over me.
I had appeared for four papers. Three of the results were out. In all three papers I scored B+. No small achievement, considering that they were all advance level courses and I had also been working half the week. The fourth paper would be graded in another day. But I was already insanely happy. I had waited for a successful tide of events for too long. I couldn't wait no more. I yelled out to my roomies that my grades are out. And that I had done a good job. In my enthusiasm, I over said it. I exclaimed that I was done with my masters - knowing very well, I still had one more paper.
That night, I went out and partied. I drank. I danced all night. I returned home in the wee hours of the morning. I overslept.
As a consequence, I turned up late for work.
Recession had already set in and my Boss was facing his share of trouble. The day I turned up late for work the day before Christmas. It was an important day for his business. I came to work a full four hours late, causing him a shitload of inconvenience. I apologized to him profusely, but he refused to listen.
I was fired.
And so, I returned home on the 24th of December, fired from my part time job, with mixed feelings brewing in my head. I had worked so hard so far, but so what? I had also fucked it all up with a single night's partying. Back home, I looked at my college website again and realized with dismay that the fourth grade was out.
It got a C+. Not even a B.
My thoughts got even more mixed. On one side three B+s was a solid score, achieved chiefly due to four months of solid hardwork. But on the other side, I got a C+ and lost a job, all in one day. This could only be negligence. It probably meant that despite everything that I believed, I had still not done things as well as I could have.
Nevertheless, my roomies were already under the impression that I was done with my masters. I played along and pretended the same. That remaining paper would have to be dealt with in the first week of January - A later time. As unthreatening as next year's winter. This was Christmas season. The roads were filled with drunk people, New Year's eve was a weekend away, and everybody around me was in the mood to party. I did the only thing I could given the circumstances.
As before, I went out and partied.
***
{Part 10 - The Year of the Hangover (2009) }
I spent the first two weeks of January sleeping and nursing a crazy hangover, the remnants of a seasonful of binge drinking. But somewhere around the fifteenth of the month, I suddenly awoke to a moment of clarity. As it often does, clarity was followed by immediate panic.
I had spent roughly eight months doing nothing. I had then spent four months doing a lot of things. And then suddenly, the last three weeks looked a lot like a relapse in habit. In no circumstances did I want to get back to doing nothing again. I quickly packed my school bag and went to school.
I registered for my final course. And then I sat and thought about what else I could do. For the first time, I realized that I had waded through life this long, with no planning of any sort. The reason I was in this precarious position was a stupid mistake - I hadn't paid the fees on time. That was a lack of foresight. A lack of planning. I remember that day, while I sat in the campus center and made a brief outline of what possible options I could take for my future.
All plans withstanding, The Year 2009 started very slowly. I had a single course left, which would finish some time in May 2009. Nevertheless, I had spent a significant portion of two years drinking, partying and catering to friends. I did not want to follow down the same path.
In February 2009, we finally left that apartment and went our ways. Papi moved to Jersey City - I helped him move his stuff. I moved to another apartment in Harrison. With my own space for the first time in one year, I could now concentrate on what lay ahead.
What eventually lay ahead was four months of working on the course, which required a considerable amount of work by itself. It was an advance level course consisting of four assignments, four term projects, one term paper and a final examination, spread across four months. A good grade required a consistent performance in each and every part.
I needed a B+ to graduate, which became scarier as the semester grew to a finish. A B+ meant that my performance had to be better than good - Good constituted about 84% of the class. I need to be better than 84%. I presented an extra paper to get extra credits and comfortably get the grade I required. The additional work I put in required some amount of isolation from my friends - Papi wanted to meet up and hang out. I had to say many no's.
Now the reason for saying so many no's was that, I had ended up claiming I was done with my masters. That meant another round of appearing to do something useful. Only difference was, I was very busy. But I had to lie about what exactly I was busy with. I cooked up a story about a CCNA exam which I intended to give. I stuck to the story for four months.
With the last week of May, came the final exams. I worked hard. I prayed consistently. I even grew a beard. Interspersed with my project and exam submissions came times when it became necessary to meet my friends - it was impossible to completely alienate everyone. And then there were others who kept inquiring about what I was upto. There were bouts of lies. Claims of CCNA and others. I did my best of keeping my nose to the ground and working. The hardest I ever have.
And despite all that, the final exam turned out to be a very tough paper. The examination was online, and though I had spent months preparing for it. I did not answer even one of the four questions rightly. After nearly one and half years of struggle, the night I finished the exam, I was very dejected. And exhausted.
I went to New York, called up a few friends who knew about my situation, and told them I had fucked up again. What I was looking at could be another four months of studying. This was the saddest and most exasperating day of my life. There were no clear thoughts. My beard grew messy, I didn't take baths, I sat and sulked for four days. I slept most of the time.
I remember a series of thoughts as I waited those four days. I knew I had spent the last one year in perpetual running. I knew that I was finally facing the
moment of truth. And yet, I felt for the first time in my life, that though I was exhausted, though I had stuck on for so long, I knew that I had done the right thing. And knowing that fact, gave me the energy to still hold on and plunge on - if things didn't go my way.
I woke up suddenly on May 17th evening and saw there were seventeen missed calls in my phone.
I rubbed my eyes and opened my computer screen. Pavan had left me some offlines.
"You have cleared, Jackass!", he had typed. "You got a B+! You are FREE!"
Pavan and the girls had access to my account. They had spent the last few hours awaiting my grade, (hoping and letting hope guide them), and had finally seen the result even before I did.
I myself opened the grades and saw the B+. I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and thought for a minut about the last one year. And what it had taken me to get here. Strangely, all I seemed to recollect was how the few people who cared for me had stuck on for so long. I took a shower, walked around the room a little, sat down on the bed and let the realization sink in.
I was done with my masters.
I was free.
***
{Epilogue (June 14th 2009) }
Today, I return to India for good.
My bags are packed and ready. Yesterday night, I was given a farewell party of sorts. In less than three hours, I have to make my way to the Airport. After finishing some trivial shopping, my mind still in a haze, I run back to Pavan's apartment and pick up a laptop.
There is a conclusion I still have to write. Time is less. Thoughts are heavy and mixed.
Summing up one year and eight months of life, action and mistakes is not going to be easy. This time has been the most complex and illuminating time of my life. I have reached the bottommest pit of existence, and have risen, not by chance or fluke, but by slow fruit bearing hardwork. I have witnessed the true colors of friendship, learned about making stances, being on guard, working hard, keeping up trust and bestowing trust with reticence.
I learned that work is surmount. I learned that people can be selfish, and it is easy to hold grievances, but eventually, all you really feel is the need to be forgiving. I learned that what people said or did doesn't matter in retrospect. When you are walking away, all you feel is the need to forgive everybody and give them all a hug. You know that in little ways, they all love you.
With this, a significant portion of my life is over. At this moment, I am free. I can choose whatever path I want from here. But the path I choose, will be planned. I understand the need for duty now. I know I will go back home. I will meet the family that loved me and supported me so far. But I will not take their love for granted. Instead I will strive to give them the best I can.
I know my parents are going to be demanding. But I understand that they are worried. I will do my best to not snap at them. They have been my biggest support in my moment of crisis. I shall do my best to treat them as friends. I will get a job at the earliest and lend them a hand - show my father that I had been a worthwhile investment after all. I will prove it to my family that their love for me hasn't been for vain.
This period has taught me a lot about friendship. There are people here, who I will cherish in my little ways. They are people I will hold on to. Distance will not diminish their values - only heighten the anticipation to meet them again. Eventually, and perhaps in a better future.
There are others, whose faults I understand deeply for the first time, and in their faults, I see faults in my own character. I will work on my faults, and understand that their friendship isn't a pretention. It is what it is. And I will try and it safe.
I learned a lot about love. I learned that it was selfless. Until a time, when I am able to give it selflessly, I realize that I will have to wait. Time will show a way. I hope.
Laziness was and is my biggest enemy. I shall beat him, with a vengeance. A constant self-check into what I do, and when I do it should suffice in keeping this tactful adversary at bay. I certainly intend to do great things. It begins with the wrapping up with this post.
This post is finished, then. And so is this part of my life. It has been long and winding. It has taken me ages to write about it, and many of the smaller details have been tided over in writing the bigger picture. Nevertheless, this post will suffice. And so will this particular account ofmy past.
For what it was worth, it was worth all the while. The future, as always, lies ahead.
And I shall face it with a smile.
:)
***
Post Script:
I got hired by a German company in 9 days after getting here. Prospects look good, with some travel and salary hikes in the offing.
Provided of course, I don't fuck it up.
(Concluded)
