In Good Faith

RahulThe midday sun rose to its zenith, casting bright rays into the corners of the garden of Ganesh Nivas. Filtering through the dense green foliage, it left a dappled pattern on the grass below, and fell upon the statue of the elephant-headed god sitting benevolently in the centre. Bouncing off the burnished girth of the statue, the dazzling rays then entered a partly-open window of the adjoining building. Inside the room, a young man lay sprawled across the bed, the reflected light illuminating his handsome young visage. Rahul stirred and opened one eye to squint at his bedside clock, averting his head to avoid the bright sunlight streaming onto his face. “What the—? It’s after noon already! I overslept!” he cried. “Why didn’t somebody wake me up?” He tried frantically to remember his schedule for the day at college, but his thoughts were disrupted by the ruffling of paper. Half-rising, he cast his gaze around the bedroom and his eyes fell on a thick tome that lay open on the bedside table, its pages fluttering noisily in concert with the sweeping blades of the fan above. “No wonder I can’t remember—it’s Sunday!” he muttered. He recollected having asked not to be disturbed early that morning and his family had obliged, knowing that he’d been up studying late into the night. The anatomy textbook on his study table bore mute witness to that. He had been so tired that he couldn’t remember crawling into bed or turning off the light. Now he sank back upon his pillow, deciding to savour the peace and solitude. “After all, I deserve it for slogging all week!” he thought to himself, lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, watching the dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight. His thoughts returned to college. The past fortnight had been hectic. It was only a couple of weeks since his first day in medical college, and already his enthusiasm was wearing thin. He had entered with a plethora of emotions—relief as well as exhilaration at getting in, trepidation at the thought of ragging, excitement at the idea of learning to treat disease, and dread of seeing suffering and death at close quarters. But soon enough, all these thoughts had dissipated. Just yesterday on the way home, he had been wondering whether being a doctor was really what he wanted to do with his life. It didn’t seem at all glamorous or exciting, as some people seemed to imagine. It just seemed like a lot of hard work and incomprehensible details to commit to memory. But the pride on his parents’ faces and the joy in their eyes when he got back home banished his misgivings. He resolved to give it another shot by reading up some of the stuff before deciding it wasn't worth his time. So he had again turned to Gray’s Anatomy. He knew that the book was a labour of love, a collaboration between two young doctors in the mid-nineteenth century—the brilliant surgeon Henry Gray who performed the dissections and wrote the text, and his colleague Henry Vandyke Carter, who was responsible for the detail and accuracy of the anatomical illustrations. The book quickly gained recognition beyond expectations, and from then on to the present day, it had been considered an essential ‘rite of passage’ book for generations of medical students. Rahul gazed at it. The faded blue cloth of the cover betrayed that it was second-hand. His cousin Siddharth had given it to him to celebrate his entry into medical college, and Rahul had received the book almost reverently. Glancing through its multicoloured pages, he was surprised to find that it was in pristine condition without a mark or underlining anywhere. Siddharth had said with a chuckle that the absence of the book would free up a lot of space on his bookshelf, and that he was certain that Rahul would be edified. Rahul wondered if Sid had even attempted to read it, since all this talk of edification sounded suspicious to him. Later, when his mother accidentally dropped it while dusting and narrowly missed crushing her toes, he realized why Sid had been so eager to give it away. In his earnestness, Rahul had begun reading it even before he went to college, curious to see what it was like. But he had found that his interest had quickly waned, as the language was so dry and difficult to remember. It took him almost an hour to read through a page and then he inevitably found that he couldn't remember what he had just read. The unfamiliar names of the anatomical structures and their relations, or their nextdoor neighbors in the body, eluded him even though he had a good memory. Nevertheless, he had to admire the magnificence of the work. Rahul marvelled that together the two Henrys had produced a magnum opus with its masterly descriptions and exquisite drawings. He was sure there was no other textbook like it anywhere in the world, but he wished that he didn't have to read the damn thing. The aroma wafting from the kitchen window shook Rahul out of his reverie, reminding him that it was nearly lunchtime. He vaguely remembered someone knocking on his door to ask if he wanted breakfast, and that he had sleepily mumbled that he didn’t want any. But now he was hungry. In a trice he was up, grabbing his toothbrush. He walked out onto the balcony outside his bedroom, from which he had a view of the garden. The statue of Ganesh stood on a pedestal surrounded by a small pool of water which shimmered aquamarine and was adorned with floating rose petals. A motley flock of birds was drinking thirstily, chattering at the water’s edge. When there was more water after the rains, the birds often took a dip, squabbling like toddlers in a splash pool. The toothpaste made Rahul’s mouth tingle, and he turned towards his room when his glance fell on the balcony opposite. His friend Dayton lived there, and they would sometimes talk to each other across the railings. That was when he noticed the stranger lounging in the wicker chair. He appeared to be a few years older than Rahul, and he was lean and wore his hair long. Presently he leaned over the balustrade to watch the birds. “That’s funny, I didn’t know the Perreiras had a guest coming to stay,” thought Rahul. “Wonder why Dayton didn’t mention it?” Dayton was the member of the Perreira clan nearest to Rahul in age, but he was very different in everything else. He considered studies a waste of time and a hindrance to his education. He was into heavy metal, wore his hair in a ponytail and sported an earring as well as tattoos on his biceps, which he proudly flexed to display them in all their glory. His passion was drums, and he created quite a racket at home and much consternation in his apartment block. But for the fact that he had volunteered to play the drums during the annual Ganpati festival which he did with much gusto, his neighbours would not have permitted his talent to flourish. Mrs Perreira doted on her younger son, but despaired of him ever settling down to ‘something serious’, as she put it. She often voiced her concerns to Mrs Joshi as they chatted over coffee or met each other in the park for an evening walk. Rahul’s mother thought Dayton an irresponsible young man and secretly worried that he was a bad influence on her son, but she never mentioned this to Rahul. Young people were so apt to do exactly the opposite of what their parents wished, especially if they were dogmatic or overbearing about it. Besides, her son seemed to be developing into a sensible and mature, if somewhat opinionated, young man. And now he had got into medical college, which was surely any parent’s dream come true. Presently the stranger straightened up, meeting Rahul’s eyes momentarily across the balcony, and disappeared inside. Rahul walked back into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and towelled it dry, then looked in the mirror as he ran a comb through his thick dark hair. If he had been narcissistic, he might have seen much that pleased him. A long chiselled nose, deep brown eyes and lips that easily curved into a smile. But as things were, he wasn't vain except for being thankful in a general sense that he didn't have a bulbous nose or a receding chin. He was glad too, that he had taken after his father in terms of his height, for his mother was petite. Other than that, he didn't care too much about his looks. His casual attitude and way of dressing rendered him more attractive to the opposite s*x, and he had discovered that things worked better for him if he acted as though he was unaware of female appreciation. He hadn't shaved for a couple of days, knowing that the hint of stubble suited him. He put on his spectacles to complete what he imagined to be an edgy but intellectual look, and walked across to the dining area. No sooner had he settled himself at one end of the dining table, than Surabhi, his precocious thirteen year old sister, burst into the room. “They’ve got a paying guest,” she announced grandly, apropos of nothing. “Who has?” asked Rahul, attacking his poori and aloo sabzi. “The Perreiras,” his mother answered placidly, spooning some mango pickle onto his plate. “They finally decided to rent out Derek’s room, as he doesn’t live at home anymore.” “Should fetch them about a cool two thousand a month or so,” added Surabhi importantly. “I heard Mrs Perreira say that’s the going rate in this locality.” “Oh yes, I suppose you just happened to be near their kitchen window and overheard her talking, the way you always happen to be around when there’s a phone call for me,” teased her brother. Surabhi rose to the bait at once, as he had expected. “That’s not fair, Dada! I was in the kitchen helping Ma the other day when Mrs Perreira told her about their PG. I suppose you think I should stick cotton wool in my ears whenever grownups are talking!” She flounced out of the room in a huff. Rahul opened his mouth to retort, but his mother intervened mildly, “Why do you always try to provoke her, you know she’s so touchy about jokes at her expense.” Rahul didn’t answer, but grinned placatingly at his mother. “Ma, what are younger sisters for, if not to tease?” he demanded. “She’ll be okay in a while.” But after lunch, he went up to Surabhi’s room, to see whether she had got over her annoyance at his remark. He was fond of his kid sister, though merciless in his criticism of the new fashions she was always trying out. On the other hand, he called her ‘Little Grandma’ when she tried to act older than her age. Now, he found her lying flat on her stomach on the bed, her nose buried in a book. She didn't look up when he came in, although she heard him enter. He pushed some clothes aside and sat on a chair, surveying the room. A large poster of some film hero he didn’t recognise adorned one wall, while a glamorous model simpered at him from the opposite wall. The headboard of the bed had a bookrack on it, stuffed with paperbacks and a few hardbound volumes. Surabhi was happiest when curled up with a book and hated being disturbed when she was in the middle of a good story. She had even tried bringing novels to the table at mealtimes, but this had been strictly forbidden by her father. “What’s that you’re reading?” asked Rahul, more as a move to open a conversation than out of any real interest. Seeing that no reply was forthcoming, he added, “We could go down to the gym for a swim, if you like. I’ve got nothing to do this evening.” Surabhi frowned and shrugged her shoulders, as if she really didn’t care for the idea. But then she said, “Okay”, because it wasn’t often that her brother offered to take her anywhere—and there didn’t seem to be much point in spending the rest of the day sulking in her bedroom. The weather was warm, and the thought of the cool water was tempting. Rahul got up. “Be ready by 4 pm,” he said, adding, “Sharp!” half-humorously. Before Surabhi could retort, he had left, grinning widely. The summer heat had abated when evening came, and the cool sea breeze felt good against their faces. Surabhi had been ready on time, which surprised Rahul, and the two of them got on their bicycles and made their way slowly to the gym. Rahul led the way, navigating through a maze of little lanes and avoiding the main roads as far as possible, for Surabhi tended to get nervous if a bus came up behind her. They passed a gaggle of little girls playing hopscotch in the shade of a tree, and a few children in ragged clothes, rolling a tyre along with a stick. Soon, they were back on the main road. Riding abreast, Rahul glanced at Surabhi who was determinedly looking straight ahead and studiously ignoring him. Normally, she would be chattering away continuously. Rahul realised that she was still miffed over the incident at lunch, but he also knew that she was longing to hear all about his medical college experiences. “Did you know what happened in the nineteenth century when medical students needed bodies to study anatomy, and there weren't enough cadavers?” Surabhi shrugged her shoulders and gave her curls a little toss, indicating that she couldn’t care less. “Some enterprising fellows started digging up corpses and selling them to the students,” he continued. “Haven't you heard of the Bodysnatchers?” Surabhi seemed uncertain whether this was another of her brother’s jokes, but her curiosity got the better of her. “No, who were they?” she blurted, giving Rahul a sideways glance. “And I don’t want to hear any made-up tales,” she said firmly. “I’m not joking! There was a huge demand for dead bodies so that medical students and doctors could cut them up—dissection, as it’s called even today—and study the internal structure of the human body. And obviously, someone had to supply the bodies, so a whole bunch of thieves called the Bodysnatchers began raiding graveyards at night. They carried off the dead to sell them to medical schools and anatomists. The whole business became so profitable that people had to pay to guard the graves of their loved ones, lest they landed up on a dissection table somewhere!” Surabhi made a face, squeezing her eyes shut and making her bicycle wobble. “How horrible! That can’t be true,” she exclaimed. “And it's even thought that some guys were murdered so that their bodies could be sold,” he said, warming up to the topic on seeing that his sister’s black mood was lifting just a bit. “Just imagine:”—still pedalling, he spread his hands graphically, trying to sound spooky—“A couple of fellows sitting in a dark tavern with a companion whose drink they had poisoned, waiting for him to collapse so they could rush him to their customer waiting in the shadows, and pocket the cash.” Surabhi grimaced. “Do you expect me to believe that story?” “It's quite likely to be true,” protested Rahul. “Haven’t you read of how trafficking in human organs occurs across the world even today? After all, life was extremely tough in those days. People were put to death for petty crimes. There was plenty of violence and cruelty. And who would miss a vagabond if he disappeared?” “That’s disgusting!” Surabhi said, as both of them braked, skidding to a stop and hopping off their bicycles. “I don’t think I want to hear any more.” The ride had left them panting, with little rivulets of sweat running down their backs. As they wheeled their bicycles towards the cycle stand, Surabhi swivelled around and pointed at the only person in the pool, who was swimming lengths, his body cutting strongly through the water. “There he is!” her stage whisper was loud enough to reach the ears of the subject in question, who turned to look at them in amusement. “Who’s he?” inquired Rahul, shaking his head at his incorrigible sister. “Oh, that’s Atul, the Perreiras’ new PG!” exclaimed Surabhi, importantly. “Didn’t you know?” “Now that you mention it, yes, that’s the same guy I saw this morning,” replied Rahul. “What do you think he thinks of you, shouting and pointing at him like that?” They had reached the changing rooms by then and Surabhi did not deign to reply. Instead, she darted inside and was already in the pool by the time Rahul had changed and showered. While he swam a few lengths, she stayed in the shallow end since she wasn’t such a good swimmer. Atul got out of the pool, tossing his head to shake the water out of his long hair, and made his way to the changing rooms. He was tall and lithe, with a tanned body. “He’s quite dishy, isn’t he?” commented Surabhi. “I’ve seen him exercising in the balcony—it’s called pumping iron,” she informed her brother. Rahul burst out laughing. She really was irrepressible. But he admitted to himself that the newcomer did look exceptionally fit, and he resolved to start exercising regularly. Regrettably, these days he was so tired by the time he got home from college in the evenings, he just didn’t feel energetic enough to do any exercising. “Somehow, in the last few years, my studies have completely taken over my life,” he mused regretfully. It had been like that since Class Ten, which was the year of reckoning, so to speak. If you didn’t get a decent aggregate in the all-important Board Exams, you were finished; your fate was sealed. You wouldn’t be admitted into a good college, where everyone was single-mindedly preparing for a career in medicine or engineering, as though those were the only professions worth pursuing. Architecture and dentistry ran a close second, but doctors and engineers were king. You simply had to make the grade, for there were no second chances for those who didn’t. The system was too cruel and offered no redemption. And who would be so foolhardy as to spend time doing useless things like exercising, playing games, or learning to play an instrument? After all, the exams did not take into consideration any of those talents and abilities. Eat, sleep, study…eat, sleep, study…that was the rhythm to which most students performed. “You can stay there a bit longer if you like. I'm going in to change,” said Rahul. “No, I’m coming out too,” Surabhi replied. There was a light drizzle as they were returning home, and the pavements glistened with little puddles reflecting the streetlights overhead. The smell of rainwashed earth came to Rahul's nostrils. It would make quite a heady perfume, he thought, if only it weren’t mingled with the faint whiff of decaying fish. After dinner was over, and the family had retired for the night, Rahul walked out onto his balcony. The rain had cleared up the haze and dust and the sky was bedecked with stars. But the garden below was cloaked in darkness. Suddenly, Rahul saw a match flare, and then a cigarette-end glowed brightly. Someone was on the balcony of the house opposite. It could only be the new resident, as Mr Perreira was out of town, and Dayton didn’t smoke. “Mrs Perreira is certainly not going to like that,” he thought as he turned away from the balcony. Tomorrow was Monday, and he had to be in college for a morning lecture followed by Dissection. He turned off the light, plunging the room in darkness, and slipped under the bedcovers. He fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.