1
She stood two places ahead of me in the lunch line at the IIMA mess. I checked
her out from the corner of my eye, wondering what the big fuss about this South
Indian girl was.
Her waist-length hair rippled as she tapped the steel plate with her fingers like
a famished refugee. I noticed three black threads on the back of her fair neck.
Someone had decided to accessorize in the most academically-oriented B-school
in the country.
'Ananya Swaminathan---best girl in the fresher batch,' seniors has already anointed
her on the dorm board. We had only twenty girls in a batch of two hundred. Goodlooking ones were rare; girls don't get selected to IIM for their looks. They get in
because they can solve mathematical problems faster than 99.99% of India's
population and c***k the CAT. Most IIM girls are above shallow things like makeup, fitting clothes, contact lenses, removal of facial hair, body odour and feminine
charm. Girls like Ananya, if and when they arrive by freak chance, become instant
pin-ups in out testosterone-charged, estrogen-starved campus.
I imagined Ms Swaminathan had received more male attention in the last week
than she had in her entire life. Thus, I assumed she'd be obnoxious and decided
to ignore her.
The students inched forward on auto-pilot. The bored kitchen staff couldn't
care if they were serving prisoners or future CEOs. They tossed one ladle of
yellow stuff after another into plates. Of course, Ms Best Girl needed the
spotlight.
'That's not rasam. Whatever it is, it's definitely not rasam. And what's that, the
dark yellow stuff?'
'Sambhar,' the mess worker growled.
'Eew, looks disgusting! How did you make it?' she asked.
'You want or not?' the mess worker said, more interested in wrapping up lunch
than discussing recipes.
While our lady decided, the two boys between us banged their plates on the
counter. They took the food without editorials about it and left. I came up right
behind her. I stole a sideways glance - definitely above average. Actually, well above
average. In fact, outlier by IIMA standards. She had perfect features, with eyes,
nose, lips and ears the right size and in the right places. That is all it takes to
make people beautiful- normal body parts - yet why does nature mess is up so
many times? Her tiny blue bindi matched her sky- blue and white slawar kameez.
She looked like Sridevi's smarter cousin, if there is such a possibility.
The mess worker dumped a yellow lump on my plate.
'Excuse me, I'm before him,' she said to the mess worker, pinning him down
with her large, confident eyes.
'What you want?' the mess worker said in a heavy South Indian accent. 'You
calling rasam not rasam. You make face when you see my sambhar. I feed
hundred people. They no complain.'
'And that is why you don't improve. Maybe they should complain,' she said.
The mess worker dropped the ladle in the sambhar vessel and threw up his
hands. 'You want complain? Go to mess manager and complain....see what
student coming to these days,' the mess worker turned to me seeking sympathy.
I almost nodded.
She looked at me. 'Can you eat this stuff?' she wanted to know. 'Try it.'
I took a spoonful of sambhar. Warm and salty, not gourmet stuff, but edible in
a no-choice kind of way. I could eat it for lunch; I had stayed in a hostel for four
years.
However, I saw her face, now prettier with a hint of pink. I compared her to the
fifty-year old mess worker. He wore a lungi and had visible grey hair on his chest.
When in doubt, the pretty girl is always right.
'It's disgusting,' I said.
'See,' she said with childlike glee.
The mess worker glared at me.
'But I can develop a taste for it,' I added in a lame attempt to soothe him.
The mess worker grunted and tossed a mound of rice on my plate.
'Pick something you like,' I said to her, avoiding eye contact. The whole
campus had stared at her in the past few days. I had to appear different.
'Give me the rasgullas,' she pointed to the dessert.
'That is after you finish meal,' the mess worker said.
'Who are you? My Mother? I am finished. Give me two rasgullas,' she insisted.
'Only one per student,' he said as he placed a katori with one sweet on her
plate.
'Oh, come on, there are no limits on this disgusting sambhar but only one of
what is edible,' she said. The line grew behind us. The boys in line didn't mind.
They had a chance to legitimately stare at the best-looking girl of the batch.
'Give mine to her,' I said and regretted it immediately. She'll never date you, it
is a rasgulla down the drain, I scolded myself.
'I give to you,' the mess worker said virtuously as he placed the dessert on my plate.
I passed my katori to her. She took the two rasgullas and moved out of the
line.
OK buddy, pretty girl goes her way, rasgulla-less loser goes another. Find a corner to
sit, I said to myself.
She turned to me. She didn't ask me to sit with her, but she looked like she
wouldn't mind if I did. She pointed to a table with a little finger where we sat down
opposite each other. The entire mess stared at us, wondering what I had done to
merit sitting with her. I have made a huge sacrifice - my dessert - I wanted to tell
them.
'I'm Krish,' I said, doodling in the sambhar with my spoon.
'I'm Ananya. Yuk isn't it?' she said as I grimaced at the food's taste.
'I'm used to hostel food,' I shrugged. 'I've had worse.'
'Hard to imagine worse,' she said.
I coughed as I bit on a green chili. She had a water jug next to her. She lifted
the jug, leaned forward and poured water for me. A collective sigh ran through
the mess. We had become everyone's matinee show.
She finished her two desserts in four bites. 'I'm still hungry. I didn't even have
breakfast.'
'Hunger or tasteless food, hostel life is about whatever is easier to deal with,' I
said.
'You want to go out? I'm sure the city has decent restaurants,' she said.
'Now?' We had a class in one hour. But Ms Best Girl had asked me out, even
though for her own stomach. And as everyone knows, female classmates always
come before class.
'Don't tell me you are dying to attend the lecture,'' she said and stood up,
daring me.
I spooned in some rice.
She stamped her foot. 'Leave that disgusting stuff.'
Four hundred eyes followed us as I walked out of the mess with Ms Ananya
Swaminathan, rated the best girl by popular vote in IIMA.
‘Do you like chicken?’ The menu rested on her nose as she spoke. We had come to Topaz, a basic, soulless but air-conditioned restaurant half a kilometer
from campus. Like all mid-range Indian restaurants, it played boring instrumental
versions of old Hindi songs and served little marinated onions on the table.
‘I thought Ahmedabad was vegetarian,’ I said.
‘Please, I’d die here then.’ She turned to the waiter and ordered half a tandoori
chicken with roomali rotis.
‘Do you have beer?’ she asked the waiter.
The waiter shook his head in horror and left.
‘We are in Gujarat, there is prohibition here,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Gandhiji’s birthplace,’ I said
‘But Gandhiji won us freedom,’ she said, playing with the little onions. ‘What’s
the point of getting people free only to put restrictions on them?’
‘Point,’ I said. ‘So, you are an expert on rasam and sambhar. Are you a South
Indian?’
‘Tamilian, please be precise. In fact, Tamil Brahmin, which is way different
from Tamilians. Never forget that.’ She leaned back as the waiter served our meal.
She tore a chicken leg with her teeth.
‘And how exactly are Tamil Brahmins different?’
‘Well, for one thing, no meat and no drinking,’ she said as she gestured a
cross with t he chicken leg.
‘Absolutely,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘I didn’t say I am a practising Tam Brahm. But you should know
that I am born into the purest of pure upper caste communities ever created.
What about you, commoner?’
‘I am a Punjabi, though I never lived in Punjab. I grew up in Delhi. And I have
no idea about my caste, but we do eat chicken. And I can digest bad sambhar
better than Tamil Brahmins,’ I said.
‘You are funny,’ she said, tapping my hand. I liked the tap.
‘So where did you stay in hostel before?’ she said. ‘Please don’t say IIT, you
are doing pretty well so far.’
‘What’s wrong with IIT?’
‘Nothing, are you from there?’ She sipped water.
‘Yes, from IIT Delhi. Is that a problem?’
‘No,’ she smiled, ‘not yet.’
