It has been a few months, and I am getting used to his delightful comments such as tugging the loose strands of my hair behind my ears, wanting to kiss my soft lips, and scooping me in his arms. We are exploring the sweet romantic territory.
“Are you planning on doing yoga on the bus?” Raag says, teasing me. Then adds, “Very entertaining for the fellow passengers!”
“Raag! No more jokes. Be serious,” I scold.
“All right, enough teasing. Catch you later, yeah?”
“Bye now.”
“Bye, love!”
Ag…he had to say that! I swoon with delight.
Inside the dean’s office, I sit on a pale teak wood chair across from the dean, and my heartbeat rises.
Vikram Parmar, Dean of Vishwarama University, is dressed in a crisp half-sleeved pale white khadi shirt and khaki pants. The dean’s shirt has precisely one pocket that holds a black pen. An old-style steel watch with a big blue dial is on his wrist, similar to the one my late grandfather used to wear. His white body hair is apparent on his arms, while his prominent forehead shines with a visible lack of hair over his head. His round face appears even rounder with thick gray glasses.
To look mature and business-like I selected a light-yellow cotton shirt tucked into gray pants. My unruly hair is where it belongs, pulled up in an updo. I even threw in my mother’s silver watch. Maybe for good luck.
The dean is immersed in a file that lays on a pale polished table, his gaze fixed on it. This office has fewer drawers and furniture than Professor Rawal’s, and plenty of light floods through a big window set to the left of the room.
Though it’s winter, an old fan runs quietly, blessing us with fresh air.
While sitting in this spacious and somewhat peaceful office, the dean of this multi-winged college looks more like an old grandpa than a person holding a prominent position like the dean.
Being utterly impatient, I feel the urge to break the perpetual silence and pop my mouth open, but thankfully my brain recalls Raag’s advice to let the dean speak first. So, I wait.
Though the dean doesn’t look scary, my head glooms with apprehension. Professor Rawal doesn’t even have the slightest idea of my appearance in this office. What if he comes here and shuns me like he did yesterday? What if he influences the dean’s decision? I am afraid of the consequences of this act.
At this time, my whole future is up in the air. No, maybe it’s in the hands of this cute grandpa.
Focus!
The dean clears his throat as he looks at me, bringing me out of my scary thoughts. “So, Mayuri, I apologize.”
Is he apologizing for making me wait? That’s very kind. I need to clarify.
“Um…excuse me, sir? I didn’t hear what you said,” I ask, and now he has my complete attention. I even hold my crossed hands tighter near my chest for support.
“I said, I apologize,” the dean, Vikram Parmar, repeats politely, nods politely, and I am confused. Is he very polite or did my brain decrypt his tone as polite after being thoroughly ravaged by yesterday’s ordeal in the office next door?
The dean continues, “We did not know that you are attending private coaching class to learn Java programming. But thanks to that phone call, now we do…”
What call? What Java programming class? This is absurd. Is he misunderstanding me with another student? But he did take my name correctly. I tilt my head to the side with squinty eyes. I can’t grasp what he means by that phone call, so I keep quiet. Though I am in sheer confusion, I kept repeating to myself what Raag said about letting him speak.
“We understand that it is difficult to take a class so early in the morning and get to college in time for the first lecture. We apologize that we do not have an assistant professor for that specific subject. I assure you that we are working on resolving that critical problem as soon as we can.”
Keeping my stare intact at him, I nod as if I understand everything he says, while I don’t.
Shaking his head in disappointment, he adds, “The semester is almost over, and we couldn’t manage a lab faculty. It is quite disappointing for an institution this big.” It sounds more like a monologue than a conversation. “For now, we are taking your name off the list. We see that Professor Rawal is usually the first lecturer, and he likes the question-answer session. We have requested him to allow you to skip that.” When he says this, all I can do is gape at him.
That can’t be possible.
The dean looks right at me as he says, “However, we would appreciate if you try not to skip class altogether when you are late. Please, join the class regardless of the time you arrive. We would still count your attendance.”
“Okay…sir.” I manage to get two words out of my dry mouth. “So, my name is not going to be on the list?”
“Of course not,” he affirms.
“Do I need to write extra assignments?”
“Absolutely not…you are already putting extra hours and efforts toward that class,” the dean emphasizes, looking compassionate. “We should give you extra points just for that.” He pauses, tilts his head as if thinking. “I still have to see Rawal’s take on this since he is the chief of the IT wing. I assure you, I will try my best.”
“Thank you, sir!” I say with gratitude in my voice while at the back of my mind, I wonder about the miracle caller.
“Now, if you don’t have any questions, you may go, Ms. Bhatt. I am sure you have a long day, and so do I.” He smiles, and so do I.
I get up in a swift movement. “Thank you, sir.” I dart out of the office as fast as I can in sheer excitement-filled bewilderment. What in the world just happened?
In the Green Leaf college canteen, I sit on a chair by the corner table with a white paper cup of the mood blaster and a sterile cup of water. I need that hideous strong taste of the blaster to bring me back to the present.
The only person who can solve this puzzle is Mr. Phone Call. If I am not wrong, I know that Mr. Phone Call. I still have a good fifteen minutes before Professor Rawal’s class, so I agree to call him.
“Hello…Mr. Phone Call!” I emphasize on his name as soon as he picks up.
“Hello, Ms. Bhatt,” he greets casually.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” My tone is accusatory.
“Well, after all, I am your partner in crime.” Raag delightedly confirms his part in the play. I grin as I carefully observe my surroundings to check for any eavesdroppers. Except for a few early birds, the café is pretty quiet. Even Pappu, the canteen boy, is nowhere to be seen.
After sipping on my mood blaster, I ask, “What did you tell the dean?”
Raag chuckles. “I told him that you were late because you were spending one hour each morning for Java programming tutoring. It is important for you since there is no lab professor assigned yet.”
“You remembered about the lab professor?”
I underestimated him for remembering such mundane detail.
“Well, I tried to stay as close to the truth as possible. It’s the fact that you study Java programming in the morning. Just that instead of going out for it, you study with me.” Raag pauses. Then adds, “Every single day!”
I straighten up in my chair, squinting my eyes. “Um…you do have a point.”