A DATE WITH HISTORY

A boy in an all white school uniform with a green blazer was trying to sneak into the compound of All India Radio when he got spotted by a khakhi clad guard who shouted, “Kya chahiye, kya kaam hai?” “Uncle, what is the height of this tower?”Asked the boy. “Kyon, kya karega?  Koodega! You want to jump down from there? Get lost before I beat you with my danda.”

The boy walked away to the bus stop across the road, clambered on to a DTC bus and headed  home. Sitting in the bus, his mind was racing from one thought to another, thinking like a cornered grandmaster in chess as he saw his king check mated from all corners. How could he have made such an error? How will I face my father and my mother? Can there be anything worse than this? One question followed another, one fear greater than the earlier one crept in, one shame greater than the previous, gloriously walked through the shades of the mind of a 18 year old boy.

Getting off the bus he went to a triangular park where he had played every game on land looking out for people on balconies overlooking the field to applaud his skill with the football or dexterity with the cricket bat. But today was different. He did not want anyone to see him. He wanted to be alone by himself. Quietly he gathered his thoughts and courage. But today was different. It was for him a choice of death today or living for another day. Cowardly he chose the latter. He had always been good at lying and ten out of ten times his gullible parents would fall for his stories. Today was not so different as he concocted yet another story.

As he walked into the house, an expectant father asked him, “how was the exam today?” “The question paper was out of the syllabus. It was very bad. No one has done well.” “Don’t worry son, it happens. Keep your calm and do well in Paper 2 tomorrow after all History is your strong subject. I am sure you will get good marks overall in History.” The rest truly is history.

It was February of ’82 and time for Class XII Board examination, the mother of all exams for school kids as it decided their future subject, college and often their future. Those were good old days or should I say bad old days of Paper 1 and Paper 2 for each of the five subjects plus you had to mug up the class XI and XII together and no breaks in between exams. Pressure and load especially for the weaklings like us was bone crushing to say the least. The Church and the Gurudwara outside the school offered little peace and comfort despite walking and kneeling inside almost daily. Dear God, save me this time, next time I will study hard was a prayer oft repeated as Our Father in Heaven...

First came the Hindi 1 & 2 exams which somehow went off all right. This was followed by English 1 & 2. Before the exam started for English 2 we were like all days made to stand outside in an assembly as the cold Delhi winds lashed our faces. Some of us got into chatting about the next exam, History. “Last year the board did not give good marks in History.” Said one while the other remarked, “It is better to prepare for Political Science”. I too nodded in agreement. 

Went home that afternoon and opened up what many say is the biggest disease in History…VD…it is not what you think…it is a book by VD Mahajan which all would have read sometime or the other. History had been our man’s subject of strength right from times he could remember for in other subjects like Maths and Science he needed chits hidden all over and copying over the shoulder of the bright boys sitting around to pass and many a times even those did not prevent him from failing.  He was in a happy mood when he went to sleep and got up early. Father served him tea in bed while his mother made hot paranthas as he sat inside the quilt taking the last minute glance at the numerous lines he had highlighted in the book and notes while preparing for the Boards.

As the clock stuck 12 noon, he got out of the bed, wore his ‘lucky’ school uniform walked out with his bag hanging from his shoulders. Head held high, he caught a bus to Krishi Bhavan and went straight to his friend’s place at 42 Rajendra Prasad Road with whom he went to school on all previous examinations.  As he entered the bungalow he saw his friend in  T shirt and track bottom basking in the sun on a cane chair with a newspaper in his hand. What nonsense he felt, there is no time left and here is the Lord of Kunchenjunga sitting as if he had all the time in the world.

“Jaldi kar or else we will be late for the exam,” he shouted and was stunned by his friend’s response…”Why didn’t you come for the exam in the morning? There is no exam now…it is all over!” “It can’t be, show me the calendar”. “See the Paper, man”, as he handed the exam question paper. On it was written, ISC History Paper I, Starting 9 am,  8^th February 1982. Indian History is replete with many mavericks and fools but none as big and foolish as our man today. History has seen many an empire crumble and many a king fall to his ignominy but none more than our man today….couldn’t even check the time table of the most important exam of his life time!

Crestfallen he rushed to the school and went to the principal’s chamber and with tears pouring out explained what had happened. “Father, I mistook it for a 2 pm exam…please Sir do something…give me an hour to write at least…Father you can do it…please Father…“ he pleaded. “Son, seeing your empty desk we asked your friends for your telephone number to ring you up but they did not have it”, said the Principal in white robe. “We even wanted to send the school car to bring you but some of your friends said you wanted to skip this exam to prepare better for the next, so we didn’t and now we can’t do anything. It is completely out of our hands now.” 

And that's when the boy walked from the School Gate to AIR station at Parliament Street with just one thought in mind....only to be denied again entry to the Pearly Gates...maybe to live again.

 Next day the boy came to give the History Paper 2, on the right date and time. It was World History and he rattled off one answer after another and was certain by the end of the day that Paper 2 would help him score over 80 percent and let him cross the Rubicon of overall 40 percent in the aggregate for each subject. He would realize his folly when the final results were declared after a month, History 2 was not marked for him….it appeared as ‘Nil’. When he saw the marks as they hung outside the school gate he calculated 67 percent in 4 subjects. He felt elated after a nerve wrecking time in between exams and this day, so he rushed to tell his parents of the good news.

Sixty seven percent in Humanities did please his parents. Seeing their happiness he felt bold enough to share what had happened that fateful day. Normally the mother would distribute sweets in the colony whenever the results of her daughter were declared but today she wept and said no more. No amount of consolation by the father worked and neither did the son’s holding her feet for hours.

History is truly a funny subject. With his mark sheet he couldn’t believe he had come into the cut off marks zone for admission and was standing in the queue for an interview of a good college trying to explain His-story to the History Head of the Department. “I can get you a letter from my class teacher in school, Ma’am, that I was good in History. Please do not reject my admission.” The teacher possibly saw the boy was for once speaking the truth and cleared him for admission.

It was the day that the mother herself went to the mithai shop and got laddoos packed for colony and her office and felt happy as all said, “Badhai Ho! Beta ko Hindu College mein admission mila hai…sports quota mein nahin…merit pe? Wah Wah..Badhai Ho!!