13/09/2018
The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and plastic covers. The walls were lined with motivational posters, faded charts of the periodic table, and dusty project models stacked in the corners. Rohan sat silently in the second row, watching the second hand of the wall clock tick away. This was the midterm examination, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was relaxed.
Physics paper—easy. Chemistry—easier. Mathematics—trivial. English—he grew up with it. Computer Science—child's play with DL in his corner. Sanskrit—the crown jewel.
The corridor outside the classroom was unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon. The hum of students and teachers had been replaced by the low murmur of parents speaking with educators, the occasional scrape of chair legs on tiled floors, and the rhythmic ticking of the hallway clock.
Now standing beside his mother during the parent-teacher meeting, Rohan quietly observed as Ms. Saxena, his class teacher, flipped through his test scores and extracurricular report. She looked up with a pleased smile.
Inside Class 11-C, Veena sat upright across from Ms. Saxena, Rohan's class teacher. She wore a plain cotton saree—blue with faint floral prints—and clutched her handbag tightly in her lap, betraying the nervousness she tried to conceal with a polite smile.
Ms. Saxena, a stern-looking woman in her fifties with rimless glasses and a reputation for having taught half the city, was flipping through a file with Rohan's name on it.
"Mrs. Sharma," she said, pausing with a rare smile that actually reached her eyes, "your son is… quite frankly, exceptional."
Veena blinked, almost in disbelief. "Rohan? Really?"
"His performance in Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics is in the top percentile. His lab work is meticulous, and he asks the kind of questions I usually expect from second-year engineering students. If this keeps up, I strongly recommend you prepare him for JEE. He has the potential for IIT Bombay."
Veena exhaled softly. "He's been… different lately. More focused."
Ms. Saxena leaned in slightly. "I don't know what changed, but it's working. Even in English, he's performing like someone who grew up abroad—which, I understand, he has.
Veena nodded. "Yes, he was born in California. We came after my husband died."
"I am so sorry to hear that. Well, anyway, that explains the fluency," she mused. "But Sanskrit—now that was surprising. He scored 91 on the midterms. Do you know how rare that is?"
Veena's eyes widened. "Sanskrit? He never showed much interest in it before. I thought he would struggle with Hindi, but Sanskrit, now that's a pleasant surprise."
Rohan nodded. He already knew all of this. But hearing it laid out so plainly by his teacher gave it a surreal weight.
He thought, 'Of course. DL was already feeding me aerodynamics, mechanical engineering, advanced calculus, quantum structures, and the mechanics of material sciences like bedtime stories. School-level content felt like preschool now'.
As for Sanskrit—well, DL insisted that he learn it. Not just to score well, but because, as DL put it, "Sanskrit is the oldest still-living language in this world. Forgotten by most, but still breathing, preserved in scriptures, rituals, and timeless knowledge."
DL often warned him that translations from Sanskrit to English lose their essence. Words in Sanskrit carried layered meanings, context-dependent ideas—metaphors packed inside metaphors. English could only capture a surface-level translation, at best.
"I don't know if it's sudden interest or hidden talent, but the boy understands etymology and classical grammar structures like a scholar. You should encourage him to take part in the upcoming inter-school shloka recitation or essay competition."
Veena gave a weak chuckle. "He's usually the one encouraging everyone, especially his sister."
"Ah yes, Arya." Ms. Saxena's face softened. "She's bright too, but she's clearly adjusting. I spoke to her class teacher. The Indian curriculum can be overwhelming, especially with subjects forced down your throat."
"She loved design and business back in the US. Here, she's struggling with Hindi and social studies," Veena said, her voice tinged with guilt.
"That's natural. But don't worry—Rohan seems protective of her. He's always watching out for her in the hallway."
Veena smiled, a mixture of pride and relief.
"Oh, one more thing," Ms. Saxena added, flipping to another page. "Rohan's PE teacher mentioned he's an excellent runner. Fast reflexes, good stamina. Has he considered trying out for the school's soccer team?"
"He used to play back in school," Veena replied. "But he gave up after we moved."
"Well, he should reconsider. Sports quotas matter in admissions now. Even participation certificates help boost the profile—especially for competitive entries like the IITs."
Veena raised an eyebrow. "You mentioned it before too. Is it that hard to get in now?"
She leaned forward slightly, her tone a bit more serious. "It's harder than ever. Even bright kids don't make it without strategy. To get into an Indian Institute of Technology—especially IIT Bombay, which is the dream for many—it's not enough to just be bright. Students have to clear JEE Mains, which itself filters out lakhs of aspirants. Then comes JEE Advanced, a much tougher nut to crack. Even securing a decent rank is a feat, let alone choosing your branch and institute."
On the walk home, Rohan and Veena skipped the rickshaw to save money.
"She's struggling, Rohan. I don't know if it's the pressure or the change, but she's not doing well," Veena said.
Rohan placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not that she doesn't want to study, Maa. It's the system. In the US, we chose what we wanted to learn—subjects based on what we wanted to do later. India's education system is rigid. They tell you what you need to know and test you on things you may never use again. It's overwhelming at first. But I'll help her."
Veena smiled, brushing his cheek. Her eyes held both gratitude and guilt.
Later that night, as Rohan stood on the balcony, staring into the vast sky, he let himself think about a possibility he had buried long ago.
College.
A future.
A life that wasn't just about survival.
For the first time in what felt like forever, dreaming about a future didn't feel like self-inflicted torture.
But then came the bitter sting of memory.
September. His birthday was coming. And just four months from now—his grandfather, Ramchandra Sharma, would suffer a fatal heart attack.
The memory struck like a cold wind, knocking the breath out of him. He leaned against the railing, trying to steady himself. He'd been given this second chance—but the clock was still ticking for others.
A fuse lit in his chest—slow, hot, and unrelenting. He had to act soon. He couldn't let it happen again.
"DL," he whispered aloud.
The familiar voice in his mind responded, cheeky as ever. "Took you long enough."
"You knew, didn't you?"
"About the heart attack? The event? Yes."
"And you said… there would be an untimely death soon. You meant Nanaji."
DL didn't respond immediately. When it finally spoke, the tone was teasing but heavy with meaning.
"Oh, you sweet summer child. You really are starting to pay attention."
Rohan exhaled, a quiet storm brewing inside. "We need a plan."
DL's tone, for once, was dead serious. "Then let's get to work."
The future was no longer a concept Rohan watched slip through his fingers.
It was something he could shape. But first, he had to hold it together.
Before time ran out.