I was happy staying with Manjula aunty, but my mind kept reminding me that she was planning to go to America to live with her son. She loved her grandson Rithvik, and she was eagerly waiting to go there. Her visa had already been rejected twice, but now she was confident it would be approved. So, she was planning to move to America as soon as possible. I really missed Manjula aunty because she cared for me like my own mother. I was going to miss her terribly. That thought kept running in my mind, and I didn’t even know when I fell asleep.
I woke up at 10 a.m. on Sunday. Nobody was around me. Some of my hostel mates were awake, but most of them were still sleeping. I felt hungry, but I didn’t feel like going to the canteen right away. I felt sober and started thinking about what to do for the day. I looked around the room—my used clothes were hanging on the hanger, so I decided to wash them. I gathered all my pants and shirts in a bucket and went to the washroom area. I had washed clothes before, so I knew how to do it. It took me an hour to wash everything and hang them out to dry with clips. Some hostel mates looked at me, surprised—maybe they hadn’t seen students wash clothes like this. Afterward, I freshened up and went back to my room.
I was still hungry. It was 11:30 a.m., so I had to wait 30 minutes for lunch. Sitting in the room undressed, I tried calling my mother, but she didn’t answer. After getting dressed, I locked my door, put the key in my pocket, and headed to the canteen. Some hostel mates joined me. Vishal, from Chittoor in Andhra, spoke Tamil well. He was studying Computer Science and had a cousin in Bangalore, so he planned to shift there. He asked about me. I told him I was Vinoth, studying Biotech from Tamil Nadu. He shook my hand and went ahead to the canteen.
When I gave my ID card at the counter, the canteen person rudely asked, “Why didn’t you come for breakfast? The food was wasted. Don’t waste food! If you can’t come, inform us beforehand. There’s a number,” he said, pointing to a number at the counter. I nodded and said, “Sorry, sir.”
They gave me chicken biryani, and it tasted good. I enjoyed it. The same canteen man came near me and asked in a rude tone, “Want extra?” I nodded. “Go get it. But don’t waste it,” he warned. Okay.
Some students planned to go out for movies or explore Bangalore, visit clubs, etc. I didn’t have any plans. I returned to my room, collected my washed clothes, and laid them under the sun to dry. Then I lay on my bed, wondering what to do next, and eventually fell asleep. I woke up around 7 p.m., had dinner, and went to bed again.
The next day, real classes finally began. Everyone was focused on studying. All the students were knowledgeable. I noticed that there were more girls than boys in my class. It was difficult to remember their names—I didn’t even know the boys’ names properly except Mithun and Aparajith, who sat next to me.
Every professor taught deeply. They didn’t engage in casual talk. Their focus was on completing the syllabus. It was difficult for me to understand their English, but I took a lot of notes to try and keep up. They spoke fast. We were allowed to ask doubts, but they were strict with time, and I didn’t have the courage to ask questions.
One day, during a math class, the professor wrote a problem on the board and asked everyone to solve it. He was shouting at students, “It’s a simple problem! You don’t know this? You! And you!” He was pointing at almost everyone.
I tried to hide from his line of sight, but he noticed me. “You in the green shirt, get up!” I knew he meant me. I tried to look away, but he pointed at me again. I stood up. He asked me a question in English. I had to respond in English—it was difficult. I went to the board and solved the math problem in a simple Tamil method. The professor was surprised and appreciated me. He asked me to explain it. I tried in English, but it wasn’t good. Some students and even the professor laughed. I felt humiliated. Mithun and Aparajith congratulated me, but I was sad about my poor English.
After the last bell rang, everyone left quickly. I packed slowly and went back to the hostel. My mind was filled with thoughts: Why did I join this college? Everyone here is so knowledgeable. How will I survive?
Krishnappa sir saw me and immediately noticed my face. He took me to the canteen and asked, “What happened?” I stayed silent. “Is it money problems?” he asked. I shook my head and told him about the incident. He smiled and said, “Come to the library after college. I’ll try to teach you and give you some books. Just learn and improve.”
He took my hand and led me to the library. For the first time in my life, I stepped inside a library. He told me to look around. I took 45 minutes to explore every corner. Then Krishnappa sir called me. “I have a meeting now, so I’m going to lock the library. Come tomorrow after college.” I nodded. He gave me a small book to start learning. And that night, I began to study.
PV Thilak entered the room. He saw me studying an English book and laughed. “Why are you always studying? Come, let’s enjoy!” He threw his bag on the bed and pulled me by the hand. I told him, “I don’t have anything to enjoy.”
“Do you play cricket?” he asked.
“A little bit,” I replied.
“Then come,” he said, dragging me to the ground.
Some students were already playing cricket. Thilak introduced me to his classmates. He was like a gang leader—everyone respected him. We played a 6-over match with 8 players per team. I was on Thilak’s team. We bowled first and gave 46 runs in 6 overs. Thilak asked me to bowl one over. I tried my best but gave away 16 runs. “Leave it,” he said. “We’ll do better while batting.”
We had to chase 47 runs. In the first over, we made 6 runs and lost a wicket. In the second, 12 for 3. Thilak went in to bat and played very calculated shots. I went in after more wickets fell. At the end of the third over, we were 15/4. Thilak encouraged me: “Play the shots you’re comfortable with. Don’t think about others.”
First ball, I just tapped it—a simple stroke. Some of our team shouted, “Shot!” but it wasn’t. Next, I left the ball. Third ball, I ran for a single. Thilak and I batted well—22/5 after 4 overs. I hit a straight drive for 4, then an on-drive and a square cut—three fours in a row. Everyone cheered. End of the 5th over, we were 36/5. We needed 11 runs to win in the last over.
Thilak started with a 2, then missed the next two. Fourth ball, a single. Then he got run out. Now, we needed 9 runs in 2 balls. I hit a drive—4 runs. Last ball—we needed 5. I hit a strong shot. Everyone thought it was a six, but it bounced just short—only 4. We lost by 2 runs.
Still, the team congratulated me. Thilak treated everyone to pav bhaji in the canteen. He became very close to me. We played together in the evenings when he was free. Thilak was always busy, roaming around with students like a politician. He hated the hostel’s 10 p.m. curfew, and sometimes even his father got angry at him for political activities. His father was a known politician, and Thilak often acted against party ideology.
Classes went on. I focused more on English. Krishnappa sir wasn’t an English scholar, but he taught me the basics. He referenced some books. Everyone in class had their groups. I never mingled. One day, I saw the supermarket girl in my class—Sandhya. I was shocked. She smiled at me. I awkwardly smiled back and decided not to look at her again.
A four-day leave was approaching. Everyone had plans. Thilak booked a ticket to visit his parents. He asked me to visit his home too. I said no—I wanted to see my mother.
That evening, I called my mom to inform her. She answered with a painful “Hello.” I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “Your father is going for heart surgery. I’ve rented out our house for 7,000 rupees and moved to a small place near the hospital.”
I asked, “Are you okay, ma?”
“I’m doing my best to keep your father alive. I planned to visit you, but now I’m coming to Bangalore on office work. I’ll meet you,” she said.
I was surprised. “Really, you’ll come?” She replied, “Yes, I’ll inform you once I arrive. Study well and get a good job. You’re my only hope.”
We ended the call. Thursday to Sunday was the leave period. On Wednesday, most hostel students left. I called my mom, but she didn’t answer. Only a few students remained. I had dinner and waited for her call, but it didn’t come.
The next morning, the canteen master asked, “What do you want for lunch?” I said, “Biryani.” Swiggy delivered it from a famous shop. I was the only one in the hostel. The canteen master asked if I wanted to go out. I agreed. He took me on his bike around Bangalore.
He asked, “Why didn’t you go home?”
I shared my whole story. It felt good to tell someone. He bought me tea and pizza, and dropped me back.
The next day, I wandered around the college, bored. I helped the gardener water plants. I called my mom—no answer. In the evening, she said she’d come the next day with her co-worker Vimala. I felt disappointed but couldn’t do anything.
The next day, I called again—no answer. I was disturbed and angry. I waited four days, but she hadn’t come. I thought, “She doesn’t love me.”
Then she called. I shouted, “Amma! Why didn’t you answer? I waited four days to see you! Why are you avoiding me?” My voice broke.
She calmly said, “Vimala’s son is ill. We admitted him to the hospital. I’ll try to meet you soon.”
Hearing that, I broke down. I cried loudly, sitting on the canteen steps. The canteen in-charge saw me. He thought my father had died. He hugged me tightly, took me inside, gave me water, and calmed me down. I didn’t speak. My mom was still on the call. I cut the phone.
He asked what happened. I told him everything. He offered money to visit my mom, but I refused. I stayed alone in the hostel, wasting my entire leave. The next morning, everyone returned. I was still angry at my mom.
The next morning, I got ready for class. Thilak’s father dropped him off. I saw them from the window. His father said, “This time, concentrate on your studies. Don’t get into trouble.”
I walked to class. Thilak asked, “When did you return?” I replied, “Early morning.”
He sensed my sadness but didn’t press. I sat quietly in class. Everyone talked about their trips—Shimoga, hometowns. I tried to focus.
Suddenly, the peon came in. “Who is Vinoth here?”
“Me,” I said.
“Leelavathi madam wants to see you.”
I followed him to the staff room. From a distance, I saw my mother. I ran toward her, shouting, “Amma!” She stood up. I hugged her tightly. She hugged me too. Leelavathi madam stood nearby… its was magic, I couldn’t believe it—we both cried.