I can’t help thinking that some people are so lucky that they can marry the people they love.
Laxman hit the ball too hard and it’s lost in the bushes somewhere. They search for it but can’t find it and so, have to give up their game. It’s probably best because it is past one and I am hungry. He goes into the kitchen and serves us lunch. The conversation continues on the dining table. It isn’t until dessert is served that the conversation veers towards Aditya. It has to – he was such an important part of our trio in school.
“Are you in touch with him? I haven’t met him since school,” Shipra asks.
It was such a long time ago. I think the year would’ve been 1999. Almost five years after my last meeting with him at the notice board of the school when the board results were announced. I had topped the school and he, thanks to accountancy, had barely scraped through. I wasn’t sure if I ought to be happy to see my result or grieve with him for his result. He seemed happy; he had run the risk of failing altogether and took consolation from the fact that he would see the face of a college, as against repeating the class. We went home, and lost touch, not seeing each other until then.
I didn’t know if it was an optical illusion or if it was really him. It could’ve been someone else with an uncanny resemblance to Aditya. It was his walk that gave him away; that same lazy, relaxed gait of a sportsman. We were at the Radisson in Delhi, attending the induction training organized by Citibank. Citibank, at the beginning of every year, would aggressively raid almost every business school worth its salt and recruit some of the best students available. I had been hired from the Punjab University Business School and given a posting at the Chandigarh Branch of the bank.
It was normal to have a week of orientation for fresh recruits at their place of posting before the rigorous, induction program would start. By design, it was a five week long program that would introduce the recruits to the policies of the bank and the conduct that was expected of them. Gradually, it would move to the technical know-how of the designated area of operations.
I had reached Delhi a night before the training on the Shatabdi Express. I was met by a waiting car at the train station that took me to the Citibank guest house in Vasant Vihar. I had never been to Delhi before. Most of my childhood and had been spent in Solan and then, Chandigarh. I was accustomed to seeing ghost towns at nine but Delhi was bustling.
I couldn’t stop staring out of the window at the bright lights and the fast cars. The car hurtled through the wide roads of Lutyens’ Delhi and I couldn’t help admiring the wide roads. Awestruck, I took in the sights and sounds, paying scant attention to the girl besides me. Roshni was another recruit who had made the journey with me. We checked in at the guest house and had barely caught some sleep before hustling to the training program that morning.
Aditya made his entry, amongst the last people to enter the hall. He made a cursory glance at the five tables and the five people at each table. His eyes met mine for a split second but didn’t show a hint of recognition or familiarity. Maybe, I was mistaken. Maybe, it wasn’t him. The morning session started with a round of introductions and he stood up boldly. In a loud booming voice he announced himself as Aditya Sharma, putting to rest any doubt that it was him.
The morning session was a disaster – The tiredness of the night before, the more than uncomfortable chair and the ranting of the head of Human Resources had my body craving for coffee. I wasn’t the only one in that situation; most people in the room looked tired and bored. If the HR head was anything to go by, the trainees weren’t sure if they had made the right career decision in joining the bank.
Twenty-five pairs of droopy eyes can have a profound effect on the speaker. Mr Kumar
Laxman hit the ball too hard and it’s lost in the bushes somewhere. They search for it but can’t find it and so, have to give up their game. It’s probably best because it is past one and I am hungry. He goes into the kitchen and serves us lunch. The conversation continues on the dining table. It isn’t until dessert is served that the conversation veers towards Aditya. It has to – he was such an important part of our trio in school.
“Are you in touch with him? I haven’t met him since school,” Shipra asks.
It was such a long time ago. I think the year would’ve been 1999. Almost five years after my last meeting with him at the notice board of the school when the board results were announced. I had topped the school and he, thanks to accountancy, had barely scraped through. I wasn’t sure if I ought to be happy to see my result or grieve with him for his result. He seemed happy; he had run the risk of failing altogether and took consolation from the fact that he would see the face of a college, as against repeating the class. We went home, and lost touch, not seeing each other until then.
I didn’t know if it was an optical illusion or if it was really him. It could’ve been someone else with an uncanny resemblance to Aditya. It was his walk that gave him away; that same lazy, relaxed gait of a sportsman. We were at the Radisson in Delhi, attending the induction training organized by Citibank. Citibank, at the beginning of every year, would aggressively raid almost every business school worth its salt and recruit some of the best students available. I had been hired from the Punjab University Business School and given a posting at the Chandigarh Branch of the bank.
It was normal to have a week of orientation for fresh recruits at their place of posting before the rigorous, induction program would start. By design, it was a five week long program that would introduce the recruits to the policies of the bank and the conduct that was expected of them. Gradually, it would move to the technical know-how of the designated area of operations.
I had reached Delhi a night before the training on the Shatabdi Express. I was met by a waiting car at the train station that took me to the Citibank guest house in Vasant Vihar. I had never been to Delhi before. Most of my childhood and had been spent in Solan and then, Chandigarh. I was accustomed to seeing ghost towns at nine but Delhi was bustling.
I couldn’t stop staring out of the window at the bright lights and the fast cars. The car hurtled through the wide roads of Lutyens’ Delhi and I couldn’t help admiring the wide roads. Awestruck, I took in the sights and sounds, paying scant attention to the girl besides me. Roshni was another recruit who had made the journey with me. We checked in at the guest house and had barely caught some sleep before hustling to the training program that morning.
Aditya made his entry, amongst the last people to enter the hall. He made a cursory glance at the five tables and the five people at each table. His eyes met mine for a split second but didn’t show a hint of recognition or familiarity. Maybe, I was mistaken. Maybe, it wasn’t him. The morning session started with a round of introductions and he stood up boldly. In a loud booming voice he announced himself as Aditya Sharma, putting to rest any doubt that it was him.
The morning session was a disaster – The tiredness of the night before, the more than uncomfortable chair and the ranting of the head of Human Resources had my body craving for coffee. I wasn’t the only one in that situation; most people in the room looked tired and bored. If the HR head was anything to go by, the trainees weren’t sure if they had made the right career decision in joining the bank.
Twenty-five pairs of droopy eyes can have a profound effect on the speaker. Mr Kumar
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