Crossing Over

By Kaushik Mitra

Crossing Over

Kaushik Mitra

Take three friends from boarding school.
Add up their loves, their passions, their careers.
And you’ll have a peek into their zany, crisscrossing lives.

It’s their last year in St. John’s, a boarding school nestled amongst the misty hills of Darjeeling. Rahul is an introverted kid from a troubled Bengali home. His only hope is his relationship with Piu, a girl he met on his last visit to Kolkata. Ajay is the quintessential handsome Delhi boy aspiring to be a movie star. Sundar comes from an academically illustrious family. He is gunning for six points in his ICSE exam to prove a point to his father. The boys have plans for their final year in school and not all are by the rule book.

Life beyond their alma mater is not what they bargained for. A promising career cut short brutally, a costly indiscretion, a bitter rivalry where everything is not what it seems to be. Spanning thirty years and spread across six cities, Crossing Over is a riveting saga of the life of the three boarding school friends. A story of love and rivalry, of hope and despair but above all of loss and forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaushik Mitra
• Release date: Oct 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9789385902734

Book preview

BOOK ONE | 1985

We didn’t realize we were making memories.

We just thought we were having fun.

ONE

Boarding School

Kolkata March 1985

THE CHUGGING Darjeeling Mail on platform number nine, Sealdah Station, Calcutta evoked a sense of déjà vu for 14-year-old Rahul. This winter vacation had been perfect thanks to the entry of Piu into his life. The three months had whizzed by and Rahul would have given anything to stay back another week in Cal. His mind wandered to his first meeting with Piu at his cousin Prabal’s place. She looked striking in her red knee-length dress and her alluring smile made him go weak at the knees. Way out of my league had been Rahul’s reaction as he told Prabal later. The following week they bumped into each other at the Park Street Metro Station and Rahul recollected how Piu smiled back at him. Rahul had been returning with Tota, his pistuta dada (cousin from his father’s side) after watching Gremlins at New Empire and for the better part of the walk along Park Street to the Metro station their discussion had been all about Phoebe Cates, and if only Bengali girls could look half as good as her. But, of course, meeting Piu for the second time in the Metro station had changed that perspective.

Bappa, tomar boigule sab pack korecho to? Kichu bhule gele, mushkile porbe. (Bappa, have you packed all your books? You will be in trouble if you haven’t). His father’s sombre voice brought Rahul out of his romantic reverie into the melee of passengers rushing to board the Darjeeling Mail. Bappa was Rahul’s daak naam (nickname).

The concept of daak naam is popular in Bengali families. Born into a large middle class Bengali family, Rahul’s father Shyamal Sarkar was a godfearing man who had worked all his life in a public sector company. He relished Hilsa fish and jumbo prawns, was an ardent football fan, loved Rabindra Sangeet and enjoyed his cigarette despite the numerous pleas and threats of his wife. His parents had strong academic aspirations and Rahul did not disappoint them, getting admission to the prestigious St. John’s school in Darjeeling eight years ago. In fact, that’s where he was headed after the winter break to attend his final year. Rahul loved boarding school. It was tough initially when he joined in grade four but as years passed, St. John’s became a home. He enjoyed the independence it bestowed on him and gave him the company of his two closest friends, Sundar and Ajay. The prospect of the three musketeers getting back together and making the most of this final year in school filled Rahul’s mind as the Darjeeling mail pulled out of Sealdah station.

March 1985 Darjeeling

ST. JOHN’S was a Christian Brothers missionary boys’ boarding school nestled in a picturesque part of Darjeeling. On a clear day, one could see the Kanchenjunga mountain peak in the distance. The weather was pleasantly cool throughout the year. The school was reputed for its symbiotic balance between academic rigor and extra-curricular activities and its focus was on providing students a holistic development of mind and body.

There was a large spacious lounge on entering the school and next to it was a study hall. List of Prefects in the study hall noticeboard read…

White House:       Gerard Demello

Yellow House:      Ravi Acharya

Maroon House:    Sashank Awasthi

Red House:          Avijit Banerjee

Blue House:         Girish Menon

Green House:       Ajay Kapoor

Ajay’s name elicited a mixed response in Rahul. A twinge of envy was swiftly followed by joy. One of the ‘three musketeers’ had made it to the Prefect list. That would go a long way in enhancing their ‘status’ amongst the senior school students.

March was always a tough month and the boys were trying their best to shrug off their homesickness and get back into the bump and grind of boarding life. Rahul, however, was, as always, happy to be back in school. This time around, he was dying to share his Piu story with Sundar and Ajay. Finally, he had made his bones and this would certainly elevate his credo in their eyes. His opportunity came after the games period, before evening study commenced.

Ajay was looking taller and more handsome after the vacation. For the second time that day, Rahul felt envious of his naturally endowed friend. Sundar looked the same, only a little more tanned from the heat and sun of Madras. The three musketeers were happy to be back together and had been looking forward to the final year of school as seniors. They had plans and not all of them were by the rulebook. After congratulating Ajay on his Prefect nomination, Rahul narrated his ‘amorous’ encounters with Piu in Kolkata.

Are you sure she is interested in you?

Ajay’s simple and sincere question stung Rahul. "Of course she is, yaar! ‘From her eyes, I received fair speechless messages,’ " Rahul quoted Shakespeare.

Oh Romeo, Oh Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? He is here in St. John’s, Ajay said sarcastically.

Hey guys, you know what, I met this cute girl at the Mylapore temple but she was with her parents. Sundar’s attempt to contribute to the conversation was met with another Ajay jibe.

"Yeh lo… don’t give me that bullshit. What would you have done had the parents not been there? Saale, g**nd me dum nahin….hum kissi se kum nahin! Now, let me tell you rookies my winter vacation story."

For the rest of the evening Ajay regaled his two friends with his exploits with the fairer sex in the tea estates of Assam. Some guys have all the luck, thought Sundar. He sensed Rahul felt the same way.

Rahul felt good to be back in school. Home was, truth to tell, stifling. He had, over the years, found himself drifting away from his parents and his family. There was too much politics, too much bickering about petty things and stepping on each other’s toes. It wasn’t fair for a 14-year-old to be asked to take his father’s or mother’s side and be the judge in countless silly situations. His love for music began at this time, providing a much needed healing. He spent a lot of time on the roof listening to Pink Floyd and Dire Straits on his Sony walkman and staring into the sky. It was not so much the mediocre and mundane existence of his family, but the lack of trust, respect and love that troubled him whenever he was at home. He wanted to get away from it all and school was the perfect escape.

Rahul’s thoughts darted to Piu and the first time they touched…it was an accidental brushing of the hands during the silent auto ride together from Rash Behari Avenue to Gariahat. Rahul was not sure if Piu was interested in him or whether she had any inkling of how he felt for her. He was determined to find out during the summer break in June. He made a mental note to write a nice long letter to her to keep things interesting between them. Rahul was always more comfortable putting his thoughts on paper versus having to speak them aloud.

Rahul was a confused kid, not happy with the way he looked. The mirror reflected back a skinny, medium height, wheat complexioned boy with no remarkable or redeeming features. Not surprising was his secret envy of fair handsome boys (à la Ajay), who he thought were unfairly blessed. He was confused whether to get hyper about his studies or stay loose and hang out with the chilled out boys; he was confused about his feelings towards his parents and wasn’t close to anyone other than his two best buddies, Sundar and Ajay. Rahul longed for a sense of belonging, but made no effort to draw affection from anyone.

Rahul’s early childhood had something to do with the way he had turned out. Growing up in an unhappy home had taken its toll on his trust and confidence in relationships, indeed in his ability to relate to people. He was awkward and shy in social situations and his relatives left him alone. For days on end, Rahul would lock himself up in his room on the terrace and read the famous Feluda detective stories… Badshahi Angti, Gangtoke Gandagol, Kaikashe Kelenkari and Professor Shanku. The rest of the time was devoted to listening to music, and sketching.

Rahul was a gifted artist. He had a wonderful eye for detail and drew amazing portraits. Everyone in the Sarkar household wanted to get a personal sketch done by Rahul but the moody boy sketched only from his recollection of ordinary events on the road… old men sitting on the bench near the Southern Avenue lake, a hand rickshaw puller puffing on his beedi waiting for a sawari, the morning bath at Babughat. The walls of his room had nothing but these sketches. The only family sketch he did was of his mother. Rahul was close to his mother during his early childhood but the nine months of boarding school every year for the past nine years, combined with the constant friction at home, had created a chasm in that relationship, which grew wider as the years went by. Deep down Rahul wished he could love his mother more.

Rahul possessed another gift for the quintessential Indian sport, cricket. He was the opening batsman for the Lake Sporting Club in Kolkata and now for the St. John’s ‘First Eleven’ school team.

The senior school dormitory was a nice long wooden structure on the fourth floor of the main school building. The dorm was Rahul’s favourite place. He would tuck himself under the quilt, listening to David Bowie belting out China Girl, and reading the latest Alistair Maclean thriller. The dorm was also a place where Rahul was initiated to the world of adult entertainment in the form of the Human Digest magazine and similar titillating material. It was a sight for sore eyes in a boys’ only school. On the other hand, there was the muggu gang who studied with a pen-torch under the blanket after the lights were switched off.

The Human Digest was in great demand in the Senior Dorm. The supplies came from the infrequent town outings for the boarders or brought in by gutsy day scholars. Once in a while, a student was caught ‘book handed’ and punished with benders in the Vice Principal’s office. It was an unwritten code that no one ratted on anyone. Once, Rahul had the misfortune of taking the fall for Ajay in an indiscreet moment of passing the parcel. The Prefect’s honor had to remain intact. It was one of the rare occasions when Rahul had taken the fall for someone else.

Rahul didn’t mind his loneliness. He had his dreams and fantasies as company. His father always reminded him, Don’t be a dreamy romantic fool, Rahul… stay grounded and work hard. Rahul’s father was practical, disciplined, and a kind man who went out of his way to help his younger siblings. This last irked Rahul’s mother, Renuka, no end. His mother was bitter at having to stay in a joint family with little independence, while her sisters enjoyed their nuclear family lives with their well-to-do husbands. The thing Rahul hated most was the tension at home. More often than not, the mood in the Sarkar home was like a dry straw, ignited at the smallest provocation. The fights were loud verbal duels, which frightened Rahul no end. To get away, he would usually shut himself up in his room on the roof or walk over to Shiva’s house across the road. Shiva’s, by contrast, was a loving, peaceful home which momentarily restored Rahul’s faith in the family as an institution.

THE FIRST time they smoked in school, Ajay wondered why Sundar would not try even a single drag while Rahul clearly enjoyed the Wills Navy Cut. What else could you expect from a Bong but simple living and high thinking, aided by generous doses of nicotine? Ajay was looking forward to the town outing the next day. It was a rare occurrence when the St. John’s and Loreto Convent outings coincided. Ajay did not want to waste the golden opportunity. He was really excited and looking forward to his ‘date’ with Sonam. Marc had got Ajay two tickets to Out of Africa which was showing at the Rink Hall.

With the glamour of being a Prefect, comes onerous responsibility and an unreasonable amount of extra work. Mentoring Junior School students, doing dorm and study hall duty and worst of all having to report your classmates for unruly behavior in class were all in the line of duty. Ajay didn’t mind. In fact he loved the adulation of his juniors and only wished St John’s was co-ed. That would have opened up exciting possibilities. The thought of this year’s Darjeeling District Interschool athletics competition being held in Mt. Edmunds lifted Ajay’s spirits. Mt. Edmunds was a co-ed school and his last visit there for the First Eleven football game, had not been completely wasted. He had a fond recollection of fleeting exchanges with Oindrilla, a looker who seemed interested in his rugged North Indian features. Something to look forward to next month beyond the 100 meters and Long Jump, as he tried to concentrate on chemistry during the evening studies.

Ajay was struggling with his academics. The Prefect duties and all the other ‘extracurricular’ activities had taken a toll on his time, and his grades had slipped, though he still scored ninety plus in English, his forte. Ajay owed part of his charisma and versatility to his upbringing. Senior Kapoor was the Managing Director of Greenleaf Tea Company and Ajay and his sister Karishma had spent their childhood amongst the sophisticated tea estate gentry in Munnar and Assam. Ajay’s mother was popular and her parties always were the talk of the town. Ajay though, hated the ‘baganu’ (garden) life. It was too dull for him and boarding school provided an excellent place for him to express himself. Karishma’s wedding was scheduled for December and Ajay was looking forward to the band, baaja, baraat and all the attention that would come with it. He was sure of hogging the spotlight as brother of the bride.

As planned, Ajay and Sonam met at Keventers. She was looking pretty and smart in her natty blue Loreto Convent blazer, white shirt and blue skirt. He was confident and handsome, the quintessential Delhi boy in his light blue Prefect blazer. The hot chocolate in Keventers was always a big hit with Ajay but the presence of Sonam that day made it even ‘hotter’. They held hands, enquired about each other’s grades in school, congratulated themselves on their recent elevation to school Prefect and school Captain respectively. Sonam was classy, with looks to kill and the brains to die for and Ajay was a sucker for that combination. The walk to the Rink Hall was pregnant with expectation. While Robert Redford and Meryl Streep enchanted the audience for two hours and forty minutes, the two lovebirds in the back row corner seats shared an experience they would remember for some time to come. Sonam had planted a kiss on his lips, and Ajay had taken it from there.

Back in school, Ajay got a call from Brother D’Souza after breakfast. Apparently some senior boys had been caught smoking on the fourth field. This was a popular hangout where the boys enjoyed the sunshine filtering through the tall pine trees. Ajay knew about the smoking but didn’t expect to be the one to break it up and round up the perpetrators. Tamang was one of the kids involved. He was a troubled kid with whom no one wanted to take panga. It was an unpleasant task but one that had to be done. Tamang got the benders and got suspended from Sports for a week. At the dining table he threw his fork at Ajay. It narrowly missed him but the pen torch in the dorm did not, and Ajay had to live with a black eye for several days. Ajay settled his score with Tamang later and Tamang learnt the hard way not to mess with him again. Ajay was not afraid of tough boys and always stood up for himself. This was something he got from his dad, Purshottam Kapoor.

Pushottam was once picked up by the ULFA in Assam when he was Manager of the Naharkatiya Tea Estate but managed to escape and walked twenty kilometers through Karbi Anglong forest to reach home. He never told his family what happened, but his wife Reena found the torture marks on the soles of his feet and on his back. She told Karishma and Ajay about the incident much later when they were grown up.

Ajay loved sports. He had an athletic physique and his aggressive nature lent itself well to outdoor sports. He was Captain of the St. John’s First Eleven football team and a regular member in the school hockey and basketball teams. Part of the adulation that Ajay enjoyed came from his exploits on the sports field. However, it was in track and field athletics that he excelled, and he held the St. John’s 100 meters record. This was going to be his year. Getting the Prefect badge was a great start and Ajay was looking forward to the rest of the year.

Sundar was aiming for six points in the ICSE exams. He needed to prove to his family that he was not the laggard. His main concern was Hindi where he was struggling to get past 85 percent. Why on earth they didn’t have Tamil as a second language choice in these Darjeeling schools, Sundar often wondered. Appa spoke excellent Hindi, Sundar always reminded himself, and so he was not without hope. Indeed Mr Raman Sundar spoke impeccable Hindi, although his Alma Mater was that revered traditional seat of study in Madras, Vidya Niketan, where English was the first language and Tamil the second. He had learnt Hindi by taking additional classes, having no option but to speak it during his days in IIT Kanpur. A self-made man, Mr Raman had excelled in academics and was now the CEO of a US pharma company. He believed in the four Ds: Discipline, Dedication, Determination and Drive, and pushed Sundar and his daughter Sunidhi to pursue academic excellence. Sundar was in awe of his father. His mother, Janaki, was a simple loving woman who took care of the kids, the home and everything else while Raman spent sixty hours a week creating value for the US shareholders of his corporation. The children felt more comfortable and close to their mother. They shared a loving home and Sundar learnt the two basic guiding principles of his life from his parents. From his mother he learnt the virtue of ‘Being Good’ and from his father he learnt the mantra of ‘Doing Well’.

Sundar was close to his sister Sunidhi, although she was six years older. When Sundar needed someone to talk to about his trials and tribulations with academic pursuits, he invariably turned to Sunidhi. She was a balancing influence on Sundar, combining the drive of her father and the caring nature of her mother. They exchanged letters, at least once a month. During Sundar’s school breaks, Sunidhi made it a point to take time off from work to visit her brother at their Anna Nagar home in Madras. Apart from their common interest in Nuclear Physics, Carnatic music was another passion the siblings shared. They attended M. S. Subbulakshmi concerts together with their mother and cousins. Sunidhi had trained in Carnatic music and her treasured possession was a Tanjavur style tambura while Sundar played the mridhangam. The brother-sister duo had performed together at the Music Academy in T. Nagar last year, a cultural high point for Raman Sundar and Janaki.

Sport was not Sundar’s cup of tea. The closest he got to doing something physical was umpiring for the House cricket matches on the first field and warming the bench for his House football team. Once when he did get on the field as substitute goalkeeper for his House against Ajay’s Red House team, he fumbled a slow grounder five minutes from the final whistle. Maroon house lost that game and Sundar lost his goal-keeping confidence for ever. What Sundar lacked in hand-eye coordination on the field, he more than compensated with his mercurial skills on the chess board. He was also a permanent fixture on the St. John’s debating society and Elocution team.

TWO

Rahul’s Story

June 1985 Kolkata

RAHUL LAY in bed staring at the rotating blades of the Orient fan on the ceiling. He had put the regulator at the maximum speed of five, but he was still feeling warm. That happens to all hill school boarders when they return home to the warmer clime of the plains for the summer vacation. The hot and humid weather of Kolkata annoyed Rahul. Shyamal Sarkar, Rahul’s father, had cut short his North Bengal sales tour to spend quality time with his son. Rahul was not very happy about that either.

"How was the first term exam, Bappa?" was Shyamal’s first question when they met for lunch. "Theek Thak," was Rahul’s circumcised response. Why can’t he ask me how I have been the last three months before talking about results, thought Rahul as he poured the shorshe illish fish onto the rice on his plate.

How much did you get? Shyamal persisted.

In what?

"You seem worried about something Bappa. Did you not do well in the first term?"

No, I didn’t do badly Baba, but can we talk about it later? Ah, leave the boy alone, he just came yesterday, Rahul’s mother, Renuka, came to his rescue. "Bappa, you don’t look too well. I am sure you have lost a few kilos. For the next two weeks you must eat well to regain your strength. On one side, the study pressure and on the other, the terrible food. My poor boy."

I am okay, Ma, was Rahul’s half-hearted attempt to assuage his mother’s concerns about his well being.

How are your friends, Ajay and Sundar, doing? Shyamal asked wanting to continue his conversation with Rahul.

Ajay has become a Prefect, Baba and Sundar came first with 91% marks, Rahul said, trying to sort out the fine bones in the Hilsa. "Ma, the shorshe illish is delicious." Renuka’s face lit up. Rahul could see the dark circles under his mother’s eyes. The specs of white had turned into clusters of white in her hair. She had a tired, stressed look on her round pleasant face. Rahul’s mother was a simple woman, the fifth of eleven children. She grew up in a large joint family in the Bagh Bazaar area of North Calcutta with her five sisters and five brothers. It was a selfless childhood, chiefly spent in helping her mother take care of her younger siblings. Rahul had been to mamar bari many times and he had fond memories of sitting down with boro mama on flat wooden stools to eat lunch. He could never forget the small wire-mesh food cabinet under Dida’s bed where all the narkel nadu (coconut balls with jaggery) and payesh (sweet milk with rice) were kept. Rahul and his cousin brother Debashish (mama’s son) had many a times stolen shamelessly from Dida’s ‘jalti’.

Rahul’s home in Bhowanipore (South Calcutta) was a two and a half storied building with a yellow painted exterior and a red coloured steel gate which Rahul and his friends, Nagu and Sibu, would swing back and forth on when they were kids. Three and a half families stayed in the Sarkar house. Rahul’s grandmother whom he called Didi was going strong at 83 years and she had one room on the ground floor. The rest of the ground floor was rented out. Rahul’s jethu (father’s elder brother) Sidheshwar Sarkar lived on the first floor with his wife Mrinalini and their 21- year-old son, Robin. Siddheswar and Shyamal were not close to each other. Robin was a big disappointment for his father, having dropped out of college to start a trading business for electrical goods on Ezra Street with his friend. No one in the Sarkar family had ever gone into business. That was for the Marus and the Gujjus. Siddheswar was ashamed to tell his friends and relatives that his son had dropped out of Presidency College. One day, Rahul had asked Robinda why he had dropped out of college.

"You won’t understand Bappa, and you are not at an age when you should understand. But let me try. Look at these folks. Your dad, my dad, they think they are putting their limited education to good use. Bullshit. Every day they go and work under some f***ing gora (white skinned people) or a desi saheb from the IIMs and lick their asses. That is not life. I want to make serious money and the only way to do that is business. It is not much right now, but we have plans to grow big and have our own brand some day. Anyway, someone needs to break the f***ing rules in this family.Think about your future carefully, Bappa. Don’t have the typical Bengali service mentality. That is what has kept us from competing with the Birlas and the Goenkas."

Rahul was impressed with Robinda’s fresh take on what a career should be and realized what courage of conviction it took to pursue a path against family wishes. He himself didn’t have the guts.

Among his relatives, Rahul was closest to Chitra, his mejo mashi’s (mother’s sister) daughter. Chitra lived with her parents and two sisters in Southern Avenue. Meshomoshai (aunt’s husband) was Chief Engineer of the Balmer Lawrie Company and they had a sprawling lake-facing apartment on the twentieth floor of the Sarovar building. Rahul liked being at their apartment. More than the space and style, it was the warmth of Chitra’s home that Rahul enjoyed. Chitra was of the same age as Rahul. She was studying in class X in Loreto House on Middleton Row.

Chitra and Rahul had grown up together. She was the one person with whom Rahul opened up. After a sumptuous Saturday lunch of luchi, aloor dum and kasha mangsho courtesy Mashi’s culinary skills, Rahul and Chitra retired to their favourite spot, the small balcony adjoining Chitra’s room.

"Meshomoshai has to work on Saturdays?" Rahul asked Chitra. Mesho was not around for lunch and Rahul was wondering why.

Chitra ducked the question by asking, How are you coping with the ICSE syllabus?

Rahul realized she was holding something back. He made a mental note of asking her again at a more appropriate time. They talked about school and what was new in their friends circle. Rahul got to know a lot of what was happening in the family from Chitra.

You know, Debashish has a girlfriend, Chitra informed Rahul.

Finally! I had given up all hope for Deba, The surprise in his voice betrayed Rahul. He felt again the familiar pangs of envy revving up from within.

What about you, Rahul? Met anyone your type? Chitra asked.

What do you think is my type? Rahul looked at her