The unexpected

At 6 the programme started. A lamp lighting ceremony then a hymn to Goddess Saraswati by the pretty girl in a Half saree, followed by lengthy speeches by all sorts of people with all sorts of titles attached to their names. The performance by the Orphan Children was the most entertaining. They danced to  “ Raindrops on roses” quite gracefully, and ended the show bumping into one another when a child dressed as a  tree lost his balance and stumbled on the bee.

A humorous applause was followed by the prize distribution ceremony. Everyone quite eagerly watched the proceedings on stage but we were amusing ourselves with the proceedings around us.

I betted 5 dairy milk bars that a particular girl’s name was bound to start with ‘Sri’, for whenever the anchor used sri(an honorific prefix used before masculine names), she would almost leave her chair in excitement. There was another girl in a dark Harper Green Salwar who looked as if she had witnessed an accident. Still another girl in a Red churidaar with long plaited hair rose with much indifference, when the name Pallavi was called. She did not as much as smile when they announced a second prize while her friend, Ashok was bouncing about. A tall, dark boy was the only other boy who showed as much indifference to the proceedings on the stage as we were showing, but he was busily chatting with a cute girl beside him. We were did restrain our laughter at the “Black and White” pair when we heard a faint “TEJASVI” from the mocrophone.

My eyes wide of astonishment looked into Tejasvi’s no-less wide eyes in disbelief, perharps there were more than one Tejasvis in the auditorium to be sure of which we waited with baited breaths, staring at the stage. The microphone boomed again clearly mentioning our names and our college name, we were dumb struck. A third time our names were pronounced and no one else stood up, we took to our heels. We sprinted past the girl whose name was probably “Sri” then past a couple of boys, over the stairs and took, rather snatched, our certificates. We quite disbelievingly were checking whether the certificates contained our names or not when the a rough voice said “photograph”. Sporting our distorted faces with a confused smile we got it done. Quite leisurely we descended down the stairs, the pretty girl in the Half Saree was smiling and waved a congratulation.

We took our seats still in a state of delirium a dozen rechecks later we were sure we somehow did win it. Not sure how.

A speech followed by a vote of thanks and everyone started vacating the room. We were no exceptions.

At the door Puri ordered us to wait near the main entrance.

At the main entrance we stood trying to figure out what made us win with half an hour preparation. A group passed congratulating us, our chests puffed out we were elated. Then the girl whose name was probably “Sri” grudgingly congratulated us never lifting her face off the ground. She had taken another step that we heard a silent sob;

“pApam rA!(an expression used to express sympathy)”, I  said.

“Guess she prepared for more that half an hour.” Tejasvi added.

  A boy who was seated on the stone bench under the bamboo groove, with no sign of his female friend, congratulated us cheerfully. Then came a sweet, cute, “ Congratulations” in a sing song voice, whose owner was the girl in Yellow georgette Salwar Kameez, Puri , along with her friend Vydehi, the beautiful girl in violet T shirt. Puri asked Vydehi to reserve a seat for her in the college bus, who obediently departed.

Puri, whose oblong face now seemed round and fuller, showered us with a string of congratulations and then started a conversation which Tejasvi till now wishes he should have terminated.

A series of nostalgic jokes and laughs and smiles, the conversation was wonderful, till the moment she made a mischievous comment.

“Why don’t you change your name it is so long and difficult to pronounce”, Puri commented with a giggle. Tejasvi let out a laugh.

“At least it is not edible as yours “, I joked. Tejasvi grinned.

Girls perhaps lack a sense of humour or are not sportive enough orperhaps a combination of both.

Whatever may have been the case Puri’s face changed it was no longer full and round, it had returned to its oblong shape perhaps it was a little more long than it should have been. Her nose nolonger retained the tanned look but had instead adopted the shade of a tomato. Her eyebrows ascended over her forehead, almost touching her high hairline. Her eyelids stuck back. And her eyes no longer twinkled bu instead  glared at me. She mumbled a haute, stern, monotonous good bye and left instantly. I was confused and Tejasvi aghast.

* The words from Indian languages with the exception of proper nouns are spelled according to the Harvard Kyoto convention for romanisation.