This article has been submitted anonymously for the CLATGyan Blog Post Writing Competition. This is a work of fiction and no inferences ought to be drawn from the same. If you think this article is a good read, ‘Like’ this article on Facebook (the button is at the bottom of this piece) or post a comment using the ‘comments’ section below.
As I walked along the poorly-painted walls of the college that I would need 5 years to fall in love with, with a herd of my newly-made acquaintances chattering on about everything substantial to our overrated first day, I tuned out the trivial milieu of voices and colours and tuned into the multifarious feelings that presently made my stomach churn and made me light-headed. Whilst the excited anticipation akin to that of a 5-year old’s sugar high had subsided after last night (here, I faltered in my step), the anxious apprehension of what might unfurl today only swelled with every step I took towards my first Legal Methods class.
Legal Methods was, according to the grapevine, the class that every first-year girl found herself bedazzled and stupefied and astounded in. The reason: the smart, arguably witty and suave (from what I observed) Rahul Bhat, the much-adored professor of our LM class. And the thing that most, if not all, people didn’t have a clue about, was that he was shied away from attention. It made him that much more adorable. But be it in his classroom or outside, he had an intense passion for the things he cared for, an exuberant indulgence that played in with the scholarly demeanor that made him surprisingly approachable, again, in the classroom or ‘outside’.
Sighing in a self-proclaimed moment of fan-girling and rolling my eyes at my own propensity for theatricals, I found a lull corner in the cold room (AC drafts you know) and continued to ruminate. The funny thing about hindsight is that she is a rapacious, unforgiving bitch. Away from the secluded confines of the night, in the harsh, callous glow of the day, I felt stripped of my pride and usual cloak of complacency and I wondered if it would shut up the annoying girl from Mumbai if she knew of the exploits of the night before. But there was this undeniably risqué element that wondered if what happened was only a preface to more and if I would be recognized and called out on my doing. I wondered if Amrapali would go down in history to be the infamous one.
“Madhubala? That’s a quite the name for a girl who falls over thin air” you said, as you helped me off the ground while I cursed myself for losing my dignity and grace even before you even acknowledged me. Leading me to your table (quite the gentleman that you are), you didn’t waver for a second as you pulled me into your booth before rattling of an order for drinks in an effort to make a poor girl not feel misplaced. But then as you gave me a glimpse of that inane charm that you possess, I was hooked and what was supposed to be a run-in with someone I would be running into more often snowballed into a night I, and I’m hoping you, would never forget. So it’s really your fault you know, with your wit and your charm and your genuine interest in a girl that wouldn’t leave. And this impression stayed too, all through the night, no matter what we were doing. I sound like a lovestruck teenage girl, but maybe that’s alright because cynicism can only last so long. Heh. And though you were quite convinced I was tipsy, I was already on a high from you, your smiles and your laughter, your kisses and your fingers finding me everywhere.“
He walked in, his usual demeanor in place, not a hair out of place and determined to make his mark and impress his students. Did he really not realize that he already made more than just a mark? Eyes straying across the class and meeting fearful mine, he stiffened but held my gaze. Though he never said anything remotely provocative nor lay a step a toe out of his bounds, that look told me everything I needed to know. This was going to be an interesting semester, huh.