Elphinstone Relived…

I met Z on the second day of college in my Philosophy class. He was tall, gangly, and handsome as only a Parsee can be. We were the only two attending the lecture in a classroom behind the library. This was a strange and quaint room that could be accessed only through the library; it was more of a tiny annexure to the library but we had our Philosophy classes here. I loved the room because of its solitude, because it was cut-off from the hub of the main rooms located along the corridor.

When I went in the first day, Z was already sitting there. He looked up, pushing his specs up his nose, which I later came to know was a habit with him and stared at me inquiringly. This was a bit disconcerting and I felt myself blushing. I was still unused to Bombay and E and was just getting my bearings. “Hey, calm down. Have you come for Philo or am I in the wrong class? I am usually in the wrong class you see.” And he smiled the most endearing smile. I grinned back, suddenly liking this gangly boy. “I have come for Philo too but have no clue if this is the right room or not. This is my second day in college and tenth in Bombay.” That did it. He took me under his wings and told me all about his family in Khusraubaug, about life in Colaba with bits and pieces of Malabar Hills thrown in, which was the whole of Bombay for him. The names of these places, new to me then, soon became familiar, and Z and I became inseparable—almost. Except when he had to go for his practice. His dream was to join the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. All he wanted in return were the Philo lecture notes as he missed most classes because of his practice.

Z and I sat on the Jehangir steps where I would simulate the Philo class of the day and try to give the lecture verbatim, as given by Prof. Sashidharan. This did me a world of good too as Z was an ideal student—attentive, inquisitive, and willing to learn. He asked all the right questions, pointed out gaps in my explanations…this honed my thinking, helped me to reanalyze my logic and was an excellent revision. We both discovered a passion for Logic and Metaphysics and spent hours discussing the points threadbare. This stood me in good stead during the lectures and Prof. Sashidharan was very impressed with my analytical abilities. I had told her about my discussions with Z; thus, Z was present during the lectures in spirit and intellect.

When Z’s practice became rigorous, he would come to college once a week, unshaven, uncombed, in slept-in jeans, and completely unlike his usually good looking suave self; I knew that I would have to write his notes as well. We would sit on the Jehangir steps; I would be furiously scribbling, cursing him for making me do it, and explain one or two points in between the curses. He would rest his back against the steps, long legs stretched out, lean on one elbow and peer across my shoulder to see whether my writing was legible or not. Sometimes, warmed by the sun, exhausted by his practice, relieved to have his notes written for him, he would doze off till I pushed him awake rudely—furious that I was slogging over his notes while he slept. My fury had no effect except to make him muss my hair affectionately. Then, when I was done, we would go to Samovar for chai or walk down Causeway to ------------------- a little beyond Khusraubaug. We would also go to Churchill if we were in the mood. Very often, we looked too scruffy and disreputable for C.

The two years of E and Philo classes sailed passed; and it was time for our SYBA results. I was dithering between doing English or Philo major. Z spent agonizing days biting his knuckles, sitting on the Jehangir steps proclaiming his sure failure in all subjects, and bemoaning his fate. I tried to calm him down but an excitable Parsee in the throes of despair is difficult to handle. I would get fed up and walk off to browse the shelves of Rhythm House only to find Z following me, still lamenting. I asked him to let me know as soon as he knew his “fate”.

On the day of the result, I was on my way to college just crossing the road in front of St. Anne’s when I spotted Z coming from the college end. He saw me at the same time and broke into a run. His face told me that he knew his fate and it wasn’t a sad one. I crossed the road and we met in front of NGMA, or CJ Hall, as it was called then. He swept me up and did something he had never done before—kissed me full on the lips to my absolute astonishment and bewilderment. He swung me around, laughing exultantly and then deposited me, breathless and angry. “You have topped Philo and I am second.” “Since there were only two of us in Philo, you couldn’t have come third,” was my cryptic response. He noticed my anger and looked bewildered. “Aren’t you happy that I have passed?” “Why did you kiss me like this in public?” I was still smarting. “I have passed because of you; I was so happy to see you. I wanted to kiss you.” He was bemused. Suddenly, the funny side of it hit me. Here were we, our actual concern forgotten, arguing about a kiss. I giggled mystifying Z even more. “Look I will never kiss you again if you don’t want me to; but don’t be mad.” I hugged him. “Just put it down to my convent school upbringing.”

Arm-in-arm, we went to C. He wanted to know if friends did not kiss in Cal when they were happy. “They do I guess but I have never seen anyone. And definitely not on a busy crossing at 10:00 am with half the world watching.”

Z soon got an offer to join the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and was ecstatic. He had opted for Philo major but could not stay on to complete the year. He got special permission to complete the degree through correspondence. I had opted for English disappointing Z tremendously. But promised to courier him all the notes regularly. Thus, in spite of my English Major, I still copied Philo notes.

I missed Z, but he missed me even more. Today, I associate my love for philosophy and intellectual dialogic with Z. There are some friendships that last for a short while, but pack into that space and time, the thoughts of a lifetime…

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