Today, the entire Convocation hall was packed with boys. A slim
line of girls unobtrusively occupied the few vacant seats in a row at
the back. IIT was known for its skewed sex ratio. Where else would
you find a batch that had 12 girls and 325 boys? I overheard some
boys bet on Kapil Dev in an ongoing cricket match series. Some of
them seemed to know each other, and chatted about movies and
music. The girls, however, seemed quiet.

As we waited for each fresher to be assigned a roll number, I basked
in the glory of the moment till, …. it suddenly struck me that each
individual here had cleared the IIT entrance exam and was in fact
nothing short of a super genius. From being the best student in school,
I was now just another geek among hundreds that thronged the hall.
I was still grappling with my insignificance but suddenly my future
looked bleak. Had I slogged the past two years of my life for this?
Had I made the right choice?

I came out of my reverie when my name was called out. I went up
to the stage to get my tag. On the way back, I saw the dark demon,
seated in a corner, like a tigress waiting to pounce on her prey.
“Go and propose to that guy in the red t shirt.” She stopped me
and pointed her finger towards a 5 ft, 7", fat, fair guy in a red t shirt,
standing four rows ahead. “Convince him to marry you, and don’t
come back rejected.”

Approach, propose, and return. A simple task. But not for me as I
was sweating profusely. In all my fourteen years at an all girl’s school
in Delhi I had been terribly inhibited about boys. The two years of
co education in Vadodara were no different with boys and girls sitting
on separate benches. In short, my comfort level with the opposite
sex was like my Gujarati – pathetic, and this sea of seventeen year old
boys made me weak kneed.

But I was not alone. I saw other freshers being made to do similar
stuff. There was no escaping this so I walked up to the boy in the red
t shirt.
“Deepika has sent a scapegoat “, said a husky voice from behind.
“Wait till Piya sends someone to tail you”, retorted Red t shirt.
“Piya won’t. I had made it very clear to her last semester that I
wasn’t interested in her, and she seemed to take the rejection
sportingly,” clarified the deep, throaty voice.

I sneaked a glance to put a face to the voice and found a bespectacled
Surd in color coordinated shirt and turban. Going by their conversation,
this Piya, whoever she was, had confirmed a fact that, IIT girls were
certainly not in demand. I felt uneasy. What was I expected to do? Go
down on my knees or was that only restricted to the men?

“I have to propose to you.” I said sounding like I needed to pee.
“That would indeed be lovely.” He emphasized each word, and
looked directly into my eyes. Now did this mean that he had accepted
my proposal? Or was waiting for my next move? I was not sure but
going by his stance, I decided it was the latter.
“Will you marry me?” I asked emboldened.
“Give me one good reason.” He played along looking quite
friendly. Before I got here, I was the haughty state topper, but now
that I was just one among the many at IIT, I was suddenly feeling
worthless.
“I am JEE 212.” I highlighted my sole achievement, feeling rather
stupid. His friends gathered around me and started evaluating the
proposal jointly. He had come across as a decent guy so far, but the
others looked slimy. I started fidgeting with my pigtails.
“Everyone here, the Tinas, Minas, and Rinas in IIT are JEE rank
holders. I can’t marry them all.” He stood straight with legs apart,
hiding the slight bulge around his belly.
“I am straight forward, honest, intelligent, and a go getter.” I
enumerated as much for his sake as my own.
“And he is The Champ”, remarked his turbaned friend in his hoarse
voice, wiping his spectacles carefully with a clean cloth. The Surd
went by the name Sukhi, as I came to know later.

What did Sukhi mean by that? Perhaps Red T shirt had won some
championship recently. I could find nothing else to brag about as I
had been singularly focused on cracking the IIT entrance exam, with
little time for personal grooming. “I have long hair. I can embroider,
paint, and dance, and cook yummy food.” I felt cheap and horrible.
Sukhi wanted to interview me further, when Champ intervened.
“That will do”, he said. Something in my sales pitch had caught his
fancy.
I was about to leave when Champ added, “But there is a condition.”
I waited apprehensively hoping he wouldn’t notice my unshapely
eyebrows or the bulging thighs.
“You will have to wait till I come of age”, he said as he winked at
me.