Of Course I Love You!: Till I find someone better… by Durjoy Datta Page B

and walked off.
    ‘Bloody hell! When was the last time he talked to us? Has he ever talked to us before this?
Sorry, dude?
As if I was dying for the job. Did he just call me
dude
?’
    ‘Shut up, Deb. You don’t have to get paranoid about this. Poor guy. He is happy that he got through. That’s it,’ she said.
    ‘Whatever. Not another one. Don’t tell me even he is coming towards us.’
    ‘He didn’t even give it, ass. His departmental rank is seventh.’
    I hoped he wasn’t walking towards us, but given my wretched luck lightning struck me twice that day. Never did the option of killing somebody and rotting behind bars feel so tempting.
    Before he could start, I said, ‘Hi, Chitiz. I heard everybody except me got through? They are so lucky. I wonder what they did in the interview. Maybe they just knew everything. Or maybe they are just young Einsteins … and NO, we don’t want to know who got through. We just want to keep the suspense alive. Do you mind?’ I said.
    He was lucky I still hadn’t taken my hands out of my pocket.
    ‘Excuse me. I can understand. Sorry to have bothered. Bye.’ He walked off visibly perturbed after my uncalled-for rudeness.
    He can understand? What?
    ‘Whoa! That was mean and totally unnecessary,’ Vernita said, as she hopped onto the stairs leading to the T&P department.
    ‘Whatever. But I can do without their sympathy. They don’t even know me.’
    ‘There is the list,’ Vernita pointed out.
    ‘Ohh! How eager I am to have a look at it. I am not coming. You go and tell me about the lucky people who got through.’
    ‘As you say,’ she said and left.
    ‘Vernita. Can we go now?’ I shouted across to her.
    ‘Wait,’ she said, her facial expressions were changing each passing second. Seemed like more bad news was coming my way.
    ‘So, who are the lucky slackers who got through?’
    ‘You’ve got to see this,’ she said and dragged me towards the list.
    ‘I don’t need to see this.’
    ‘Yes, you do, Deb. Just read.’
    ‘What? Ashish, dumbhead; Ayush, dickhead; Ankur, loser …’
    ‘Deb can you do it a little faster.’ She punched me.
    ‘Okay, okay. Ar … Az … Ba … Be … Ch … Cu … Di … what?’
    ‘At the end of the list, Deb,’ she said.
    ‘Yogesh … Zohrab … Debashish …
Debashish?
How is this possible? Okay, wait, what the bloody …’
    I was numb. It was right there for the entire world to see.
    Debashish Roy—
barred from all placement activities for the year 2007–08 on account of misbehaviour.
    I was crushed.
    The higher the ball falls from, the harder it bounces back. I was hit hard for sure. Being barred meant I would be jobless at the end of the academic session! I had almost fainted when I first read it on the board. My head had spun and I felt like my knees would give way.
    This isn’t happening.
    I would have to sit at home and watch every one of my fellow students lap up jobs. I would rather die. I was screwed. I had never thought it would come to this. Being debarred from placements is something that happens to others, not us.
    I had been a complete ass. I let my mom down, who used to stay up all night to wake me at whatever intervals I asked her to. And Dad, too, who was in tears even after his brilliant son had once again underachieved by not getting through an entrance examination he should have cleared the first time around. I felt worse for them than for myself. They would have nothing to tell people. I would not get placed that year. I would pass out from college without a job in hand. I didn’t deserve this. I had never thought one moment that my thoughtlessness would lead to this. I wished I could turn back time and handle it better. Some fights are not worth fighting.
    No, Deb, there are some companies that hold off-campus interviews before the session ends. And, NO, a call centre is not an option.
    I had spent hours with my head buried in my knees by the time Vernita called and broke the string of ridiculous