The Month Of October ;
Marks The Beginning Of My Golden Days,
Every Year.
Saturday,7th October 2023
A Saturday combined with an afternoon class meant I wouldn't get a chance to visit the library. Studying at home until 1:30 was tough. I had finished KTG, but still had four pages left. But as I often say, I've been a bit lucky: Maa's rava kachori was filling enough to last from breakfast through lunch. So, I decided to head to the library, hoping I wouldn't feel hungry until evening.
Ramesh wasn't going to attend the lecture. It was probably going to be the last one on electrochemistry, as the topic was almost over.
Our scheduled class was in Room 9, where a group of juniors were having lunch and discussing their doubts. I kept my bag on the second bench and went to the library.
Despite there being only four students, including me, the library had never been a place conducive to real studying,
It was Mia who broke the few minutes' silence by the topic of how her Instagram account had been hacked.
It suddenly reminded me of the DM I'd received from her account that morning, asking me to click on some link. Thankfully, I had already understood something could be
wrong with her account and I simply ignored the message.
I got up after a while and went back to our classroom but forgot to bring the AC remote, so I had to step out again to retrieve it.
On my way back, I paused at the door of Classroom 10, where our lectures were usually held. Out of curiosity, I pushed it open slightly to see if anyone was inside. Through the narrow gap between the wall and the door, I saw Naira, and I was glad I'd been curious.
When I opened the door fully, I found Arjun and Sanjana J there as well.
"Huh...? Have you been sitting in Room 9 all this time?" Naira asked.
If only you'd been a bit more curious earlier, you might have had more time, my sixth sense taunted me.
"Yeah, if I'd known Naira was here, I would have come here earlier," I thought to myself, and quickly replied, "Yes..."
"Ha-" I couldn't even finish my words before I was interrupted.
"Aye Tuh-nish, will we have two separate math exams for boards?" Sanjana J asked.
I always got serious goosebumps whenever Sanjana J and Naira called me "Tuh-nish," just as I did when others occasionally used it instead of my usual "Tanish."
"Nahi…" I replied to Sanjana.
"Ek hi hoga na?"
"Yes, yes," I responded.
"Will you keep my bag in classroom 9?" Squinting her eyes, Naira asked me to keep her bag in Classroom 9.
Yaar, I wish I could hug you tightly and keep you in my arms forever, I kept thinking in my mind.
"Sure," I agreed.
"Keep it on the third bench, ha," Naira instructed with a smile.
"Well, I'm sitting there," I teased her.
"Classroom number 9 mein hum third bench pe baithte hain," Naira proudly stated.
"Sure. I had actually saved the bench for you," I reassured her.
"Aur CS ke liye we have two separate papers, right?" Sanjana asked another question.
"I had asked ma'am about it, and she told me there would be two separate papers," I replied.
"But in the timetable..."
"...ha... there's only one CS paper listed," I interrupted, remembering that Ramesh had asked the same thing a few days back.
"When is our CS paper?" Sanjana inquired.
"12th March," I answered.
"I can't see CS anywhere in this tentative timetable," she said.
"Since when are you all sitting here?" I asked them.
But before I could get a reply, Sanjana handed me her phone.
"Zara dekh na where is our CS paper's date... in this timetable."
"Ek baje," Sanjana then replied to my question.
"What a timetable they've made," Sanjana further criticized.
I squinted my eyes to take a proper glance at it, and began wondering what was more unclear—the timetable itself or the screen of her phone.
"And that online form filling ka kya?" she asked her next question.
"Are, I had sent that on the group," I told her.
Sanjana kept firing questions one after the other, and I kept answering them one after the other.
"It was in Hindi."
"Wo Marathi mein tha," I corrected her, still searching for CS in the row for 12th March—until I finally found it.
"Look at this. I got it," I said. Hearing me, Sanjana got up and looked into her phone, which was still in my hand. I respectfully handed it back to her, and she came up with another question.
"BS College group pe send kiya tha?"
"Yes."
"Did you create the BS College group?" Naira jumped in with a question for Sanjana.
"She uhh..." I was trying to guess correctly, but Sanjana denied that she did.
"I'll send it to my mother. She'll translate it," she continued, opening our college group and scrolling up to find the message I'd sent last night.
I saw it as the perfect opportunity to check whether Sanjana J had saved my number or not. A couple of months back, Naira had speculated that she might have, and trusting her words, I'd saved Sanjana's number as 'Sanjana 3'.
Now I'd immediately delete it if I found out she hadn't saved mine yet—after all, I always kept the numbers of people who had mine.
I tried to peek into her phone from where I sat, narrowing my eyes to catch any detail. But Naira, who was getting into Sanjana's phone, unknowingly blocked my view. I still managed to catch a glimpse of something written in red at the top-left corner of my message.
It seemed somewhat obvious she wouldn't have saved my number as 'Tanish Bhardwaj'. And even 'Tanish' felt too short for what I'd seen others save my name as. Another small thing I noticed was that even my username 'Tanish Bhai' appeared shorter than usual.
Before I could figure out more, Sanjana tapped the forward button and the screen changed—my moment for guessing was over.
"I sent it... it'll get translated into English," Sanjana said, blinking her eyes.
"Aur Hindi Marathi toh…" she added, explaining her difficulty in reading Hindi and Marathi—which Naira agreed with.
"Then what's the point in being a Maharashtrian?" I teased them as they stood up, ready to move to Classroom 9 where I'd been sitting earlier. Naira took her bag from me, and I followed them while Arjun stayed back, saying he'd join us later.
"Second bench pe projector lagta hai na?" Naira asked me. I told her that three students couldn't sit there because of the projector and lied that only one could. She might have missed the detail, but Sanjana J was always sharp.
"Two students sit there with the projector," she turned back and corrected me.
"Are but I require a lot of space, so I don't think me and the projector could even fit a second person…" I excused myself, muttering a curse under my breath as they opened the door and we left Classroom 10.
Turning towards Classroom 9, I caught a smile on Sanjana's face from the side.
"Ye toh har baat pe bas gaali dene lagta hai," Naira said.
"Are, it's not my catchphrase—but I use it often," I defended, half-laughing.
The three of us entered the class, and I noticed the juniors were still there. I moved my bag to the second bench and sat down, stretching out and relaxing with my legs on the bench.
Suddenly, I remembered a couple of random questions I'd been pondering over the past few days—and thought maybe Sanjana and Naira could help answer them.
"Hey, listen up… I wanted to ask something," I said. Both girls turned to me with curious expressions.
"Suppose we go to Monginis," I began. Just then, Naira turned back to Rushika, who had just entered the class, but Sanjana J kept listening.
"Monginis?" she repeated.
"Yeah, so there we see those triangular pieces of cake. Are they still called pastries?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"And in a lehenga, what is the bottom part called? The top part is called a blouse, right?" I asked my next question.
"Woh poora lehenga hi hota hai," Sanjana answered.
I glanced at Naira's NCERT math book lying near her and casually picked it up without asking.
"There are some papers in it, so be careful," she warned.
"Just tear off any papers you see," Sanjana added.
"These ones?" I asked, pulling out a few ruled pages.
"No, the other ones," Sanjana clarified.
"Okay, so these?" I pointed to some blank sheets.
"Yes. Tear them," she instructed.
"I mean… how do I?" I stammered, unsure how exactly to tear the pages without ruining the book.
"Leave it," Sanjana finally said. I placed the book back on the desk and leaned back into my seat, feeling a bit silly for even trying.
"Do you like this?" Sanjana suddenly switched topics, turning her phone toward Naira to show her something.
"Let me see…"
"Yeah, it's nice," Yash, who had arrived and was sitting on bench behind the girls added, glancing over from his spot.
"Isn't it?" Sanjana asked again, sounding half-curious, half-excited.
"You guys like Korean stuff more, right?" I guessed, half teasing, half genuinely curious. I assumed Sa must have shown Naira a photo of some Korean actor or singer.
"No," Sanjana replied immediately, adding, "It's not like that." Naira nodded in agreement, and for a moment, I felt relieved that my assumption hadn't turned into another round of teasing.
Then Sanjana asked Naira if she'd heard a certain Marathi song. I watched them, slightly outside the conversation now, but still close enough to catch bits of it. Sanjana described how she'd danced to that song at a function—if I remember correctly, it was in her building.
"I danced to that song, and then I blinked like this in front of the camera," she said, demonstrating with a quick, playful blink, "and then I turned around," she continued, joining her hands together with the middle fingertips touching, like a small finishing pose.
And it continued from there….
"The examinations for Class XII will begin on 21st February and continue until 23rd March. Class X exams will be held from 1st to 22nd March," Sanjana read aloud from her phone.
"Ours will end on 12th March," I added happily, still leaning back and relaxing on the bench.
"Are, but here it's given 23rd March," she said, sounding confused.
"But there are different subjects, right?" I explained. "Like you and I have the same subjects."
"Yes…" she agreed, "..we both have the same subjects… Achaa okayy!!" she realised after a moment.
"So our boards end on 12th March. But other students have different subjects, so their papers go on till the 23rd," I nodded to her, feeling oddly satisfied to clear it up.
"This time Class 10 students are having their exams quite late," Sanjana noted, shifting the topic.
"Yeah. Our 10th boards ended on 18th May..." Naira recalled.
"They ended on the 20th…" I corrected her gently. "I mean, all papers ended on the 20th. But mine got over on 17th May—my arts paper was held in March."
Naira nodded in agreement, and I felt a small relief that we hadn't ended up debating over such a small detail.
"The form fillings start from 9th October, which is the day after tomorrow," Sanjana continued, eyes still on her phone.
"So how do we fill it? I mean… you might have done it before, right? Since you've been studying in the state board," I asked her, genuinely curious.
"Are… college heads will make us fill the forms… jo BS ke honge…"(she paused)"And then we have to submit it on the BS group, like we did for the identity cards…" (she paused again, shorter this time) "Aye, hamko ID cards kab milenge?" she asked, shifting from explanation back to a question aimed at all of us.
"What did you fill in the division section while giving information for the identity card?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
"I didn't fill anything."
"Then how did it accept your information if you left a column?"
Come on! Answer me properly, Sanjana… I thought to myself, a bit impatiently. Her casual reply reminded me of what Ramesh had once said about Sanjana: "Woh aisi hi hai."
"I just left a dot," she changed her answer, a small smile appearing on her face.
"Woah… amazing," I laughed, and she joined in too.
"In school, we used to get identity cards quickly, but here, I don't see them arriving anytime soon," one of us remarked.
"We got one every year."
"We had one in primary, then in secondary, and again in 11th and 12th. If you broke one, you had to pay for the replacement," Sanjana explained.
"You had to manage with one for so many years?" I asked her, surprised.
"Yeah, you people waste so much plastic," she teased back.
"State Board…" I interrupted, just those two words—and it always made us laugh.
"Whenever I think of State Board, it reminds me of Gurukul," I added, which made them laugh even more.
"Gurukul ke teen niyam: Pratishta, Parampara, aur Anushasan. Waise hi tumhare state board mein bhi teen niyam hai kya?" I joked.
"Are…" Sanjana began to answer, but I shook my head, silently showing I hadn't caught what she'd said.
"Ek minute ha," Sanjana said, raising her index finger as if to say "wait," and opened her phone.
I wondered what was coming—
"Ye toh sabko wahi dikhati hai," Naira teased her, half-laughing.
"Ha... mai sabko apni school dikhati hu," Sanjana admitted, then turned the screen toward me. It read 'Father Agnel School.'
I leaned forward slightly from my comfortable slouched spot on the bench. On her phone, I saw pictures of a turf and a basketball court. It reminded me instantly of Vishwajyot School, though her school building itself wasn't very clear in the photos. I didn't touch her phone—just glanced quickly—and leaned back again.
"You had turf as well?" I asked, still surprised.
"We had turf, a swimming pool, two basketball courts…" Sanjana started listing. I couldn't recall everything she mentioned, but it sounded impressive.
"Our school's full name was Father Angelo Multipurpose School and Jr. College. We had more than one building."
"Reminds me of Gurukul again," I blurted out, and both of them laughed.
"I'll show you my school," I said next, pulling out my phone and opening Google. I searched for Vishwajyot School and showed her the image of the main gate of the school.
"What??...This looks like BS College," Sanjana commented.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say back—her words caught me off guard. Then she turned back to Naira, who, just as Ramesh had told me, always seemed to quietly hold Sanjana's attention.
I switched to Instagram to check if our school page still had that top-view picture—but it seemed it had been deleted. A bit disappointed, I turned back to Google and searched again for Vishwajyot High School top view.
The first result showed exactly the image I'd wanted.
"See, the top view of our school," I said, unable to hide a grin.
"Bro, this looks like a prison," Sanjana said honestly, and for a moment, I was left speechless.
My school—awarded as the best ICSE school in the city by Jacqueline Fernandez in 2019 and by Suniel Shetty a couple of years later—was now being compared to a prison. Sanjana looked at my phone a bit longer, probably checking other images of my school, which I didn't really mind.
"So, your school is in Vashi?" I asked, trying to switch topics.
"Yes," she replied.
"Is it somewhere near Vashi Station?"
"Sector 9…"
"If your school had been near Vashi Station, I would've regretted not being in your school. The street food variety outside Vashi Station is a delight," I said, already picturing Paaji's chhole bhature and Pop's jumbo vada pav in my mind.
"A lot of people here are from Ryan School. I'm from Ryan, Neil is from Ryan—" Naira began listing.
"Sonali is also from Ryan, right?" I interrupted.
"Yes… And who else is from Ryan?" Naira thought aloud.
"Listen to their pronunciation," one of them teased.
"What? I said 'Riyan,'" Sanjana defended herself quickly.
"Even you pronounced my school's name wrong," Naira added.
"You're from the state board…" It was getting just a bit tense.
"One minute, one minute," I stepped in, wanting to settle it.
"Both of you, say your pronunciation."
"I said 'Riyan,'" Sanjana repeated.
"That's not right. It's Ryan," I corrected gently.
"See?" Naira chimed in, looking pleased.
"And you, say your pronunciation," I turned to Naira.
"Father Angel," she said.
"No, it's Angel, not Agnel," I corrected again, half teasing. "She at least spelled it correctly, but you changed the spelling. Agnel is not Angel. But honestly, 'Faraday' sounds better."
"Oye…" Sanjana's eyes widened a bit. "How can you confuse Fr(abbreviation of father) with Faraday?"
"I've told you many times, once a name is set in my mind, it stays there. Now it will remain Faraday for me," I shrugged.
"Did you stay in Vashi during your school days?" Sanjana asked, curiosity returning.
"No…"
"So, Belapur to Vashi?" I guessed, nodding slightly.
"You stayed in Belapur. Why didn't you look for schools there? DY Patil is also in Belapur," I pointed out.
"That school? I would never. My school was better," she replied, and honestly, I'd expected that answer. Judging by the crowd from DY Patil in our batch, it didn't seem like the kind of place for someone like 'Sanjana J,' as I'd heard.
"So, where exactly is Vishwajyot School?" Sanjana asked next.
"Do you know Haware Splendour?" I asked hopefully.
"No…" she shook her head.
Ugh, how do I explain? I thought, trying to recall a landmark she might know.
"You must know Jalvayu Vihar, right?" I finally asked, remembering it was the next bus stop after Shilp Chowk, where she used to come by bus. She nodded at last.
"From there, you go straight until you reach a circle. Take a right, and it's just a two-minute walk to Vishwajyot School."
"Haa…" Naira added, "..Ramseth school ke taraf se andar."
"Andar nahi, bahar," I corrected her again.
"Andar hi toh bola…"
"Ha toh andar is from the main road, and bahar is towards the main road," I explained, using my hands to show the directions properly.
Just then, breaking our trio's flow, "Tanish…" someone else finally spoke.
It was Sai, always smiling like every time I'd seen him at Vishwajyot. "My penalty fee… I was absent from the last lecture."
"Are, and what about you? Even your penalty is remaining," I turned to Sanjana.
Sanjana opened her purse and started searching. For a second, I caught sight of the colourful mix of new Indian notes: the purple ₹100, blue ₹50, green ₹20… She pulled out a ₹10 coin, turned it in her hand, and handed it to me. "Abhi itne hi hain."
"Look for five more rupees," I urged, a bit impatiently. She withdrew her hand and kept checking through the notes.
"Sanjana has a lot of money," Arjun observed from nearby, smiling lightly, no malice in his tone—just amusement.
"Ice cream party!!" Naira announced suddenly, her voice bright with excitement.
In that moment, I couldn't help but smile too. From teasing about schools and names to joking about parties—these random shifts in conversation were exactly what made being around them feel strangely comforting.
"Do you all get money every month or do you ask for it?" I asked, genuinely curious if anyone else got a monthly pocket money like I did.
"Like... it depends on mummy," Sanjana began. "I just go to her and ask, and she gives me whatever she has—like a hundred rupees or two hundred." Naira nodded, agreeing it was the same for her.
"So, you don't get a fixed amount each month?" I pressed again, still surprised. Sanjana shook her head.
"Mujhe toh do hazaar milte hain har month," I shared.
"Every month??!!" Sanjana's eyes widened, her surprise so genuine it almost made me laugh.
"Yup!" I confirmed, almost proud for a second.
"Tch... mujhe teri zindagi jeeni hai," she sighed, her voice softening, gaze drifting toward the empty benches. Her lips curled faintly into a small, wistful smile. There was something in her tone—a hint of regret mixed with quiet envy—that caught me off guard.
Sanjana Jaiswal, known for her high standards, for the confident way she carried herself, and whose Instagram—at least as Ramesh described—reflected a certain lifestyle, was openly wishing to live my life over money?
"You shouldn't be saying this..." I started, my voice quiet.
"Huhh??" She blinked and turned back to me, caught off guard.
"I mean, you might not get as much pocket money as I do, but you probably live in a better house and have a better car than me," I explained, trying to balance it out.
"Aisa tujhe lagta hai" she asked, her voice low, still looking at that same empty spot as if weighing something in her mind. For a brief moment, it felt like there was something deeper troubling her.
"Which car do you have?" I asked, falling back into my habit of comparing.
"Brezza," she replied, finally meeting my eyes again.
"Acha, oh okay. Theek hai. I have a Baleno. My car might be bigger in size, but both can fit the same number of people,"
She nodded, smiling gently, as if to say maybe my guess about her life being "better" wasn't entirely right.
"Tera kitna BHK hai?" I continued, curious now.
Quietly, she lifted three fingers.
"Three...??" I confirmed. She nodded.
"Ha, your home is three times bigger than mine," I said, my voice rising slightly.
"Ghar me kitne log hain?" she asked
"Four."
"Mere ghar me paanch log hain," she added.
And then, before I could ask anything else, Shashank sir finally arrived. I quickly turned toward the whiteboard, the conversation pausing as reality resumed. All I knew about today was it was the last day of our quiz, and the scores had been reset to zero.
Sir introduced a new concept quickly and then posed the tie-breaker question. I stared blankly at the reaction he'd written, my mind refusing to connect. Electrochemistry had become one of my weakest topics because of all the missed and irregular lectures.
I copied down the question mechanically, hoping something would click. Sir looked around, then teased, "Dekho yaha toh Tanish ka ho gaya, ab faila de answer jaldi se."
It wasn't the first time I'd felt this helpless as a captain; I'd frozen the same way in chemical equilibrium earlier.
I turned desperately to Sanjana, who was still focused on the question.
"Dekh yaar," I whispered, my voice edged with urgency. "Ye chapter mujhe bilkul nahi aata, toh please solve this question."
"Even I have no idea about this one," she admitted, meeting my eyes with the same helpless honesty.
I told her to keep working while I scanned the room, hoping to spot someone who might have finished. Sammy suggested I wait patiently and let him solve the question. When I turned to Karan and Piyush, they admitted they hadn't understood it too. Around us, no one else seemed close to an answer either.
Finally, the three-minute timer ran out. Sammy from our team raised his hand, and from the other team, Aarav and Ayaan came forward. Since neither their captain nor vice-captain had raised their hands, it meant the question fell to us. Sammy, our vice-captain, confidently chose option C—and just like that, we won.
All the stress of the past few weeks seemed to lift in that moment. Sammy had always been good at explaining things calmly, and he lived up to that again. Honestly, though, the entire team deserved the credit. The four-hundred-rupee prize was to be split among the twelve of us, and for a few seconds, even that small amount felt like something big.
"Inorganic??" someone whispered from the back as Shashank sir stepped out briefly, saying we'd start revision after.
"Trust me, jabse apex batch bana hai, tabse I've started to feel hum apne haal pe chhode gaye hain," I told Naira.
Sanjana silently agreed with a thumbs-up.
"Bhai, inorganic ka kya?" Naira asked softly, her voice tinged with worry.
"See, from here on, no matter what happens, we would be responsible for our own actions," I sighed.
"That...
…was so literal," the third one among us whispered, eyes still on the whiteboard.
After the lecture, I quickly stepped out of the academy and headed downstairs to the medical shop to distribute the prize money. Just then, in the corridor, I saw Lizz coming from the other side. We both paused near the only staircase. I let her go first, but she smiled, leaned slightly closer, and whispered something.
"Huh?" I asked, not catching it.
"Sath chal sakte hain," she repeated, smiling again.
Lizz reminded me of those modern-day girls: open straight hair, a gum perpetually in her mouth, and that confident, slightly teasing "ABBEE, BHAYYYY"—a bit like Kavya sometimes.
"Are nahi nahi, pehle tum chalo," I insisted, letting her climb down the stairs first before following.
Outside the academy, Sammy and Arjun were waiting. I handed them thirty-four rupees each from the two two-hundred-rupee notes I had. Then, I crossed over to the PNCF branch to submit the next quarter's cheque. As I stepped in, I unexpectedly ran into Naira, Rushika, and Sanjana coming out of Room 3.
"Does anyone have hundred-rupee change?" I asked, holding up the note.
"Ha, mere paas hai," Sanjana J replied immediately.
"Take this hundred and give me thirty-four back. The remaining sixty-six, divide between you and Naira," I explained.
"Are ha, your team won na? Waise bhi isme 20 rupees mere bhi hain," Rushika smiled, reminding me she had missed one lecture and had to pay a twenty-rupee penalty.
"But Sanjana se toh sirf fifteen rupee ka penalty liya tha na?" my sixth sense teased from the inside.
"Bhai, wo fifteen rupees bhi badi mushkil se diye usne," I teased myself back, laughing.
Sanjana carefully pulled out a twenty-rupee note, a ten, and two two-rupee coins. Before handing them over, she turned each coin to check its value. I took the thirty-four rupees and, as always, placed them neatly in my wallet—just like the fifty-rupee note I had won against Sushila earlier, and the last prize money too.
"Aaj pehli baar usse itni baat hui na?" my sixth sense poked again.
"Yeah… that thought kept coming to my head even when I was talking to her," I admitted silently to myself.
It really was the first time I had spoken to her at length since I'd known her. Over the past year and a half, I'd heard plenty about Sanjana J, but never actually tried to know her. Even after joining Batch 1, I wasn't comfortable around her. I'd deliberately kept my messages to her on WhatsApp strictly about homework or oral exam prep. When you hear too many things about someone, you naturally keep your distance.
I still remembered telling Kavya how hesitant I felt to even ask Sanjana to draw a diagram in my CS2 practical book. Kavya had only made it more awkward: "Are, mai bhi rahungi sath me, phir tu puch lena na if she can make the diagram for your book."
"Mujhe apni setting thodi karaani hai uske sath jo tujhe sath rehna padega," I had replied firmly, refusing the idea.
As I boarded the bus home and opened my phone to write about the afternoon, it struck me just how significant this day was for my book—and for me. Without even planning it, I'd ended up capturing a moment that had felt real, new, and unexpectedly important.