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Nirvaan

Monday, 2 January 2023 Bandra, Mumbai

‘All I know for sure is that I was never the same again.’

D ebates and discussions have always been my forte, and I owe it all to Ms Nandita, my social science teacher in school. Her knack for nurturing her students’ abilities was commendable. Not to mention her elegant sarees and confident demeanour that never failed to impress me. As someone who thrived on academic excellence, I proudly held the title of being her best student. I found myself at home in her classroom. And while I may be boasting just a bit, it was no secret that I was the one who held everyone’s attention in class. Even Vedant used to constantly remind me of my charm, especially in front of our classmates, who were envious of me.

Why am I suddenly thinking about my school days? Well, after breaking up with Nia, I spent two days looking for a flat in Mumbai before I finally settled on one. Then I flew to Delhi, packed all my stuff at home and came back to Mumbai and began the process of moving into my new pad and setting it up. And in the middle of all the unboxing that I’ve been doing, I found a small carton filled with things I had saved from my school days—certificates, test papers, slam books and whatnot. That’s what led me to think about those days and, more specifically, the day I interacted with Kiranjeet for the first time.

I was both excited and nervous that day because although I’d been through almost every chapter in our social science book, only God knew which topic Ms Nandita would pick for the class debate. I couldn’t help but worry about my performance.

When Ms Nandita entered the classroom a little later, the entire class stood up.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ we greeted her with such synchrony that it sounded like a group of trained vocalists preparing for a church choir.

Ms Nandita signalled to the class to sit down as she placed the class register on the desk and took her own seat.

‘All right, class,’ she said, ‘today’s debate topic is: Brain drain is a good thing for developing countries. Nirvaan will open the debate by arguing against the motion, while Kiranjeet will argue in favour of it. Let’s begin! It’s going to be fun.’

I couldn’t believe what I had heard. Kiranjeet? Really? She was the dumbest girl in our class—at least she came across as one. I’d never really seen her talk to anyone or hold forth an opinion. And she hardly asked any questions or participated in any discussions in class. I’d been hoping that Ms Nandita would ask Payal to be my opponent. She was the real deal. She was always number two in class, because, well, I was number one, but it was fun to compete with her since I knew how badly she wanted to become number one. There was really no fun in having a debate with someone when you knew you were going to win. But the last time I had requested Ms Nandita to not make such unbalanced debating pairs, she had said that the only way weaker students could level up was by participating in activities like these. Ms Nandita must’ve chosen Kiranjeet for that very reason. So, without wasting another minute, I stood up in my place and so did Kiranjeet. The entire classroom looked at us expectantly, like spectators waiting in a football stadium for the game to begin.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ I said and flashed a bright smile as I made eye contact with my classmates. ‘Brain drain is not good for developing countries like India,’ I continued. ‘When a skilled workforce leaves its own economy for better opportunities abroad, it leads to a shortage of talent and expertise in the home country.’ I paused for a moment to take a breath, but surprisingly, Kiranjeet interrupted me before I could continue.

‘I believe otherwise, Nirvaan,’ she said. ‘When people migrate to developed countries, they often send back money in the form of investments, which can, in turn, contribute to their home country’s economy.’

‘But not many people have such a sense of loyalty to their own people or nation. There’s no guarantee that every individual who moves abroad will actually send back money,’ I countered.

‘Even if that’s true, many of them acquire new skills and knowledge abroad. They’re not shamed for taking up certain kinds of jobs there as dignity of labour actually exists in the West. It’s easier to build a better life in a developed economy. And we must not forget that the standard of living in the West is way higher than it is in India.’

‘But Kiranjeet, what about the loss of intellectual capital? When the brightest minds leave the country, when our doctors and engineers move abroad, they don’t make any efforts to push their home country forward.’

‘But Nirvaan, we cannot forget the global perspective. When skilled individuals migrate, they often form networks of collaboration with professionals from across the world. These networks encourage the exchange of values, ideas and expertise, and can lead to technological advancements and international partnerships that benefit not only their home countries but the global community as well. Take the example of Dr Narayana Murthy, the founder of Infosys. He returned to his homeland after working abroad to set up the company, and we all know how big Infosys is and how good it has been for our economy.’

‘But don’t you think that these individuals often paint a negative picture of India at the global level?’

‘Try to look at the bigger picture. Brain drain from developing countries will eventually push the governments of these nations to invest more in education, research and infrastructure. By addressing the root causes of migration, countries can create an environment that retains talent and fosters innovation and progress locally.’

And then Kiranjeet paused. She looked at me expectantly, as did the rest of the class, waiting for a response, and I suddenly got the feeling that I had no additional points to make. I stared at her, stumped. And then, a few seconds later, I heard thunderous applause and loud cheers break through the classroom, ‘Kiranjeet! Kiranjeet! Kiranjeet!’

Ms Nandita signalled for everyone to quieten down and then said, ‘Well done, both of you. It’s evident that there are valid points to think over on both sides of the argument. Remember, debates like this one help us understand complex issues from multiple perspectives. Now, let’s have a round of applause for both Nirvaan and Kiranjeet.’

As the class continued to clap, I walked up to Kiranjeet and shook hands with her. ‘Good job, Kiranjeet. I never thought about the brain drain as a positive thing until now,’ I told her.

‘Thanks, Nirvaan. We can all learn from each other’s perspectives, I guess,’ she said with a smile.

Three hours and three classes later, it was lunchtime, but I still hadn’t gotten past that discussion. So, I went up to Kiranjeet and asked her, ‘Do you want to have lunch with me?’

‘Sure,’ she replied reluctantly after a second. I could see the entire class staring at us and gossiping about this new friendship in the making.

‘Do you want to have pasta?’ I asked and then pushed my lunchbox towards her.

‘Okay.’ She took a quick bite of the pasta without any hesitation. ‘It’s so tasty!’ she exclaimed a second later. ‘Your mom cooks so well.’

‘My mother cooks only on the weekends. Sometimes, my father cooks on the weekends as well. But it’s Shyam bhaiya who cooks on an everyday basis. He made this pasta,’ I told her.

‘Wow! You have a cook at home? Like they have cooks and chefs in restaurants?’ She looked at me with her eyes wide open.

‘Yes,’ I replied. I was unable to understand why this was a matter of such fascination for her.

‘My mom cooks for us every day. She does all the household chores too. And my father, he has never stepped foot inside the kitchen. But my cousin who lives in Canada, he works as a cook in a restaurant there, although only God knows for how long he’ll keep this job,’ she said.

‘Oh! That’s why you have a positive perspective on immigrant life?’

‘Yes, I’m not very good at learning things from books, like Payal or you are. But I can say that I’ve learnt quite a few things from life.’

‘I think I can learn a lot of things from you too,’ I said.

And in that moment, I don’t know if it was because of her simplicity or her smile, but I fell in love. I suddenly wanted to continue talking to her and know more of her story. I wanted to find out why she was so quiet in class, what secrets she was hiding in her eyes, in her smile. But the more I tried speaking to her, the more I realized that she was a girl of very few words.

As the days went by after that lunch break chat, we started spending more time together. We liked each other’s company. We liked to talk and discuss things. But this cost me my other friendships. Vedant grew distant because he assumed that I was seeing Kiranjeet, even though I’d never said that. The truth was that Kiranjeet and I had not shared our feelings with each other yet. We hadn’t made any promises.

We would exchange notes in class. We would exchange letters after school. And we would make blank calls to each other’s home landline phones. We even had our own code for what the number of rings meant. Though Kiranjeet was far quieter than I liked, our secret language of communication made up for everything.

And then, many months later, came that afternoon which I can never forget. It was our annual sports day, and my football match had ended a little earlier. Kiranjeet and I were walking hand in hand on the school grounds while the rest of the school watched the matches that were still underway. We were near the parking lot when we found one of the school buses parked at the far end of the lot where nobody would come until it was time to drop the students back home.

In a matter of seconds, we found ourselves alone in the backseat of the school bus, our hearts racing with the thrill of being alone and the fear of being caught red-handed. Hesitant yet eager, we reached for each other, our lips meeting in a tender kiss that ignited a passionate spark between us. Kiranjeet stroked my face and ran her fingers through my hair. Stirred, I gently touched her breasts. We were both flushed and aroused. We had never felt anything like that before.

Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in each other’s arms, our emotions swirling like a whirlwind around us. In that fleeting moment, Kiranjeet suddenly looked up at me with tears in her eyes and whispered, ‘Nirvaan, never leave me. You are my home .’

‘Never, Kiranjeet, never!’ I replied as I hugged her tightly.

We stopped after that. We never had sex. Never. But the kind of intense emotional fulfilment I experienced that afternoon … I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing it again in life.

There was something that filled the air that day, something that seemed like happiness, something that promised to never fade with the passage of time. But there are some things in life that you will feel only once.

Falling in love for the first time is like discovering a treasure buried within oneself. There will be butterflies dancing in your stomach all day long, and soothing melodies will play in the background through the night. Every glance that you exchange with your beloved will feel like a secret language spoken only by the two of you, and every touch will send shivers of excitement down your spine and leave a deep impression on your soul. Your emotions will run wild and the world will sparkle with brightness.

All I know for sure is that I was never the same again.