Sincere but lost

Mohit, unlike his school days, now sat on the first bench. He hoped that would get him good grades somehow. Although deep down he knew that it would barely help, he continued on, through all his classes. Sandy was also a computer science student and his classmate, so he was the guy he knew. Mohit was not very fond of Sandy. After all, a cosmopolitan Mohit had his biases too. Days passed, Mohit would be alone, sit in the front row, ask questions just to build a rapport with teachers, go home, study have dinner alone and cry. His lunch would sometimes be with Sandy, as he felt Sandy was sticky, wouldn’t leave his side. Mohit felt he knew most of what was taught already and despised the curriculum. He still tried to give his best every day. “What are the different hydrocarbon categories, can someone come up and explain?”, asked Dr.P.B.Nikam. Mohit raised his hands, for the next thirty minutes he explained hydrocarbon categories in front of the chemistry class with all enthusiasm. Mohit was trying to push, challenge himself, be brave and start afresh. He went on to explain a few things that were not part of the syllabus. “Are you trying to be over-smart?”, “Did I teach Ketones?” asked Dr Nikam with devilish propriety. “No sir, I just thought of sharing a few of my learnings.”, said Mohit with his head hanging in despair. “Don’t try to be faster than me, the syllabus is important and stick to it”, said Dr Nikam. Mohit wondered if this would make him look cool in front of the class, but if anything he was now the official geek. In school, asking questions was cool, in college, asking questions made you teacher’s pet but socially a nerd. Classes got over, and Mohit moved on to his room, waiting for dinner. Dinner was delicious on Wednesday’s. “You were good today, I heard you speak,” said Pratham. Pratham was also a classmate, Mohit recognized his face, but was a bit disinterested in the conversation over dinner. The discussion though went on, and Pratham would find Mohit over dinner every day. Mohit probably had his first friend. Mohit lay on the bed thinking when the misery will end, and if he should rather just kill himself. Finally, the blanket yet again reminded him of his old man, and that he would one day make it up to him. He slept clinging on to his old man’s belief and the blanket.