“I am glad that you are using this opportunity, Ms. Gupta” Mou giggled, “Let me try to mimic how he does it.” She tried, but Karishma was not impressed.

“No. No. You don’t say it like him.”

“Aww… How can I? I don’t get to see or hear him up close, do I? Why don’t you try it.”

“Okay here,” she bowed her head a little and then looked up, “I am glad that…” Suddenly she stopped and blushed furiously.

Mou raised her eyebrows.

“Forget it,” Karishma said, “I am no good at mimicking.”

—

They hadn’t begun their weekly project discussion yet, when someone came to see Siddhartha.

“Yes?”

“There is a note from director’s office, Sir.”

“Thanks you.”

Siddhartha opened the envelope. “Our director sometimes refuses to recognize that there are things like e-mails available now,” he sounded amused, not irritated. “Ah! Good job, Ms. Gupta.”

“Sir?”

“Director is happy with the results of projects as an alternative to continuous evaluation. Very few people have opted for it. But they are all doing good work. So, he has appreciated me for the idea. And your project has been mentioned specifically.”

“It was your idea?”

“So was continuous evaluation. So all bouquets and brickbats can be thrown my way.”

She smiled. He wasn’t bad-tempered at all. In fact, he was great at conversations. She wondered about his general moroseness. Why?

“So, what were we to discuss?”

“The novel doesn’t explain the source of Heathcliff’s wealth at all,” she complained. She was going to present Wuthering Heights that week.

“So, your job is to think of the possibilities.”

“Like?”

“The economic structure of the England at that time had started being fluid due to flourishing trade. Mrs. Dean mentions that he looked like he had served as a soldier. He might have joined something like East India Company. That could be one source. Besides given how devoid of any scruples he was, he might even have cheated someone out of money. Probably a woman of some small fortune whom he would have seduced.”

“Hmm… I’d put that in my presentation. By the way, I understand that the characters here are narcissists, selfish… and the entire tone of the novel in dark. It’s about ruthless vengeance. But still, there is one thing I find difficult to digest.”

“What?”

“That Heathcliff should like to torture Catherine’s daughter as a part of his revenge. I can’t imagine a man doing that to the daughter of a woman he loved. ”

Siddhartha looked amused. “Even at its darkest, you do see some romance in love.”

“Don’t you? I mean… if I were to write a novel like that I’d make him a really ruthless man to the rest of the world. But he would kill everyone else, and probably even get her married to his son, only to have her – his lover’s daughter – close to him so that he can give her the fatherly love. And that would redeem him.”

“That would be a fantastic read, I am sure. And more palatable. I agree with your sentiments. I can’t imagine anyone I know who would have tortured the daughter for revenge.”

She grinned as he finally accepted her idea.

“I hope you are getting time to study for your other subjects with this project. There are no weekly tests, but you will have to take exams.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she replied. The new semester was in its fifth week, and with five meetings and other occasional interactions, they had become quite casual with each other. But what vexed her was that he still continued to call her Ms. Gupta.

“Are you coming for the picnic? It’d be fun,” she asked as she gathered her notes to leave.

“I have to. I have the shepherding duty,” he smiled.

She had seen him smile many times now. But it still made her heart skip a beat.

“Shepherding? What on earth does that mean?” she asked ill-concealing her blush.

“Ah! Well. I am the faculty guide ala your jailer ala your shepherd along with Mrs. D’Souza. It is only in India that we would consider it necessary for post-graduate students to be in need of chaperons. You are old enough to choose our government, some of you old enough to govern.”

She laughed, “What can be done? Parents want it.”

“Parents have to be the most senseless creatures in the world.”

“So, you wouldn’t want your kids to be chaperoned?”

His good humor disappeared and his face hardened all of a sudden. Karishma looked at him anxiously. Had she said something inappropriate?

To her relief he smiled. It was evident that it was a forced smile. But it meant that whatever offended him, he wasn’t going to take it out on her. “I suppose not. That would be hypocritical, won’t it? When as a teacher I don’t want the chaperoning duty?”

She smiled as sweetly as she could manage, hoping to placate him with that and came away.

—

“What is his story, Mou?”

“Whose?”

“Professor Sen’s. Why is he not married?”

“Professor Sen. Aha! No more Mr. Perfectionist, eh?” That as a nickname Karishma had given him when on the first day of the class, he had stopped her form attending it, because she was late by few minutes. Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. She didn’t like missing classes. She had stubbornly sat outside and taken notes. “Mr. Perfectionist cannot stop me from being anywhere else in the world, can he? The classroom might be his fort for that one hour,” she had grumbled.

“Shut up, Mou. He isn’t as bad as he looks from afar. He can actually crack jokes.”

“All right. And that makes you interested in his single status. What’s going on Ms. Gupta?”

“If you don’t want to talk, don’t. Stop teasing me pointlessly.”

“Arr… Okay, okay. Don’t be mad. Thing is, nobody really knows his story. Some people think that because of his bad temper, no girl can withstand him.”

“But his temper is not bad at all.”

“Some even think that he is gay.”

“He is not gay.”

“And how can you be so sure about that?”

“I know.”

“You do?” Mou’s eyes twinkled with mischief again and Karishma pretended to hit her.

Mou guffawed and dropped the topic. “Shall we pack for the picnic? There is an overnight stay. So, we need to carry essentials.”

“Let’s use a single suitcase. If we carry jeans, there won’t be much to pack.”

“Okay.”

—

Siddhartha slumped on the bed after packing his overnighter for the picnic. “So, you wouldn’t want your kids to be chaperoned?” her voice rang in his ears. How was he to know whether or not he would like them chaperoned, when he wasn’t going to have them? And he had desired children so much.

“We will have two of our own and we will adopt two,” he had told Sonali once.

She had rolled her eyes at him. “Why not open an orphanage, then?”

“No. Not orphanage. A home with as many children as possible. I don’t think I will be able to provide for more than four though.”

And she had laughed – her loud, merry laughter that used to mesmerize him. It produced those dimples on her cheeks…

He jerked himself out of the memories. They could bring no peace, no happiness.

—

To be continued