Tripathi lay in bed, sipping the hot water his wife had brought for him. ‘It’s too hot,’ he complained. ‘If you grumbled less, and kept your ears open and your mind free of clutter, you would get things right more often.’ Sudha wasn’t in the mood for an argument this morning. There was too much work around the house. Still, she couldn’t resist, ‘If you smoked less, you wouldn’t have the problem in the first place. I am not saying give up, but you can try and cut down at least. Now, did I just say that for the millionth time?’ Not wanting to prolong the discussion, she quickly changed the subject, ‘Jyoti has an exam. You have invigilation. If you don’t get up now you’ll never make it in time and the poor girl will lose a year.’

Tripathi hauled himself out of bed with great effort. He shuffled towards the lone toilet in the house in his round-necked, short-sleeved vest and chequered boxers, only to find it occupied. ‘Hurry up, Jyoti,’ he said in a robotic voice. ‘We’re getting late.’

Jyoti studied at the same provincial university her father taught at. Her parents saw her as a quiet girl with no clear-cut interests. Her elder sister Aarti was the star of the family—head girl in school, general secretary of the students’ union in medical college, now married to a fellow doctor. ‘Aarti is doing so well in Nagpur,’ the mother would brag to the neighbours, ‘but Jyoti’s such a simple girl. We’ll marry her off by the time she finishes her degree. If you have someone in mind, then do let us know.’

Jyoti joined the BA course following her parents’ wishes. Her heart wasn’t in it though. Her father had been teaching the same English course for the last thirty years but was as clueless as her about Byron, Shelley and Keats. Still, they both soldiered on.

Today was the day of the re-examination. When Jyoti sat for her prose paper earlier in the year, there had been complaints of irregularities. A section of the students insisted that the paper had been leaked before the examination actually took place. They organized a protest outside the vice chancellor’s office and chanted slogans. The VC, wanting to avoid an unpleasant scene, ordered a fresh examination scheduled for the next term.

Tripathi and his daughter set out from home at the stroke of eight. She wore a blue salwar kameez, her long thick hair was held in place by two shiny black pins. She sat sideways on her father’s scooter, her cracked heels planted firmly on the aluminium footrest.