The reality is not how you perceive it, this thought kept on popping up his Sid's mind. The things Prakash spoke to him days before pictured in his head. A lot of debaters put forward their arguments based on facts. But you, my friend, don't go by the facts. You discovered them. We generally accept reality the way it is presented to us—without questioning as if it's genuinely the reality—but you, on the other hand, see that reality the world doesn't want you to perceive. This very perception keeps you ahead of the curve.
Is he truly ahead of the curve? He highly doubted it, but that was his humble self.
Come to think of it, now he could connect the dots—thanks to the theories told by Ronit—why hecklers get first preference in any debate show. Just spit some words of hatred and see everyone fight each other like cats and dogs. Isn't it why news channel invites hecklers to boost their TRP by hosting salty debates?
Sid got up from the bed to search his beanbag, his joints at this point were bit aced due to sitting in the same posture for long.
On his double bed, you'd find not only cushions but the piles of books. He had bookmarked a heap of pages of those books. Also, he left no stone unturned to memorize ample of verses, the ones that'll come in handy.
"Intelligence, please fail me not, you are the only hope I got," he told himself and did some stretching before pushing his bedroom door open. Cracking of bones squished the lethargy out of his limbs.
He wanted to invade his big brother's bedroom (Pratham's evil grin flashed before his eyes when he might have stolen the beanbag, the latter always burst like a volcano because of this bad childhood trait).
Sid's words attacked his big brother. "Where's my stolen bean bag? Seriously, man, when are you going to use your stuff with care?" he pushed open the ajar door.
Pratham, who was studying on his study table, simply gestured his head at the beanbag.
Sid's lips curled as he shook his head. He grabbed his beanbag like an animal hold its cub and began to head back to his bedroom.
"Sid," Pratham called upon his little brother. Sid skipped a beat there was a sense of suspicious rose in his heart. Both of the brothers turned around to face each other.
"Yeah?" he leapt his eyebrows up in a questioning look.
"My friend said," Pratham closed his book and kept quiet for a momentary pause. "He saw you with a bloke at Manor Hall.
The word "Manor Hall" sent ripples of terror through Sid's heart. "Yeah, I was..." The fear climbed up to his throat, making him choke. "Had some college project."
Although he managed to give a legit excuse, the trepidation was toying with his composure. Pratham did feel something was wrong. With narrowed eyes, he inquired. "What kinda project?" His eyes tore off from his little brother, and his hand went to scratch his head. "My friend said that place is notorious, it's a hellhole full of religious venom and politics."
Again a flush of haunting fear attempted to choke Sid's voice, but he managed to get past words of confidence. "No, no. I don't have any business there except college project."
Perhaps this was what Pratham wanted to hear, he randomly bounced his shoulders and busied himself in his work, without uttering concluding words or further investigating.
Sid did bring his beanbag to his bedroom; however, it was only his body that did the job. Anxiety consumed his mind like a zombie, and it dawned on him that he'd never shared or talked about his spiritual journey to his family.
He could imagine furrowed brows of his mother. I used to think my child just go to his college and come back, when in the world he got into all of this? She would scold. Son, it is not the right time for you to pursue spirituality, this would be his dad's words.
He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a shaky sigh of anxiety.
****
As of today since his last meeting with Ronit, the spin doctor, two days passed. The man was doing his wizardry. It's because the video that Sid presented to the debate competition raked over a thousand views within a day. And now that he was now eligible to participate, but an unknown fear was chewing his insides. That... He didn't want to disappoint his mentor, Braja.
What if the boy met with a panic attack and couldn't utter a word?
A chill trickled down Sid's spine, mere the feeling of fear made his breathing heavy. He can't afford to mess up—
The honking of the car snapped Sid out of his mental horror movie. It was Ronit in his car which he parked perfectly at the place to get an accurate view of Sid's attic room through the window. The spin doctor waved his hand at the boy.
Sid did notice his new mentor and hurried to join him in his car. He took blessings from his mother, and of course, he made sure she doesn't get to know that her son is on a secret mission. He lied to her about after-college activity.
When he reached Ronit's car, the spin doctor welcomed him with a grim look. "Get in, boi."
Sid got inside and put on the seat-belt. Both of them held embarrassing looks on their face. One was abashed because of his lie to his mother. The other one was ashamed of his rundown Maruti car. "I'm sorry, this car looks shit but..."
"Chillax, that's fine." Sid smiled.
Fast forward fifteen, both held irritated looks on their faces. It was because of the traffic. During this time of rush hour, the vehicles running on the city like Mumbai become snails.
Ronit did try to spark a conversation at every jam, but the topic died out when the vehicles start moving.
This traffic jam reminded Sid of his situation; all you have to be patient and move forward. Because vehicles were not moving for several minutes, so Ronit decided to smoke a cigarette, he lit it up and cracked the window. But the nature of smoke is that it always invades non-smokers.
"How long is this traffic going to last?" Sid coughed, fending off the smoke away from his nose.
Ronit just shrugged, his right hand still gripped the wheel. He leaned back on the seat and then let loosened his body. His iconic cap was tilted rightward, a straight spill of hair was coming out from the edge of the cap, and one side of his face was sun-kissed.
"You know," his voice dripped with grogginess. "I think your life could be at risk. Politics are involved in the debate competition."
Why are they just bringing it up? A confused look made its way up on Sid's face.
Ronit caught a glimpse of it and then took in a deep puff, the size of lit cigarette pulled back half an inch.
"Tell me, man," he went on. "What is exactly happiness, and what should we do so that we get it without struggling?" He let out consecutive rings of smoke until smoke-ammo in his mouth ran out.
"Why..." Sid stifled a chuckle, but his lips twitched in a smile and then gave a curt nod. "Okay. You see, one shouldn't equate happiness with situations, things or people. It is a state of mind."—he, for the first time, maintained intense eye contact with the spin doctor—"It's because situations will not always go as per your will, things hardly bring long-lasting joy, and people tend to disappoint you." He dramatically paused and said, "You think this car you drive is shit, but even if you had BMW,"—He waved his at the long queue of slow-moving vehicles—"the traffic jam would be the same."
A faint smile formed on Ronit's lips, and it didn't take long to evolve into a grin. "You are indeed a transcendentalist."
The smile touched Sid's lips, but it faded away like a rose when the thoughts of invincible three came to his mind, Prakash, Dr Nayak and Stan. "Ronit?" He mumbled.
"Yeah?"
"There were this group of three debaters," Sid said. "I know one of them personally; he was saying that they control the debate competition and they won't let the voice of genuine ones to be heard."
Ronit didn't say a word for a minute, but his narrowed eyes were testimony he was listening carefully. "Sounds like a challenge," he broke the silence. The traffic was clearing up a bit, and he got entirely focused on the road. A minute passed again. "Kid, you have no idea whom you've employed in your service. If they are baddies, then I'm their daddy."
Sid couldn't help himself but chuckle. Those witty words of Ronit blew a surge of confidence in his heart.
*******
"Stan, so who do you think should go first?" Prakash's lips sported proud smile when he was speaking. He would bet his turn will come at second or third debate.
His fingers began to caress his french-cut beard, eyes focused on Stan, there was pride brimming even his eyes, not just words.
"I'm still thinking," Stan didn't care to make eye contact, his voice was dizzy not because of exhaustion but being unchallenged.
"I think," Dr Nayak said. "Prakash should go first since he's weakest and..."
"Weakest!" Prakash banged his fist on the round table that three of them were sitting. The pride smile brushed off, and blistering rage became an ornament of his face. "I can take on the entire participates at once." His nostrils flared in every word he spoke.
A vein pulsed in Dr Nayak's temple, he plastered smirk on his lips. "You're triggered!" His voice was laced with taunt. "It was exactly the same when I defeated all of your arguments for the first time."
"Defeated?" Prakash laughed a fake laugh. "During our debate, you didn't even have answers to my questions."
The smirking man, also known as Dr Nayak guffawed. "The problem is, you're full of yourself. That's why you're weak!"
"Enough!" Prakash sprang up from his seat, he balled his fists and eyes snapped with fury. "Let's debate, right here, right now. I'll wipe that smirk off your face."
Dr. Nayak's lips curled in a genuine smile. His debating power was screaming inside to fight; however, something stopped him. He just presented Prakash with a mocking look.
"See?" Prakash voiced it with a fake laugh. "Except Stan, no one can defeat me in a debate."
Dr Nayak's eyes remained locked on Prakash, but a tinge of anger spread over his nose. "I don't think highly of you. You were ex-disciple of that child-molester Swami, and now you're posing yourself as an intelligent geek. Pathetic!"
"Screw you and your fake DOCTORATE!" Prakash bellowed the last word so loudly that it echoed through the room.
"Hush, boys!" Stan thundered. "We're just three now since the author Nitin has left us. Anger is not good for debater if you employ it in your arguments. That'll be pathetic." He voiced the last word same as the doctor.
Dr Nayak's eyebrows leapt up in questioning look. "Pardon, when I got angry?"
Stan put the same smirk on his lips. "When you get worked up you tend to shake your limbs, this time it's your right leg."—A burst of awe passed swiftly over the doctor's face—"Leave alone your noisy breathing."
Dr Nayak's hand reached to hold his right leg.
"And you," Stan eyed Prakash. "If you don't control your loud voice, they'll think you're emotional, not logical. A man who succumbs to his emotions can never present logical arguments."
Prakash lowered his eyes as well as the fury that was raging within him. He didn't feel insulted because Stan held the image of invincible debater to him. "I'll do what you say." His voice dripped with humility.
"Always remember, we are on a mission, not a picnic."
******
A/N: At some point I felt almost lost inspiration to continue this book. But I'm not giving up writing so easily despite having no time. My readers, please you also don't give up on me.