THE year was 1986.She could not find her name even on the second list of candidates for MA — English Literature under the University of Calcutta. A shaft of remorse and dejection sliced through her heart. Her whole was crumbling like a pack of cards. The only string of hope she was clinging to was also on the point of snapping. She felt despondency spiralling within her.
S h e d - ding copious tears and wallowing in self-pity, she was u s h e re d in by her sister into an empty classroom the door of which was left ajar. A shabbily clad elderly man was sitting on a desk with his feet dangling.
The man asked why she was crying so much. She was too choked up to speak. After looking at her for a while he said, “Don’t cry, my child. Your name will be there on the third list.” He simply exuded compassion and warmth.
Flooded with waves of sudden relief, she approached the clerk at the university office counter and asked him about the third list. He simply stated that the second list was the final one.
Her hopes were dashed. Her sister, who had got through, started attending classes.
A month went by. She had taken up a correspondence course under a lesser known University registered under the University Grants Commission.
One afternoon, while she was busy helping her m o t h e r with household chores, her sister returned from the university to break the news that her name had appeared on the third list and that she should get herself admitted the very next day. She burst into a crow of joy. How could this be possible?
She later came to know that no third list had ever appeared in any stream either before or after this incident.
She never met the man in shabby clothes in her two years at the university.
