India: The Legend of Aritra

Date: July 6, 2008 (Sunday, 2:20 PM)

The clock struck 2:20 PM, its ticking now louder than ever, almost as if mocking Aritra Naskar's peaceful post-lunch laziness. The ceiling fan creaked rhythmically, its tired blades spinning with the same enthusiasm Aritra had for going to tuition on a Sunday afternoon—which was none.

Ah, the sweet struggle of student life, he thought, rolling off his bed like a sack of potatoes.

He quickly changed into a pair of simple blue jeans and a black t-shirt, his go-to outfit when he wanted to appear effortlessly cool but also didn't want to think too hard about it. He stuffed his notebooks, textbooks, and a water bottle into his old, slightly worn backpack, the one with a zipper that had a mind of its own.

Opening the drawer of his study table, he fished out the key to his beloved bicycle. It wasn't anything fancy—just a simple, reliable cycle that squeaked slightly whenever he braked too hard. But to Aritra, it was his trusty steed, his chariot of freedom.

He walked out to the small garage attached to the side of his house. The garage was more of a glorified shed, really, with just enough space for his cycle and a pile of random household stuff that no one had touched in years.

Before leaving, he popped his head into the kitchen where his mother was cleaning up after lunch.

"Ma, I'm off to tuition!" he called out.

His mother glanced up, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Don't forget to drink water, and no racing with your friends on the road!"

Aritra rolled his eyes.

"Ma, I'm going to tuition, not the Tour de France."

She gave him the classic "Bengali mother look"—a mix of amusement and a silent reminder that she could summon supernatural strength if he dared to talk back.

Chuckling to himself, he hopped onto his bicycle and started pedaling through the narrow lanes of Dakshin Barasat. The roads were unusually quiet, with most shops half-closed for the afternoon break. The only sounds were the occasional honk from a distant autorickshaw and the rhythmic creak of his bicycle's pedals.

As he approached the junction of the main road, the beginning of the gully that led to his tuition teacher's house, he pulled over to wait.

Why? Because he was expecting Rimi Saha.

Ah, Rimi. The girl who had turned his life into a confusing blend of teenage romance and unpaid academic tutoring. She belonged to a wealthy family, her father being the current gram panchayat pradhan, which meant she had more pocket money than Aritra had ever seen in one place.

They had been "together" since Class 10, though in hindsight, Aritra realized he had been more of a free personal tutor than a boyfriend. But teenage hormones and the illusion of romance are powerful forces, often stronger than Newton's laws.

He leaned against his cycle, lost in thought. Why did I even say yes to her? Oh right, because she wouldn't stop pestering me. It was either date her or risk her turning into a full-time stalker.

After a few minutes, he saw her approaching. Rimi Saha, 5.3 feet tall, walking with the grace of someone who knew she had the world wrapped around her little finger. She wore a blue salwar kameez, her dupatta fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Here comes the princess, Aritra thought, suppressing an eye roll.

Rimi reached him, flashing a smile that could melt butter but somehow never warmed Aritra's heart.

"Hey, you're early today," she said, adjusting her bag.

"Yeah, traffic was light," Aritra replied casually, though he had literally encountered two cows and an empty rickshaw on the road.

They started walking their bicycles side by side down the gully.

"Did you finish the physics homework?" Rimi asked, her tone innocent but her intent crystal clear.

Ah, there it is. The real reason she's dating me, Aritra thought.

"Of course," he replied, trying not to sound annoyed. "I'll explain it to you before class starts."

She smiled sweetly.

"You're the best, Aritra. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Probably fail your physics exam, he mused silently.

As they reached the tuition center, Aritra couldn't help but wonder how long this charade would last. But for now, he had Newton to deal with… and a girl who thought he was her academic ATM.