Chapter 1: Results Day Tamasha

My phone buzzed against my study table, the vibration rattling my half-finished mug of Amma’s filter coffee. The air in our Mumbai flat was thick with the scent of roasted chicory and a tension that seeped through every wall—exam results day. Even before Amma called out from the kitchen, my WhatsApp was exploding: group chats pinging, memes flying, everyone dissecting my marks as if they were the latest IPL scores.

[Arre, yeh Ananya toh full topper mode on! Kya fayda, Meera ke paas toh swap ka jugad hai, na?]

[Our Meera has risen from backbencher to boss. She’ll crush this Mumbai society princess for sure.]

[Meera ke paas sirf teen swaps hain, but her jugaad game is strong.]

[Pehla swap: board exam ka score lelo, top ranker ban jao. Dusra swap: supporting girl ka patent project udaa lo, life set, aazadi ka mauka.]

[Teesra swap toh Kabir pe—shaadi ke pehle hi setting ho jayega!]

[Tab tak, hero bhi heroine ko support karega, aur supporting girl ko bully label lag jayega. Uski toh band baj jayegi.]

[Bro, such OP heroine! Dil garden garden ho gaya!]

My thumb hovered over the screen, pulse racing as I read each message. Just as I was about to reply, another WhatsApp ping interrupted my train of thought. Annoyance flashed in my chest, but then I couldn’t help a wry smile. In India, where who topped which test is practically breaking news, even the trolling felt achingly familiar. It was as if the entire colony’s aunties had front-row seats to my academic soap opera.

So only three swaps, haan? What a bakwaas system.

1

After the first mock exam results, my name was right at the top—first in the whole district. Priya, from her little hill town, was second in the school. She was generous, confident, and always seemed to have a smile tucked away for everyone.

She approached me, holding out a samosa from her tiffin, the steam rising between us. I hesitated, then accepted, feeling the warmth and the unspoken rivalry passing between our hands. “Ananya, wah! District topper again. Don’t forget us chhote log jab tu board exams bhi phod degi.”

Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were earnest. Around us, the clang of the lunch bell echoed, and a peon bellowed, “Silence!” as a pigeon fluttered in through the window. Our classmates murmured, glancing over as if our results might decide their own fate.

WhatsApp comments began popping up again:

[See how the supporting girl is acting all arrogant? Our heroine is so sweet, but yeh Mumbai wali toh full attitude.]

[So what if she’s a Mumbai society princess? Our Meera clawed her way up from government school, pure mehnat se.]

[Ananya was only top fifty when she entered! If not for her rich family and extra tuition since 9th, would she even dare challenge Meera?]

[Don’t stress, Meera will swap scores on board exam day. Topper ban jayegi ek click mein!]

[That Mumbai princess is headed for a third-rate college, boss.]

It was like these online comments had become my background music—snarky, relentless, sometimes too clever for their own good. Half of me wanted to laugh, the other half just sighed. Arrey, logon ka kaam hai bolna, na?

I felt anger bubbling up, but also amusement. Priya’s entrance score had been first in the school, and she’d held onto that spot through her first year.

I remembered, during stream selection, the teacher asking her, “Priya, Humanities suits you best. Why Science?”

She’d replied, “Ma’am, I want to challenge myself. If you keep running from tough things, life will get tougher. Kaise chalega phir?”

Her words echoed around the room, like something straight out of an old Doordarshan serial. A few kids even clapped—real, honest applause. In that moment, Priya seemed untouchable, her ambitions stretching beyond the cracked walls and rusty fans of our classroom.

But after class division, Priya’s grades tumbled. Mine, on the other hand, shot up from top fifty to top three—then first in the district. By the time the first mock exam rolled around, I hadn’t let go of that spot.

It wasn’t magic. I woke up at five, did practice sets before sunrise, sacrificed my chai breaks for more revision, and kept at it till eleven at night. My only breaks were Amma’s filter coffee or a quick poha, always with flashcards hidden under my steel dabba. Amma would scold, “Bas, Ananya! Teri aankhein ullu jaisi ho jayengi!” But what could I do? Even the walls seemed to vibrate with everyone’s ambition.

Every moment—every question, every rough notebook page—was proof. My stack of solved papers was taller than I was. My first-place results were pure mehnat.

So how had my hard work become, in WhatsApp’s eyes, some rich kid’s shortcut? Just because Papa worked in a big office and we had a watchman at the gate, people assumed answers were served to me with my morning toast. Nobody saw the borrowed Casio calculator or the leaky blue pens I used till the nib gave out.

“Priya, before the results are out, anything can happen.”

I smiled, trying to keep things light, even though I felt that usual sting of irritation. “Maybe you’ll top next time.”

I adjusted my dupatta, lips curved in a polite smile. The classroom felt like the moments before an IPL toss—everyone pretending not to care, but hearts pounding for the result.

[Oh, dekho supporting girl ka expression! Mock kar rahi hai heroine ko, kya?]

[Chill, yeh toh prophecy hai.]

[Meera ka attitude dekh! Ab aayega asli maza.]

Sense of superiority? Please. Only insecure people twist normal words into drama.

Swap system, haan. Kya idea hai.