Short Story: 7 Habits of Highly Immoral People

Amit Kulkarni shares a poignant story about the power of inspiration and possibility of redemption set in an Indian engineering hostel which explores contemporary social realism.

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A sharp, insistent knock woke me up. I sat up on the edge of my bed, the springs groaning under me like they were tired of holding up my weight. The room stank of stale smoke and apathy. I glanced at the watch, it was past noon. My head hurt from drinking the previous night. My beard itched and my hair stuck out in greasy clumps. I slipped on an oversized T-shirt and navigated the minefield of empty bottles and cigarette packs towards the door.

I yanked the door open, squinting at the kid on the other side. Fresh-faced, eyes wide with that stupid, unbreakable elation of a fresher. He looked like he’d run here from the admission office, tie still knotted perfectly, shirt tucked in. Who the hell was this kid who dared to knock on my door?

“Hi Sandeep, I am Anil,” The words tumbled out before I could ask or slam the door in his face. “You may not know me but I am from your junior college, Bharat Niketan. I have just secured admission in this college and it is all because of you. You have been my inspiration all through. Can I come in?”

Nothing the boy spoke made sense. I had already started to hate this guy but curiosity took over. I moved aside to give him a way into the room.

He didn’t wait, shoving past me into the mess of my room. I moved the pile of clothes from the chair to the table and slumped back onto my mattress. The filth seemed to bother him just for a moment and he was instantly back to his beaming self.

“You really are from Bharat Niketan?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

That dump? Kids there barely passed, let alone dream of places like this.

“Yes,” His smile didn’t falter. His euphoria irritated me to no end.

Bharat Niketan was where you ended up if your tenth boards were a disaster, like mine had been until… well, until I fixed them. I remembered my own tenth – flunking mocks, hanging with friends who thought cricket and colony fights were the pinnacle of life. My old man was always ashamed of me, as the kids of his employees did better in school. How did it matter? He himself had not studied much, but hired all those who studied. I would inherit the business, and impressive qualifications were really irrelevant. The old man was really old-school and naive that way.

Anil pulled out his wallet, fished out a crumpled note, and handed it to me. The list was titled ‘How to be successful? Seven steps.’

“Remember the speech you gave at the college after you got admission here?” Anil asked.

I stared at the piece of paper:

Define goals
Decide
Learn
Plan
Ask
Only you
Believe

Suddenly the laughter bubbled up from nowhere. I laughed hard, knowing it could turn into tears of self-pity any moment. It hurt, but in a good way—like lancing a wound.

He looked confused, poor kid. I wiped my face, sat up, and smiled. This was going to be interesting.

“This is a story beyond my own belief. How did you get here? Cheating or donations?” I asked.

“I did not cheat,” Anil replied, “maybe I was lucky, and my parents would not have the money for donations if they sold everything they had. But why do you sound surprised? I am not the first one to do it. You did it before me.”

How the hell! A pause followed. Then, because I had to know, had to see how far this farce could go on, I leaned in, “Then tell me Anil, how did you do it? How could this small list help you get here?”

Before he could respond, my own memories flooded back.

Four years ago, my parents had moved to a new place and admitted me to Bharat Niketan for eleventh grade because that’s what my marks in tenth grade allowed. However, I successfully made everyone believe that I had scored much better and was there only because I had applied late to other colleges. I was revered for a time, till the exam results started coming out. Fewer and fewer people believed me as I could hardly pass all subjects. I kept up the pretence though, that I did not care about interim exams, would only study for the board exams and beat them all.

Raju was the topper in my class, not that it meant too much to top a class in Bharat Niketan. He saw through my charade and challenged me to score more marks than him in the boards. Boy, did it motivate me! It started a chain of events that led to me topping the class by a margin. The principal had invited me to motivate the new batch, where I had preached the seven step process to success.

Anil started speaking softly, ”Two days before your speech, I had gone to the automobile service station where my dad worked, to deliver his lunchbox. However, even before I reached inside, I could hear the station manager shouting, and the target was my dad who stood silently in front of him with his head bent. I did not dare to enter, kept the lunchbox at the front desk and left. I cried on my way home. The manager, younger than my dad and hardly half as knowledgeable, had the audacity… But this same manager bent over backwards to the instructions of the engineer coming from the automobile company.”

Anil gathered himself, his tone lightened and launched into the list, like he was reciting scripture, “Step 1: Define your goals clearly. Easy, become an engineer and make such people bow to me. But the goal wasn’t clear enough. I dove deeper: secure admission to a good engineering college, score at least 95% in Physics, Chemistry, Maths.”

I tried to interject but realized that speaking was too much effort with my dry and parched tongue. I chugged water directly from the jug, spilling a bit on my shirt. Anil’s eyes seemed to follow my actions, but his mind was somewhere else.

“I think the problem is that we do not believe that we can do it,” Anil said, “How many students from our college got into Engineering? If they did, it was not an engineering college worth getting into. Parents and teachers tell us that hard work pays. But there was no proof, at least until I heard you. You had done it with a simple formula. It made me believe that if you can do it, maybe I can do it too.”

I smirked. My goal? Simple. Marks. Not knowledge, not engineering dreams. I wanted to prove Raju wrong, convinced that I could cheat my way through life with enough money and influence. Dad wanted respect among his employees and colleagues beyond what money could buy. Scores were the ticket. Studying? Irrelevant.

“Step 2: Decide what is important and what is not. Scoring 95% in Physics, Chemistry, Maths is what mattered for Engineering. The rest of the subjects did not matter,” Anil said, “Neither did my friends, cricket, their acceptance? I started hanging around libraries, looking for new friends.”

For me? My reputation was more important than anything. Impressing friends with cash from Dad’s wallet, beers at restaurants, late nights when parents were out.

The self-involved sermon was starting to get boring. I lit a cigarette and blew rings of smoke towards the ceiling. Anil did not seem to admire the art and winced just a tiny bit at the scent of tobacco.

He continued, “For step 3, I followed toppers, but realized my college ones weren’t enough. It took time to understand that your points need not be followed in order..Skipped to point 5: Don’t be ashamed to ask for help. Went to Mr. Deshpande, our Maths lecturer. He mocked my 95% dream but connected me to Rajesh, who had got 80% in his 10th grade. Close enough.”

My “help” was a friend whispering about a scammer, some shady contact in the education board. I tracked him down, learned the drill: bribe for altered marks. His plan was simple and beautiful. Whatever the marks graded, the data entry operator will enter the marks ordered. The skill was in finding the data operator for your answer sheet and passing a small part of the bribe. Yeah, I learned from cheaters who’d “succeeded” without opening a book.

His voice warmed, “Point 3: Learn from others. Meeting Rajesh was a turning point. His dedication, hours, were unbelievable. Got his notes and coaching books. God bless him!”

I blessed my scammer, even though he came at a heavy price. Dad’s money, squeezed out with the farce of joining a new tuition and with hints about saving his reputation. “Good scores will make you look good, Dad.”

I flicked the cigarette onto the already overflowing ashtray

Anil rattled on, knowing the steps by heart, “Step 4: Prepare a step-wise plan and implement it. Detailed day-wise plan – subjects, chapters, hours. Beautiful on paper. But I couldn’t stick to it at first. Barely passed the first semester in eleventh. Jumped to point 6: Beyond help, there is only you. Success never comes easy.”

My plan? Meticulous scam logistics. Exact dates for money drop, which papers to “study” lightly. Scenarios if things went south.

“Point 4 again,” Anil said. “Redrew plans realistically. Focused on key chapters in eleventh grade which formed the base for twelfth grade.”

It was not smooth sailing for me either. The contact was transferred. Panic set in and I went back to my guide. “How’d you find him?” Pampered the guy, got a new name. I could not give up. It had depended too much on the cheat and could hardly pass if this did not get through.

My eyes had adjusted to the light by now and I opened the window. I looked at Anil and he seemed to agree with the fresh air, but the light only further exposed the ugliness of the room. Clothes, books, empty bottles, a calculator, a drawing board – all dumped around and fighting for space. Except the bottles, those were mindfully arranged.

“Back to step 5: Ask for help, and I asked for it everywhere” Anil admitted. “Teachers, outsiders. Even tricked a coaching lecturer into thinking I was his student for tips. That was my one cheat.”

That’s a low bar for the word ‘cheat’. My shamelessness was begging Dad for more money. More money was the ask from the new contact and it was the only way out by then.

But was this real? I could not avoid the feeling that this was an elaborate prank played on me by my bastard friends.

“You make it sound like an easy map to follow,” I raised my voice, “Real life is not that easy, boy. People need more than hard work to succeed. Stop fooling me right now!”

“It was never easy,” Anil’s eyes hardened, “But I worked through Step 6: Beyond help, there is only you. Success never comes easy. I had thought losing sleep, studying for hours and facing my own limitations would be tough. But it was nothing in front of the ridicule of my old friends. ‘Traitor!’ they called me. Ganged up and beat me up once just for fun. I almost gave up, but Sunil bhaiyya pulled me through it. ‘If anyone can take this family ahead, it’s you’, he said that night, as he bandaged my wounds. It kept me going. The long hours became a habit eventually and also an identity. In reality, I was never alone. Sunil bhaiya always had my back.”

I was really alone. Paid and waited, hoping this was not a scam on me too. I sweat more than anyone else before the results. My life was completely in the hands of a stranger, dependent on the honour among thieves. Alone in the end, but with cunning and cash.

“So you are telling me that you turned from a rowdy child to a nerd in a year?” I asked, still unsure if this story was to be believed.

“I did not turn into some genius. My marks went up and down. I turned to Step 7: Believe in yourself,” Anil replied, “Belief grew with time, not just within me but in others as well. Parents, teachers started believing too. Help flowed more readily with every progress. Old friends stopped bothering me. Finally, I got lucky in the exam as I knew most of the answers. 92.6%, not 95, but lucky again to get a reserved seat for this admission.”

Luck? Two years of burning his sleep, comfort, friends,himself.. He had burned himself down to ashes and risen again like a Phoenix.

I stubbed my cigarette, burying the butt in the grey underbelly of the ashtray.

I had added that point on belief at the very last-minute for the speech. I had to believe in the crap I was about to spout, deliver it with confidence and charm on the stage: “7-step sure-shot formula! Achieve anything you want…” Kids really ate it up.

Anil finished, breathless. “God knows where I’ll go from here. This place seems hard. I don’t know if I will even survive here. But I’ll follow the steps all over again.”

I stared at him, silent, stunned. This kid, son of a mechanic, from that hellhole of a place, had taken my bullshit list and forged a life.

He shifted, uncomfortable under my silent stare. I couldn’t let him idolize a fraud. Should I tell him the truth? He will know soon enough that I had flunked most subjects and had to repeat the first year. But it may break his entire belief system that has brought him up in life, that has brought him here.

“Anil,” I said, a weak quivering voice, “Don’t worry, I think you will do well. To tell you the truth, I have not done so well here. So going forward learn from the best on campus, not me.”

“The rules gave you success,” I continued, “But if you exceed them, don’t fear making your own.

I stood, extended my hand. He shook it with warmth and respect that I did not deserve.

“May I keep the list?” I asked, “I don’t think you need this piece of paper anymore.”

“It’s your list anyways,” he shrugged, holding the paper in his glance for a second before looking away.

Anil stepped out of the room, gazing around at the campus, admiring the worn out hostel buildings like it were a monument.

Is this how the pride of an honest achievement felt like? I watched him as he disappeared from the lobby into the staircase. I stepped out, saw him re-emerge from the stair on the ground floor and make his way towards the academic block till he became indistinguishable in the crowd.

I returned to my room and shut the door. I picked up the piece of paper and straightened it gently, caressed it. The words were no longer bullshit. Anil, the alchemist, had breathed life into each of them.

The list was not mine anymore, it was Anil’s now. I read through the seven points. If he could use the list and do it, maybe I could do it too. Maybe I could do it too.

I should probably laminate the sheet to keep it safe, but that can wait. I had more urgent things to do now. I settled the list on the table and scrounged around for a pen and fresh paper.

Time to start with Step 1: Clearly define my goal.

Author’s Bio

Amit Kulkarni is a Mumbai-based writer. An engineer and IIM Indore alumnus, he frequently strays from his career in banking to investigate the moral complexities of life through fiction. Set against the backdrop of either a gritty urban life or speculative futures, his narratives often center on the weight of integrity and the philosophical gray areas where ambition and power overpower the goodness within.