The Elite Batch
"Shashank sir ka homework hua?" I asked Tejas, who had just helped me with a question about the Doppler effect.
"We are in Batch 1 now," he texted back with a laughing emoji, adding that he had done nothing. A new batch meant a new game, and a new game meant a new team — and, according to him, a new team meant new homework.
I had finished most of mine, with only a few questions pending. Still, I imagined myself standing in front of the class, with Shashank sir asking to see my notebook. The thought of being insulted on my very first day in the elite batch — in front of both familiar and unfamiliar faces — made me anxious.
Thinking all of this for a while, I finally decided to close the books and shut down my laptop, gambling on not completing the remaining work.
Our first lecture was scheduled for 10 a.m., but I reached by 9:30. Papa always dropped me off early. Entering the academy, I ran into my Batch 2 classmates.
Piyush reminded me to enter Batch 1 as I signed the register, and we laughed together.
Entering the class, I noticed Shaurya, Anika, and another girl sitting on the first bench to the left. The right side was empty, so I quickly walked over, placed my bag on the first bench, and sat down.
"Sachin sits there," the girl said, stopping me.
Sachin Thakur was the current topper of our JEE tests. That didn't surprise me. Without any argument, I picked up my bag and shifted to the fourth bench on the left, a little uneasy. It felt like a quiet reminder that this batch already had its place for everyone.
Adjusting to a new batch is never easy. Thoughts raced through my mind, along with Sunny Sir's warning:
"Waha jaa ke bigadne ke chances zyada hai… log zyada hai. Toh apne ko wo bhi dekhna padega."
Five students from their batch had been moved to Batch 2, and six of us — including me — had joined them.
I wondered whether they would really welcome us. But the toppers didn't seem to carry that attitude. Sachin and Shubh shook hands and congratulated me for being promoted, which eased my nerves a little.
As the class filled up, familiar faces from my former batch settled around — Tejas beside me, Prashant at the back, and Karan and Piyush together.
The next person to notice me was Shashank sir, greeting students as he walked into the class. He moved from one student to another, shaking hands as he made his way down the row. And then he saw me. His smile widened slightly, his eyes carrying a quiet acknowledgment—as if I had finally made it. He shook my hand and gave me his usual firm, hearty tap on the back.
"Toh baccho," he began, "We'll begin with the chapter named Solid State."
My focus stayed on the board, as sir moved around and added that the chapter will be best understood by those with a good imagination.
In between, a staff member stepped in and handed the attendance register to the Class Representative, Arjun Sharma, who was in front of me.
"Tanish bhai…" Arjun turned and passed it to me, his smile conveying the rest.
"Do you even know all of them?" Tejas whispered as I opened the register.
Names like Dhyanchand and Ananya meant nothing to me yet. I looked around, trying to match faces to names, with Tejas quietly guiding me.
The classroom was as silent as Batch 2 — with no gossip even at the back benches. My eyes were stuck on Shashank sir, in his white shirt, pacing along the board and switching slides on his MacBook.
"Beta ek galti aur wapas mayke nikalna pad jayega," my mind warned me as I kept shifting my gaze between the teacher and the register.
"Beta, what is her name?"
Shashank sir's voice cut through my thoughts as he looked toward the other row. I too turned to my right.
"Ha beta, you stand up," Shashank sir said, gesturing toward her.
The girl who had been sitting with her head down slowly stood up. She wore a black jacket, straightened hair, spectacles, and a black mask.
It was Lizz.
Sir asked her to name the seven crystal structures.
"Cubic…" Lizz began hesitantly, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "Tetrahedral…"
I felt a knot in my stomach. She was already unsure, and the class had begun murmuring before sir silenced everyone.
"…Cyclic?" she tried.
I leaned slightly toward Tejas and whispered the same word, laughing quietly to myself.
Sir smirked and sarcastically told her she might as well add "aromatic" too. The class burst into laughter — and I laughed with them.
Then his tone hardened. He called her foolish, and said that if this continued, he would send her back to Batch 2 — the place where, according to him, all the weak students belonged.
My laughter stopped immediately.
"I'll send you to B2…"
His words echoed in my mind. I thought of all the effort it had taken me to reach this batch.
"All my hard work will turn to dust," I told myself, making sure I stayed focused throughout the lectures.
Shashank sir still wasn't done. He muttered under his breath that she was clearly careless, almost as if he had expected this from her. Each remark made me feel worse for Lizz. She hadn't done anything unusual — just hesitated, like any student might when put on the spot.
After a brief moment of staring at him, Lizz quietly lowered her gaze to her desk, saying nothing more.
I could already imagine narrating this entire lecture to Sushant — how this girl he once liked had been singled out, how the class had laughed, and how the atmosphere had shifted from light to uncomfortable within seconds.
In the break, I did what I had thought of, which was to recount the entire incident to Sushant and other students from my former batch who listened with curiosity. I even warned them of Shashank sir's lecture and his plan to begin by testing Batch 2 by questioning them about the three states of matter and the difference between boiling and freezing points.
If the chemistry lecture that day had been a trailer, Sameer sir's physics lecture showed me the complete picture.
He entered in formals, and we stood up as usual. After glancing around the room, he spoke calmly but firmly.
He had made the batch adjustments he could, he said, but nobody's seat was permanent. Whether promoted or already in Batch 1, everyone would have to keep proving themselves.
"We would begin by aiming for 180 marks." he reminded us, and would gradually push toward 250.
Our exam was less than a year away, and his words always pushed me to work harder.
Still, 180 felt like a mountain to start with.
"And I won't be tolerating absentees," he added, calling out a few names from the back benches.
We began 12th-grade physics with Electrostatics—and that's where my long struggle with physics truly began.
That day, I had finally made it to Batch 1.
But sitting there, listening to the lecture, I realised something quietly unsettling — reaching the elite batch was one thing, staying there was going to be another battle altogether.
* * * * * * * *
It had been more than a week in this batch, and it was only our second lecture with Shashank sir. All of us who had been promoted had taken the last benches for that lecture, talking and enjoying ourselves—until Shashank sir suddenly asked why we Batch 2 students were sitting at the back.
Tejas explained that we weren't part of the ongoing round and would join the next one. So we stayed where we were.
While others were secretly using their phones, I sat as a spectator, watching the game unfold. I had already heard a lot about the quiz games Shashank sir conducted in this batch—how competitive they were, with strong players on both sides.
The ongoing match already seemed close to its finish. I wasn't watching the players as much as I was studying the field—who solved quickly, who hesitated, who stayed silent.
If I got the chance to captain the next round, I wanted to know exactly whom to pick.
After winning the toughest game in Batch 2, I was still carrying that quiet confidence. But winning here, in the elite batch, would mean something else entirely. This wouldn't be just another game—it would be an entry.
The questions moved quickly. Amit answered first. I had already solved the same problem in my notebook and slid the solution toward him, only to realise he'd finished it himself. With that, Sammy's team picked up early momentum.
Sanjana lost two points with a wrong answer for Neil's side but recovered later when she was picked again and got it right. Achintya solved two in a row, though Sir still teased him as the "unlucky player," someone who played well but never won.
Rushika reached the correct result but faltered in explaining it and was asked to sit. Ramesh misread the value and lost his chance.
By the time the lecture was about to end, Sammy's team had secured the win and the prize money was distributed.
Then came the moment I'd quietly been waiting for.
Sir looked around the class, clearly deciding whom to pick as the next captains. A few names floated across the room — some suggested loudly, some half-murmured.
I sat still. Inside I was hoping someone would say my name.
And then, Shubh did.
He suggested Sammy… and me.
Sir paused for a second, as if weighing the choice, then nodded in agreement. I chose to stay quiet. But within I knew I wasn't just a part of the audience anymore. I was in the game.
A week after being named captain, the actual team selection finally happened. A few of us gathered in the library to form the teams. What should have been casual suddenly felt serious to me. This wasn't just a game anymore — it was the first time I was responsible for something in Batch 1.
Sammy won the toss and started picking first. I had to think on the spot — balancing what I knew with what I had only heard. I made sure to secure players like Shubh and Aarav early, while others like Achintya and Tejas felt like calculated additions.
My prime motive was to pick people who could actually perform. I had already noted a few from the previous game, so they were obvious choices. Some picks were risky, and the rest were instinctive.
There were a few decisions that needed more thought. Ramesh was someone I trusted and had spent some nice time with despite being in different batches earlier, even if his last performance hadn't been perfect. Sanjana was a risk — I had been warned she and Achintya might get distracted if placed together — but her previous game made the decision easier.
The laughter only increased when I picked Naira, probably because of how much she talked. But I hardly reacted to any of it. If they were on my team, I was confident I could manage things my way.
By the end of it, most of the strong players had already been taken. The class stood divided. I looked at my team — a mix of familiar faces and uncertain bets — and felt a quiet sense of satisfaction.
For the first time, I wasn't just trying to fit into Batch 1.
I was building something within it.
That evening, I messaged everyone to remind them about homework and preparation, which didn't feel new at all, a habit I had carried from my previous batch — worrying about others instead of just myself.
Excited, I opened the unofficial group and searched for Naira's contact in the members list, which I found easily. Her profile picture was still the same one — her in that traditional outfit — the one I had seen countless times back in 11th grade.
Without any hesitation, at 5:42 p.m., I sent her my first message.
"Namaste
Please complete Shashank sir's homework."
Naira's reply came almost immediately.
"Okay.
Aap kon?"
That surprised me a little.
I used to greet almost everyone with a Namaste, so I had assumed she'd recognise me from that alone.
I tagged my earlier message again.
"Ohh,
Tanish," she replied, realizing it was me.
She then admitted she hadn't written the homework questions and even asked me to send them. When asked about her activeness in the game, something Shubh had warned me about, she clarified she did participate — but only when she understood the topic.
I informed her that she was in my team, which she acknowledged with a 'Thank you'.
That small conversation had nothing remarkable on the surface, yet it quietly felt like the first real step toward knowing her—especially since I knew that now, we would keep talking, for some reason or the other.
Snapping out of that moment, I sent the same homework reminder to Sanjana.
"hii
ji"
She too replied within two minutes — short and simple.
Her lowercase typing instantly reminded me of someone I used to know. At that moment, though, she was just another teammate on my list. I didn't know then how often her name would appear in my story later.
Late that night, I sat with the middle page of my notebook, sketching the final seating plan.
If I was going to lead the team, I couldn't leave things to chance — especially not in Shashank sir's quiz.
There were small calculations behind every name.
Rumours said Sanjana J and Achintya wouldn't cooperate unless they sat together, so I placed them side by side, hoping their comfort wouldn't turn into distraction. Around them, I tried to balance the energy of the class — one confident student with one steady one, like pieces on a board I was only beginning to understand.
It took nearly half an hour, but when I finally leaned back and looked at the page, a quiet certainty settled in.
"Tanish bhai always comes prepared before every game," I could hear Piyush's words in my head, and I felt a quiet sense of pride every time I looked at the paper.
Before sleeping, I texted all the members again, to ensure their homework completion, which gave me another reason to text Naira, though it was genuine more than intentional.
"Done with hw?"
"Haan."
She replied the next minute, which gave me a sense of relief as other members also confirmed that they were ready with their homework.
With that, I knew I could sleep peacefully. The excitement for the next day kept kicking in as I could actually imagine our team winning.
The next morning, I sent the seating arrangement to Shubh. He suggested a few small changes — the most notable being switching Naira, who was supposed to sit in front of me with some other girl.
"She's not that consistent.", Shubh reminded me for the second time, and for a moment, I wondered if I had trusted my instincts too much when it came to Naira.
The first lecture was Sunny Sir's, and I could see most of my teammates present — except Achintya and Sanjana J.
I knew both of them could change the course of the game. I found myself turning back to Shubh during the lecture, asking the same question again and again—would they come?
He kept assuring me they would join before the chemistry lecture. Still, the uneasiness refused to leave.
What if they didn't?
Winning that game had somehow become more important to me than I had expected. When the math lecture finally ended, another rumor spread through the corridors — Shashank Sir had already conducted a surprise oral test in Batch 2 and punished students harshly.
By then, Achintya and Sanjana had arrived, which gave me an immediate wave of relief.
But the relief didn't last long.
My carefully planned seating arrangement began collapsing within minutes. Naira wanted Shubh beside her so he could help her follow the solutions. Achintya ignored the plan entirely and sat with Tejas instead. I stepped outside and asked Sanjana J if she could sit with Shruti.
"What?? Nooo!!…" she almost shouted, leaving no room for negotiation.
So I reshuffled things again, which didn't seem perfect. But it would have to do. The atmosphere inside the classroom had changed completely. The room was buzzing with panic, and suddenly Shashank sir entered. With that, the game truly began — starting with the oral round.
When our turn came, Ananya from the first bench was asked about lattice edge lengths. She froze, her voice trembling, and the question was passed to me. I answered, steady enough to keep the momentum with us.
Ramesh struggled next, speaking too fast and losing his words midway, and Sir quickly moved on. But after that, the rhythm settled. Shubh, Naira, and Sanjana, who were now sitting right behind me, handled their turns confidently. Achintya and Tejas followed just as well.
By the end of the oral round, we were still standing strong.
Then Sir's attention shifted to me. He asked how, being new to the class, I had decided which students were strong. Before I could fully explain, he cut in with a half-teasing remark that perhaps the game had already turned against me.
I replied calmly that my team was strong and that I had chosen each member deliberately.
I could tell his gaze lingered on Achintya — the one people often joked never won games.
But I had picked him knowingly. For me, luck wasn't the deciding factor. Ability was.
As soon as one concept ended, the first question related to it appeared on the screen. Hands shot up from both teams almost instantly—but on ours, they stayed raised, steady and unshaken, till the very end.
That was when I knew. I hadn't just formed a team.
I had built one that could win.
By the time the lecture ended, we were leading by two points.
Even the next day, my thoughts were still stuck on the team, the score, and the next lecture—I was already looking forward to it. But before I could even get there, something unexpected happened.
I glanced at my phone, more out of habit than intention. And what I noticed was a text from her:
"Hi
Please share the homework questions of phyaical chemistry"
She had typed "phyaical," but I read it as physical anyway. I wasn't really paying attention to spellings. My mind was still stuck on something else — we were leading by two points, and this only made the moment better.
It had only been thirteen days since I entered Batch 1. Yet something about this place already felt different. Maybe it was someone's presence.
Abhi toh poora saal hai janaab, my sixth sense whispered teasingly.
It's going to be a nice one, I told myself quietly.
And maybe that feeling had something to do with her as well.
Seeing her name on my screen for the first time felt slightly unexpected, and almost instantly, my mind went back to the very first time we had actually spoken.
Not a conversation.
A pointless argument.
For someone who had somehow stayed in my head since the beginning, it felt strange that our first real interaction had turned out that way. At that moment, it hadn't meant much. But now, looking back at it, it felt like a missed chance — something that could have begun differently, but didn't.
I still remembered the first time I saw Naira — when the service lift doors opened and the Batch 1 students stepped out. She stood at the back, silent, her ponytail tied neatly, blending into the crowd.
For a brief moment, her eyes caught my attention — not because I was trying to notice them, but because they simply stood out. And before I could properly register her face, she had already disappeared with the others.
After that, she kept appearing in small, ordinary moments. Whenever I mistakenly opened their classroom door, she would often be there on the first bench, lightly swinging her legs while talking to someone. For a second, she would glance at me — and in that brief glance, it was always her eyes I seemed to notice first — before returning to her conversation as I realised I had entered the wrong room again.
Those moments didn't mean anything back then. We hadn't spoken, nor were we introduced. Still, I had started noticing her since then.
And somewhere along the way, she stayed in my mind.
* * * * * * *
It was the second day of the quiz, and the game hadn't even begun when something at the back of the class caught my attention. Two boys were bent over the same notebook, hurriedly copying homework as if the lecture had already started.
I rushed toward Shubh and whispered,
"Oye… those two are copying. Should I record and show it to sir in the lecture?"
"Do it. Just don't let them know."
I was overjoyed that Shubh didn't even hesitate or stop me. Without wasting any time and trying to look as normal as possible, I got up and walked past their bench, casually opening my camera. For a moment, I just stood there behind them — long enough to make it clear what they were doing — and recorded.
I was glad that no one noticed. Not them, and not even those who walked past me in that moment. I had just started walking back when I paused again.
A curtain of straight black hair hid the notebook in front of her face — but I didn't need to see clearly to recognize her.
Lizz.
She was copying too.
This time, I couldn't help but smile.
"Bhai… even Lizz is copying. I'll make another one," I muttered as I leaned back toward Shubh.
He gave a small nod, clearly amused.I turned again, opening my camera, just as Shubh casually called out,
"Lizz… are you completing the homework?"
She looked up instantly, laughing, trying to push her hair aside — but not before the video caught everything it needed to.
We now had two videos capturing three students copying homework—enough to earn us a few extra points. We were already leading by two, and at that moment, my enthusiasm had risen to a completely different level.
Because in moments like these, victory often feels closest just before it slips away.
In the lecture, the oral round went badly for us. Our two-point lead vanished, and within minutes, we were trailing by six.
Panic spread across my team. Ananya kept arguing with Sir over the deductions, convinced something was off.
Behind me, Sanjana J kept questioning the scoring too. For a while, I even assumed Sir had made a mistake—forgetting that two points were supposed to be deducted per wrong answer. It wasn't until she tapped my shoulder and showed me the calculation that I explained I had misread it earlier. She rolled her eyes, slowly nodding her head.
Then came my chance. I could now show the videos of Lizz and deduct points from Sammy's team. Shashank Sir mentioned the videos I had taken. Ananya appreciated my tactics for the second time, adding that she wanted to be in my team for the next game as well.
Not sure if needed, I explained a little awkwardly, how it felt strange recording my own classmates—but it was part of the game.
Sir approved.
And when he announced loudly that anyone who recorded you cheating is actually helping you—that they are your true friend—Lizz and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
Strange how it goes—
Sushant tells Lizz everything that's his,
And here I am, doing nothing at all,
Still labeled her truest friend in this.
For a moment, the tension dissolved—but only briefly. The laughter faded from my face as Sir deducted just one point per student, which was unusual; he had always deducted two. When we questioned it, he brushed it off, saying homework wasn't significant enough to warrant heavier penalties.
Hearing that, I was taken aback. Just a moment ago, he had emphasized the seriousness of cheating on homework—and now, he had changed his stance entirely?
And then it was even worse, within the next half hour, we lost the first round. My eyes remained on the board for a minute, and then I turned to see Sammy standing between the two teams, clapping for his team's victory.
For the first time as captain, I watched the other team celebrate the opening round while I stood still— realizing that, despite everything, we had still fallen short.
History said whoever won Round one usually won the game, and I could only wonder if history would continue to be right.
The next morning, I woke up tense. The second round had never felt like a do-or-die before, but after the oral disaster, I didn't want to risk another slip. I made it clear to everyone — homework complete, answers ready, no casualness.
Because the lectures were happening on consecutive days, I suspected the other team might relax. And they did. One of their players even tried to pass off old homework as new. But Shashank sir noticed immediately.
This time, we even dominated the oral round, and the domination was so impactful, that by the end of it, we were ahead by ten points.
Some of my teammates felt the round was already decided. But their captain, Sammy, refused to end it early. If they were going to lose, he wanted them to lose properly—after a full fight.
Those weren't just words; they carried a kind of determination, a refusal to give in. And it showed. Within the next two questions, our lead of eight began to shrink dangerously.
Panic spread across our row once again— with me at the center of it, being the most dramatic—while Ananya kept telling me to calm down and stop being so hyperactive.
When the third question appeared, I knew we were at a crossroads. I raised my hand, planning to attempt it, but Achintya quietly warned me my approach was wrong.
For a second, I hesitated. Ananya kept repeating that I should give Achintya the chance to answer. Knowing that I had solved it the wrong way, I chose Achintya instead.
He answered correctly.
Relief swept through the team. The lead stretched again, and as he explained the solution step by step, I realised something important — intelligence doesn't always come with confidence or reputation, but it shows when it matters.
The last question of the day was another tricky one. I couldn't solve it, but Ananya and Sanjana spotted the flaw in the opponent's answer, and the points swung our way again.
By the end of the round, the result was clear. We didn't just survive the second round — we controlled it. For the first time since becoming captain, I felt like the team was no longer a group of individuals. It was becoming my team.
By the third round, the gap between the teams was small enough for everyone to sense it when it came down to the last day of the game.
I arrived late that day, but Ramesh had saved a seat for me. Around me, the room felt different too. Sanjana wasn't wearing her usual mask, and Shubh had shifted seats behind them. The arrangement we had once debated so seriously no longer mattered — only the result did.
Shashank sir opened with a question for me, which I answered correctly.
The next went to Ramesh. He faltered again.
Sir, as always, turned it into a comparison with other students—and we lost points. I tried not to show it, but I couldn't help regretting the decision of picking him purely out of friendship. Captaincy had begun teaching me that intentions and outcomes rarely followed the same path.
But then it felt like maybe the day just wasn't ours. The questions kept coming. One wrong answer followed another—from Sanjana, from Ananya, from Karan, from Tejas… even from me. Our lead slipped away, and with it, the match began to slip too.
Sir suggested shifting to osmotic pressure — an easier scoring topic, considering we were running out of time anyway.
Forty-five minutes left.
Eight points behind.
Karma hits hard.
The situation felt oddly familiar. In Batch 2, I had once defeated another captain by the same margin while they struggled against the clock. Now I stood on the other side of that memory.
The next topic began, but my focus didn't return. Panic clouded everything.
Ananya asked repeatedly for a chance to answer. I trusted Karan instead and we missed it.
Their lead widened to ten.
That was the moment I knew it was over.
For the first time as captain, I wasn't guiding the team anymore. I was just watching the match slip away. Ananya's voice broke the silence, half angry, half emotional, declaring she would never be in my team again.
And soon, Sir announced the result, and Sammy with his team had won.
I lost my first game as a captain, my first ever game in the elite batch —and to a strong opponent. At that moment, the loss hurt far more than I expected, even if I didn't show it.
The math lecture followed soon after, and by the time it ended, the intensity of the game had already begun to fade for everyone else. As if it had never mattered that much.
After the lectures, I received a call from Shubh. He apologised for the loss, even though he had been my constant support throughout the game, guiding me at every step with advice that had mostly been right. I didn't think much of it, the defeat simply seemed much more than a defeat.
It was only much later, while looking back at everything that followed, that I realised this had been the moment where the ice had quietly begun to break.
It had taken just one game for that shift to happen in Batch 1. I had entered with the assumption that adjusting would be difficult, that I would always feel like someone who had been moved there rather than someone who truly belonged.
But somewhere between the strategies, the arguments, the messages, and the mistakes, that changed.
I hadn't just learned how my team performed.
I had learned who all stood beside me.
And in that sense, the game had already done what it was meant to. Even if I hadn't realised it at the time.