3 | Satish Singh Rajvanshi

Friday Morning - The Day of Taxation's Grand Reveal

The moment had finally arrived.

For the past eight days, every lecture had gone on as usual-except for Taxation. No one had met Prof. Satish Singh Rajvanshi yet, and the suspense had reached a fever pitch. The class had built up all kinds of theories about him. Some thought he'd be a terrifying, ultra-strict professor who'd grill them with impossible questions. Others imagined an old, grumpy man who spoke in monotone and carried a giant stack of tax books.

But nothing-absolutely nothing-had prepared them for what actually walked through that door.

The moment he stepped into the room, everything went silent.

Time slowed down.

It was like a scene straight out of a movie-like some high-budget Hollywood introduction where the camera zooms in dramatically.

The click of his shoes echoed in the hall.

His crisp white shirt was perfectly ironed, sleeves neatly rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. A well-fitted black watch rested on his wrist. His black trousers sat flawlessly on his lean but well-built frame.

And then-those blue eyes.

Sharp. Intense. Observant. As if he could scan straight through their souls. He didn't even have to say a word; his presence alone commanded attention. His neatly trimmed beard and confident posture completed the picture of someone who was effortlessly in control.

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Kunal, who had been mid-sentence about last night's cricket match, was now frozen, his mouth slightly open.

Rutuja blinked twice. "Okay. I... I did not see this coming."

Arohi's pen slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the desk. "What-what just happened?"

Sharayu, who was rarely speechless, simply stared. "That's... That's our professor?"

Hriday leaned forward, whispering, "I suddenly feel like Taxation is my favorite subject."

The professor, completely oblivious to the effect he had just caused, placed his books on the table and faced the class with an easy confidence.

"Good morning, everyone." His voice was deep, smooth, and effortlessly authoritative.

The class responded weakly, still recovering from the shock. "G-Good morning, sir."

He smirked slightly, as if he was used to this reaction. "I'm Prof. Satish Singh Rajvanshi, and I'll be teaching Taxation this semester."

Kunal whispered to Vrushal, "I feel like this man doesn't teach Taxation-he owns it."

Ignoring the barely contained whispers, Prof. Rajvanshi continued, crossing his arms. "Before we begin, let's clear a few things up."

The entire class leaned in.

"First," he said, "I don't care about attendance. You can come if you want. If you don't, that's your problem. I'm not going to force you to be here."

The class collectively gasped.

Arohi clutched her chest. "Did... Did he just say attendance is optional?"

Sharayu muttered, "Is he even real?"

The professor went on, "Second, I'm not interested in you memorizing laws like parrots. If you don't understand what you're studying, you're wasting your time. And mine."

Rutuja scribbled in her notebook: New favorite professor unlocked.

He glanced at them. "Third, let's save us all some trouble-I don't remember names. At all. So, every time I ask you something, don't get offended if I point and say 'you.'"

The class chuckled. Even the serious ones in the front row were smiling now.

"And finally," he added, placing his hands on the table, "if you think Taxation is boring, it's probably because you've never had the right teacher. Let's change that."

Sharayu exchanged glances with her friends. This was definitely not what they had expected.

The professor leaned against the desk. "Before I dive into the subject, let's make it fair-since I don't remember names, you all will introduce yourselves. But keep it short. I don't need your life story."

One by one, the class introduced themselves. Kunal, of course, went with: "Hi, I'm Kunal, and I believe that samosas are a core part of economic growth."

The professor stared at him for a second before replying, "Fascinating. Next."

Sharayu stood up with a grin. "I'm Sharayu, and I'm looking forward to seeing how you make Taxation 'not boring.'"

He smirked. "A challenge, huh? Alright, we'll see."

After the introductions, he got straight into explaining the basics of Taxation. But unlike other professors, he wasn't just reading from a book-he was talking. Making jokes. Asking weirdly fun questions. Making them think.

At one point, he threw a question at the class. "Why do you think taxes exist?"

Hriday answered, "To ruin our lives?"

The professor chuckled. "Valid. But wrong."

Arohi raised a hand. "To fund government projects?"

"Better. But still incomplete."

Sharayu thought for a moment before answering, "To create a system where everyone contributes to the economy based on their earnings?"

Prof. Rajvanshi pointed at her. "Now that is the kind of thinking I want in this class."

Rutuja nudged her. "Look at you, already impressing him."

Sharayu rolled her eyes. "Relax."

By the time the lecture ended, the entire class was buzzing. Not only had they expected the worst and gotten the best professor ever, but Taxation now actually seemed... interesting?

As they packed their bags, Kunal sighed dreamily. "I think I'm in love."

Hriday patted his back. "Same, bro. Same."

Arohi chuckled. "We just won the professor lottery."

Sharayu smiled as she walked out with them. If this was just the first class, then this semester was going to be very interesting.

The Lecture Everyone Actually Attended

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~■♧■~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The classroom was alive with laughter, whispered jokes, and the occasional dramatic retelling of last night's events. It was break time, and Sharayu's group was in their usual spot at the back, engaged in an intense debate over something completely unrelated to academics.

"I'm telling you," Kunal insisted, waving his hands, "if I had to choose between never eating samosas again or failing a subject, I'd fail a subject."

Hriday shook his head. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Just eat something else!"

Kunal gasped as if personally offended. "That's like telling a fish to breathe air."

Arohi rolled her eyes. "Guys, can we discuss something that doesn't involve Kunal's food addiction?"

Just as Rutuja was about to add her own sarcastic remark, a distinctive sound filled the air-the measured click-click of polished shoes stepping into the room.

Everything fell silent.

It was almost instinctive now-when Prof. Satish Singh Rajvanshi walked in, the energy in the room shifted. It wasn't fear. It wasn't strictness. It was just... his presence.

He strode in with the same effortless confidence that had made them all question if he was a professor or a corporate CEO on a mission. His crisp white shirt, neatly rolled-up sleeves, and sharp blue eyes scanned the room as he reached the desk.

With a smooth motion, he picked up a marker and, in his clean, no-nonsense handwriting, wrote on the white board:

Direct Taxation

Turning back to the class, he crossed his arms. "Alright," he said. "Who here already knows what this is?"

More than half the class-including several from Sharayu's group-shot their hands up.

Sharayu grinned. "Sir, it's a Direct Tax. A tax paid directly to the government by individuals or organizations, based on income or profits."

Manav added, "Like Income Tax-it's paid by the person who earns, without any middle step."

Hriday leaned back and smirked. "Basically, a tax that reminds us we're never earning enough."

Kunal, ever the comedian, raised a finger. "And also the reason my dad's face changes every March."

Prof. Rajvanshi stared at Kunal for a moment, then nodded. "A painfully relatable yet economically accurate observation."

The class chuckled, and Kunal gave a proud little bow.

The professor tapped the board. "Alright, good. You know the basic definition. But let's go deeper. Why do we actually need Direct Tax?"

A few students started mumbling textbook lines, but he held up a hand.

"No textbook answers. Think. Why should someone earning money have to part with it?"

There was a pause. This wasn't the usual lecture. Most professors were happy with keywords-but Satish Singh Rajvanshi wanted logic.

Soham hesitated. "To help fund public services?"

Prof. Rajvanshi tilted his head. "We're close."

Akash tried, "So the government can have a steady income source?"

He nodded. "Better."

Sharayu thought for a second before answering, "To maintain economic balance-so those who earn more contribute more, and that helps in reducing inequality?"

He snapped his fingers. "Exactly."

Hriday turned to Kunal. "Bro, she just got the professor's gold star."

Kunal smirked. "I'll win him over with my annual tax panic trauma stories."

Ignoring the murmurs, Prof. Rajvanshi leaned on the desk. "Income Tax isn't just a money deduction. It's a civic responsibility. It's about ensuring that a country runs-from your roads to hospitals-with contributions made by its own citizens. But the system has layers, loopholes, and limitations-and that's what we'll uncover together in this semester."

He moved to the board, scribbling key terms like slabs, deductions, exemptions, and filing deadlines.

"Here's the deal-I'm not here to force you to mug up tax codes. If you understand how and why they exist, you won't need to memorize anything."

Then he turned, scanning the class. "Also, let me make this clear-I don't care about attendance. If you're here, be present. If you're not, don't waste my time or yours."

A hush settled over the room.

Kunal leaned over to Hriday. "Bro, this man's giving strong TED Talk energy."

Hriday whispered back, "Yeah, but with tax forms and trauma."

The lecture continued-no PowerPoint, no monotone. Just real-world logic, humor, and the occasional sarcastic jab when someone tried to wing a half-hearted answer.

By the end of the hour, something bizarre had happened.

They had actually enjoyed a Taxation lecture.

As they packed up their things, Rutuja stretched with a dramatic sigh. "Okay, not gonna lie... this is the first time I've understood Tax without wanting to cry."

Sharayu smiled to herself, her eyes lingering a moment longer on the professor.

Arohi nodded. "I didn't even feel sleepy. That's a miracle."

Gayatri smirked. "Sharayu, you seemed pretty engaged. Secretly enjoying this, huh?"

Sharayu rolled her eyes but smiled. "Maybe."

Hriday put an arm around Kunal. "Bro, our lives have changed."

Kunal sighed. "Yeah. I actually feel like I have to attend this class."

As they left, Sharayu glanced back at the board where Income Tax was still written in clean, confident handwriting.

This semester was going to be very different.

As soon as they stepped out of the classroom, the group naturally formed a huddle in the middle of the corridor. Other students squeezed past them, giving annoyed glances, but they, as always, were too busy in their own world to care.

Sharayu stretched her arms. "Okay, that was... unexpectedly fun?"

Rutuja smirked. "Are you saying Taxation is fun?"

Sharayu gasped dramatically. "Oh god, take it back! That's not what I meant! Don't make me sound like a nerd."

Hriday laughed. "Too late. We all heard it."

Kunal crossed his arms. "It's official. She's Satish Sir's favorite student."

Sharayu rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Just because I gave one decent answer-"

Arohi interrupted, "One? Girl, he literally snapped his fingers and said 'Exactly' when you answered. That's professor language for 'I'm impressed'."

Vrushal added, "And let's not forget, he made eye contact with you twice while explaining."

Kunal fake-gasped. "Oh my god, is this a student-professor intellectual connection?"

Sharayu smacked his arm. "Shut up, Kunal."

Gayatri giggled. "Okay, okay, enough teasing. Where are we going now?"

Sharayu tapped her chin, thinking. "We could go to the canteen, but I swear if I eat another stale samosa from there, I might actually sue them."

Kunal placed a protective hand on his chest. "How dare you disrespect samosas like this?"

Hriday chuckled. "Kunal, even you admitted that last one tasted like cardboard."

Kunal sighed dramatically. "Fine. But where else?"

Arohi snapped her fingers. "What about that chai tapri outside the college gate?"

Sharayu grinned. "Now that is a genius idea. Chai, gossip, and watching first-years panic about assignments-what more do we need?"

Rutuja laughed. "Alright, let's go."

As they started walking, Vrushal nudged Sharayu. "By the way, you really were into today's lecture, huh?"

Sharayu shrugged. "What can I say? The man knows how to teach. And let's be honest, it helps that he looks like he just walked out of a magazine cover."

Arohi gasped. "So you admit it!"

Sharayu raised her hands. "Hey! I said looks like! Doesn't mean I-"

Kunal cut her off. "Sharayu, it's okay. We get it. Satish Sir is basically an Indian version of a K-drama professor."

Sharayu groaned. "You guys are the worst."

Hriday smirked. "And yet, you love us."

She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately."

With that, the group made their way toward the chai stall, ready for another round of laughter, harmless teasing, and maybe even some accidental studying (but only if absolutely necessary).