Shala

by Milind Bokil

  The eighth standard girls arrived in a group next. They normally arrive early. I don’t know most of them, except for one Pangarkar from our neighbourhood. Anyway, they are way too young for us, so we do not bother them much. We were all waiting for Kevda, especially Surya.

  The road was now crowded with girls in blue skirts and boys in brown pants. Surya and Phawdya stood waiting near the other window, hidden from outside view. Chitre was busy, as usual, fiddling with his experiment.

  We spotted Sakhardande from Tenth Standard. She walked alone today.

  ‘Look at the way she struts!’ Surya said.

  ‘Why don’t you whistle?’ Phawdya suggested.

  Surya promptly put two fingers into his mouth and let out a loud phityooo phitttt. We all moved back instantly because we knew that Sakhardande would look up the moment she heard the whistle. She did look up but could not see anyone. She merely smiled and continued walking.

  ‘Saw how she smiled? Bhenchod!’ Surya muttered.

  ‘She’s real clever.’ Phawdya agreed.

  ‘Look at the way she juts out her tits!’ Surya exclaimed.

  When Sakhardande was canvassing for the post of Student Representative, she had come to our class for a speech. Sawant from Tenth-D was another aspirant, as was Deshpande from Ninth-A. Everyone knew that Sakhardande was a carefree girl, but we were surprised to see her in our class. Rajguru sir was teaching us when she came in asking for permission to speak. She came up to us and announced, ‘There is no reason why boys cannot vote for girls. If I win I will ensure that the playgrounds are utilized well. I will get bats and balls for each class.’

  ‘Oh we all have bats all right!’ Phawdya said loudly.

  The entire class was in splits. The joke was lost on the stupid girls, who kept asking, ‘What happened? Why are they laughing?’ Shrewd Sakhardande understood the pun, but chose not to react. The girls may have voted for her, but we all voted for Sawant. Deshpande is from our grade and was hoping he would get the support of the ninth and eighth graders, but he is too arrogant. No one would vote for him. Sawant won the election. Sakhardande wasn’t too perturbed when she lost the election, and continues to strut around jutting out her boobs as before.

  Manjrekar sir came in, holding his bicycle in his hands. Rajguru sir and Borhade ma’am walked along with him. We let them pass without making any comment. Bibikar came by. He knows we sit up here. He looked up and let out a shrill whistle. Surya replied with a whistle. Prem Chopra walked past, followed by Ghasu Gokhale. Ghasu has an irritating habit. He often waits near the walls of Mokshadham for some teacher or the other to come by so that he can show off by walking along with them.

  The girls were streaming in continuously by now. Kevda came in. Kevda is the Gupte girl from eighth standard. She joined school this year and the entire school wants to hook up with her. She’s slim and tall and wears flowers in her hair each day, and also a leaf of fragrant kevda; hence the nickname. Surya fell for her on day one, but doesn’t know how to progress further. Earlier he used to wait by the roadside and stare openly at her. But we were worried that she’d complain to her father, or at school, and get us all into trouble. So now Surya contents himself with shouting ‘Kevda, Kevda’ from the window. I told him what Naru mama had advised; that you should never tease a girl in this fashion. It would only upset her and then you can forget about wooing her. Naru mama gives me such tips which I pass on to these guys. I don’t tease the girls or call them names. I just sit there, restless and helpless.

  ‘Chitre, look, your jaatwaali is coming this way!’

  ‘Let her,’ Chitre said. ‘I am not interested.’

  ‘You may not be, but we are!’ Surya said. ‘Saale, why don’t you introduce us to her? I’m sure you’ll have some connection in common.’

  Surya’s guess was right. Chitre had told me once that Gupte’s mother goes to the same mandal as his. Their family had visited Chitre once, but he stupidly hid inside a room and never came out. Of course, we haven’t told Surya this lest he rag Chitre to death.

  ‘How the hell do I win her over?’ Surya wailed, looking at her. ‘What should I do?’

  We said nothing. There was no point.

  Sukdi and Bakre followed Kevda.

  ‘Joshi, Sukdi is here,’ alerted Surya.

  ‘Is she?’ I asked. I saw her coming our way. I allowed her to come as close as possible and then, stepping back a bit, shouted, ‘Ae Mahesssshhhh!’

  Sukdi is four or five years elder to us. She joined our school when she was in seventh standard. She was probably in Tope High School earlier, and before that in Subhash Vidyalaya, close to her home. She was thrown out of various schools as she kept flunking and has now landed in our school. She has been having an affair with Mahesh Sutar for many years. One would think they’ve been together since birth! Mahesh often visits our school on his Speedking bicycle and they both talk to each other without a care of those around. Sukdi’s affair is known to everyone, including the sirs and ma’ams, even Appa. We often tease her, especially me, but she never gets ruffled. She’s very gentle.

  The girls in our class do not let go of any opportunity to tease the boys, but not Sukdi. She’s the tallest in the class and sits alone. She has a sweet voice, and is often asked to sing in free periods and in all our school programmes. Mahesh has been beaten up by our boys a few times. Once when Surya was beating him up, Sukdi intervened and held his hand to stop him. Surya was too dumbfounded to react. Ever since, everyone has accepted their affair and no one troubles them now. Mahesh has a hardware shop in the market. He sits there the whole day. They both roam around the town and go together to the movies sometimes.

  Sukdi did not react to my catcall and continued walking along with ‘shorty’ Bakre, royally ignoring us.

  Kendalkar sir followed them. We saw him and fell silent. He is our supervisor and although Appa is the Principal, it is Kendalkar sir who runs the show. Appa is strict but doesn’t shout at anyone. The whole school calls him Appa though his full name is Appasaheb Ramchandra Tuljapurkar. That’s not the case with Kendalkar sir, though. He is one of the seniormost teachers in the school, and no one dare speak in his presence. Once he starts thrashing someone he loses all control. He used to stay in Kanhe village earlier and is familiar with the locals. People like Surya’s father like him a lot. Last year, one of Surya’s distant cousins was thrashed by Kendalkar sir for throwing ink on Halbe sir’s shirt. He was half-dead at the end of it but Surya’s uncle remarked, ‘You should have broken his hand so that he would dare not repeat such a prank.’

  It is good that Kendalkar sir is not teaching us anything this year. He can teach any subject—Maths, Physics, whatever. We have to be very alert in his class. He would suddenly spring a question on one of us; if you didn’t answer, he would drawl, ‘Where’s your mind, you rascal?’ and then pound you on the back with his fists. He should have retired long back, but god knows when he actually will. We all eagerly await that day. He has six or seven students who go to his house for tuition, free of cost. If the student is weak in Maths the parents send him there. But the very thought of going to Kendalkar’s house is enough to make anyone an expert in Maths!

  I spotted Shirodkar from a distance. My heart was pounding loudly and there was that familiar feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I looked around; Chitre was fiddling with his ‘battery experiment’ and Surya and Phawdya were busy helping him. I peeped out to see Shirodkar walking down with Kanvinde and Watve. I knew the guys would pass some comment or the other seeing them. If I objected, that would be enough to create suspicion. I would be dead then!

  I quickly tried to distract them before they could spot the girls.

  ‘Hey guys, have you finished Bendre ma’am’s homework?’

  ‘Homework?’ Surya asked, a little surprised. ‘Ichibhana, did she give us some homework?’

  ‘Of course! She had given us some words for which we had to write the synonyms.’

  ‘Oh god I’m dead! Joshi, h
ave you finished it? Give me your notebook.’

  I gave him my notebook. I could now go and sit at the window undisturbed. Chitre had done his homework, but he sat there comparing his notebook with mine. Surya and Phawdya had obviously not done anything and were busy copying from my notebook. The words were not difficult. I had to refer to the dictionary twice for words like ‘gallant’ and ‘penetrate’. The rest were quite easy. It was from a chapter on Robin Hood. I had got Naru mama to explain the story to me when he had last visited us.

  Shirodkar had reached the foot of the building while the boys were busy copying. As usual, she sported a bunch of aboli flowers in her hair. Ambabai says the flowers are called kanakambaram in south India and firecracker in English. She loves to wear these flowers but is unable to find them. I wonder where Shirodkar gets them from! She has curly hair, which creates a sort of nice pattern around her face; just the way the hair falls on my mother’s face.

  I held my breath while she passed by. It was good that I was sitting down because I felt weak in my knees. It felt good though! A great start to the day.

  ‘Anyone passing by?’ Surya asked, looking in my direction.

  ‘No one we know; some tenth standard girls,’ I replied.

  ‘Any good-looking chick to ogle at?’ he asked.

  ‘No. You finish your work. And remember the correct pronunciation. It is ‘forest’ and not ‘faarisht’, okay?’

  Shirodkar had left. There was no point in sitting there any more. Most of the children from our class had gone by now.

  We ran down the steps to the rear. We never walk out of the entrance on the main road lest we get caught. We exit from the rear, circling the school to reach the back gate. We spotted the labourer woman getting ready to suckle her child and Surya wanted to ask her to finish before we left, so we would not miss anything! The fence behind our school has been bent low by the boys from Kanhe village. It is convenient to reach class that way.

  Earlier, it was okay to reach school after the assembly had begun. But, ever since the Emergency was declared, there is a lot of stress on discipline, and we are forced to attend the assembly. These days, if you arrive late, you will not be allowed to attend classes. What’s more, you will have to bear some caning on your palm. And to add insult to injury, they are administered by Appa himself in his office. He would chant, while caning the students, ‘Should you not come on time, huh? Should you not come on time?’ We take care to arrive well in time, but we too have tasted the spanking once. Earlier there was just a single prayer in the assembly followed by ‘Jana Gana Mana’, and we were done. But now we are forced to sing ‘Hum Honge Kamyaab’. It was fun initially, but now we find it boring. Luckily we sing just the first stanza. If we sang the whole song we would never be kamyaab! School authorities now ask us to sing such songs even in the P.T. period! There are no such rules in Tope High School. Nana of Subhash Vidyalaya, in any case, supports the opposition party. I wonder why Appa is enamoured of all these things.

  We scampered up the steps and reached the classroom just as Paranjpe ma’am entered. The prayers began, and I got busy watching Shirodkar. I had a clear view of her face—the yellow ribbons, the flowers in her hair, and those earrings. That’s one good thing about the prayer assembly; everyone looks straight ahead, allowing me to stare freely at her. The boys in the row ahead act as a shield, thus preventing any ma’am from catching me staring at Shirodkar! The dumb girls in my class sing ‘Hum Honge Kamyaab’ so earnestly. God only knows what inspires them so. The boys, of course, shuffle about restlessly. Bibikar tries to act smart at times, mumbling ‘umm, umm’ a tad too loudly. A piercing stare from ma’am is enough to shut him up, though.

  The classrooms in our school are built in a row, like the bogies of a train. Our classroom has two doors; one in the front and the other at the rear. A few steps lead us directly to the playground.

  I sit at the back of the classroom, near the door. Desai sits next to me while Surya and Phawdya occupy the bench behind. Desai is a simple soul. He never utters a word, sits quietly in all the classes and copies whatever the teachers say in the class. Chitre was my neighbour earlier and would chat away all day. Paranjpe ma’am noticed that and moved him to the front bench, asking Desai to sit beside me. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise; I can now stare at Shirodkar unhindered.

  I get a good view of the playground from where I sit. No other school has such a huge playground. Tope High School has a large one, but it is on hire for plays on most days. Ours is twice their size thanks to the largesse of donors like Surya’s father. Our Appa is a smart fellow; he got the local villagers to contribute a lot of land free of cost when he built the school. He also managed to get them to build the fence.

  There are toilets at both ends of the ground; one for boys and another one for girls. There are no separate ones for the teachers. Anyone using the toilet has to cross the playground, giving the person sitting at the door a clear view. In one of his classes last year, we asked Zende sir the meaning of the word ‘vulgar’. He said ‘vulgar’ meant having to go to the toilet in full view of the school! Since then we have a code for peeing; we say, ‘Let’s do the vulgar thing!’

  When it rains, there is green grass everywhere in the playground. The grass grows coarse and dry within a few weeks, but it is still fun to watch the field. Our school is on the outskirts of the town, in Kanhe village, hence there are no houses on this side. You can see the tiled roofs of Umbarpada in the distance. The paddy fields begin where the playground ends. The hills of Sonarpada are visible in the distance on a clear day. Surya tells me that the local fair is held in the month of May there. The road on the left leads to Nana’s jungle while the one on the right leads to paddy fields belonging to Surya’s cousins. If you cross over you reach the Mohpada bay where Surya’s father has his business of sand-digging. We all plan to visit the place one day.

  I spend most of my time in school either watching Shirodkar or looking outside at the playground. On a sunny day, the sky looks like a steel plate reflecting the sunlight onto the mountains, the grass and the trees. There is a sort of warm silence when school begins in the afternoon. I divide my time looking at Shirodkar and at the sights outside, ensuring that the teachers do not catch me. If they look at me I just stare ahead at the blackboard. I have realized that no one bothers you if you stare ahead vacantly. And I have learnt the art of stealing glances at Shirodkar while looking straight ahead. To be honest, I don’t need to look at her to see her at all; she’s visible to me wherever I look, whether I look out into the playground or when I close my eyes.

  Paranjpe ma’am took the attendance and began the lessons. She’s our class teacher and hence takes the first period. The Marathi period is a good way to begin the day. She’s a good teacher and gets into form, especially when explaining poems. She loves to give extra information. She begins by saying, ‘Children, do you know…?’ She has a habit of glancing at the front door from time to time while teaching. Surya, ever alert for such things, is of the firm belief that she’s on the lookout for Zende sir! He is such an idiot!

  No one creates any trouble in the Marathi period. School would have just begun and the boys are silent; the girls too. Shirodkar listens to the teacher with her face resting on one palm. She does not look anywhere else. She sits in the third row. Sometimes she talks to Sarwate sitting next to her. If she turns back, she will find me staring at her. But she rarely turns towards the boys’ side.

  The girls and boys in our school do not talk to each other. It is like a crime to be seen talking to the other sex. One might be torn to pieces for doing so. The girls never take the initiative, but then neither do the boys. All we do is pass snide remarks. Girls like Sukdi can retort without a care, but she is a rarity. The other girls keep to themselves. They cover their mouths with their handkerchiefs and giggle if the boys crack a good joke. They cover their mouths even while talking to each other.

  Shirodkar never tries to act smart. Kulkarni and Dongre sit on the ben
ch ahead of her. Rege and Mirikar sit on the first bench. We call the four of them ‘birdies’; they chatter the whole day. They love to fight over petty things with the boys. Shirodkar joined our class last year, but I don’t remember the bench on which she used to sit then. She was in the dance group last year, but in the last row. The ‘birdies’ are short and are always in the first row for the dance.

  Ma’am asked a few questions on the lesson. I knew all the answers but did not raise my hand; I have decided there is no point in showing off. Some boys and girls love to answer; especially people like Bibikar, Ghasu Gokhale, Teredesai amongst boys, and the four birdies who are constantly raising their hands shouting, ‘Me, Ma’am!’, ‘Me, Ma’am!’ They are in ninth standard but behave like fifth standard juveniles, clamouring for the teacher’s attention.

  Barve ma’am did not turn up today for the second consecutive day. I don’t know what is wrong with her. I attend her classes diligently. After all, Hindi is one subject which everyone understands well. You can do whatever you want in Barve ma’am’s class as long as you don’t speak and disturb the others. Usually, we finish our pending homework in it. Bendre’s class after hers. But you can even read novels sitting right on the first bench! Like Surve on the second bench in the corner. He is a bright fellow but lives in his own world of detective fiction. He carries old novels with exotic names like Kala Pahaad, Jhunzaar, Dhurandhar, etc. in his bag all the time. He has even lent me a few once.

  We were hoping to have Barve ma’am’s period off, but Manjrekar sir came in. We requested him to give us a break, but he decided to teach Social Science with an excuse that we could finish off the syllabus. Manjrekar sir is our hero. In Surya’s words, he is a ‘bindaas’ character. He is the only one who tucks his shirt in and buttons up his sleeves, wears a steel bracelet and has long hair that falls over his forehead. He is unmarried and a jolly good fellow. He loves theatre and even directed a play for us last year. When he is in a good mood, he recites the dialogues from his plays. He speaks his mind and says he lands up in many an argument in the staff room thanks to his outspoken nature. But he is a first class M.A. B.Ed, so no one can challenge him.