by Milind Bokil
‘Chitre, you tell me!’ Surya said.
‘Mine stays in Bandra,’ Chitre said, fiddling with a grass stalk. ‘She stays in mavshi’s building. Her name is Naina. Naina Thakur.’
‘Does she fancy you?’ Surya asked.
‘She will in some time. What’s the hurry? I am going to attend college there, after all.’
‘Joshi? What about you?’
My mind was racing in search of the right answer while Chitre spoke.
‘Mine stays in Aaji’s town,’ I said. ‘She’s the daughter of Naru mama’s colleague…’
‘What is her name?’
‘Sangeeta,’ I said. ‘Sangeeta Kulkarni.’
Chitre smiled. He knew I was lying through my teeth, just like him. But Surya could not see him smile as his back was turned towards him.
‘Kulkarni, is it?’ Surya quipped. ‘Joshi and Kulkarni… You guys won’t change, bhenchod. Same caste! Saale, how do I know you are not bluffing?’
‘Why should I bluff?’ I asked. ‘If you don’t believe me, go and ask Naru mama on your own. Or come with me to Aaji’s place in the holidays.’
That silenced him. He turned to Shetye and asked, ‘Shetya, what about you?’
‘I don’t have anyone,’ Bhaishetye said.
‘Come on! What do you mean no one? Bhenchod, don’t act smart.’
‘I mean it. I really don’t have anyone.’
‘Shetye, I don’t want anyone trying to act smart, okay?’ Surya said, walking towards him. ‘Tell me the truth.’
‘What do I tell? I cannot create one.’
Surya lunged forward and twisted his hand.
‘Are you going to tell me or not, bhenchod?’ Surya said, twisting his hand further. ‘Joshi told us without any fuss, but you are acting pricey. Each one of us spoke the truth. Why are you hiding?’
‘Arre! What do I tell you? I don’t have anyone. I cannot create one, I told you so. Aah! Don’t twist my hand. It is hurting.’
‘Tell me. Tell me else I’ll break your hand,’ Surya said, twisting it further. ‘I will break your legs too.’
We looked at each other. Bhaishetye was in trouble. Surya was hell-bent. We were hoping for the bell to ring announcing end of the period, but that did not happen. We indicated to Dashrath to intervene.
He stepped forward saying, ‘Leave him alone. Just assume that Bhaween in his village is his love interest, okay? Come on now. Leave him alone.’
Surya would not have relented, but seeing Dashrath, he released Bhaishetye’s hand. But his eyes burned with anger. Bhaishetye was scared to death. He had not seen Surya behave so. The bell rang and we were all relieved.
The next period was PT and all the students came out into the playground. There was no teacher in sight and we mingled with the crowd.
‘Adhav ma’am had come in the off-period,’ Teredesai said. ‘She took attendance too. You guys were marked absent. You had pushed off, isn’t it? Now you are going to be summoned soon!’
As if a bomb fell on us! Adhav ma’am had come in that period. We had never expected that. Her responsibility is the PT class and is thus free most of the time. She’s always on the lookout to take over a free period.
‘If someone has bitched about us, I will make sure he pays for it,’ Surya threatened.
‘No one had to bitch,’ Misal said. ‘You guys left together. It was evident. Those benches were vacant.’
Despite it being a games period we could not enjoy the hour. We went back to the class when the bell rang. The next period was Rajguru sir ’s. We got busy with the given task. For a moment, we thought nothing would happen. Perhaps Adhav ma’am had ignored our absence.
But soon Ganoba appeared with a paper in hand and said, ‘The following students have been called in by the Headmaster.’ He read out our names, ‘Chitre, Joshi, Mhatre, Pawar and Bhaishetye.’
Santya and Dashrath were not named. They had come in late that morning and hence they had already been marked absent for the day. It was clear no one had bitched about us. We stood up from our benches.
‘Come on, Princes!’ Ganoba quipped.
We followed him in a line to Appa’s room. Adhav ma’am was already present there.
Appa’s room is half the size of our classroom. The room is covered with a carpet which is old and torn in many a places. You need to be careful while walking over it, else you are likely to trip and fall. There is a centre-table covered with a glass top. It shines and reflects everything. We are used to standing there with our heads bent low and that’s how we see the table most of the time. There are two cupboards on both sides of the table. One of them has a glass door. It has all the trophies, shields, cups and other medals earned by the school. The other, in all likelihood, must be for keeping the school files. A dust-laden globe sits on top of one of the cupboards. Three walls of the room are covered with photos of the national leaders—Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru, Vallabhbhai, Rajendra Prasad, Maulana Azad, Subhash babu, Sarojini Naidu, Lokmanya Tilak, and others. There are Shivaji and Lakshmibai too. Of course, Warhadkar dada, our founder, has to be there. All of them look down at you from the walls, except for Subhash babu and Shivaji Maharaj, who seem to be looking far away. The ones who should be looking at you ignore you. Imagine Gandhiji smiling at you while you stand before Appa! Iron chairs, without any armrests, are lined against the walls. A list displays the number of students in each class while a board lists the names of all the headmasters till date. There are just two names there—Appa has been the headmaster for the past seventeen years and will continue to be so for another seventeen! There is another list with the names of all the teachers. It also lists their qualifications and the date of retirement. It is good that the board is put up there—it tells us that Bendre ma’am will retire in another twenty-two years. It serves as a warning for any new student joining school. Normally, we wouldn’t get a chance to stand here and observe all this, but we are smart! Last year we volunteered during ‘clean the school week’ to clean Appa’s room. That was the time we saw all this.
‘These are the students—’ Adhav ma’am said, the moment we walked in, our heads bent as usual.
‘Oh, I see,’ Appa said, nodding his head. He never shouts but his tone is pointed enough to scare the shit out of students.
‘Running away from school, eh?’ Appa said. ‘Don’t feel like staying in school, is it? Why do you come to school then?’
We stood without saying a word. Everyone knew that staying quiet was the best thing for one to do at such times.
‘No, Sir. We thought it was an off-period, Sir,’ Bhaishetye said, trying to justify the deed.
‘You thought, is it? How did that ‘thought’ occur?’ Appa asked, his tone getting sharper. ‘So school runs as per your thoughts, huh?’
‘And the other students did not think likewise?’ Adhav ma’am asked, looking at us and then turning towards Appa for his approval. But there was no need for her to interrupt. Appa continued. Ma’ams in our school have this habit of supplementing when Appa is talking. They try to impress him by repeating whatever he says.
‘What are your names?’ Appa asked. The hollow in the pit of my stomach deepened. I was sure the others were nervous too. We were hoping Appa would cane us twice and let us go. But he did not get up from the chair, and asking for names spelt trouble. Appa has a terrific memory. He remembers each and every student’s name.
Surya stood in the corner. Appa asked, looking into his eyes, ‘Who are you?’
‘Mhatre,’ Surya answered.
‘Mhatre?’ Appa asked, his forehead furrowed a little. ‘Are you Mhatre sheth’s son?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, nodding his head.
‘Madam, do you see? He is our Mhatre sheth’s son. Look what he is up to!’
Ma’am looked at Appa in acknowledgement.
‘And you?’ Appa asked Chitre.
‘Chitre, Sir.’
Appa narrowed his eyes and asked,
‘What does your father do?’
‘I see! So you are architect Chitre’s son. Waah! Shabbash!’
I knew I was next. Appa looked at me and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Joshi, Sir.’ I said. Appa pondered for a moment.
‘Sachivalaya?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I said.
‘Madam, do you see?’ Appa repeated. ‘His father is in the state secretariat—that too in the education department. Good, good! Next?’
‘Prasad Vinayak Bhaishetye.’
Appa was lost. He had not recognized him.
‘He is a new student, sir,’ Ma’am clarified.
‘Oh, I see! That’s why he is not aware of the rules here. And what about you?’
‘Pawar,’ Phawdya answered, without raising his head.
Appa did not know him. But he did not bother to enquire.
‘Do one thing,’Appa said, his voice low but stern as before. ‘You don’t want to sit in the class, is it? No problem. Get a letter from your parents stating you don’t want to attend school. I will issue the leaving certificates immediately. Okay?’
We stood there, mutely. As if we had not heard him.
‘It seems you didn’t hear me. Come on, get going. Get the letters from your parents tomorrow.’
We knew it was wise to keep looking down at the floor. We did not say a word, but Bhaishetye took it literally and was scared. He knew his brother-in-law was just waiting for any sort of complaint from school to send him back to Konkan. He started crying.
‘What are you crying for? Don’t make a fool of yourself,’ Appa said, his voice taking on a edge.
‘You didn’t think of the consequences when you ran away from the class. Now get lost! You guys don’t deserve to be in this school. We do so much for you, but you think of running away, isn‘t it?’
Bhaishetye again took Appa’s words literally and was about to turn around and leave the room, but Chitre held his wrist.
‘Sir, we promise this won’t happen again.’ Chitre had his usual defence in place.
‘We won’t do it again, Sir,’ Surya chorused.
‘Not do it again?’ Appa asked. ‘I am ensuring that you never do it again. Got it? You need not come to school—ever.’
‘Sir, we waited for almost fifteen minutes. No teacher had come to substitute for the free period. We went to drink water and go to the toilet,’ Chitre said, putting on his most earnest voice. ‘We did not run away.’
This was news to Appa. He turned to look at ma’am.
‘Well…I was a little late by the time I reached their class…’, Ma’am hesitated. ‘We were discussing who would take the free period. Pethkar ma’am had agreed first but then…then I took the class.’
‘Why did you not return to the class then?’ Appa asked, looking at us.
‘We thought it would upset her,’ Chitre explained. ‘So we decided to wait in the playground. We had not run away. We were sitting in the ground as the next period was PT. Then we returned to the class. Else, how would Ganoba have found us in the class, sir?’
‘And…’ Bhaishetye began, getting a little emboldened. I immediately squeezed his hand hard to shut him up. He would blabber something and spoil the scenario so beautifully created by Chitre. It is good to allow Chitre to speak. He speaks logically and, being a fair-complexioned fellow, he is trusted by most.
‘But we agree we made a mistake, Sir,’ Chitre continued. ‘We will never repeat this. Give us any punishment you wish but don’t ask us to get letters from our parents, Sir.’
I was tempted to fetch the cane saying, ‘If you so wish, cane us twice or perhaps four times each, but don’t ask us to get that letter.’
I sensed a flicker of smile cross Appa’s face, but he kept it stern. He knew it was a huge deterrent—asking the children to get a letter from their parents. Quite obviously, no parent was going to give a letter stating that they are fine with their children being thrown out of school. This was Appa’s way of scaring us. Frankly, our crime did not deserve such a punishment. And if ever the parents had to send a letter, they would send a plea stating the child would not commit such an offence again. They would never ask for the child to be removed from school. Surya would get a thrashing at home. Ambabai and Aaisaheb would give me a double-barrel verbal treatment. Chitre’s father would probably gently tap him on his head and then proceed to write a beautifully worded letter in English. Phawdya would have to write the letter himself. I was not sure of Bhaishetye—he may not tell his brother-in-law but ask his sister to write it; what could the poor soul do? She would write not just a page but an entire book for the sake of her younger brother!
‘Come in early tomorrow morning and water all the plants in the playground,’ Appa said, pronouncing his punishment.
‘All the plants, Sir?’ Chitre asked.
‘Yes. All of them. You deserve this punishment. Now get going!’
We quietly walked out of the room. The only thing we did not do was to jump with joy when we came out. Watering all the plants was a huge task as the trees were spread out wide. But Phawdya and Surya would finish off most of the task. In any case, it was better than getting a letter from home.
‘I was worried I would be hanged,’ Bhaishetye said.
‘What were you crying for, you asshole?’ Surya said, punching him in the back. ‘You should never be scared. I prefer Appa any day to that Bendre.’
We walked back to the class with our heads held high. The girls had seen us being taken away. Now they saw us come in. I caught Shirodkar looking at me. The girls must have expected us to come with our heads hanging.
‘What happened?’ The boys started off the moment we sat down. ‘What did Appa say? Did he shout? Did he cane you?’
‘Appa? He can’t do a fuck!’ Surya said, as usual. ‘He has asked us to water the plants tomorrow morning. That’s not a big deal. We will do it!’
The fallout of the episode was Bhaishetye’s decision to stay away from our group. That was a real loss! We used to enjoy his stories about Bhaween. Surya’s truant behaviour had spoilt the show.
The next Saturday was earmarked for the science exhibition. We were not given the day off but the classes were held early in the morning. Normally Saturday school begins at 9:30. The laboratory hall was prepared for the exhibition. Chitre was to display his railway signalling system. We were given a few free periods on Friday afternoon for us to arrange the stuff. Chitre had carried his things in the morning and I was the obvious choice to help him put up his experiment. Phawdya was not interested but Surya wanted to volunteer for help—to excuse himself from attending class. But Zende sir refused. It was good in a way—the parts were delicate and Surya might have damaged some. The other students had created a variety of experiments. One guy from tenth standard had made a water tank. The tap would stop flowing when the tank was full. Another girl had made a design showing the details of the functioning of a radio. But they were just drawings. No moving parts. There were many experiments on display—a brano, a trolley running on a motor, a dynamo, properties of a magnet, etc. But Chitre’s model was the best. Two trains approached a crossing; if there was a train ahead, the signal would not allow the other train to go. The trains ran on battery cells. Two people were required to demonstrate the experiment. We arranged all our things and then left when Zende sir locked the laboratory hall.
We were at our adda the next morning. Phawdya and Surya had arrived early. Chitre came in with a long face. He seemed to have cried a lot and quietly sat down in one corner.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
He just shook his head.
‘What happened? Why the long face?’ I asked again. He did not answer.
‘Ichibhana, what is the problem?’ Surya asked. ‘Did someone confront you while coming here? Tell me. I will go bash him up right away.’
‘Was there an argument at home?’ I asked.
That was the reason. He nodded his head in the affirmative but did n
ot say anything. He was trying to hold back his tears.
‘So what’s new?’ Phawdya said.
‘Aai is threatening to leave the house,’ he said. And then the tears flowed.
We were stunned. We had never seen him cry. It was a known fact that his parents argued, every now and then. I mean, that was the case everywhere. Baba would keep quiet in my house, else every argument would have led to a fight. Chitre would often talk of the arguments but had never broken down like this.
‘There was a bad argument this morning,’ Chitre said. ‘Aai did not even bother to make tea this morning. I prepared the milk for Raju. The arguments were going on since morning. I left without eating anything.’
‘Ichibhana, why didn’t you say that earlier?’ Surya asked. ‘Come, let us go and have a wada pav.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I added. ‘Things will be okay by evening.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, wiping his tears on his sleeve. ‘Aai said she’s sick of this bickering and that she will leave the house. She has never spoken like this earlier.’
I did not say anything. Chitre’s aai was very nice but stubborn. Not like Aaisaheb. Aaisaheb would say a lot but not do anything. I could not say the same about Chitre’s mother.
‘They were least bothered about the science exhibition today,’ Chitre added, his eyes filling up again. ‘They did not even bother to ask. They were busy arguing.’
‘But why was your aai so upset?’ Surya asked.
‘She does not like it when Daddy drinks.’
‘Ichibhana, you should ask her to have a look at my house,’ Surya said. ‘The other day my father came in drunk and then he did not care to see where he was hitting my mother. He broke her bangles, you know?’
‘It was the same story in our home too,’ Phawdya said. ‘That’s why my father died early.’
‘All parents are the same,’Surya said. ‘They care a fuck about the children. Why do they produce them in the first place, bhenchod?’
‘I don’t feel like doing anything now,’ Chitre said. ‘I don’t want anything—this house, this school, this exhibition.’