I walked silently along the quiet road with my schoolbag slung on my shoulder, a half-full water bottle in my hand and a thousand thoughts running through my mind. Every step I took towards home increased my worry. I was about to reach home. I wondered what I would tell my mother—How would I tell her about what had happened? It was all so disturbing.
At the same time, I was scared. What if that old man had taken the next bus and was following me right now? What if he was hiding in that dark patch on the street approaching my house, ready to pounce? I looked back in distress. He wasn’t there. I looked here and there. He was nowhere. But he was right there in my mind. The odour of his body and the smell of his paan were there in my nostrils. I wanted to throw him out of my mind. I wanted to run away from his smell. I wanted to undo all that had happened. I wanted to clean myself and wash my body, my back, my face, everywhere he had touched me.
Struggling with my fears, I managed to reach home. The moment I opened the door of my house, my father started shouting at me: ‘Kitthey siga ainni der tak?’ [Where were you for so long?]
His anger startled me. I was not in a position to handle it. I avoided looking at at him and walked towards my mother, saying, ‘I had called Rammi Uncle to tell you that I will be late.’
My father grabbed my hand and stopped me. ‘But tu late hoya kyun?’ [But why did you get this late?]
‘Picture dekhan chalaa gaya si,’ I replied softly, looking down and waiting for him to slap me.
Mom quickly pulled me towards her and caressed my head. She kneeled down and looked into my eyes. ‘Kitthey reh gaya si? Tu theek hai? Bhukh ta nahi laggi?’ [Where had you been? Are you all right? Are you hungry?]
Dad continued to shout at me. I looked at Mom. I wanted to hug her and tell her everything that had happened to me. I wanted to tell her how safe I felt when I was this close to her. But not a single word came out of my mouth. I simply kept looking at her till she took me in her arms and caressed my back. I went numb and my eyelashes were moist again.
Mom asked me why I was crying.
I told her, instead, how the exam had got cancelled. ‘Mommy, exam cancel ho gaya si. So we went for a movie and I got late.’
‘But what is there to cry in this?’ she asked.
‘Bahot bhukh lagi hai … Daddy gussa ho rahe hain …’ [I am very hungry … Daddy is so upset with me …] I murmured, and held back the real reason.
Mom wanted me to promise her that I would never be late in coming home ever again. In my mind, I recalled the horrible evening when I was making that promise.
That night, I slept badly. I woke up several times, and kept tossing and turning in my bed. That old man and my experience in the bus took the shape of multiple bad dreams in the night. I remained disturbed even when I got up in the morning. As a result, I screwed up my history exam. The only date and event I remembered was what had happened the previous day. I just about managed to pass the exam.
But the impression it left stayed with me for longer than that. Now I was scared to get on to a bus—something that I had to do twice every day. I became paranoid. Every time I stepped into a bus, I would make sure that I didn’t see that devil’s face again among the passengers.
As time passed by and I grew older, my memories of that day started fading.
Thankfully, I never met that old man again in my life.
14
Fighting to Be There
It was the second week of December. The half-yearly exams were in the past tense now. The results were due in the future—early January. We were left with a pleasant month on our hands that had Christmas, the New Year’s day and a week of winter vacation in between these two holidays.
But what made December special for me was the school’s Annual Day celebration. The peon brought a notice register and English Sir read out the notice for everyone.
He announced the date of the Annual Day for that year. It was the twenty-fourth of December. He also read out the list of the various events that the teaching staff had planned for that day. There were quite a few interesting events such as theatre, dance and mime.
‘Interested students can give their names to—’ he spoke out the names of the teachers-in-charge after mentioning each event.
I think about 20 per cent of our class loved the Annual Day celebration because they enjoyed participating in the various exciting and creative events. The remaining 80 per cent of the class loved it as well, but for the concept of the last period being zero period. This meant that, for about two weeks till the day of the event, all the last periods in school were cancelled. The event participants were to use this period to practise, while others were allowed to go out and play games.
The whole atmosphere in the school changed during these weeks. It was a lot of fun for everyone since studies were minimal. The Annual Day was followed by vacations, so there was a lot to look forward to as well.
I belonged to that 20 per cent of the class who got excited about the Annual Day events, and who, from Day One, start dreaming of the applause that they would get after their show on stage, in front of everyone. That was a high point in my life.
I initially wanted to opt for the bhangra event, but then, the role of being an anchor for the Annual Day turned out to be the most tempting of all. The English Sir in our class had announced that the English Ma’am from the primary school was in charge of the anchoring part of the event. Auditions were to start from the next day. But my daydreaming started from the very moment Sir made that particular announcement.
Late night, at home, I prepared for my audition. I had drafted a few lines for what I was going to say. In the morning, after taking a bath, I rehearsed my lines in front of the mirror.
‘Respected chief guest, teachers and my dear friends, this evening I welcome you …’ I started by holding a virtual mic in my hands and a towel wrapped around my waist.
Mom looked at me and asked me what I was up to. I told her not to disturb me. So she gave me sufficient time to play it out in front of the mirror.
In the zero period that day, I turned up in the computer lab room. This was the room that had been allotted for the compèring auditions. I found that my competitors were already there—five boys and four girls, all from different classes. Strangely, there was no one else from my class. All the aspirants were making full use of the free computers. Some of them were busy playing Pac-Man on the machines, while others were fiddling with the screen savers flashing on various other machines. I looked back at the door. I wanted to know if I had to compete with only those nine people, or if there were more students coming in. Thankfully, no one came. But, just to be sure, I shut the door and led myself to a vacant seat.
The next time the door opened, I couldn’t help but smile.
She was yet again there in front of me—the love of my life, the primary-school English Ma’am. And soon she and I were going to talk to each other. She looked even more beautiful that day! Perhaps because she had left her hair open. It was thick and black.
‘Yes, students, so you are all here for the audition?’ she asked.
Everyone replied in a loud ‘Yes!’ There was excitement in the air. I replied after everybody had answered in unison. I wanted to stand out from the others.
‘All right, so let us see what have you prepared,’ she said and took her seat, right next to me.
Oh boy! Her hair smelled so good.
Her presence so close to me had made me anxious. This happened to me every time we were close. I would become so aware of her that I would go numb. I was sure I would have frozen at her mere touch! Such was the effect.
It was amazing how much I wanted her to be near me and how the same nearness paralysed me, so much so that I would find it difficult to deal with it. I found it difficult to speak. Forget about speaking out aloud, it was impossible for me to even hide the flush on my cheeks. I was always eager to present only the best of me in front of her, but, with those cold hands, chattering teeth and stammering speech, it was
difficult to appear even normal.
I had already expected these sorts of things to happen to me. Hence, to be better prepared, and to handle that chill in the air-conditioned room in the presence of English Ma’am, I had already drunk enough water and also been to the bathroom. I felt fairly confident.
She looked around to see who would like to present first. Her eyes rested on me.
‘Ravinder, would you want to go first?’ she asked.
My name sounded so sweet on her lips! I smiled. I was on cloud nine, simply because of the fact that she had remembered my name. But I was still nervous. I rubbed my palms together in an attempt to calm down.
I took a deep breath and, when I was ready, I began. ‘So ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are here to celebrate …’
And everyone laughed. I could not figure out why they were laughing. I looked at English Ma’am.
‘Ravinder, the boy has to do the anchoring in Hindi.’
I felt like I’d got a cardiac arrest. I looked at everyone. My dream had been broken, my confidence had just been shattered. There was complete silence in the room, followed by some giggling.
‘You are delivering your lines in English, which is to be done by the girl,’ Ma’am clarified.
‘Oh, is it?’ I asked. Now, when was this piece of news broadcast? I thought to myself, rubbing my fingers on my forehead.
‘The notice that had been circulated yesterday had this point in the end,’ a girl added.
Of course, it would have been there! But how come I never noticed it? Because I hadn’t listened to anything after I’d heard English Ma’am’s name on that day! What an idiot I had made of myself!
The plane of my audition had crashed—dashed to the ground even before it had taken off. The feeling of not being able to make it in this round made me feel frustrated and helpless. I went back to take my seat.
The teacher called the next boy in line. He delivered a few lines. He was good with them. I hated him—not because of his good speech, but because of Ma’am’s sudden interest in him and his speech.
‘Very good!’ she said, and then clapped. So the rest of the folks clapped too!
Except me. I wanted to be different from the others.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked him.
Now what is there in his name? I wondered. Okay, fine, he delivered a good speech, but then asking his name was a bit unnecessary. To be honest, he wasn’t exceptional. Just a little more than average. And I could have done a better job than him, if only … I cursed myself for not having listened properly. I cursed myself for daydreaming at the mention of Ma’am’s name and not listening to anything beyond it. But what could I do now!
There he was, the star of the moment.
‘Ma’am, I am Paarth,’ he said softly.
I looked at his legs. I wished he would break one of them.
One by one, everyone delivered the speeches they had prepared. The boys did theirs in Hindi and the girls did theirs in English.
When the bell rang, Ma’am announced that she would reveal the names of the selected ones in next two days.
For a stupid mistake, I felt, I had lost everything. But, then, everything was fair in love and war—and now I had another idea!
From the very next morning, I started making my case to English Ma’am. I had prepared a brand new speech, this time in Hindi. All I wanted her to do was to hear it. Initially, she did not want to listen. But, when I encountered her for the third time in the day, she promised to give me five minutes of her time.
Twice in the past, I had fallen off her expectations. So this was going to be a do-or-die situation for me. She called me to the same computer lab in the recess.
I was there on time. To my surprise, so was she. It was nice again to be so close to her, more so because, this time, there wasn’t anyone to distract her interest. I had all her attention. She was there just for me! I felt special.
As I entered, the air-tight door blocked out all the sounds from the world outside and we were left in a lovely silence. Only the sound of the AC in the lab made its presence felt.
I took her permission and switched off the AC. I did not want to feel cold. There were a thousand things about her, especially at that moment, which could have bothered me. But I kept my focus on what I was there to do.
And I spoke once again … this time in Hindi.
No one can be unlucky for a long time. Just like it happens in our movies, no matter how difficult the start is, by the end of the movie, all the dots connect and everything falls in place. Well, this day turned out to be one such ending of a movie for me, and the beginning of the next! Unlike my previous two encounters with English Ma’am, this time I rose, from my own ashes, like a phoenix. I delivered the speech perfectly!
It was another story that, the day before, I had made the Hindi teacher from my old school in Burla write the speech for me. I had taken her some of the famous gulab jamuns from Ram Bharose, in order to gently coax the best out of her. By morning, I had mugged up the speech by heart, ready to reproduce it without a single mistake.
And I had done exactly that!
The inclusion of some heavy-duty Hindi words such as ‘shrimaan’, ‘mahodayaa’ and ‘vidyaarthi’ managed to have a lingering effect on her mind.
‘Fabulous, Ravinder!’ she gushed, clapping with joy as she stood up.
How I liked that smile on her face, and loved it more because I was the reason behind it! The next moment I felt her hand on my shoulder. That was it! I was about to faint. That was the best moment of my life so far.
‘How did you do that?’ she asked me.
‘It was quite easy for me!’ I showed off.
Then I asked her if I could get the boy’s role to do the compèring in Hindi. She asked me to wait till she announced the result in the official notice later that day.
15
The Annual Day
It didn’t take too long for my dream to come true. It happened moments before the zero period, when the peon brought a circular to our class. The teacher read it out. There were names in it of the students who were going to participate in the Annual Day.
I was one among them!
For the next two weeks, the most awaited period of the day was the zero period. There were just the three of us for compèring—Nikita from Class VIII for the English speech, I for the Hindi one and my beloved teacher!
We would meet every day. We would prepare our speeches, and then make adjustments. We would take the updated ones and see how to make the transition from the Hindi speech to English, and back to Hindi. The entire event list had to be divided between Nikita and me, so that we could focus on it better. We both were very competitive and constantly bickered if the other got the chance to take up a particular event, so we would toss a coin. Ma’am would simply laugh at our childishness, but her smile and her shining teeth were killer!
To get a better grip on the flow of compèring, all three of us would rehearse together. At times, by mistake, we would end up saying something funny or making a mistake that would make us all laugh. We felt like a family. With every passing day, I was getting addicted to English Ma’am’s company. My whole purpose of going to school was reduced to interacting with her in the zero period. Everything she said was like God’s words for me. Everything she asked me to do was a mission, and had to be accomplished in the best way possible.
My mornings, too, had turned beautiful. While I got ready for school, I took great pains to make sure I was neat and presentable, so that she would notice me and give me yet another beautiful smile. I would make sure that my pants were properly creased, and would get very irritated if they weren’t. On reaching school, I would take a round of the primary school’s prayer wing just to be able to see her and make a note of what she was wearing that day. It felt nice to catch a glimpse of her in the morning. It almost became my ritual to do so. I believed her face made my morning turn auspicious.
On the days I didn’t see her, I felt like somethin
g in my day was left incomplete. One day, when I found her missing in the zero period, I ran to the class teacher’s room looking for her. I was told that she was absent that day. I was sorely disappointed. After the whole day of waiting to see her, the news of her absence had left me in agony.
I also felt something that I had never felt earlier in my life. I missed her—terribly. In her absence, there seemed to be a vacuum, as if everything had lost colour and life. The computer lab appeared like a dead room without her. The whole idea of Annual Day appeared meaningless without her. My presence in that school without her appeared so unreasonable. In just six days of interaction, she had become a habit for me. I missed her smile, her talking, her face and the beautiful clothes she used to wear. When Saturday came, I could not believe that the next time I would see her would only be on Monday.
I had an awful weekend. Time—which had been running so fast for the past entire week—was now, all of a sudden, crawling. Every minute of that Sunday passed like an hour. Everything around me appeared boring, even my own parents. I didn’t feel like eating, and sleep, too, was miles away from my eyes. Tinku called me to watch TV with him when he found me sitting alone in our open courtyard. I said no. He asked me the reason why I was so lost. I told him he wouldn’t understand.
That lifeless weekend confirmed one thing to me. I was in love! The better-sounding words to describe that feeling would have been ‘infatuation’ or ‘crush’, but they had not made it to my dictionary by then.
I felt like I was a different person altogether. While other boys from my class were interested in the short skirts of girls of their age in the convent school, I was dreaming of romancing my teacher! How on earth had I become that crazy? Guess it takes all sorts to make this world.
That Sunday night I kept tossing and turning in my bed. I was waiting for the sun to rise. I rushed through the morning routine to reach school. I was way too early, and had to sit outside the entrance gate. I kept waiting for the arrival of the school bus at the main gate. The moment that happened, I stood up. My eyes were right on the front gate of the bus. One by one, everyone got down—first the students and then the teachers.
Like It Happened Yesterday Page 12