It was mid
August, it has been raining without intermission. My raincoat is dripping with
water, my polished shoes stained with the slush of the road. Hope I don’t get
caught for that. It was difficult riding my cycle in the rain. The roads are
wet, my bag is about to fall of the carrier in my cycle, I have to stop every
ten minutes to adjust it.
Waking up a
task by itself. I enter the assembly just in time for the prayers, we sing
along, my mind is churning a thousand notes, I peek from between my closed
palms. I see my teacher right in front of me, she likes to keep her vigil. I
should close my eyes now. We have reached our last prayer, thank god.
I open my
eyes, its still drizzling, the wind is blowing slightly, a nice breeze, my hair
has those little droplets on it. We run
to the gate, but we are supposed to walk in a queue, they stop me, the predator
asks “ your shoes aren’t clean, why dint you polish them?” I don’t know why it
is so difficult for the dim wit to just see around and understand that there is
just too much slush, I answer with a fake smile “ It’s the rains” , he nods but
says “ see her, her shoes are clean”, I know her, she gets dropped in a car in
the morning. I am agitated, but snapping will only end in punishment, the worst
can be running around the field ten times in the rain, holding my bag on my
head, aah I hate that. I answer politely “ sorry, will be careful from
tomorrow”. Why do they want my shoes clean any way?. I walk through, in a
queue, the girl in front of me smells like jasmine, she must have been wearing
some flowers and now for the checking, must have shoved it in her pocket. I
don’t like the smell of jasmine. It is potent. Images flow into my head, of
picnic baskets and meadows; I like the thought of running in the green,
grasslands in rain, aah what a lovely feeling.
The class
hasn’t settled down yet, the teacher comes in and clears her throat. I hate
her, she teaches math, math is the worst kind of learning there is. She has her
three layers of make up on, as if its going to deliver me from the pain, no it
only increases it. Why should math be the first class? may be its better to be
done with the worst first. I sigh; I look down, then look at her. We wish her
good morning, all in unison, like babies in hell. She blurts a good morning and
lets us sit.
She starts
with where she had left yesterday. Some vague theorems in Algebra, she puts
them down on the green glass board, with her squeaking chalk. The sound
disturbs me. I mechanically open my book and robotically jot everything down.
Slowly I see my own hand, I play with my hand for a while, slowly something
outside catches my eye. It’s a bird, a small blue one, shining amidst the wet
green leaves. It’s a kingfisher. What is a kingfisher doing here? He must have
wandered away because of the rains. There are many lakes around, he must be
from there. I keep looking at him, he is beautiful, such a brilliant blue. He
must be tired, sitting like that in the rain, may be he hasn’t had his
breakfast yet.
I hear a
voice, some one is calling me, I wake up from my watching and dreaming and
turn, its my teacher. She is standing right next to me, oh god, she must have
realized I wasn’t looking at her math problem. Jeez, its going to start now. I
cough and make a sad face, she says “ so , Good to see you are paying
attention, why don’t you go to the board and finish the sum for me?”, I am
about to blurt out “ what board, what sum? Are you crazy?” then I stop myself.
I smile at her, I can feel 42 pairs of eyes on me, watching me like vultures,
so they can feast on me when they see me fail.
The air
outside is fresh, clean and comes in whiffs, I wish I could just jump out, god
but I am trapped here, and this monster, in font of me. I walk slowly to the
board, oh god those white lines on the green board makes me squirm, the
numbers. I am supposed to deduce something, I keep looking at it, I am supposed
to use some theorem to figure this shit out, but what was it, what should I
use? Can I just use something? My hands tremble, my knees go weak, my heart is
thumping. I can hear many murmurs at my back, people talking and the teacher
keeps clearing her throat, like that’s going to help me.
There is a
shrill bell. It jolts me upright, I shiver, she grunts. It was the bell that
said the torment is over, the trauma is over. I sigh a sigh of heavy relief. I
go back and sit in my desk. She gives us homework. The girl next to me says
something I can’t hear it. I am palpitating. The teacher leaves. Taking with
her all the problems, her irritating cheap perfume, her audacity, her make up
and the stupid all consuming painful math.
I feel as if
some poison has been taken out of my body, the pain reduces, happiness takes
its place. The next hour is for history.
The teacher
comes in slowly, she has a weird walk. I look up at her and smile a big hearty
smile, she wishes us and we wish her, this time it feels like the gods are
singing. She doesn’t scribble numbers on the board she asks us to turn to page
67. I turn it’s the 3rd chapter, on Tughlaq. I love it, I am jumping
with joy, have already read it twice in the summer holidays, so I know it
backwards. She asks us to read it, I simply look out of the window and see the
kingfisher, it is gone, it must have got frustrated with the math class too,
could he hear it from here ? did he understand my pain? What pain does he know?
He is blue, the sky he lives in is blue, his life is just perfect. I sigh. She
asks us to stop reading and asks a question. My hand automatically shoots up in
the air. She chooses some one else. I am disappointed. It doesn’t matter, when
she goes about asking other people questions I finish the homework at the end
of the chapter. She starts lecturing and I can visualize it, all the wars, all
the dates everything. It is like a movie.
The day has
just begun.
Parinitha Konanur
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