My Improbable Theories On Her.

1. What Bad Handwritings Lead To.

20th August, 2016.

I glanced warily between Ms. Sulagna, our English teacher, and Harnit, who was sitting on the very first bench of our class of 12th B.
Our ma'am had her back towards us and was scribbling something on the blackboard; all the while blabbering about how Shakespeare's 'Tempest' is one of his most celebrated works.

I looked at Harnit again, who was flailing his arms towards me, to pass on my English notebook to him.
Some of the students looked from him to me, but thankfully not uttering a single complaint to ma'am.

The thing was, I was shit-scared. Not feared of the fact that Harnit was sitting on the first bench in one corner and me on the last of the opposite corner and passing the book was equivalent to go saat-samundar paar, but of the probability of being caught.
I would have easily passed my notebook to him in any other teacher's class, but Sulagna ma'am se sabki fat-ti thi; the main reason being that she was our 'dear' principal's 'beloved' daughter. She practically had more power over us than our own parents.
Huh.

I gathered all the courage that I had (which was just enough to stop the excessive sweat beading on my forehead) and nudged a boy sitting next to me to pass the copy to Harnit.

Eventually, my book reached him and he gleefully wrote down his number. The girl sitting next to him, Ojasvi, who also happened to be our casual friend, peeped and when she realised what he was writing, looked at me and smiled slyly as her mind conjured up a very double-meaning thing.
I gave her a vulgar gesture.

The thing was that Harnit recently got a new phone. He was giving me his number so that I could forward him the passcode of 'Counter-Strike : Global Offensive' and we could play together. Until now, he used to use his mom's phone.

He passed the book back to me through several people.
Pata nahi zindagi mein konse paap kiye honge ke ek ladke ne book Mehreet ke haath de di.
Arey yaar, shit!

Now, Mehreet isn't officially a 'teacher's pet' but she is extremely arrogant and cranky at times.
She scrunched up her nose at my book, while I flailed my arms at her to return back my book.

Suddenly, something hard and small hit my cheek.
A chalk.
'Ouch.', I squeaked.

'Mr. Ajey Nagar. Can you please stand up?', Sulagna ma'am's voice was heard.
I am knee-deep in shit.

Slowly, I got up and faced her angry face.
"Could you please explain what is going on?"
'Uhh, no.', I answered in my head.

"Are you deaf, child?", she spoke more fiercely now.
A million responses came to my mind, but I kept shut.

"Get out!", she shouted.
"Why?", I spoke before I could stop myself.
"Achha, now you can speak, huh?", she shot back.
Ugh.

"I. Said. Get. Out."
I started walking out of the class.
Wait a second.

"It was Harnit who was talking with me.", I said.
Well, if I am sinking, I will make sure my friends are too.

Anmoul and Ritik, our other two friends, sniggered.

As expected, ma'am threw us both out of the class.
"Saale, maine kya kiya tha?", he said as we exited the class.
I stopped a healthy distance away from the entrance and said, "Bete, galti teri hee thi. You could have waited afterwards to give me your number. Itni kya chul machh rahi thi tujhe?"

"This is the last period. Now, please tell me when would I have given you my number?", he said sarcastically.

I sighed, checked my watch and said, "Achha chhod. There's still half an hour left to go home. Want to bunk?"