In His Custody ✎ (MaNan)

✰ 37 - break a rule

18 October 2010

The first day back at school after a long break is like finding one of those Tupperwares – the one middle-class families treasure like gold for centuries to come – in your bag after thinking you lent it to someone. I'm not sure if you're middle class, Babbu so I can explain: losing a single Tupperware box in a middle-class household can shorten your lifespan by a third, just from the thorough scolding alone.

But when you do find it, the bittersweet thrill is completely washed away by the unnecessary reprimandation and it makes you wonder what was the point of all that scolding.

I mean holidays are supposed to be a stress relief, celebrating festivals is supposed to make us happy. I don't understand why all the teachers think that is the perfect time to bombard us with lots of homework, presentations, and projects to occupy all our time. What's the point of a holiday then?

Longingly, I glanced at the school clock for the third time in the last few moments. Time was passing by like a sloth trying to cross the road.

Usually, Raghav Sir's classes were one of the most enjoyable periods in school, and concentrating was no problem at all for me but part of my 'holiday homework' for History class was to prepare a five-minute long highlight summary of the French Revolution. And as if that was not enough pressure already, I was supposed to present it in front of the whole class. Today. Yaay, how fun!

Why was my luck the absolute worst it could be?

Why couldn't I get something like the Mahabharata or Ramayana? That I could comfortably talk about endlessly given how ingrained those stories were since I was a child. What if I mixed up the names or timelines of the French events?

With a palpitating chest, I unfolded my crumpled script and unabashedly scanned through my notes, rote-learning the content. It didn't matter whether I could retain that information or not, all I cared about for the time being was not stammering in front of the class.

Because that would affect my grades and 10th standard was not the time to muck around with grades.

A series of claps came about and Roll number 13 was heading up to the front of the class with his graphic flashcards on one phase of the Mughal Empire. There were eleven minutes left for the school bell to ring.

Even if that boy took up more than his five-minute allotted time, which Raghav Sir was already particular about not crossing and interrupted speeches midway through whenever that happened, there was no skipping my turn for the day – roll number 14.

Out of nowhere came an urgency to pee; I was sure it was out of nervousness, nothing else. I don't have a tiny bladder, Babbu, now you also don't mock me like Abhi does!

When I was desperately praying to Aiyappa to somehow skip through my slot, someone knocked at the glass door and peeked through the gap carefully. "Sorry to interrupt your class, Sir, but is Nandini Murthy here?"

Restlessly, I picked at my nails and stood up, feeling immensely grateful for the saving. "Principal Ma'am wants to see you," he said, handing over a letter through some students to reach Raghav Sir.

My throat dried out from the inside. I quickly scanned the uniform I was wearing that had been crisply ironed, felt my hair that was in a slick high ponytail, and examined my shoes which were sparkling black. What in good heavens had I done to be invited personally by Principal Ma'am?

Raghav Sir nodded at the open letter, and turned around, gesturing me to go out.

In an uneasy attempt to slither away from the punishment, I meekly suggested, "Sir, but the speech..." If I had to compare the two 'punishments', I would any day face a group of thirty-odd judgmental students in my classroom over one deadly principal alone in her cabin.