07th April, 2014
12:45PM
Everyone in the class (or just me) feels like dozing off. The morning energy has drained out and the afternoon-tiredness is mustering up. Our history teacher starts teaching the Gandhian Era making us underline every single sentence and making us write “important” on the top corner of every paragraph to which, we think, she could have simply said to underline the whole chapter or rather, said, that every sentence is important. She did so to make us pay attention to what she was saying and to make us follow the text. Teachers are clever. Maybe that’s why they are teachers.
Mind is a trackless wanderer. I stop underlining and secretly steal a glance at my wrist watch. Secretly because had she seen me doing that she would have shouted like hell saying her typical “Not interested in what I’m saying, you can move out” or worse” I can stop teaching now, all of you, tell me if you don’t want me to.”(As if we would say her to stop even if that’s what we want.)To which we all would have choired a “no miss”. And she would have started reading again. I realize there’s still half more hour for the history period to end and games period to start. Our history teacher always makes sure to take at least fifteen minutes of our games period and sometimes, even worse, the whole of the games period. Today, I hope she let us go.
Dragging my mind back to class, bored, and least bothered about the principles Gandhiji followed I scribble a few lines in one corner of the page. So my partner, my best friend, Riya, knows its tic-tac-toe time. Busy biting her nails from one hand and holding a pen on the other she draws a cross and I, a circle. One more cross and circle and a cautious-grin-hiding-from-the-teacher escapes my lips. Which of course, meant, I won.
She draws another, in revenge, hoping that she would win this time. But fortunately, I win. She turns to the teacher in disgust while I grin an oh-you-can’t-beat-me-in-that-honey with my palm on my mouth and shaking my head to pretend as if I’m totally paying attention to what the teacher is saying.
14th APRIL, 2014
1:15PM
The bell rings and luckily, the history teacher mercies us our 45 minutes games period.
Everyone runs out, while we, Riya, Ankita, Zara and I, as usual, are the last ones to go out except the studious book worms, who stay back and read. Because we gossip, drink water, giggle, crack some dirty jokes which take Riya a decade to understand, giggle some more, hold hands and go to the field.
We sit on the jungle Jim with a packet of kurkures (chilly chatka, to be specific) facing the road and talk about life. About where we would be at this time, on this day, the next year. Of how we would miss each other and how we would not lose contact ten years down the line. And in between, laughing at funny passersby, discussing the vehicle colors and which scooty we would buy someday.
A boy, passing by, stares at us, while he cycles, and waves at us. We symbol him a slap on his face.
2:00PM
The bell rings and we all head home.
I again remind Riya to come early to the English classes she already attends. It would be my first class and her presence would boost up my confidence.