ISSUE 42

Today is my first day at this school, and I will be teaching the properties of gaseous substances. I was told that school is a good place. A safe place. The children are nice. It will calm you down. I believed it.

I enter the class and the students get up and greet me with an almost melodic, ‘Good morning.’

I take attendance. I try to memorise their names, noting their faces as I call them out.

I begin the class by telling them how nice it is to see their energetic faces and how I am excited to teach them. They do not know how to respond – some yawn, some nod, some laugh, some look around for clues. I tell them that science is best learnt through experiments. ‘Better than burying your face in textbooks.’

‘Today we will be learning about the properties of gaseous substances,’ I start, as I take out two balloons from my purse. I pick up a wooden rod from the rack.

‘Who in this class likes balloons? Come on, raise your hands. Don’t be shy,’ I say with excitement and energy. I do not see any hands in the air. I see Mahesh’s hand go up to scratch his head; I also see Arpita’s hand go up to tie her ribbons.

‘Okay, Mahesh and Arpita. Take a balloon each and start blowing.’

They start blowing the balloons. Arpita is pretty quick in filling it up, while Mahesh, the more confident one, is struggling because the glasses as big as his face hamper him.

‘Air is made up of gases. We cannot see the air. But we can feel it, we can experience it. And everything that we experience has weight. The density of the atoms in gaseous substances is low, so they spread easily. I am sure you must have learnt this from your previous science teacher. Haven’t you?’

No response.

‘Point being, even if we cannot see the air, it carries weight.’

Arpita easily ties the balloon. Mahesh struggles to tie his. He seems scared that the balloon might escape. Arpita asks him if he wants her to tie it for him. Mahesh shakes his head. Arpita asks one more time, Mahesh shakes his head more vigorously. Every time he almost ties the knot with one hand, the other hand starts losing grip of the balloon. He scratches the surface of the rubber, and a pointed, shrill sound envelopes the room. I am not able to stand it. I tap Mahesh’s hand and the balloon flies off, whirling around the entire room like an aeroplane. The students start cheering and whistling as they jump to catch it. The air trickles out, the balloon falls on the first bench and the boys start fighting over it. The rubber makes the scratching noise again. I start losing my calm.

I see Mahesh whispering something in his neighbour’s ear. They both laugh.

I bang the duster on the table. The cheering, the fighting, and the hooting stop at once. I finish the class, reading from the textbook.

The school is not too big. A small playground with a few benches, swings, a seesaw, slides, a banyan tree. I see some children eating their lunch under the tree while some are hanging on the vines and swinging. I used to do the same when I was their age. My grandfather used to make sure I didn’t fall. The tree reminds me of him and of the times when I felt safe and happy.

I go to the staffroom. Mehta Saheb, who teaches history, is eating dal and rice from his tiffin box.

‘Have some?’ he asks politely. I see two drops of dal falling on his table from the corner of his lips.

‘No, thank you.’

‘So how was your first class? Do you like our school?’

‘It was fine’

‘Might take some time to get along with the children’, Mehta Saheb lets out a giggle. I keep staring at the two drops of dal on his table.

I am on the balcony with Atul. He is talking about politics in his office. I am listening, only so that he does not feel bad.

I hear Sonu’s school van. She studies in a different school, an elite, expensive one. In a minute, Sonu enters, throws her bag on the couch, and runs to the bathroom.

‘I will go make some chai. She must be hungry.’

‘I am hungry too.’

I enter the kitchen and take out a vessel as I look for milk.

‘Atul, where is the milk?’

Atul shakes his head, ‘Shit! I forgot to get it!’

I feel anger boiling in my entire body. In a fit of rage, I bang the vessel on the ground. I start sweating.  Blood rushes to my face. Atul offers me a glass of water. He puts his hand on my cheek.

‘Chill … I will go get it. Calm down, sweetheart.’

Sonu comes out running from the bathroom.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. Your mother just dropped a vessel. You help her with the snacks. I will be back in a bit.’

Atul kisses my forehead before he leaves.

‘I love you,’ he says.

It is break time in the school.

I look out of the window from the staffroom. I see the students running around, playing ‘hide and seek’. The one who is seeking closes his eyes and starts counting. The others hide. I can see one of them hiding behind a banyan tree, another under a slide, yet another one standing on a swing but facing the other way. I laugh. They are all hiding in plain sight. This is no way to play hide and seek.

I see another group of students around a little boy. They are hitting him on the head. First, he tries to hit back but soon realises he is outnumbered.  He sits down, covering his head with his hands. I am not able to see his face, but I think he is crying. Should I go out and help? Should I go out and tell them to stop?

But soon, in two minutes, they stop. He gets up as if nothing happened. Some of them open their lunch boxes. They all start eating together. From the way they eat, it seems that they have an understanding between them that food belongs to everyone.

Atul caresses my hair and kisses me on the cheek. I kiss him on his lips, and his neck, and on his chest.

‘I love you’, he says, before penetrating me.

He finishes soon.

We are both panting.

‘You are amazing’, he says and closes his eyes. Soon, he is fast asleep. I close my eyes too.

How does one hide in plain sight? This is the last thing I remember thinking about before falling asleep.

I am supervising the monthly exams. Some of the students are engrossed in their papers, some pretend to write when I pass by them.

Rutvik, on the last bench, repeatedly looks at his desk. I am suspicious. I go there and find a piece of paper crushed beneath his pencil box.

‘What is it?’

As I slowly open it, I feel that the creases in the paper resemble the wrinkles on my face.

It is a sketch. A lady wrapped in a sari and carrying a purse. Her breasts replaced with two balloons.

‘Who did this?’

‘But Ma’am…’

‘Get up.’

‘My paper isn’t finished.’

‘I said, GET UP!’

‘I didn’t draw it, Ma’am. It was Rakesh. He has the habit of drawing whatever he sees.’ He points his finger at Rakesh.

I look at Rakesh. His polio-affected, underdeveloped body. ‘Rakesh, did you draw this?’

Rakesh nods and looks at his feet nervously.

‘Come on. Apologise.’

‘I am sorry, Ma’am,’ he says immediately.

‘And promise me you will never do this again.’

‘I promise I will never do this again.’

‘Okay everyone, focus on your papers.’

I tear the paper to pieces and start walking towards the garbage can at the corner of the room. I hear giggles. I turn around and see Rakesh and Rutvik hi-fiving and the students around them cheerfully amused.

‘Stand up! Every one of you. On your feet. Now!’

‘But we did not do anything, Ma’am!’ Some of them complain.

‘You are all together in this, I know it. Come on, show me your palms.’

I am ready to hit their palms with a metal ruler when a phone rings. I follow the direction of the sound and find a mobile phone in Ravi’s bag.

‘You are not allowed to bring mobiles in the class, and certainly not during exams.’

‘It was a mistake Ma’am. I forgot to take it out of the bag.’

I unlock the screen and start looking at the applications. Messages, Instagram, Gallery … I find some naked pictures in there. I am at a loss as to how to react.

‘Is this your phone?’

‘Umm…’

‘Tell me. Don’t lie. Is this your phone?’

‘It’s my elder brother’s. I use it sometimes, mostly to play games.’

Bell rings.

‘Don’t ever bring a phone to the school again, understood?’

Ravi nods. I hand it back to him.

In a minute, the front desk is filled with a pile of answer sheets. I take them all and walk towards the staff room. I halt near the window and see the students gathered in a circle, talking in small whispers.

That evening, when Sonu returns from school, I ask her, ‘Sonu, do your classmates own mobile phones?’

‘Yes. I want one too. When are you going to get me one?’

‘Not until your board exams are done.’

‘But that’s four years away.’

‘Yes. Sonu, your classmates – have they ever shown you stuff?’

‘You mean on their phones?’

‘Yeah, pictures or videos. The … the dirty ones.’

‘Dirty?’

‘Yeah. You know … very dirty. The kind that bad kids look at.’

She hesitates for a moment and then says, ‘No. I don’t remember something like that happening.’

I nod. I continue searching for innocence in her dark brown eyes.

It is dinner time, and Atul suggests we order food from outside. Sonu wants to order Hakka noodles. I refuse to let her eat that.

‘What’s wrong with Hakka noodles?’

‘Order something healthy.’

‘But we eat healthy every day.’

‘Yes, and why is today different from every day?’

‘Dad, what’s wrong with her?’

Atul looks at me. He is helpless.

‘What do you mean what’s wrong with me? Nothing is wrong with me.’

‘You wish.’

‘Sonu, order something healthy. You like Greek salad, don’t you?’

‘Not as much as Hakka noodles.’

We order Greek salad, with vanilla yogurt. Sonu does not finish her salad.

One day, as I am writing something on the board, a paper plane lands at my feet. ‘Who threw this?’

Nobody answers.

‘I need an answer.’

Silence.

‘Okay … I get it. Today I won’t let you escape. Get up. Show me your palms.’

I pick up the metal ruler. One blow per person. At the end of it, I see two of them in

tears, four of them clenching their teeth, the rest of them staring at me.

Nobody gives away the name of the person who threw the paper plane.

The class ends. I leave.

Again, through the window, I see them engrossed in a serious discussion.

I feel scared.

It is Sunday. I still feel scared. Atul asks me what is up. ‘Nothing. Just. School.’

‘You must be tired. Buried under all the work.’

‘No, it’s not that. I am just … scared.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of school. Of students.’

‘Isn’t school supposed to be a better place for you?’

‘I don’t know.‘

‘Don’t worry. I will get you a cup of chai.’

‘Can I smoke?’

Atul sighs.

‘Fine. Just one. And we will share.’

‘Okay.’

I take one last drag as Atul pours chai into our respective cups. He places the strainer filled with the leaves in the empty pot and puts it in the sink.

It is night. Atul wears his pyjamas, I put on the nightgown that my mother-in-law gifted me last year. We cuddle and kiss. He slides his hands under my gown. I let him.

He wants to penetrate me. But he is not able to. ‘Not hard enough, I guess,’ he awkwardly says as he jerks his penis.

‘It’s okay. Leave it,’ I say. I follow my words with a smile. He shakes his head and continues.

‘It’s not a big deal, really.’

He again shakes his head, this time more vigorously. My mind wanders. Soon, we are panting again. ‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you.’ This time, I say it too. Atul gazes at me and slowly closes his eyes. In a minute, he starts snoring.

I keep turning in my bed. I can’t sleep. Atul snores every day, so it is not his fault.

I think about school.

It is almost three, and I am still wide awake. I get up, put on my track pants and t-shirt, and wear my shoes. I step outside. Our street is pitch dark. I walk slowly towards the main road.

The lights on the road flicker. I hear dogs howling. I start running. I am afraid the dogs might chase me. I see two of them on the road, fooling around. I am afraid I might want to watch them do it. I keep running. I am afraid a car might come out of nowhere and hit me, and I will die. I am afraid a car might come out of nowhere and hit me, and I won’t die. I keep running. Slowly, the sound of barking and howling fades. All I can hear is the sound of my footsteps, the sound of my heartbeat.

It is the last class of the term. And we are on the last topic – inertia.

I begin to write the definition on the board when Ravi asks, ‘Ma’am, can I write?’

I am puzzled.

‘Okay, go ahead.’

He picks up a chalk, and, instead of writing, he starts scratching it on the board. On his signal, all the students get up and pick up chalks and start doing what he was doing. Some of them reach inside their bags to take out balloons and begin rubbing them.

The entire room starts shrieking. It is covered in a Tsunami of shrillness.

The cacophony pierces my ears like little needles. I feel my ears bleeding. I feel millions of ants on my body, biting me. The students’ laughter mixes with the cacophony. I shout. I bang the duster on the desk. Nothing stops them. The screeching sound continues.

I get out of the classroom. I want to hide from all the noise. But where do I hide? I run  towards the banyan tree. Maybe if I manage to hug it, the noises will die down.

As I run, I feel the wind gusting against my face. I feel its weight.