Coinman: An Untold Conspiracy

by Pawan Mishra

  “Such children?” Daulat asked confusedly.

  “I will not dawdle, Daulat. There is no point in housing troubles inside your underwear if you can’t solve them by yourself. Put them right on your forehead for everyone to see. Besides implying your willingness to accept others’ help, this will allow them to team up with you to help solve your problem.”

  “But there is nothing really wrong with Kesar.”

  “Then why is he not in a school yet like all other kids his age?” Cheela asked. “Daulat, I know it’s tough for parents to see a problem in their child. But if you overlook it now, you may reach a point of no correction on this. You must admit your child’s problem based on the facts and outcomes, instead of overapplying your heart’s voice.”

  “How did Bunty do?”

  “It took him only one year at that school to turn from the most introverted and shy kid I knew to the most extroverted kid in our family. The school has some sort of a magic wand.”

  “What’s the name of the school?”

  “TDMS—Tiny Devils Montessori School. All right, I get it, they probably don’t have the best-sounding name! But look, it is what it is. That’s their expertise—to help parents like you and me when nothing else seems to work.”

  “Cheela, I value your advice very highly. But I need to think more. It’s not an easy decision. What would I tell him when he grows up and finds out that he was admitted into this school because we couldn’t handle his ways that are a bit different from other kids’, and for which no one else but us is responsible.”

  “He will love you more when he discovers as a grown-up that you acted in the best interest of his life.”

  “I am sure he will. I’d better get going—Kasturi must be waiting for me.”

  “It was great chatting with you. Keep me in the loop on how it goes, or if you need any help. And by the way,” Cheela said before he left, “should you decide to admit your son in the school, make sure you don’t get in the way of the school. They have devised fail-proof ways after years of research. Some parents find these ways different than anything they have seen in the past.”

  “What kind of ways?”

  “You will find out. Just don’t make it tough for them to follow their process by your undue intervention.”

  Daulat and Kasturi discussed the matter in detail throughout the week during their afternoon siestas, looking at it from every possible angle, before deciding to try out the school.

  A tour of the school left them completely impressed. They couldn’t wait to complete the admission formalities. Daulat couldn’t check his enthusiasm, and called Cheela from the school itself to express the family’s gratitude to him.

  “Remember: no troubles go in the underwear ever in the future,” Cheela reminded him, and laughed so hard that he had to put the phone down to cough.

  The family had a memorable welcome on their child’s first day of the school. The principal called the entire staff early for a meet-and-greet with the family. Despite the unexpectedly early disappearance of jumbo blueberry muffins, the complimentary breakfast buffet managed to enhance the occasion well.

  After a grand welcome to the family, Ms. Ida was asked to take the child to her class. But Kesar held his spot on the floor, with his hands behind his waist, to prevent Ms. Ida from leading him with them. Every time she tried to get his hands off his back, he cried loudly. He then ran back toward his parents and grabbed Kasturi’s right leg with both his hands.

  Ms. Ida ran after him and dragged him from Kasturi. Then, to the parents’ shock, she lifted him, holding his armpits, and heaved him in the air two feet above her head. She made it very quick and seemingly easy, lifting and heaving in one continuous motion. Then she released her hands when they reached her head’s height, to bring Kesar as high as possible before starting the free fall.

  Astonished, the parents watched as she made no move to catch him until he reached her waist height and looked almost certain to hit the floor. Kesar had abruptly stopped crying at that point and had shut his eyes in a nervous panic, bracing for the inevitable crash. Ms. Ida caught him then, by quickly lowering her arms at the speed of his fall and decelerating slowly to stop just an inch or two above the ground.

  The terrifying fear of a crash had triggered the fight-or-flight response in the child, making him burn a mule, but only he knew about it—thanks to his tight and reliable underpants.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Daulat.” Ms. Ida tried to relieve the parents’ state of shock. “We run complex software to make this a completely safe exercise. The software tells us the range of elevation and the point of catch accurately based on aspects like weight, height, and such. I myself have done this several thousand times, and no kid’s even had a minor injury.”

  “But still, this was so dangerous. What if our kid was the unfortunate one to get hurt? The first one out of those thousands you talked about.” Daulat didn’t hold back his concern.

  “Are you suspecting our process?” Ms. Ida challenged.

  “No, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “Then leave your son here,” said Ms. Ida, looking toward the door without moving her head. “Please! He’ll be fine. We will take good care of him.”

  The parents couldn’t move. They were still frozen in awe of the unbelievable callousness they had just witnessed.

  “Please get going now.” Ms. Ida’s tone became sterner as she put their child back on the floor. “Do you want your son to remain a sitting duck for rest of his life? You have ensured that a great deal already. We are trying to recover him from the damage you’ve done to him. Now leave him here, will you? At least you can avoid being the biggest reason behind him becoming a pinhead as an adult.”

  Daulat had a craving to snatch his boy from Ms. Ida and punch her in the face—with an apology to God later for having done so. But he resisted, considering the good intent and the school’s success stories that he had heard from other parents. With a heavy heart, he decided to leave without Kesar to take some time later in the day reassessing the school, but his child broke his deep musing. With a quick move, Kesar grabbed Ms. Ida’s right hand, raised himself to swing on her arm, and sank his teeth into her hand.

  Ms. Ida shrieked in pain, shaking her hand vigorously to throw him on the ground. When everyone rushed to help her, the child seized the opportunity to turn and run toward his parents. Instead of caring for her desperately bleeding hand, Ms. Ida furiously ran after Kesar and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt before he could get to them. She sat on the ground next to him in a squatting position, and slapped him on both cheeks like a hurricane.

  Before anyone could relay a protest, she lifted him in her arms and ran to the classroom at the end of the hall, threw the child inside, and locked the room. All other classrooms opened to a long corridor facing a lawn except this one: it was located at the end, facing the bathrooms, and hardly saw any daylight. It was used primarily as storage, although reluctantly, due to its nose-splitting smell of prolonged dampness.

  Daulat and Kasturi demanded Ms. Ida unlock the door right away, under threat of complaint to the principal. When she didn’t budge, they ran to the principal’s office and told everything to her in a breath. Quite upset, the principal left what she was in the middle of and went straight to Ms. Ida.

  “Are you guys not taking parents through all the conditions before obtaining their signatures?” she demanded of Ms. Ida. “We clearly state on the forms that the parents have no rights concerning their child while he is at school.”

  Before Ms. Ida could answer, the principal turned to the parents and said, “I sincerely apologize for our mistake. You can come back in my office, and I will again personally go over the conditions that you have signed on.”

  The parents were at a complete loss. Daulat made a few calls in desperation and assured Kasturi that he was getting support to get their kid out at any cost. He had to leave but asked Kasturi to stay near the room until he got the support with him.
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  “Don’t make a court case out of it. This is normal here. Besides, no parents are allowed in the class area,” the principal said.

  “I need my son here”—Daulat spoke in anger, grinding his teeth—“right now. It’s my fundamental right to have my child with me when I want him.”

  “We offer our best apologies,” Ms. Ida said, “but that’s not possible, sir. You’ve already signed documents to allow us to take full care of your son during school hours.”

  “Well, I don’t get it. I am absolutely clueless as to why you have to keep him in a dark room! He is only six years old, dammit! You may do permanent harm to his mind—do you even care about that?” Daulat said, ignoring the fact that the situation left him little room for argument.

  “We follow a time-tested process here. No one has ever been harmed here. Your kid is no different than other kids who have undergone the same process. He’ll be just fine.”

  Kasturi was sobbing by now.

  “All of you need a checkup from the neck up.” Daulat shouted as he prepared to leave with Kasturi. He went on. “We will come back in a few minutes to get our child back from you monsters. And you will have a fun time soon, that’s my promise.”

  “You aren’t the first parent to try this. So don’t feel bad about losing it on us when you come back in an hour apologizing for your behavior, like other parents have done in the past.” The principal looked smug.

  “We’ll see soon who apologizes.” Daulat started to go, stomping his feet in anger. Then he suddenly stopped, ran to the last classroom, and shouted through the door. “Be brave, Son. I am coming back in a jiffy to get you out of this lousy place. You need to help Papa and Mamma by not being scared for a few more minutes.”

  The child came to the door and thumped it, but his parents were gone by then. Nothing was visible inside because the door was the only source of light in the room.

  Kesar wept for a few minutes, but when it seemed futile to continue, he stopped. Lying down on the floor, he thought about where his parents would be at the moment—wondering if they would get what they needed in order to take him back with them. Then he pondered the likelihood of his parents’ method not working on the principal and whether, in that case, the school would release him at the end of the day. Lost in such thoughts, he fell asleep.

  When he woke up, he found himself in bed, in his bedroom, with Daulat and Kasturi stooping over him.

  “Hope you are fine, Son,” Daulat said, his voice full of affection. Then, in a clear effort to wipe away his son’s ghastly experience, he went on with a touch of mischief, “Show me your tongue. Let me make sure it’s still the same one I left you at the school with. You haven’t exchanged it with someone at school, have you?”

  The son smiled. “That’s not possible, Dad. You do not even know that much?” He turned to his mother. “Ma, Dad doesn’t even know that tongues can’t be exchanged.”

  Kasturi made suggestive eye contact with Daulat, and answered with a smile, “Ask your dad. He may have had some experience exchanging his tongue with someone.”

  “Really, Dad?”

  Daulat laughed. “No, Son. Looks like your mommy still remembers it from her beautiful dreams. And you know, anything can happen in dreams and might seem entirely natural.”

  Seeing their son speak normally was enough to reassure them.

  When Daulat and Kasturi had left their child at school earlier that day, they had at once visited their lawyer friend, Pappu, at his office. As it turned out, the school principal was a good friend of Pappu as well. Pappu assured the parents of a painless resolution and suggested that the best next step was to speak to the principal in person. The three of them then drove straight to the school. Such was Pappu’s friendship with the principal that he didn’t even need to knock on the door.

  “Hello, there,” Pappu greeted the principal as they entered her office. “How is it going, smart cookie?”

  “Look who is here! Pappu, my friend, what a pleasant surprise.” The principal got up from her chair and ran to hug him. “You’ve made my day.”

  “Likewise,” Pappu said. “It’s always so wonderful to meet you. I am not sure if we’ve seen each other since the wine-tasting trip.”

  “Wow. It seems you still have the same terabyte memory. How can you remember everything? Ha, ha—sorry, can’t help laughing, your wife was completely legless and fell on the ground. And then, as we were coming back, she insisted on driving, and slapped you when you did not give her the keys.”

  “Ahem, well.” Pappu looked away for a moment. “What a fun time, wasn’t it? But, hey…the reason I am here and thought you could assist, is to help my friend Daulat. There seems to be some misunderstanding between him and your staff here.”

  “Allow me to explain,” the principal interrupted. “After Mr. and Mrs. Daulat left their boy with us, the overall assessment of the staff was that he needed what we call a capsule course in discipline. For this we leave the students in a dark room for extended hours. The boy is completing the prescribed capsule course right now. He will need to be there for two more hours, and then he is all yours. Now, that seems very harsh, I understand, but it’s a very normal thing for us. There is a science behind this which I want you to allow me to—”

  Daulat stood up before the principal could complete her sentence. “Science, my eye! Are you saying that our son is still in the dark room? Tell me now, before I punch every single staff member of yours.”

  “Let me handle it, Daulat,” Pappu interjected, and turned to the principal. “Hey, listen up. It’s not legal to keep a boy hostage without consent from his parents. I demand you release him right now.”

  The principal understood that it was not about winning anymore but about handling the situation smartly. She didn’t like that she had to release the boy but understood that she didn’t have a case in Pappu’s presence; Pappu could have easily presented a legal clause for maltreating a minor child, overruling the legal binding of the parents to the school’s discipline. Debating with Pappu might even have landed her into a lost legal battle. So, resigned, she asked Ms. Ida to release the child without delay.

  They followed after Ms. Ida and as she opened the door, Kasturi ran to pick up her son, who was in a deep slumber. Without waking him, she very carefully lifted him to put his head gently on her shoulders and her arms around his bottom.

  As they were leaving, the principal couldn’t resist a parting shot.

  “You are making the blunder of your life! Your son is hopeless, and this was his last chance. You’ll remember this every time your child fails.”

  “Wait till I see you in court,” Daulat retorted quietly, careful to not wake his son up in Kasturi’s safe embrace. He knew that he threatened only for the sake of it, because the school had influence over the city administration and nothing was going to happen even if he sued the school. But it made him feel better to at least tell her off.

  They left the school without another word.

  Mankind has relentlessly wished that everything in life was measurable but, alas, barring a tiny fraction, nothing really is. There’s no way of knowing how much of an effect this event had on Coinman’s life. Nevertheless, Coinman’s parents were going to hold this particular event responsible, largely, for the singularities in his personality thereafter.

  Following the event, his parents arranged a home tutor to see to his academics through age ten. While on one hand this could be considered successful because it allowed Kesar to be with his parents while getting his education, on the other hand it caused an economic misery for the family. Before he started school regularly at sixth grade, at age eleven, Kesar had already cost his parents a fortune without showing signs of genius. As a result of the teaching style of the home tutor, he had also acquired a peculiar academic quirk. During exams, he knew all the answers but wasn’t able to successfully map his answers to the right questions. So as soon as an exam started, he simply started putting his answers in the order in which he re
membered them. Every time he moved to a new class, his parents made the new teachers aware of this snag. The teachers acknowledged it and reassured the parents that they’d match his answers against the appropriate questions.

  Thanks to his teachers’ relentless efforts, he was able to fully overcome this mental handicap before he was in tenth grade; yet he still didn’t do well in his subjects, despite studying hard. He attended all the classes, prepared notes with different-colored pens, and talked to the teachers after each class to clarify his doubts. When he got back home, he would sit in his study chair till late at night. His parents were at a complete loss as to why his hard work wasn’t paying off. Had he been like other boys who did poorly because of their involvement in non-academic affairs, they could have handled it; but he was a very studious boy. They did not know what could be done.

  “Just like a boxer can’t win without a few punches on his face, a student can’t be fully trained without ups and downs.” Kasturi would say things like this to raise her son’s spirits every time he had to repeat a course. And finally, his teachers’ understanding about his limitation in academics, together with his hard work, gained him his bachelor’s degree.

  It was a time when a degree was expected but not much respected. To win a job one had to either be super smart or make up for it by having the right connections or the right amount of money to spare. Fortunately, Daulat’s deterioration had only begun at the time of Coinman’s graduation; he largely avoided social interactions but hadn’t shut himself so much to the inward that he couldn’t go back and open the social doors if he needed to. So he could still use all his connections and his remaining hard-earned money on getting Coinman a job. That’s how he got Coinman a postman’s job.

  Coinman had completed one year at the post office, however, when Kasturi complained to Daulat about the job: “What kind of onerous job have you put my son into? Look at him, just look. He has lost almost half of his weight in one year! And I could swear his height is also getting worn down, inch by inch, because of walking on foot the entire day. Look here.” She raised her right hand over her head, forming a letter C with her thumb and fingers, the thumb touching her head. “He was this much taller than me, before—this much, but now, he’s just as tall as I am. Find him another job so that he can leave this miserable job now. Say, dear husband, what’s the use of a job if it’s a compromise of one’s physical well-being?”