by Abha Dawesar
“Mom, she failed the physics test,” I said.
“I never said that she was smarter than you. You’re very intelligent, and I’m proud of that.”
“All right, Mom, back to work,” I said, getting up and going to my room. After a few minutes my father arrived. I said hello to him and went back to my room. I was waiting for them to sleep so I could slip out to India’s. They didn’t sleep till eleven that night. I could hear my father talking about office politics. I wanted them to wake up to the larger realities of life, to passion, love, and the fact that life was magical and dramatic. I was tired by the time they turned their lights out. I wanted to see India, but my eyes were drooping shut. I tiptoed to the living room to call her.
“I can’t come tonight,” I whispered as soon as she picked up. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I added.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, good night.” I hung up and peeked into my parents’ room to make sure they hadn’t heard me. I got into bed and slept.
iv
Utthak-Baithak
The school day began with a morning assembly, when everyone said a prayer together and sang a hymn. Someone read the main points of the news, and administrative announcements followed. As the Head Prefect I was responsible for making sure all the classes got into formation and the assembly was conducted properly. I was standing in the assembly ground when I spotted Sheela standing under a tree.
I went up to her, feeling bold in my silver and blue Head Prefect tie and badge. The difference between those in power and those not in power was most obvious during assembly.
“Why did you call me last night?” I asked Sheela.
“To find out if you meant it.”
“And if I did?”
“It doesn’t matter, since you didn’t,” she replied. She was playing with me.
“Come on, tell me,” I pleaded.
“Have you ever kissed anyone, Anamika?” She had this look of superiority on her face. After all, she was the one all the guys were after. Her expression seemed to say, I know you haven’t.
“Maybe,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong?”
“I mean morally.”
“Oh! I don’t believe in morals,” I replied.
“But you’re always trying to be good. You always do well in class.”
“So? I enjoy studying. That hardly means I’m good.”
“You mean you don’t study to be good?”
“No.”
“I do it only to be a good girl and make my father proud,” she said.
“I do it so that I can earn a lot of money later and keep a wife,” I said. Then I laughed because I didn’t want her to take me seriously.
“You’re strange.”
The assembly ground was now full of students, and everyone was standing around. No class would ever form a line unless someone was at the microphone yelling orders. The school was enormous. It had almost six thousand students on a thirty-two-acre campus. A small forest ran around the southern and western boundaries. The assembly was held on the football field in the back where all the students and some hundred fifty teachers congregated each morning.
“Come up with me onstage while I get these people to form lines,” I told Sheela.
We climbed up the steps in the front of the assembly ground.
“Class IV and V to my left, hurry up, children. Class VIII, what’s taking you so long? House Prefects, please ensure all wings are in order. We’re already running ten minutes late,” I said. It always gave me great delight to call the students “children.” It made me feel grown-up. I had been nervous to use it in the beginning when I had just become the Head Prefect, but one day I had mustered the courage to say it. No one booed at me. From then on I said it more and more often.
Within a few minutes all the students were standing in single file by class. Sheela went down to our class line before the prayer started. In the summer some children were known to faint. The school doctor had asked us to remind the children halfway through the assembly to wiggle their toes since this helped circulation. I told the girl reading the news that day to make the wiggling announcement and got off the stage. As Head Prefect I could walk around during the assembly. I needed to speak to teachers, who stood with their classes, about special events for the day. On occasion I inspected uniforms. If anyone got caught with the incorrect uniform, he or she would have to fall out of line and be punished. The standard punishment was to jog around the field.
I went to where my class stood and walked up to Sheela to do a random uniform check. I had never inspected my own section because it would be seen as very snobbish if I punished my own classmates. Even with my mild disposition toward them, I was not too popular and had to be very careful not to seem on a high horse. Today I threw a cursory glance at everyone and didn’t pay any attention to boys with long nails or overgrown pinkies or those with unpolished shoes. The class goon, Chakra Dev, was wearing a green undershirt, a big no-no since the rules strictly restricted boys to wearing only white banians under their shirts. But I ignored him on my way to Sheela.
“Let me see your nails,” I said to her.
Vidur, who was standing to her left, thought I was getting back at her for the Goody Two-shoes comment from the day before. He gave me a disapproving look. I didn’t want him of all people to think I was the kind of person who held such small incidents against people.
She put both her hands forward. I touched the ends of her fingers, pretending to see how long her nails were.
“Your skirt is half an inch shorter than stipulated,” I said, looking her in the eye to make sure she knew I was only half-serious.
“Should I fall out of line?” she asked, fluttering her eyes. I was alarmed by how blatantly she was flirting. What if someone noticed? But Vidur was staring at the stage.
“Yes, Sheela.”
We walked to the back of the assembly ground till we were well out of earshot.
“So how should I punish you?” I asked.
“Don’t make me run around the field. My skirt is high, and the guys will stare.”
“You’re right.”
“I could kiss you,” she suggested.
“No. But tell me who you’ve kissed,” I demanded, wanting more information.
“I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie.”
“God promise I haven’t,” she said.
“Which god?”
“Krishna.”
“He used to lie, so I don’t believe you.”
I could tell that I had crossed the line. I had no idea she was devout. I hadn’t meant to offend her. Everyone’s favorite Krishna stories were about him as a child stealing buttermilk. I liked him for stealing the clothes of girls bathing in the river.
“My uniform inspection was not complete,” I said, changing the subject.
“It wasn’t?”
“No. Are you wearing bloomers?”
Girls were supposed to wear white bloomers under their skirts instead of simple panties. This was because in the PT period the girls played volleyball and ran around the field like the boys, and in a coed school the parent-teacher association had decided that a girl’s modesty must be protected.
“Oh! Come on, Anamika.”
“Can I check?”
“Here?” she asked nervously. We were behind all the classes in the assembly ground, so unless someone actually turned around to see us they wouldn’t know what was going on. The entire school was singing a hymn about Hindus and Muslims being brothers.
“Get behind that tree,” I ordered.
We walked over to a short gulmohar tree, and I got behind her, lifted her skirt, and saw her blue panty and its wedgie. She was in serious violation of the rules. I also noticed that unlike a lot of girls who only waxed their legs below their knees, Sheela was smooth and silky all the way up. I could see the sides of her bottom, and there was gooseflesh on it. I let
her skirt fall and moved around to face her again. She was red in the face.
“In view of the fact that you can’t run around the field like this in a short skirt, especially without bloomers, I have to give you another punishment,” I said, adjusting my glasses.
She stood looking at me, wondering what I was going to suggest. I already felt I had abused my authority.
“You have to do ten utthak-baithaks,” I said.
There is no word in English for this particular movement. She squeezed each earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and then bent her knees, lowering herself till she was almost squatting. Then she got up, her hands still by her ears, and squatted again. I stood a few feet in front of her and watched her box-pleated gray skirt fly up and down and her thighs stretch and flex as she counted breathlessly to ten.
I was distracted in class. In between periods I would try to make my way to Sheela and talk to her. When the teacher wrote on the blackboard, I would turn around and try to catch her eye. She sat three rows behind me, so this was not an easy thing to do. The classrooms were really cramped, merely twenty by thirty feet but packed with fifty students, their desks, and their chairs. When I turned back repeatedly to look at Sheela, Vidur noticed. Eventually in history class he passed me a note asking, “What’s the matter with you today?”
I liked Vidur and didn’t keep secrets from him. If there was inside scoop on the school that I could not divulge to anyone, I confided in him. I trusted him to keep things to himself. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of telling him about my recent escapades. But the poor guy was untainted and didn’t even make dirty jokes like the rest of the boys. I shrugged in response to his note.
During the break we usually ate a small snack we brought from home. I made my way to Sheela. Most of us took our lunchboxes out to the playing field. Every now and then an eagle would swoop down and snatch a sandwich from someone’s hands. There was also a canteen in the school, a small metal shanty where one could buy cold drinks and things to eat. It sold the best vegetable burgers for a rupee. In my twelve years at the school the cost of a Coke had gone up from two rupees to five, but the burger still cost the same. Teachers spoke badly of kids who spent too much time at the canteen. It was as if you were a good-for-nothing. Sheela was treated by someone or other at the canteen every day. I approached her before anyone else could and asked, “Can we go to the canteen?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile, knowing perfectly well that I never went to the canteen.
We walked to the end of the field where it was located. A mob of young boys crowded the back. Some had been playing cricket and were sweating, their white shirts hanging out and their ties loose. The older guys had pushed their way forward and were yelling at the guy behind the counter for drinks and food. A few girls stood around wondering how to get near the counter. In that ruckus, if one wasn’t aggressive one might wait for half an hour. I walked up to the mob of younger boys and tapped one on the shoulder. When he saw me he stepped aside. Everyone recognized me since I was the Head Prefect. All the younger classes were scared of me. The rowdier students who were my age and often got into trouble resented me. They could speak disparagingly of me to one another, but if they misbehaved and got yellow cards I’d often be involved, and they’d be reduced to groveling for forgiveness. The boy I had patted spoke to the older boy in front of him and said, “Let Didi go.”
I made my way to the front and got two Cokes, two burgers, and one pineapple pastry. It was hard to balance everything. I held a Coke bottle between my elbow and waist on my right and left sides, the burgers in one hand and the pastry in the other.
Some guys were chatting with Sheela when I got back with the food.
“Anamika and I need to talk,” she said, leaving them in the middle of the conversation.
She took a Coke and the paper plate with the burgers from me, slipped her arm through my arm that had been freed up, and casually led me to a more deserted spot where there were some large rocks. I didn’t really know what to say to her. After the intense flapping of her skirt in the morning there was nothing more to say. We sat on a huge black rock. Its rough surface poked me through my skirt.
“I want you to answer my question about the kiss,” she said.
“Yes I have,” I said.
I could tell from her shock that she hadn’t kissed anyone. She was popular but scared. She had believed everything the grown-ups had told her about what being good was about.
“Who?” she asked.
“No one you know.”
“Is he in our class?”
“No, they are not in our class. They are older,” I said.
“More than one! Two? How is it like to kiss?”
“Oh! Great,” I said casually. Then I changed the topic, as if it was all a routine occurrence and asked, “Have you ever done horse riding?”
“No.”
“When I get on Sugar, my favorite horse, and kick her, she gallops fast. It’s fun.”
“Can I try? I’ve never done it.”
“Come with me to the riding ground one day in the PT period. I’ll get you to ride. Mina always follows Sugar. If I ride Sugar and hold Mina’s rein, you’ll be safe.”
She looked impressed. I wanted to tell her more things about myself to impress her, but I couldn’t think of anything. We walked to the canteen and deposited our empty bottles in a crate.
“You don’t think what you did was wrong? Especially two people?” she asked.
“Two women. But I felt close to them,” I said.
She looked even more troubled.
“Only the soul matters,” I declared. I didn’t quite believe it myself. I couldn’t imagine feeling for a boy what I felt for Rani or India. If only the soul mattered, then I would have to consider Vidur as much as I was considering Sheela. I knew him better than anyone else, and his soul was the sweetest.
We went back to class silently. I wondered if I’d bungled up by telling her. If she told anyone, my reputation would be at stake. I walked to my seat and sat down next to Vidur.
“What’s this going on between you and Sheela all of a sudden?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You know, you’ve looked really pleased for a few days.”
“I am pleased,” I said.
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing! I can’t tell you.”
“Why not? You don’t trust me?” Vidur’s aggressiveness was surprising.
“I just can’t tell you,” I said.
Our exchange ended abruptly because our chemistry teacher, Hydrogen Sulfide, walked in. No one referred to her by name. Hydrogen Sulfide had a vile reputation. It was rumored that when her first daughter, Lata, was born, she had refused to hold or feed her. It was rumored that H2S had said, “That dark and ugly brat can’t be mine.” Mercifully for Lata none of her siblings that followed were any fairer, and she had been saved from being treated any worse than the others. H2S always wore salwar kameezes with the kameez sleeve at a three-fourths length. No matter how hot the weather was she wore kameezes with tight-fitting sleeves. Somebody had said that she was trying to hide burn marks that she had sustained when her husband poured a chemical on her arms. She was extremely unpopular because she’d slapped the prettiest girl in the senior class once for no reason and mumbled something about “all that hair falling on your face.” Even the other teachers had said that it was because Hydrogen Sulfide was jealous of youth and beauty. The girl had gained so much sympathy after that incident that at the school farewell, when her class was graduating, she had been voted “Miss Cool.”
Everyone stood up and sang out, “Good morning, ma’am” in unison to H2S. Then we sat down. Vidur’s chemistry textbook was lying in the middle of our desk. He pulled it back to his side and looked slightly upset.
After a while, when the teacher had her back to the class, I gave Vidur a slip of paper with a smiley face. He’d usually return such notes with funny additions on the slip. This tim
e he ignored me. By the end of class, when all my overtures had gone unreturned, I temporarily lost my sense of proportion.
When the teacher was about to leave we all got up and sang out, “Thank you, ma’am.” Instead of joining the chorus I kicked Vidur sharply under the desk, pulled him roughly toward me by the elbow, and whispered in his ear, “I’m having an affair.”
From behind his glasses I could see his left eye bulge out a little in shock.
“Who is he?”
“I can’t talk about it. Please try to understand.”
“I understand.”
Our geography teacher walked in. Everyone was still standing and sang out, “Good morning, ma’am.”
“We are going to learn about waterfalls today, children,” Mrs. Thaityallam announced. “I want you to draw one line through your notebooks. On one side of the line write cascade and on the other write waterfall,” she instructed.
There was the rustling of paper, the opening of metal pencil boxes, and the sound of pencils grazing against rulers as everyone drew the line. I wondered if any one single adult had ever looked at our syllabus. We were learning quantum mechanics in one class and being asked to draw lines in another. Mrs. T. treated us as if we were still in primary school. In the exams she wanted us to reproduce all her points in the same order as she dictated them in class. When she talked about cascades I thought of India’s long black hair rolling down her back. And when she told us about waterfalls I imagined Sheela taking a dip in one, like the starlet of a Hindi movie, wearing a thin white shirt and getting soaked to the skin. Sheela had the whiteness, freshness, and complexion of a clean mountain spring.
