Oh what a miss....I mean, mess!
Posted: Thursday, July 21, 2011
by Drunken Mystic
http://drunkenmystic.wordpress.com
This would be one of the most notorious years of my schooldays. I was just thirteen and according to the Indian system of education the years are named as kindergarten, 1st standard; 2nd standard and so on. We Indians start schooling by at the age three and so, by the time we finish high school (12th standard) we are seventeen and eligible to enrol with any university for bachelors based on the marks and performance in entrance exams if required.
I was in my 8th standard and was about fourteen and this was the beginning of my notorious years. I was ranked top among the list of mischievous boys while I ranked last when it came to academics. I just started to hate studying. Those books in my hands were too stressful to understand and I was soon losing sight of my ambitions.
I chose to sit in the last bench of the class as it was easy to hide myself and doze off whenever I found the teacher boring. Well, it wasn't easy to doze off in every period as some teachers had eyes sharper than the eagle. I would often doze off in the mornings and was known to be the expert sleeper as I was already caught red-handed.
I was suffering from a heavy cold for one year and was prescribed to medication which would often make me feel drowsy and I was never offered a chance for any explanation. Later on, I even made this as an excuse to sleep further in the noon classes and soon the virus caught on with other guys and they too started to doze off after lunch. Everybody used to take turns to catch one single spot in one of the last benches from the two rows.
The notoriety didn't stop only over there as there was much more to continue. We used to rip off pages from magazines and books in the library. If we didn't study for exams at times, we used to place notebooks under the desk and copy answers and score really high marks and this got many guys jealous and called us 'cheaters'. I got caught only once when I was in my ninth standard and I just had to make up some stories as in how I'd forgotten to close my notebook and managed to get away with a minor punishment. The teacher reduced my marks. I was still bold enough to continue copying from my notebook the same afternoon and the invigilator was told about my mischief. I didn't get caught.
Coming back to ripping off pages from magazines, the National Geographic Magazine is still a very expensive magazine and we as students were always attracted to pictures and I was attracted to a huge poster which was folded into fours. All I did was for a thrill, just rip it off and put it into my pocket and walked out quietly. It was neat work! Nobody would have ever doubted it until I boasted about what I had done to one of my friends in the class.
Mr. Buddha just popped in from behind and took a look and said, "Shyam, you've not done the right thing and I am going to complain to the teacher." I immediately said, "Don't be a spoilsport man. Come on, let's not complain okay? Be mature. We don't complain about anybody and we all cover up each other and have a unity. Don't spoil it." Mr. Buddha said, "Honesty is what I believe in. I must not support a crime when I have noticed it happen."
Note: Mr. Buddha in the past years and on the day of the event had been held up for numerous complaints and had been punished more than anybody in the entire classroom. He was putting up an act of being honest, virtuous and a perfect saint. I even remember he had confessed once that he'd flicked many bottles of cola from a shop next to his house. I love irony!
He soon shouted, "Miss....miss, Shyam has stolen a poster from the library". I was immediately called upon by our teacher the "Miss" who hated us calling her Ma'am and I never understood why, but she said she didn't like the sound of it.
I knew Buddha just flushed the toilet and I was going down in it. What was next? My eyes were fixed on the "Black Mark" chart which always held a question of life and death situation and nobody loved it. What is it? Every classroom was given a "Black Mark" chart for misbehaviour, not completing homework, or any kind of misdemeanour which would be considered unethical and worthy of a black mark. Each time we were held up for something, the teacher would immediately sign his/her initial in a small square or draw a star. The total number allowed was 30. I was on 9. I knew that one more star or sign, I would have to be standing in front of the Principal's room for an entire day.
When the numbers of stars or signatures reach 10, 20 or 30, you have to spend an entire day in front of the principal’s room. It was ‘Happy Birthday’ to me!
This was a big mess I was getting into now. She took a look at the poster and said, "Shame on you!" As she would start speaking, she would spray a few droplets of her saliva on my face. This was her style. I saw her reach for her purse (I was telling in my mind, ‘Please don’t, please...please’) and remove a "red ink pen", and walk towards the chart and all the boys started whispering and laughing at me, "Shyam, you are going to the principal's room."
I had no choice that day. I just stared at the chart, was feeling nervous. I was staying with my uncle and aunt and if they got to know that I received a punishment like this, I would be done for life. Not only would they know about it, but they would spread the news to the entire huge family circle living all around Chennai and the news would reach my father back home. I didn't want to face this consequence back home. I had to keep it a secret, and, at the end of the day I would be given a punishment slip which had to be signed by the parent or the guardian.
Teachers loved giving black marks as much as possible just like the police love catching robbers even if the mistakes were minor and negligible. This offence certainly wasn't negligible.
I was already planning it all in my mind how to get the slip signed by somebody else other than my guardian. I had to keep a straight face for two nights at home and sneak myself out of the entire mess like a snake wriggling itself unnoticed.
I certainly wasn't happy to go home that evening. I hated my coffee, I hated the noise of the television, I hated everybody's smiles and I just hated talking to anybody at all as I was looking at my conscience in everything and everyone around me. I felt the world for one day was converted into a stage of judgment.
I wished these hours would pass soon but this night seemed to be one of those longest nights where not a single breath would pass without testing my patience and questioning my integrity.
I was ready for school next morning and as usual, I had to carry my heavy school bag and just go and stand in front of the principal's room. Everybody was watching me. I was a spectacle for the whole day and the whole school knew I had received a felicitation. I was out in 'flying colours' for all the mischief I had done.
An entire day of standing, and finally, the certificate was handed over to me. I had to get signed by somebody. I just thought of one idea. There was a priest at the nearest Ganesha temple who was a good friend of mine. I had done him a lot of favours and most evenings he would ask me to keep guard at the door and distribute the sacred ash to devotees while he would take off somewhere. This was a good time for me to ask him a favour. I just approached him and said, "Hey, listen. I need you to bail me out of this situation right now. But don't tell my cousins or my uncle okay? This is only between us."
My heart was pacing fast as I was hopeful of a genuine signature which would be a perfect bail out. I was even very lucky that my uncle was not in town at the same moment and this was a perfect excuse as well. My friend immediately consented to sign and I gave him the pen immediately and the first thing he did was write his initial like a nursery kid who was learning to write a, b, c, d. I hoped that it would get better when he would sign his name.
To my disappointment, it didn't. In fact, he continued to sign his name in the same manner. I wondered if my teacher would accept this as a genuine signature. But for the time, I told myself, "This would do for me now. The real test is tomorrow. So far, I am just a little bit out of the mess. Will the miss accept this mess of a signature?" Deep inside, I was thankful to this guy for helping me out but still not convinced.
I had to sneak the punishment slip into one of my books again and recheck it over and over again if it was fine and had to be careful enough that nobody noticed it at home. My cousins were especially very curious about anything and everything I removed from my school bag. They were always around noticing something about me and if they did, the news would reach their mother immediately.
I had a peaceful sleep but a nervous session while handing out the slip to my teacher. She took a first look at the signature and wondered if it was genuine and if at all it was from one of my guardians. She was right to doubt it as this signature was definitely not from someone who was proficient in writing or reading English. She asked me, "Whose signature is this?" I spoke in a very soft and timid tone to prove myself innocent, "My uncle." Then she asked again, "Which uncle?" I had to think quickly about something and said, "My maternal uncle." She again asked, "What about your father's brother, with whom you stay?" I said, "He's out of town. So I thought I would get him to sign it." She wasn't convinced and I knew it, but she accepted it with some uncomfortable remarks.
It was a long way out of this entire mess. The miss and the mess - it was difficult to discriminate between the two!
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Interesting insight into your culture...:) I like the title, too.Thank you! Have a nice day.
Where have you been? We need you in the Story Tellers groupI've not been around lately. :-) Would love to participate and will do my best. Thanks a ton for the intimation.
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