The interval in the school was over. That is as low a point in a day in School, as any other.
But that day, it was worse! The reasons being, firstly, the Recitation examination was lined up in the next class and secondly, in an unfriendly bout with the rival group, Amit had lost one of the buttons of his shirt, and the shirt was more brown than white now.
People were coming and reciting any one poem out of the three selected for the exam. Amit was fervently trying to learn the smallest poem as the exam continued. His Sir Name had many advantages, to appear last for reciting the poem - as per the alphabetical order- was one of them.
Boys will be Boys!!! Even the person who used to come first in the class was miserable in reciting the poem. English poems were a torture for most, as their vocabulary in that language was THREE strong- a yes, a no and third their own name (which was language "insensitive", we noticed).
We hated girls on the Recitation day; somehow they managed to learn poems too well.
That Recitation Exam day was no different. Little boys were running here and there for protection, which did not exist, until the roll number proceeded and their name was called. However, they were all lucky in a way that the teacher was not asking them to recite the longest poem- a full one pager, until the tragedy fell from the hell.
A young lady had walked down the aisle to the teachers table. She held her palms together at her chest height, bowed before the teacher and before a stunned class started reciting the longest poem. The poem only stopped when the last word had been spoken, without a single error and then she completed the poem with an AMEN.
The entire class was zapped, one full poem!!!! One full poem and AN EXTRA WORD! AN EXTRA WORD, where the hell did she get to read that extra word????
All the little boys were shattered. Their worst fears had come true. The teacher had a mighty praise showered on that girl and then she started asking her other class 3 kids to recite that voluminous poem.
The girl who had completed that poem was a permanent heart burn for the gang of boys. She had also been made the class monitor for one day, just one day. The reason was that the teacher had got too suspicious that the class that made most noise in the school was hers. She had been arguing with the other class teachers that her class monitors, Mr Aziz, one Mr innocent and One Mr Kolhi were the best of all monitors.
We on our part had one of the three of us peep out religiously- out of the class door, and alert the class as soon as the teacher appeared on the turn of the corridor and the thunders would die down immediately. But the teacher decided that it was time she also tried three young ladies for the job.
Somehow, with my limited experience, I have a feeling that the girls have a strong desire to set the things in order and in discipline at the word go. Our new monitor had been too excited at her role and right after the first period of the day when the class awaited the next teacher, she had threatened someone to sit down as he had stood up settling his books.
The poor guy was not even talking and so could not realize that the warnings hurled were directed at him. The monitor had then angrily hurled the wooded blackboard duster at the boy, who being a good player of our team had nimbly shifted aside. The speeding missile had hurt someone else’s head, bounced from there and shattered one of the classroom window panes.
The boy who had ducked was all smiles and stories as to how he had seen hundred enemy horses coming and killed them all. The guy who was hurt and bleeding was cool and calm for the obvious reason that he had a story line and evidences and witnesses to produce before his mother that he didn’t deserve another bashing at home for being punished in the school.
And of all the people on earth, who was crying and raising the sky on her head?? The monitor!! Two neglected boys were comforted by their few team members, ‘well done buddies’ as the whole class saw a yelling young lady being cajoled by half a dozen teachers.
Three monitors lost their first job within hours of acquiring it.
But a Recitation Exam is not a place to take revenge!!! What if eight years from then you would be able to mug up the whole Julius Ceasar and our Hinglish vocabulary would still be three strong, a ‘yes’, a ‘no’ and our name. But we would still deserve mercy and respect! And for sure hitting a man below the belt is unethical.
The boys were hurt, emotionally hurt. One Long poem recited correctly, folded hands, a bow and ONE EXTRA word, it is almost blasphemy.
Amit had lost all hope that day. He had, on that rare occasion, even given up hope of being able to learn a couple of paragraphs of the smallest poem to manage a 4 or 5 out of ten.
That day, his roll number had finally come. The teacher had also given him a choice to recite ‘ANY’ poem, but the colour of his shirt and the missing button had diverted her attention.
‘Ye kisne kiya’, she had asked.
‘Us kutte ne’, the student had eagerly replied pointing to someone, expecting some justice from the teacher.
The teacher had just slapped ‘DO futte’ at his bottom and asked him to go and sit back on his chair and speak no further (Lucky Naa) .
The boys were confused as to what had gone wrong for their friend to deserve those ‘Do futte’. But they were intelligent boys, so they had concluded that it was clear that the teacher was Mommy of that ‘&*%’ who had broken the shirt button otherwise why should she beat Amit instead of her own son.
They were so happy with that discovery. If your biggest enemy has your class teacher as his mom, how miserable his life would be.
So they had decided, they were all winners at the end of the day!!!
But that day, it was worse! The reasons being, firstly, the Recitation examination was lined up in the next class and secondly, in an unfriendly bout with the rival group, Amit had lost one of the buttons of his shirt, and the shirt was more brown than white now.
People were coming and reciting any one poem out of the three selected for the exam. Amit was fervently trying to learn the smallest poem as the exam continued. His Sir Name had many advantages, to appear last for reciting the poem - as per the alphabetical order- was one of them.
Boys will be Boys!!! Even the person who used to come first in the class was miserable in reciting the poem. English poems were a torture for most, as their vocabulary in that language was THREE strong- a yes, a no and third their own name (which was language "insensitive", we noticed).
We hated girls on the Recitation day; somehow they managed to learn poems too well.
That Recitation Exam day was no different. Little boys were running here and there for protection, which did not exist, until the roll number proceeded and their name was called. However, they were all lucky in a way that the teacher was not asking them to recite the longest poem- a full one pager, until the tragedy fell from the hell.
A young lady had walked down the aisle to the teachers table. She held her palms together at her chest height, bowed before the teacher and before a stunned class started reciting the longest poem. The poem only stopped when the last word had been spoken, without a single error and then she completed the poem with an AMEN.
The entire class was zapped, one full poem!!!! One full poem and AN EXTRA WORD! AN EXTRA WORD, where the hell did she get to read that extra word????
All the little boys were shattered. Their worst fears had come true. The teacher had a mighty praise showered on that girl and then she started asking her other class 3 kids to recite that voluminous poem.
The girl who had completed that poem was a permanent heart burn for the gang of boys. She had also been made the class monitor for one day, just one day. The reason was that the teacher had got too suspicious that the class that made most noise in the school was hers. She had been arguing with the other class teachers that her class monitors, Mr Aziz, one Mr innocent and One Mr Kolhi were the best of all monitors.
We on our part had one of the three of us peep out religiously- out of the class door, and alert the class as soon as the teacher appeared on the turn of the corridor and the thunders would die down immediately. But the teacher decided that it was time she also tried three young ladies for the job.
Somehow, with my limited experience, I have a feeling that the girls have a strong desire to set the things in order and in discipline at the word go. Our new monitor had been too excited at her role and right after the first period of the day when the class awaited the next teacher, she had threatened someone to sit down as he had stood up settling his books.
The poor guy was not even talking and so could not realize that the warnings hurled were directed at him. The monitor had then angrily hurled the wooded blackboard duster at the boy, who being a good player of our team had nimbly shifted aside. The speeding missile had hurt someone else’s head, bounced from there and shattered one of the classroom window panes.
The boy who had ducked was all smiles and stories as to how he had seen hundred enemy horses coming and killed them all. The guy who was hurt and bleeding was cool and calm for the obvious reason that he had a story line and evidences and witnesses to produce before his mother that he didn’t deserve another bashing at home for being punished in the school.
And of all the people on earth, who was crying and raising the sky on her head?? The monitor!! Two neglected boys were comforted by their few team members, ‘well done buddies’ as the whole class saw a yelling young lady being cajoled by half a dozen teachers.
Three monitors lost their first job within hours of acquiring it.
But a Recitation Exam is not a place to take revenge!!! What if eight years from then you would be able to mug up the whole Julius Ceasar and our Hinglish vocabulary would still be three strong, a ‘yes’, a ‘no’ and our name. But we would still deserve mercy and respect! And for sure hitting a man below the belt is unethical.
The boys were hurt, emotionally hurt. One Long poem recited correctly, folded hands, a bow and ONE EXTRA word, it is almost blasphemy.
Amit had lost all hope that day. He had, on that rare occasion, even given up hope of being able to learn a couple of paragraphs of the smallest poem to manage a 4 or 5 out of ten.
That day, his roll number had finally come. The teacher had also given him a choice to recite ‘ANY’ poem, but the colour of his shirt and the missing button had diverted her attention.
‘Ye kisne kiya’, she had asked.
‘Us kutte ne’, the student had eagerly replied pointing to someone, expecting some justice from the teacher.
The teacher had just slapped ‘DO futte’ at his bottom and asked him to go and sit back on his chair and speak no further (Lucky Naa) .
The boys were confused as to what had gone wrong for their friend to deserve those ‘Do futte’. But they were intelligent boys, so they had concluded that it was clear that the teacher was Mommy of that ‘&*%’ who had broken the shirt button otherwise why should she beat Amit instead of her own son.
They were so happy with that discovery. If your biggest enemy has your class teacher as his mom, how miserable his life would be.
So they had decided, they were all winners at the end of the day!!!
