My mridangam classes at the Delhi Tamil Sangam had restarted, signalling the end of a two month hiatus from it, and of course the beginning of school. With less than twenty four hours to go for the school to reopen, I had the task of falling back to the daily routine. My mother made me sleep early that night, just in case I missed school the next day.
****
The same building, only repainted red, welcomed me. I had time. I slowly read the name of the school above. My mother had taught to me during vacations, I just wanted to verify if she was correct.
I had been asked to mend my ways by my parents; the actual implementation of that test was from today onwards. Karthik and I sat separately, on the insistence of Kajari ma’am.
It helped.
We developed a rapport with other classmates. We started mingling with them. The best time of school was the lunch break, wherein our lunch boxes were turned into bats and aluminium foils squeezed to make balls of various sizes.
We would take turns to bat and bowl. Five minutes to eat lunch and fifteen minutes to play, it was our routine.
****
It was English period.
Ma’am said “Please open page 10.”
“Where?” Someone asked.
Obviously in the book, I thought.
I myself scrambled through the book thinking where would be page 10, counting numbers on my fingers. Finally, I opened the page.
“About me?” I mumbled. I had to write about myself?
On the teacher’s command, I started filling. It went about like this:
My Name: Kaushik Swaminathan
Age: Six
School Name: Tagore International School, Vasant Vihar
Brothers: No
Sisters: Two.
My hand pained. Hence, I stopped writing. My mouth was tired being silent, it started its functions. I thought, the chatterbox in me would never leave me. My teacher saw my book and was perhaps flabbergasted; it would be confirmed only later.
****
The last period was the games period. One period a week is a tad too low, to be more specific, 40 minutes of games in a week is negligible. But thank God, we at least had a games period.
We had been split into groups, for a running race. That’s what games consisted for us, because we were too young to play cricket or football.
It was my group’s chance. I was to run as hard as possible. I had to beat everybody. Upbeat, I was ready for the run. The first two chances were false starts. Will I be third time lucky?
The whistle blew.
****
After a tiring games period, I was happy to be with my mother. We were walking home together.
My mother initiated the conversation,“ So how was your day today?”
I was excited. I precisely wanted this. I wanted to tell about my achievement in games period.
I replied “We had games period today, running race. And do you know?”
I stopped abruptly. I wanted my mother to interject.
“Not until you say what, Kaushik”.
“I came fourth in running race”.
My mother could not believe her ears. Her son had secured fourth in running race. And all these days, she thought I was fit only for one thing...watching cricket.
She continued.
“And how many of you ran?”
We walked the rest of the way home in silence because of my reply, maybe.
I said to her “Four”.