Free Shala by Milind Bokil

Surya said, changing his tone all of a sudden and sounding friendly. ‘If you tell me the truth, I will let you go. But tell me honestly.’
    Pendse relaxed a bit.
    ‘Tell him the truth. What are you waiting for?’ Phawdya cajoled him. ‘Are you feeling shy?’
    ‘Yes, I do fancy her. But nothing serious, you know,’ Pendse confessed.
    Surya jammed his fist into Pendse’s stomach.
    Pendse doubled up, clutching his stomach. The books flew out of his hand. He stood up but Surya hit him again.
    ‘Will you look at her again, bhenchod?’ he growled.
    ‘No, I won’t, I promise,’ Pendse said, sitting down and clutching his stomach. That spared him another blow.
    ‘Keep that in mind,’ Surya warned him. ‘If I see you even as much as stealing a glance at her, I’ll bury you at the same place, okay?’
    ‘Yes, yes. I understand,’ Pendse said, shivering.
    ‘And tell everyone in the class—Kevda’s mine. No one dare look at her.’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Pendse said, getting up hurriedly. His eyes were watering and he was trembling with fear.
    Chitre and I helped him gather his books. Surya stood there, his face red with anger. We grabbed our books and proceeded to school.

    T he classes started on time, but the previous day’s episode rankled in my mind. In the Marathi class, Ganoba the clerk came in to hand over a notice. Bibikar and Kevda had got a certificate of appreciation. Paranjpe ma’am clapped and we were forced to join. We clap whenever anyone in the class gets an award; even for someone like Bibikar! The awards are handed over much later in a prize-giving ceremony.
    Surya and Phawdya were, as usual, in their elements. I missed Naru mama. I wanted to ask him many questions. Shirodkar never looks at me. She looks straight ahead in all classes, even during the drawing class. The birdies are busy all the time chirping away. They argue with the boys, but no one bothers much about them. But girls, in general, are idiots. They never look at you. How the hell do I then convey my thoughts to her? Perhaps we need to do what Surya does; proclaim your love openly. Write it on the school walls, maybe. But then I might as well be dead!
    The first few classes are a real bore. And History tops it all! Pethkar ma’am keeps on droning in her monotone. I think she’s not interested in teaching at all. She has her notes ready and all she does is read out from them. We have a huge syllabus this year; the dominion of the French and English, the rise and fall of the British Empire, feudalism, colonialism, what not. The boys doze off during the class. It is difficult to concentrate when Pethkar ma’am is busy delivering her sermon. We have to be very alert in Bendre ma’am’s English class though; we cannot afford to be caught napping. But History is one subject where one is tempted to shut one’s mind. Today she was busy teaching the French revolution. Unfortunately she has no sense of humour. She does not scold or hit us. She just goes on teaching. She would look at you once if you tried to crack a joke and then continue speaking. There is no point in saying anything in her class. We are lucky that Manjrekar sir teaches us Geography and Social Science.
    The next class was that of Zende sir’s. He looked at me, but I avoided his gaze. I was afraid he might rake up yesterday’s episode, but luckily he focused on the subject at hand. There was a strange ache in my ears, though.
    Getting bored in the evening, I decided to visit Chitre. He was, as usual, busy with some experiment in the verandah.
    ‘Come, let us go inside,’ I said. I like the inner room, which is always cool and cosy.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘Daddy is busy having his drink and Aai is just back from office. They had a fight a little while back.’
    Chitre tells us that this happens often. His daddy comes home from office and likes to enjoy a peg or two in the evening. We do not understand what exactly that means, but his mother does not like it and they end