Shala (6 page)

As usual, it started with some simple names which we guessed immediately. Bibikar, Ghasu Gokhale and Teredesai were trying to impress the girls while Deodhar and shorty Bakre tried to impress the boys. I was quiet. Chitre was bored and started reading his Physics book. Surya and Phawdya were busy with some prank or the other.

Ghasu Gokhale wrote on the board, ‘
ja
’, followed by eight blanks and then ‘
hai’
. Sukdi promptly guessed, ‘
Jab Pyaar Kisi se Hota Hai
’.

‘That’s correct!’ Surya exclaimed loudly. Phawdya added, ‘Kisse hota hai?’

‘Mahesh se,’ someone answered loudly.

The boys burst out laughing. Manjrekar sir knew about their affair and smile slightly. Sukdi made a face and sat down without saying a word.

Then the girls continued with some stupid names like
Kati Patang, Tumsa Nahin Dekha
and so on. Bakre tried
Sant Tukaram
, which was too easy. Then Bibikar wrote, ‘
ma
’ followed by four blanks and then ‘
ya
’. The girls were at a loss. Bibikar started jumping with joy. Sir looked at the girls and when he found that they were unable to guess, he hinted softly, ‘Bharat mata ki jai.’

Mirikar was quick on the uptake. She said out loud, ‘
Mother India
.’

Bibikar complained, ‘Sir, you are being partial to the girls.’

‘Shut up and sit down.’

The game continued without anyone losing and the boys looked at me for some help.

‘Joshi, come up with some tough name, buddy,’ Ghasu Gokhale said, trying to be friendly.

‘Joshi, Ichibhana, why don’t you give them a really difficult one?’ Surya said, poking my back with his pencil.

I thought for a while and told Surya, ‘Go and write “
de
” followed by seven blanks and then “
di
”.’

Surya promptly went and wrote the same on the board.

It was a googly for the girls. They were lost.

‘What is this?
De…di
?’

‘There is no such movie,’ Sukdi claimed.

‘You will be the first one to see it when it releases,’ I tried to keep my voice low, but Sir heard me. He said, ‘Joshi, don’t try to be oversmart.’ He too looked at the board and thought for a while. He did not know the answer either.

The girls were busy scratching their heads. They huddled in groups but to no avail. Sir waited for some time and then announced, ‘Okay, the girls lose this round. Joshi, tell us the answer.’

‘
Destination—Post Office Dhebewadi
,’ I said. It was a Marathi movie.

‘There is no such movie,’ one of the birdies piped up.

‘Sit down,’ Sir intervened. ‘I have seen the movie. It is nice and has good suspense.’

Then slow worm Deosthale stood up. She took ages to write the words, taking some ten hours to finish. She had written the first letter, ‘
mou
’ and, before she could complete the endless row of blanks, I said, ‘Don’t write further. It is
Mughal-e-Azam
.’

She just stood there holding the chalk in her hand. Then with an ‘Issh!’, she stomped her way back, muttering that we could identify every damn movie on earth.

The boys were having fun.

It was bright outside and inside as well. I wished that the class would never end. The girls were desperately racking their brains to come up with a difficult title.

Shirodkar got up to write.

‘I will try,’ she said. She went to the blackboard and started writing.

The boys were busy looking at the words, but I could not take my eyes off her.

The name seemed to be enormously long. The first letter was ‘
ja
’ followed by a train of never-ending blanks. The entire class fell silent. There were twelve blanks after the first letter. The last one was ‘
li
’.

No one had a clue! Someone muttered, ‘What is this ‘
ja…li
?’

I had not noticed the clues as I was busy looking at her. My heart was pounding away. The boys clearly were unable to search for an answer and were on the verge of accepting defeat. The girls chorused, ‘Now tell us! Do you know the answer?’

The boys looked at me for support.

‘Joshi, come on, man! You ought to know!’

‘Hey, come on, fill in the words quick.’

My mind was numb. I tried to desperately search for the right connection between the letters. There were quite a few films whose name began with ‘
ja
’ like ‘
Jab Jab Phool Khile’
, ‘
Jis Desh Mein Ganga Bahti Hai’, ‘Jab Pyaar Kisi se Hota Hai’
, etc. but they did not match the letters. This title had twelve blanks….

‘Have you written it correctly?’ Ghasu Gokhale raised a doubt, asking the girls.

He had a point. It happens many times; the opponent goofs it up and we rack our brains in vain, searching for the right answer.

Shirodkar looked at the board and counted the number of letters again. She confirmed, looking at Manjrekar sir, ‘Yes, sir. It is right.’

The girls were baying for an acceptance of defeat from our side.

‘Joshi, we are going to be mauled. Come on!’ Surya pleaded.

My body was trembling. It seemed like I would have to accept defeat—and that too at the hands of Shirodkar. I looked out at the playground glimmering in the hot sun. The girls were making a din inside the classroom. Shirodkar stood smiling, knowing that victory was very much hers. What could be the word beginning with ‘
ja
’? My mind raced…
jab, jawan, jahan, jameen, jal
.

‘So are you guys ready to give up?’ Manjrekar sir stepped in, looking at me. He moved to the blackboard to mark the points.

‘Wait, Sir. I know.’ I blurted out.

Shirodkar stared at me in disbelief. There was complete silence in the class. Everyone looked at me while Shirodkar’s eyes bored into me, burning like two lovely lamps. I allowed the moments to pass, enjoying them. She continued staring into my eyes, blinking a few times.

‘Tell me,’ Sir said.

‘
Jal Bin Machli Nritya Bin Bijli
,’ I said, enunciating each word slowly for effect.

‘Wow!’ The boys erupted in joy. Surya and Phawdya drummed the bench to announce victory.

I turned to look at Shirodkar. The lamps in her eyes had gone out. She went back to her bench smiling wanly and sat down without saying a word. There was no sound from the girls’ side. Within a few minutes, the bell rang and the free period came to an end.

My body continued to tremble until school got over. I did not feel like going back home taking the main road. I excused myself telling Phawdya that I had some work and walked back silently through the paddy fields.

The fields were serene as usual. The crops stood still without swaying in the breeze. Shankar’s father was nowhere to be seen. The water had receded and there was a sort of dry smell of ripe paddy in the air.

I sat on the rock for a while. I felt a deep sense of achievement. Shirodkar had looked at me for eternity, it seemed. She continued staring at me without a care in the world. I was sure she would remember those moments too. Perhaps she would recount the episode to her family when she went home. I am sure I had left an impression on her.

Then I stood up with a start. She must have gone back home disappointed and dejected. Would she not have written the words being sure that no one would be able to guess? The thought struck me like a bolt of lightning; her eyes had been pleading with me not to reveal the name. Like an idiot, I had read her all wrong and gone ahead. What an ass I had been! How could I ever hope to impress her again? She must be so mad at me.

I had been a bloody idiot. Naru mama would have advised, ‘You should allow the girl to win. That’s how you impress them. You win even as you are defeated.’ I had lost a golden chance. All I could do now was sit and brood over it. I lost the energy to walk back home. A deep sense of sadness engulfed me.

I promised myself that I would never make the mistake again. If ever we played the game again, I would refuse to participate. But such an opportunity did not arise, for Barve ma’am returned the next day.

I
t was Warhadkar Jayanti a few days later. The day is celebrated to remember Shri Sukhdev Namdev Warhadkar after whom our school is named. He was a great freedom fighter and, sometime in the 1940’s, he had sabotaged a train by removing the fish-plates from the track. He had also captured a post office for which he had been imprisoned for a few years. Each and every student knows this history only too well, for it has been narrated a hundred times over by the teachers, especially Appa.

Even a passing reference to S.N. Warhadkar makes the teachers eulogize his heroic deeds and describe how he once ran twenty-three miles to escape the police, how his feet were cut and bleeding and how he spent an entire night in a dry well, and so on. The story is quite fascinating and the first time a schoolboy hears it in class five, he dreams of becoming a revolutionary. But when you have heard it a million times, it ceases to motivate you. There are a few thousand copies of his biography in our school. The teachers sometimes get a bundle of it to our class when there is a free period and give it to each student to read. The book costs ten rupees and is given to us at a concessional rate of three, but no one is interested in buying them. On Warhadkar Jayanti, we are called to the school to celebrate the founder’s day. We would rather have a holiday, but they insist on us coming to school. No classes are held that day, and the morning and afternoon batches are called together in the morning itself. We have a big hall on the first floor which doubles as a laboratory. Debates and speaking competitions are also held over there. We sit in the hall, girls on one side boys on the other, with the benches acting as a divider. We are asked to enter the hall in single file to avoid any confusion.

The students from the tenth and eleventh standards were made to sit in the front. The teachers kept a hawk eye, but the students made a ruckus as usual. We rushed in to grab the aisle seats and it was only later that I realized that Shirodkar and the girls were sitting very close to us. Phawdya and Surya were right behind me and, when I turned back to speak to them, my eyes met Shirodkar’s. She was, quite obviously, not looking at us, but I could see her every time I turned back.

It was nice. Such programmes are meant for fun and we were least concerned with what was being said on the dais. The children who had volunteered to participate in the elocution competition were sitting in the front. There were speeches by the teachers, the chief guest and many others. We were busy with our own pranks. After all we had the girls sitting next to us—especially Shirodkar!

The topic for elocution was the usual ‘my favourite freedom fighter’. All the oversmart boys and girls clamour to participate in the contest. From our class, Bibikar and Mirikar are the regulars. They are always ready to participate in any competition. Ghasu Gokhale is intelligent, but he does not have the nerve to face a crowd. The birdies participate in all competitions except elocution; they are a little shy when it comes to speaking in front of the boys. They know that if they falter, they will be teased to death for the rest of the year.

Redkar sir coordinates such events. He came near the mike and, snapping his fingers, said, ‘Hello, mike testing, one-two-three-four…one-two-three-four.’

‘Who asked him to test the mike?’ Surya quipped as usual.

‘What else can he do?’ Phawdya answered.

‘The mike can be tested only with English words,’ I commented, looking back to see if Shirodkar had heard my repartee.

The boys around laughed, but none of the girls joined in. They continued to stare ahead.

‘The students participating in the contest may please come and sit in the first row,’ Redkar sir’s voice echoed through the hall.

The participants stood up and moved towards the front. Bibikar was sitting right ahead and he stood up dusting his trousers’ seat.

‘Guys, please do clap when I get up to speak, okay?’ he said, looking at us.

‘Let us first hear your speech, smartie,’ Surya quipped.

The programme started with the Jayanti celebration. It was being chaired by the local Doctor Shetty while the chief guest was our mayor. This fellow has been the mayor for many years now. The state may have a Congress government, but the Opposition always manages to bag the Municipality elections. We hear that this fellow is a corrupt guy. I get to hear some of his escapades when the elders sit around and chat in our courtyard every evening. Nikam kaka works in the Municipality and has lot of information on him. He is a fair, plump, paan-chewing sort. Other than those two, the only other guest on stage was our own Annasaheb Surve. He is the secretary of the school trust and hence an attendee by default.

Appa began his speech when the guests settled on the dais.

‘You children may be wondering why we need to have this function each year,’ he began. ‘It is important to remember our heroes every now and then. They have sacrificed their lives for us and borne a lot of pain and trouble for the future of this country. If we don’t remember them, who else will?’

Just then the mike emitted a loud ‘
koooooon
’ kind of sound, echoing across the hall. That happens when someone speaks very close to the mike or speaks out loudly. Appa glared at the mike technician and then continued, ‘Today’s topic is “my favourite freedom fighter”. You may ask why this topic was chosen. Because we hope that you will be inspired by your favourite freedom fighter and employ some of those values in your own life.’

‘Okay, let us become revolutionaries then!’ I said.

‘Super! Then we can throw bombs wherever we wish,’ Surya hissed.

‘You’ll be hanged, you idiots!’ Phawdya opined.

‘We are ready to go the gallows,’ I said, looking back to steal a glance at Shirodkar. ‘At least then you guys will celebrate some jayanti in our names.’

‘You guys will get one more extra holiday,’ Surya added.

‘Good idea,’Chitre said. ‘Ensure that you are hanged on different dates so that we get two extra holidays.’