It was probably a class nine incident. Or ten. I studied in the day shift at school, so mornings from seven to eleven were for private tutoring. After tutoring, brunch was necessary. We’d show up at school around 11:30. Many kids’ mothers would bring food themselves. Due to various complications, my mother rarely brought food to school herself; I’d carry food in a tiffin box in the morning. So the food was brought — now it needed to be eaten! The morning shift ended at 11:50. Our classes started right after twelve. Where do we eat? We had a cheat code for this problem. Although classes six through ten ended late, classes three through five got out around ten. While classes were still going on for us big kids, the primary rooms were empty. We’d go to their rooms like refugees with our bags, just to eat. Some day-shift juniors would leave their bags and go play on the field, while many would sit in the room staring at us with their mouths open. They probably thought, ‘Why do these big oafs come to our room every day?’ When we were their age, we’d think the same watching our seniors do this. It was our school’s tradition. So one day, I’m sitting in the class four room, eating. Fried eggs, mashed potatoes, chickpea dal. Among my favorite foods. My friend ‘Rudiger’ (pseudonym) was beside me. He wasn’t eating though, just sitting there. While eating, we were discussing various life topics. You could talk about science, humor, anything with the guy. Government school, in the interim period between two shifts in that room. No teacher around. The kids had started playing table tennis on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. With a tape tennis ball. The game was going on, I was watching, eating rice, having intellectual discussions with Rudiger. For someone who left home at 6:30 AM with sleepless eyes, this was working as a massive dopamine boost. Half the rice was eaten, the table tennis game was heating up. Experience told me the little ones would start squabbling over the game soon. At that very critical moment, at the room’s entrance, I see our headmaster, Mr. ‘Shampoo,’ has arrived! I’m eating rice. Illegally sitting in another room at that. In that very state, I stood up from the desk. After all, he’s a teacher — respect must be given. Rudiger stood up too. My eyes went to the juniors. They were playing table tennis. On the teacher’s desk. In front of the headmaster! Mr. Shampoo let out a stern rebuke. The room went silent. The juniors who were watching the game completely forgot to breathe. Normal. But the boy who had the ball in his hand was panting like a simple harmonic oscillator. There’s a thing called near-death experience. The kid learned about it that day. The teacher was about to scold them. I had memorized what he’d say. But that day, only unpredictable events kept happening one after another. The teacher looked at me and said, “This is not a place for eating.” I had just half-swallowed my food. Hands messy. Standing up. I replied, “Yes sir.”
The teacher left. The juniors didn’t play table tennis anymore. There’s a game with pens where the main objective is to flick and knock your opponent’s pen off. The little monkeys started playing that game. On the teacher’s desk.