The Free Period

No one came today, no one cared.

The leaves gleam yellow and green from here and sway in the breeze.

Look at them, they don’t whisper about failures. They don’t make you think that you are born worthless. They are cheering you, forever.

Now I am left alone in the classroom. The rest went for the biology practical class. I had opted for Computer Science. What do I do? I don’t quite care to play like the others, who have gone downstairs.

The brightest boy in our class, brighter than the evening star, you see, also feels like sitting back. He has biology, but supposedly, he feels doomed (bored) there. His words are quite different from his feelings. He feels that practicals are troublesome for him, but they are a tree of doom for us. We talk, not that we don’t, but alone, in class, I don’t feel like talking to him. It would send out the wrong message.

I am a newcomer, hence you, dear school diary, would feel stupid to see a schoolgirl talk to you. I mean, out of all diaries that ever existed, you are reputed to remain the cleanest, blankest, most unused.

I wished to visit the library. My heart just wrenched, Mr. Interpol reported, “Math not done. Physics is not well done. Chemistry has not been quite done. Computer Science is not touched. English Language not thought about. English Literature not revised. Hindi is not cared for. And that’s all, in today’s Practicals and Semester 2 Preparation status!”

But you see, writing a diary at school enhances your vocabulary. I am basically practicing the English Language, you hear! (Sheepish smile at V.S. Naipaul)

Now, Mozart looked nowhere around Tom Hulce, but Tom Hulce is cuter! Ugh! I have to keep writing, keep busy, and not look blank.

Henry came bursting in – the brightest boy and Henry talk cheerfully.

Let me pretend to recall the movie and book review….

Ecco la marcia, Andiamo. Ai vostri posti, o belle ai vostri posti. Sussana dammi il braccio. Eccolo! Temerari! Io son di ghiaccio! Contessa! Or non parliamo! Ecco qui le due nozze, riceverle abbiam. Alfin si tratta, d'una vostro protetta, seggiamo!

He’s gone. He was so brisk at asking me what I was writing…. Oh, he returned! Switch back!

Amanti costanti seguaci d’honor, cantate lodate si saggia signor!

Okay, gone!

The silence here is so enriching. Takes me back to the lockdown days when I used to sit before the laptop, pretend I was studying, but look out through the window ad admire the trees. They are so green and lively. Henry was hopping and singing and writing on the chalkboard, “Math kills you from inside.”

Did the aunties clean the board just now? Uhmmm, hmmm. (me raising shoulders for Henry)I should rub it. You can let it be. It’s a fact. Some people don’t like facts though. (Hysteric laughter)They are discussing the syllabus, Henry, and the brightest boy. Ugh! Syllabus, exams, ricevete o padroncina, queste rose, questi fior.

The boys have begun playing tic-tac-toe on the chalkboard. They are betting 20 rupees. The brightest boy was groping his little purse, with changes enough to take him back home.

The teacher entered suddenly. Henry busied himself rubbing the board. The brightest boy said, “Counting money, sir.” The teacher disappeared.

The curious boys wanted to make me talk. So, they came up to my bench and said, “Alice, what is 5q + 5q?”

I, misunderstanding it as 53+ 53, said, “125 + 125, that is 150!” (I am bad in math.)

Henry corrected me, said “Just like 5p + 5p is 10p, what is 5q + 5q?”

I, the deuce, understood now. “10q, in that case.”

“You’re welcome.” A warm prompt reply from the brightest boy. I saw the jest; I had just said thank you. But I was too slow. Dumb.

“It's just one of those bad dad jokes…” the brightest boy was saying.

The bell rang.

The teacher for the next period entered. The others enter. The reverie ends. Goodbye.