It’s eleven thirty in the morning but the heat wave is already unbearable.
All the water bottles have long been emptied in playful fights and the lunch boxes were finished by nine thirty itself. But starvation and dehydration are unlikely to hold us down; it’s rare that our classroom gets the privilege to be free of any teacher.
I am in the corner seat- it’s my favorite of them all. It grants me the advantage of being hidden from the prying eyes of outsiders (especially teachers) while I am still able to enjoy the cool breeze wafting in from the window in front. (Which, in Indian summers, has the same effect as an oasis in the Saharan desert.)
Along with pseudo-invisibility, it also provides me with a magnificent view of the whole classroom, which is the best entertainment to keep your mind off your parched throat.
It has been around five minutes since the period started and all the children are just beginning to abandon their seats, ready to create a ruckus.
As usual, it starts with a mild chatter- people talking about crushes and fresh break-ups.
But things begin to heat up when the volume of laughter rises. They may laugh at something humorous, but usually it’s mindless fun and too much of dopamine.
Heck, now my corner seat seems more of a liability and I discard it to make a grand entrance into the fun with ‘Bad Romance’- my favorite. The song is catchy and my voice is good, so it’s not long before the rest of the class unconsciously joins in.
Then someone murmurs about how Eminem is better than Lady GaGa and thus starts our customary debate, with me reciting her long list of achievements and he babbling something about his bald rapper. Finally I make him stop by bursting into a singing-fit; it’s ‘Judas’ this time.
Some girl challenges me to dance on a table while singing the masterpiece. “What’s the big deal?” I say.
But the table’s wobbly and tall things like me fall hard; it’s not long before I regret opening my big mouth.
I somehow manage to survive the hard labour, thanks to my sensational singing and elegant dance moves. (Sarcasm intended)
All the fun is killed as the ringing bell indicates the end of the period while the Sociology teacher makes me get down from the desk.
We somehow manage to stay alive while she tortures us with her mundane lecture by cribbing in chits and escaping from planet boredom with the excuse of refilling our bottles from the water cooler.
At last the period ends and we were able to breathe oxygen again.
This time we decide to play ‘Roadies’- a game which borrows (rather steals) it’s name from a popular reality show. Although the game is an invention of our own but it provides the same thrill (and drama) as the actual show.
It starts with the distribution of chits upon which everyone writes controversial questions...anonymously.
One by one the questions are read- some are cute (Why are you so sweet?), some are embarrassing (Do you still love your ex?) and others are simply ugly (Is your boyfriend gay?).
But whatever witty questions others may write, my question has to be the highlight (Would you castrate your husband if he rapes someone else?).
The game finally comes to an end along with the day and all I am thinking to myself is WHY!
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