Unfinished Story

First of all, sorry for not blogging in such a long while.  My mind had been on a lot of things.  Exams, for one.  Facebook.  My cell phone.  And a long list of other stuff.

Second, my holidays start on Friday, so I shall be able to blog regularly.  Yeah, right!:P I don't guarantee anything.  I shall blog when I feel like it.

Now let me cut to the chase.  The following is an unfinished story I finished writing around a week and a half ago.  I sort of lost the flow halfway through and stopped writing.  I haven't even come up with a title.  P

Please read and comment... Give me some inspiration to continue writing. 

Disclaimer : Everyone and everything in this story is purely fictional.  Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

It was one of those dull monsoon days. The nimbus clouds could be suspected of using the latest Fair And Lovely product : they looked much less dark and intimidating than before. It was one of those days when the clouds turned indolent; it was a period of inactivity between the intermittent showers. It was one of those unexciting days when there wasn't the slightest chance of rain, but the rain showers that occurred previously had left an indelible mark on the already bad roads of Chennai, making them harder than ever to travel on. It was one of those days when puddles of water lay scattered around the streets, dampening the spirits of the pedestrians, the men and women driving cars, the cyclists, the auto drivers and the bus conductors. The public would be circumspect when on the road. All their concentration would go into dodging puddles. Even the impulsive young bike riders were observed to be gloomy; and slowed down so as to prevent their precious bikes from getting soiled, although it meant ignoring their adrenaline rush. It was, to put it shortly, one of those days Rakesh detested.

Rakesh descended groggily from the upper section of his bunk bed. He felt his way out of the room and to the dining table. He grasped a cup of bournvita with his eyes still closed. He knew it would be there – it was placed there everyday most religiously by his mother. Its purpose, apparently, was to act as a catalyst in the tedious process of waking Rakesh up completely. But all it did was fill his stomach and ruin his appetite when it was time for breakfast.

Half an hour later, Rakesh stumbled into the back seat of his father's silver Swift and began putting his socks on. His father began daily sermon on punctuality, early rising, early sleeping, etc.

The early bird gets the worm, was what Rakesh's father quoted everyday on the car ride to the bus stop. Cliché.

What Rakesh quoted everyday (albeit under his breath) was a popular alteration of that saying. The early worm gets eaten.

The world is changing. Back in the days of yore, kids would actually ponder over such didactic lectures on punctuality. Many of them would feel bad about it. One in five hundred would even mend his ways.

Today's global scenario is different.

Rakesh peered out of the window while his father went on. Although the morning was still young, the city had woken up hours ago. Lungi clad men lumbered down the road, eyeing a few kids frolicking in mosquito egg infested puddles with disgust. Senior diabetic citizens were in the last stage of their brisk morning walks. Old women selling things ranging from banans to malli poo were assembling on a platform in front of a run down building that was once a prosperous Saravana Wines. Autos were scarcely seen at this time of the day.

The car moved into a narrow alley. The road was blocked. A bullock cart rider and a cyclist were in the midst of a loud altercation. The fuming cyclist was pointing madly at the buffaloes.

Rakesh's father began honking furiously. He brought down the window glass and shouted, move over!

The bullock cart rider swore rudely one last time, shook his fist violently and rode away. The cyclist decided to go about his business too.

The car went straight ahead for a while and to his left Rakesh saw the famous Kalakshetra. The car went on for a few more metres, and then turned right. After a crossing a main road, it reached the school bus stop.

Rakesh, much to his relief, was just in time to clamber aboard the bus. The microscopic element of relief in Rakesh's dad's mind was overshadowed by annoyance and frustration.

“I don't believe in cutting things fine,” he said as Rakesh got down from the car. “Tomorrow we'll be here fifteen minutes before the school bus.”

The bus reached Vidya Bhavan Higher Secondary School in twenty minutes.

Rakesh looked around him. Everything was in order. The watchman was trying to chase a stray dog out of the school. The dog had been christened Karthik, after a popular guy in school by one of Rakesh's friends and that's what everyone called it ever since. The lady who sprinkled water on the usually barren school ground was there, like always. Her primary aim in life was to spray water from the hosepipe on every student that ever walked through Vidya Bhavan. On that particular day, most of the ground was already wet. So the lady had more time to focus on this activity.

People had wondered why the ground had to be sprinkled with water. The answer came from one of Rakesh's friends, whose mother was a member of the Parent Teacher Association. It was to keep the dust down.

Rakesh took a detour to the high school block so as to avoid the lady. He climbed up two flights of stairs and was walking down the tenth grade corridor. He walked pass 10 D, 10 C, 10 B – where someone had very ingeniously carved the entire proof of the Pythagoras Theorem on one of the walls - and 10 A. With that he entered the ninth grade corridor. He looked at his class.

A small green board above the door announced, 9A.

Everything was in order. Everything would be the same, Rakesh felt. At 7:50 (give or take a couple of minutes), a peon would bellow into the mike : “Hello-hello, hello.” Evil sound waves would travel to every nook and corner of the school, deafening students and teachers alike. Provoked by this foul play, the students who were engaged in a ceaseless battle against this particular peon would begin cursing rather loudly.

At 8:05, he would go down for Assembly, and his teacher would reproach him, like she did everyday, for not combing his hair and tucking in his shirt. The Principal would be at the dais, her eyebrows drawn upwards in a perpetual frown. Students and teachers would stand scattered in various parts of the ground, not unlike the puddles on the roads. The peon would urge the students to form lines class wise, and they would obey - slowly, idly, unenthusiastically.

Sarath, one of his best friends, would be spotted nursing scratches and bruises. With his immutably pugnacious attitude, he was seldom seen not beating up, or getting beaten up, by someone.

Rakesh had a premonition that something out of the ordinary, something to break the monotonous routine and his ennui, would happen. But, much to his dismay, Rakesh found that after the assembly the day had slipped into mundane normalcy.

                                                         ***

Every inch of Rakesh's desk was covered with graffiti. As was everyone else's. Their seniors had chronicled their views on life, the universe and everything on the benches to make sure they weren't forgotten in a hurry. Students often complained about this. They were unhappy because there was no place on the desk for them to add bits of graffiti.

Rakesh looked down at his bench and read stuff he hadn't read previously. This was a a practice that he had taken to when he was utterly bored of the teacher droning on and on.

eminem rox.

Gah. He hated it when someone spelled 'rocks' with an x.

Next to eminem rox, someone had drawn a heart with a red pen and written inside it : Gautham loves Meena.

Below that there was CHELSEA.

His eyes flickered to the part of the bench that had been defaced by swear words. He decided to read all that later. At present, something written in bold black letters caught his attention :

TAYLOR LAUTNER

Next to which someone had added, later on, with a ball pen : sucks.

Then there was

ROBERT PATT!!!!!

And next to that, makes me puke.

And then,

TWILIGHT ...is the worst thing that ever happened to mankind.

Rakesh felt a growing admiration for the person who had wielded the ball pen in his anti-Twilight crusade.

He scanned the bench for other things that the person with the ball pen might have written. He found something. Same curvy handwriting, all right.

Someone had written HRITHIK ROSHAN with a red marker. Mr. Anti-Twilight had scribbled two more words after that : idli moonji.

There was a long list of film actors, and all of them had corresponding remarks etched in blue ink.

SHAH RUKH KHAN Please, just don't even mention him.

ILAYATHALAPATHY VIJAY should be handed over to cannibalistic tribes in South America.

THALA AJITH bonda manda.

“Rakeeeeesh!” came a piercing voice. It was the teacher. “Stand up!”

Oh mannn...

“Can you please tell the class what I was just saying?”

Screwed.

Rakesh was surprised. Pleasantly so. The teacher had thrown him out of the class. He'd expected something much worse. An imposition, at the very least. “Write the lesson only five times,” was her standard line. But all she had done was ask him to leave the class. He obeyed without hesitation. Sreelatha Miss was becoming more tolerant. She seemed to condone daydreamers.

The shrill electronic bell announced it was eleven. Lunch break. Rakesh decided to eat in the canteen for a change.

Vidya Bhavan's canteen was an unhygienic place. The ambiance was next to pathetic. Only the man in the canteen knew what was put into the food that wasn't unhealthy. But since its inception, the canteen had been a huge hit.

Huge wouldn't be a very apt word here. To drive home how popular the canteen was, one can use the words that are used to describe Tamil movies in the posters :

Bumper hit.

Fyi : These two words are used for the biggest hit of the season. You can be sure this movie grossed crores at the box office. And that it doesn't star Vijay.

Mega hit.

A movie that does very well, but isn't the biggest hit, carries these two words on the poster.

Super hit.

These words are used for a movie whose reception is average.

Running Successfully.

Be assured, this movie has failed miserably at the box office. Usually a Vijay starer.

The words 'Running Succesfully' had always intrigued Rakesh. Running Successfully? As against? Running unsuccessfully?

Super Hit Songs.

The movie has failed so miserably that the advertisement is for the songs.

The day's canteen menu had been scribbled on a white board in fading blue ink.  The marker was placed next to the board.

21/10/2011 - - - - - VB Canteen Snakes.

The man running the canteen was notorious for his spellings. Snakes probably meant snacks, but you could never be sure.

The first item on the menu was Gopi Manchurian. Rakesh took the liberty of changing it to Gobi Manchurian.

“Why?” he heard a voice next to him. It was Sarath. “Gopi was much better.”

He changed it back to Gopi.

“Noooo.”

Rakesh changed it to Gobi for the second time.

“Argh.”

Sarath moved forward to make the necessary alteration but Rakesh blocked his way. There was some pushing and shoving, which gradually got more violent. Eventually, Sarath slipped and fell and the white board fell on top of him with a crash.

The man who ran the canteen began to swear and Rakesh knew it was time to make himself scarce. He began sprinting away from the canteen. Two eleventh graders blocked his only exit. Rakesh faltered, and before he knew it Sarath was upon him.

Four minutes later, Rakesh was panting and Sarath was dripping wet. He had bumped into an eleventh grader, who, because of the impact, inadvertently spilled the entire contents of a water bottle on him.

Rakesh tried to placate his friend by placing a soothing arm on his shoulder. But Sarath misconstrued the conciliatory gesture as an attempt to assault him. He gave Rakesh's hand a deft twist and another fight ensued.

                                                       ***

Rakesh realized, fifteen minutes into the period after the lunch break, the he was famished. Sixteen minutes into the period, he realized that he hadn't eaten a thing during the lunch break – it had been spent combating Sarath. Twenty minutes into the period, he realized that he had a headache. Argh. Sarath, he realized, twenty two minutes into the period, was definitely plotting a way to get his comeuppance. Rakesh had been in better situations.

The teacher droned on about poverty alleviation schemes, and Rakesh knew he could take it no longer. He excused himself from the classroom under the pretext of wanting to use the restroom. At that point he wanted nothing more than to sit under the comforting shade of the big banyan tree outside, for a while, and introspect.

Rakesh walked along the right edge of the ground and watched the football match that was in full swing. Tamil swear words were flying across the ground.

Eighth graders, Rakesh smirked. They suck, he thought. There was no word for the magnitude of their lack of skill at the game – no ultimate superlative, but a carefully worded remark by Govind, Rakesh's friend, sort of summed it all up : My grandmother's poodle's feeding bowl can play better football than these guys.

Rakesh, with an unmistakable air of superiority and an excellent swagger cast his juniors scornful glances. They, in turn, glared back at him fiercely.

It was curious why the Vice Principal, from whose office one could clearly hear all the swearing, did nothing about any of it.

Speaking of the Vice Principal, Rakesh could hear her speaking. He was just outside her room's window.

“...Yes,” she was saying. “9A. Last period.”

Rakesh frowned. That was his class she was talking about. He paused to listen.

“They've been bringing gadgets to school. All sorts of them. Not just cell phones.”

“Show no, mercy, ma'am,” came a male voice.

“No, no, of course not.”

“But how do you know of this? Which teacher complained?”

“Oh, it wasn't a teacher,” the vice princi clarified. “You know we have this spy-sort-of-system with the introduction of the CCE? Yes, Srikanth of 9A – he's the spy, haha, he tipped me off.”

“Ah. So, last period, then?”

“Yes, Last period. We confiscate everything. Give nothing back. And call their parents.”

“Sure. I'll help. Happy to do so.”

Rakesh froze.

So it was true. There was a spy. And the spy was Srikanth. Srikanth, the boy he disliked most. The boy, as far as he knew, everyone disliked most. If he just spread the word that he was the spy, most of his (Rakesh's) friends would disown Srikanth. Srikanth would be ostracized from The Brotherhood Of Nine A.

But that was hardly what mattered then. There were far higher things at stake, Rakesh mused . He had his friends to save. They would all be devastated if their gadgets were confiscated. And if their parents were called. He had to do something.

Along with CBSE's decision to scrap the class ten board exams, came the CCE. CCE, as far as Rakesh knew, either stood for Comprehensive Continuous Evaluation or Continuous Comprehensive Evaluation. This form of evaluation spelled disaster for the students of VB.

Rakesh remembered vividly the day when they were all dragged down to the Hall and given a lecture on the new pattern. They were stunned when they heard the Vice Principal say : “We shall now evaluate your attitude towards friends and teachers, punctuality, behaviour, attitude towards school programmes, extra curricular activities, regularity in notebook and assignment submission, etc.”

Rakesh had expected a vociferous response to this from his peers, some form of vehement protest... But the Vice Principal was met by pure silence. They were too shocked to respond in any intelligent way.

During her lecture, the Vice Principal had also told them that she would employ a spy in each class to monitor the students' behaviour in the absence of the teachers. None of them had taken that seriously, they felt that even teachers wouldn't be that paranoid. But they had been wrong.

And then the gadget stuff. For the past two weeks, several students of 9A had been bringing all kinds of gadgets to school and using them in class. Without any of the teachers finding out. And Srikanth had babbled to the Vice principal. Curses.

                                                    ***

Rakesh sat. And contemplated. He looked at the great banyan tree, and slowly thinks began to take shape. Random amorphous ideas materialized to give rise to a plan. A risky one, but a plan nonetheless. 

Rakesh began to race across the ground. His headache had been pushed to the sidelines and a new sense of purpose possessed him. He was literally shivering in excitement, and the sun, as though perplexed by this strange behaviour during the peak afternoon hour, shone twice as brightly, refusing to capitulate.

On running up three flights of stairs, Rakesh reached his class and knew the time for drastic action had come.