The Random Express

One day in the Moral Science class

It was a lazy afternoon and all of us had exhausted ourselves in the boring English 3 class of Baruah ma’am, which was right after lunch-break. That class (no offence to the teacher) used to sap our energies big time, and except for Mondweep (who always ensured that he sat on the first bench in that class), nobody else ever paid any attention to what the teacher taught. Of course, we used to have fun in our own way in that class. But this teacher had a notorious reputation of transforming even a fun poem like John Gilpin into an ordeal akin to watching Kamesh Mahadevan (a ‘Shanti’  character) kiss Mohini Sharma (the matronly lady who played Mandira Bedi’s mom in the series. Thankfully, though, this gross event never really occurred in the serial, but was a figment of my imagination).

Our ordeal ended pretty early that day when Baruah ma’am got pissed off with our lack of interest and left. Providence! The moment she stepped out of the class, we broke into a riot of jubilation even as Mondweep glowered at us from the front bench. Not his fault at all, for being the ‘First Boy’ puts a lot of responsibilities on your shoulders (that of glowering at your mates as well).

As luck would have it, the Moral Science class was next in line - the class where we learnt so much…err…well, about other things. Some of us would read comics during that period, while some others would hone in their ‘Paper Chor Police’ skills. This was truly one of the best periods.

But fun always came with a big risk - a mouth that fired salvo after salvo of saliva at unsuspecting listeners. For the sake of decency, I will not reveal his identity and name him ‘Spit’fire.

Spitfire’s entry was always preceded by a flurry of activity in the class. We used to frantically search for a book or a notebook, as none of us wanted to go to battle without the armour. The books used to serve two purposes: a) they served as perfect camouflage, for the teacher always thought we were the best of the studious lot; b) they acted as shields against every incoming barrage of saliva artillery.

We had also learnt, or rather, innovated, several evasive manoeuvres. Two of them were the King Cobra manoeuvre (where you move your body the way the serpent moves its hood to keep the enemy in sight) and the Mongoose manoeuvre (where you arch your back and stay alert to jump back when the saliva burst is fired).

Incidentally, it never occurred to the teacher as to why there was never a single book on the desk but all raised to hide everything below the eyes. The teacher also never read fear in the eyes of his students and instead fired on his inexhaustible ammo with gay abandon.

That afternoon, I was particularly feeling mischievous. Prakash was sitting in front of me and I thought about giving him an ‘electric shock’ (poking the sides of the waist with fingers that instantly makes the man leap). A couple of rows ahead, in the girls’ row, were sitting Sukanya and Angana. Angu was reading an Archies comic neatly hidden inside the Moral Science text book. Jayanta made a ‘tobacco-rubbing-on-palm’ gesture at Tema (Debojyoti), and the latter returned the courtesy with ‘your-finger-in-the-toilet’ gesture (an old trick that he had learnt from Bhaskar Borchetiya and Nawab Arshad Daulah, who were with us a couple of years before then). Tokou (Achal Duggal) was as usual throwing blank smiles at all, while Binit Agarwal was sharing a joke with Sunita and Anita Gupta in his trademark ‘hai daiyya’ style of covering the mouth with one hand.

Just then, the unthinkable happened. Someone walked up to Spitfire and told him that Angana was enjoying an Archies session even as he salivated over the important chapter. Spitfire turned red with rage. “Who’s that girl!!!” he roared with saliva shells falling here and there. The classroom turned quiet, but nobody noticed that the first casualty of that outburst was Mr. Turncoat himself. Mayday, mayday! We have a man down! He received a direct saliva hit and was taken out of action. Maybe that was his reward for turning a comrade in. Now the question: who was this Mir Jafar of our class who brought back memories of Plassey (1757) alive, 240 years later, in 1997? It was none other than Pritom Gogoi.

Meanwhile, Spitfire had cooled down somewhat and continued with the chapter; and I continued to harass Prakash. Things then came to a head and Prakash held my hand tight and pulled me up from my seat. This immediately caught Spitfire’s attention and he once again was back to his furious form. This time, though, he told both Angu and me that he will take a note of it and treat it very seriously. And then, he left.

I spent a day in anguish, anticipating strict action. Nothing happened! That day I learnt two vital lessons: 1) never betray your friends; 2) become a professional mischief monger so that nobody gets to drop curtains on your act.