Jivika~

Inspections.

That one day in the whole year, when teachers bother about notebooks. When students complete their assignments. When every child has the proper uniform, heck even the watchman gets his shirt pressed. Teachers wear the best sari they ever own.

To the extent that they never looked like teachers. They looked like decked up brides, gold hoarding their skins.

But.

But.

Here is the catch.

That one day, just that single day, took weeks of rehearsals. Even months perhaps. After all, the drama had to be played to perfection on the stage.

Every teacher preparing what they are to teach on that day. Them practicing that particular  lecture with us again and again. Deciding which child would sit on which bench. Deciding beforehand, which child would answer the question which she was supposed  to ask spontaneously on that day. Making sure that the topper of the class remembers the answer to those  questions, word to word.

Lets just say that today is another rehearsal.

"Your Hindi work is complete?" asked Esha.

Moving my head in negative, I continued writing. Just four more chapters to complete. Just four.

"Children come to the ground for the morning assembly! Left right left! The first bell has already rung! Come on lazy beings, lift up your legs!" our Coach's announcement rang throughout the school. Ignoring the announcement for the second time, I proceeded with the next chapter.

Second period was Hindi. So if I would bunk the assembly and do some work sneakingly in the Math  period, I guess it would be complete. But skipping the assembly was a big risk.

They have got these extremely annoying seniors in the disciplinary committee who have their daily ramp walk through the corridors. And those eleventh graders love  to move us around like pawns. Now that they missed four months of torturing us, they would love to have their claws back on.

"Are you sure that you wanna stay back?" Kiara asked one last time, pessimistic of the idea.

I nodded.

"Pakka?"
["Are you sure?"]

"Yes. You go ahead."

"Do you want me to stay back with you?" she asked.

This time, I just gave her the look. Rushing towards the door, she walked out. Within minutes she came back.

"Listen!"

"Listening!"

"What should I tell Sonika?"

"Tell her that I have 'Japan Attack'! And also, lock the door please!"

Latching the door from outside, I hoped that the devils won't come searching for me. At about seven-thirty, right when the assembly was to begin, a bag was dropped through the sliding window, which landed with a 'thud' on the last bench.

That was not what shook the hell out of me.

Simultaneous yelps and groans, that is what scared the shit  out of me.

"Ouch!"

"Who the hell was that?!"

Two matchsticks emerged from their hiding spot — under the desk — tossing the heavy bag away and massaging their heads.

Amaan and Parth. Parth and Amaan.

Screaming at the window, was Parth. Daring the doer of such an atrocious act to show their sissy, good for nothing faces. All was fine, till we heard the reply.

"Sissy face? Really? Parth Kumar, come out now, this instant!"

She was our senior. A disciplinary committee member, Niharika Kumar, or in other words, Parth's elder sister.

Diving under the benches, we realized that the two of us were not spotted, yet. As she took hold of Parth's ears, he yelped, glaring at her. With her back facing us, insults were hurled between the siblings while we, the mute spectators, enjoyed the show.

A loud laugh followed by some shrilly giggles, broke their banter and our show. White as a sheet of paper, our faces mirrored each other.

Shit! They were the real  trouble.

As they neared the classroom, Amaan knocked my shoulder. Coming to an agreement, we walked towards the door and hid behind it. Parth's sister had her eyes widened, reprimanding herself on not catching us before. Just when she was about to call us out, Parth tugged her hand, asking her not to.

Confused and taken aback, she fell short of words.

The footsteps came to a pause. We could not see the faces.

"So Niharika, your brother? We can let him go. Are there any others though? Something there?"

The other student union members walked into the class, checking under the desks. As quick as wind and with footsteps light as breeze, I was dragged down the corridors. Mouthing a 'thank you' towards Niharika, I ran up the old staircase following Amaan.

"Ae rangabati, oh rangabati. Ae rangabati, oh ranga—"

The dance group moved energetically to tunes of the Sambhalpuri song while our principal monitored their performance. I squinted my eyes and watched through the window in the corridor, trying to get a better look. The boy next to me spoke up, breaking my reverie.

"They are gonna perform that  on the inspection day? I thought that the purpose of inspection was to evaluate the performance of the school based on how they run daily. Surely the inspection team won't be that  stupid that they would assume Sambhalpuri dance to be an everyday event at our school, right?"

On spotting Sonika ma'am and our art teacher togather, we hid behind the dusty desks. Our heads hitting, we glared, not willing to bow down in front of the other. Worried, I glanced towards the teacher duo.

I swear Lavanya ma'am saw us. And my doubt was confirmed when I saw a dent on her cheek, her lips inching up, indicating a smile. She was our first class teacher in the secondary school after all, in sixth grade. Being the chill kinda woman she was (except when it comes to her subject), she must have been quite happy with our progress. 

"Did you see that?"

I nodded frantically, eyeing our  almost touching hands skeptically.

Hearing the giggles again, we rushed down the staircase and jumped into the library-corridor. Not even realising that the view from this corridor gave us the amazing  scenery of our detested morning assembly, we lurked there for some time.

"Hey, what is 'Japan Attack'? You asked Kiara to tell ma'am that you had it, right?"

"Oh that ! That is our code word for periods."

"Seriously? But why though?"

"Everything does not have a story Amaan. Some things just happen like that."

I could barely stop myself from laughing on remembering the origin of that word.

One sweaty summer afternoon during our tuition classes, Amaya was whining about her cramps. On asking her how the pain why, she had replied with something along the lines of how it felt as if someone was attacking  her uterine walls. Catching just few words of her conversation, our tuition-mate from another school, had asked us if we were talking about Hiroshima. With our tumbles of laughter, we were never able to give her a befitting reply.

And that is how the name stuck. Japan Attack.

The hoots and whistles of our class from the assembly ground, especially Shreyansh, Pranav and the other guys; the amusing glances and giggles of Lavanya, Kiara and the other girls; and the accusatory finger of Parth, who was standing in punishment, definitely brought me out of my memory lane.

In a lightning move, I twisted my head and watched the human standing next to me.

Two tenth graders in a secluded corridor, one staring at the other confused while the other one having a weird smile on her face. Whatever the situation maybe, what impression was it bound to give?

The one which I feared.

Just when the commotion was turning into an uproar, and the teachers raised their eyes towards the school buildings, we were set to run. Again. However, seeing two groups of vamps coming towards us from both directions, I felt my hand being gripped in a moment and being dragged away.

This time, I was pushed into the floor of an empty classroom. Locking the door, falling onto the floor behind me, running his hands through his hair, he spared me a look at last. Scanning each other's condition, we erupted into peals of laughter. Our eyes met and we stopped laughing. Panting even, to catch our breaths.

I looked.

He looked.

We looked away.

And we looked back again.

~