Jivika~

"Children, take out your pen and paper," Lata ma'am almost sang, her excitement on giving us a test, highlighting loud and clear through her actions. Hands drifting in the air, she made her calculations, before switching our seats.

"Shreyansh next to Kiara, Rhea next to Kajal, Maahi next to Prajakta, Lavanya next to Krish, Parth next to Laysa, Amaan next to Jivi—"

She took a pause. Evaluating the risks.

"No, no. Amaan next to Amaya."

Did she really think that making him sit behind me rather than next to me would stop us from cheating?

As for cheating. Well, I was a good student. Always. One of the students in the top brackets of the class. But, Social Studies was clearly not my game. What was the point of cramming up dates and names? What was the point of memorizing which crop grew where? Also, its not 'the board exams'. Its just a class test, a bit of cheating cant do any harm.

"First question, name the iron ore belts in India, three marks. Second question, why is the manufacturing sector important? Five marks. Third, write a brief note on the cement industry. Three marks again. Last question, define intermediate goods, one mark."

Cement industry? Was that even there in the syllabus?

My mind which was already undergoing panic on a different level, had forgotten all about its misery, when the pain in my leg shot up. All it could scream was, 'Ouch, that hurts!'. Turning around, I have a glimpse of my prey. Anger at the tip of my nose, I whispered.

"Abey, laakh kyu mara?"
["Hey, why did you kick?"]

Giving his 'sorry — not — sorry' grin, he proceeded with his doubt. Eyes drifting towards the teacher, he asked, "What happens in the cement industry?"

Great. Even he doesn't know.

Here we are, not able to fill this single sheet and there we can see Laysa, Maahi, Prajakta and Rhea, scratching and scribbling, writing out a five hundred volume book. As I said, if this were Math, then my condition would be the same as them. Lata ma'am was very strategic. She made them sit with students who were just as good as them, and needed no help. Thus, making the chances of us asking them answers, almost close to nil.

And what's the use of cheating with people who know less than you?

Turning back, yet again, I discussed the paper in a hushed voice with Amaan and Amaya, as I was left with no choice but to ask them for help. Days when we were in sixth grade skimmed through my mind, when the three of us were in a similar situation during exams. And surprise-surprise! Even then, this was the very same subject with which we used to struggle.

That year, Amaan was seated on the first bench, with Amaya behind him and me diagonal to him. And that's how we survived Social studies exam in sixth, seventh and eighth grade. I used to study Civics, Amaya used to prep up for Geography and Amaan for History. We would only prepare that one particular book, relying on the other two for the other books. Somehow, that system helped us survive for three years. Somehow.

"Amaya, what have you written for cement industry?" I asked with some hope.

Resting her pen, she proudly proclaimed, "Oh! I have written: Cement industry is the industry which produces cement."

"And ... ?"

"That's it," she replied casually, waving off her hand.

Now, I have lost hope.

Glancing at Lata ma'am, I realized that her eyes were on us three. She must've heard our conversation, otherwise she would've intervened long back. Even she had a glimpse of how hopeless we were.

Suddenly, I hear a loud childlike laughter. The boy, who was a first grader, sported spectacles which were too big for him and slipping down his nose. He was Patel sir's son, who was a PGT English teacher in our school.

The kid entered the class cautiously. On seeing a silent class, he lets out a loud roar of laughter.

Lata ma'am contemplated whether to throw the kid out or not, and finally decided that he was harmless. Perhaps she was a bit sympathetic as well. The kid had ADHD.

Yelling, "I am captain America!" he ran around the whole class, earning our attention. Noticing that we were busy with our test, he snatched Krish's paper, crushed and crumbled the sheet, and threw it outside the window.

Realizing that she had to take control, Mrs. Lata Nair started chasing him. Obviously, the six year old being more energetic than her fifty year body, it proved to be a tough job. The kid stopped ahead of me, grabbed Amaan's pouch and threw it in the air. The pouch took a long flight and hit Laysa's head, the perfect aim.

Poor girl. She was so focused on writing her book, that she did not even notice the disruptions taking place.

Glaring at the kid for hurting my friend, I mumbled a few incoherent words. Understanding the situation well, ma'am picked up the kid by his shoulder sleeves, and dropped him outside the class. Signalling me and Amaan to come over, we glanced at each other, before heading towards the door.

"Both of you, drop the kid to the library. His father will be there. Make sure that both of you hold one hand of his. And don't let him run away at any cost!"

Gulping, we caged the boy with our hands and walked across the corridor. Off to the library. As the raindrops splashing against the corridor walls fell on me, I moved towards the right, walking carefully on the slippery floor. The floor was flooded with water, as the maintenance ladies ran here and there with mops.

"Baarish! Baarish!"
["Rain! Rain!"]

The kid tried to free his hands, to clap, but we did not let him do that. I felt bad for him, sure, but there was nothing I could do about it. Dropping him at the library, I eyed the crowd settled near the next room, that is the computer lab.

"Bhai, what's happening there?"

I asked the ninth grade kid, the one who always ended up next to me during exams. Grinning he replied, facing both of us.

"Jivika didi, do you know what happened? Someone had edited the Wikipedia page of our school. And that person had changed the name of our principal to 'Maushi' there! And Maushi herself made our computer teachers trace the IP address who had changed it."

"And?" I managed to squeak out, fearing the consequences. Such tales were bound to reach my mother, who was another Computer Science teacher in the nearby school.

"And what. They traced it. You see the person was very smart. So obviously, the IP address was same as that of our school!"

Laughing, I watched Principal ma'am, her face red. She was busy shouting at Powtoon, our computer teacher, whose red chooda (bangles) which filled up to her elbows, clinked with irritation.

Well, her name is not Powtoon. Its Payal. But the only assignment she gives us everyday is using Powtoon software. And every time she says that word, her lips form a pout, almost deliberately. The weirdest shades of lipstick, once I saw a purple one as well, made it look sick.

"She should use colors of the wind. Invisible shades, you know?"

"Colors of the wind? Really Jivika? Really? You are spending too much time with Laysa."

I glared at his laughing hunched form.

I looked.

He looked.

We looked away.

And we looked back again.

~