Jivika~

CLASS PARTY X B 2019-20

I checked if the it was in a straight line or not for the umpteenth time. Writing on the board was a tough job, which I had become used to. But with my hands shaking it felt like a déjà vu, when I had just started with the board-monitor job in sixth grade.

Every body was in a total party mood, shaking their hips and limbs for a change.

But with Kar Gayi Chull playing from one side, and Abhi Toh Party from the other—my brain was going haywire. And at the point where Badshah was singing, 'Party chalegi till six in the morning' when his way of saying six and sex sounded the same, that's when Sonika ma'am entered the class with this puzzled look on her face.

The speakers were soon disconnected as we gave her our 'oh-so-innocent' grins.

"Listen children. I want you to listen to what I'm going to say now and try to decipher it. Everyone is here right?"

Taking out her phone, she opened up her Facebook. Clicking on a particular post, she cleared her throat and began with it.

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure's face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children's race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought "My dad will be so proud."
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he'd win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn't win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.

But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win that race!"
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that's all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."

But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face
with a steady look that said again, "Get up and win that race!"
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
"There's no sense running anymore! Three strikes I'm out! Why try?
I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought. "I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.

"Get up," an echo sounded low, "you haven't lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!" the echo urged him on, "Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!"
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he'd fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me, you won," his father said. "You rose each time you fell."

And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!"

Putting her phone down, she faced the silent class. Smiling she stood, staring outside the window. The stillness in the air was felt as we waited for her to speak up.

"Firstly, this poem does not belong to me. It was just a forward. And why I thought it was important to let you know of it ... well."

Leaning against the teacher's table, I could see that she was fleeting somewhere between the past and present.

"Life is not beautiful. It's not easy. Its a path of thorns you have to cross to reach the petals. Few years ago, my ex-students had visited me. They were my very first batch, so you understand my emotions, right? Now, they regretfully informed me that this one boy, a very sweet kid, he committed suicide. And I? I was beyond shocked. That anyone, moreover, my student could do that!"

She let out a shaky breath. For about ten seconds, she bent her head and then lifted it up again.

"I know it's difficult. You just want to give up on everything at once. Human mind...it's the natural procedure. Identify a problem and figure out the solution. But, the end of it is not the solution. Life is a race. Some might be first, some second. You know what matters? No, not the position, neither the prize. The fact that you are in the race...that's what matters. Rise up when you fall, there might be a scratch ... but you have to be a wall, ready to bear it all!"

Smiling, she declared.

"Now stop moping around. Live your life a little!"

*

Lavanya  had responsibly decided to volunteer in helping with serving the food. However, that came with a deadly offer. You know, buy one get one free they say? Same thing.

"Krish, you want to hear a joke?" she asked, handing over the boy his Dominos Paneer Pizza.

"No."

"You don't get a choice. What did the cheese say to the Paneer?"

"You are nothing compared to chicken, don't let those vegetarians flatter you?"

"I wish, but no. The cheese said, tuh cheese badi hai mast mast!"
[From popular Bollywood track, tuh cheez badi hai mast; meaning: You are an awesome thing.]

Sitting next to Krish was Parth, who quickly picked up his glass of Miranda and sprinkled a few drops of it over his pizza, performing the rituals of purifying the food from all the evils surrounding it. Eyes closed, he chanted few incoherent words which led to Krish falling off from the seat, laughing.

"Weird-doughs!" Lavanya muttered, celebrating the pizza-mood in full swing.

Out of nowhere Shreyansh popped up right next to Sonika ma'am, knocking her shoulder and asking her for the permission to speak. She nodded in approval, smiling throughout.

"Ma'am we want to thank you for the countless times you have stood by us. Trying to make us understand our mistakes. Ma'am we are sure that this might have been the most difficult batch you have handled. From the cupboard incident to our mass bunks and not to forget the time when I short circuited the whole class, you have been with us through all that. And today me and Pranav would like to confess one thing, one last thing."

"What?"

"Ma'am you promised that today you won't be angry."

"Okay, but what is it?"

"Ma'am that CPU was broken by Sourav and its parts were also disposed by him. Also, in third term exams the whole class's Science marks were so bad, that we—uh—we—"

"You what?"

"That we by ourselves changed the marks with a red pen," he mumbled, as lightly as possible.

The infamous red-pen scam.

"You. What?"

"Fu—"

"—Ck!"

Standing up to her full height, she called out, "Monitors? Please do the honors of standing up!". The glee on Shreyansh's face was not missed. No wonder he transferred his monitorship at the last minute.

What. A. Cunning. Bastard.

"Ma'am you said that you won't be angry today!"

"You all will have to come on the 12th to collect your admit cards and class photo," announced Sonika ma'am.

I'm sure she meant that on 12th, hamari band bajaayi jaayegi.
[On 12th, we will be screwed.]

Such a pleasure to be the monitor.

I glanced at the tousled head who shared the same fate as mine and had stopped dancing to Hips Don't Lie. That awkward position when he was in the process of giving a thumka to Shakira's number. Amaya and Laysa kicked him out of the dance floor, their thumkas' no match to his.

"Try everything!" he yelled at them, barging into the dance ring again.

"You have to teach me how to do that!" I said, laughing to my heart's content. I was feeling happy, extremely happy. I was known to be optimistic most of the time, but this was a different happiness. Maybe it was because of how I got my braces removed, or maybe how Kiara had brought me an Appy in place of other drinks. But yes, I was feeling giddy.

Replying to my request, he gave me his signature 'Babaji ka tullu' which got me cracked to the extent that I choked on my Samosa.

I looked.

He looked.

We looked away.

And we looked back again.

~

A/N: The poem is by D. H. Groberg