A Ripple in Time

When I first met Srilatha, I was 11 years old. She was taller, darker, and looked so much stronger. Back then, a dark complexion wasn't considered a mark of beauty. But she had big eyes and, in general, a pretty face. She always frowned, though. Did I forget to tell you? She was older and used her eyes to express displeasure. I thought she was scary. She had been held back that year, and the year before that.

One time, when we had older kids minding us, two girls walked in, went straight to her and asked, "Are you still in 6th?"

Srilatha pursed her lips and shrugged.

The girl who asked was appropriately shocked and saddened to see Srilatha in my classroom, but what comes back to me with greater clarity is Srilatha's defiance. Who cares what other people think? Who cares what the world thinks and what judgements it passes? Sometimes, I wish I were that way!

And then there was Sunil, the pale, scrawny kid who everyone knew was around but never quite noticed. He was very quiet when we were little and generally kept to himself.

His birthday was on the 29th of February, so he technically had a birthday only once every four years. I remember that particular year when his birthday came around, he didn't wear colourful clothes like some of us might have. He wore a new school shirt and a pair of new school shorts. Is it weird I felt sad for the kid?

By around 6th grade, he seemed to be in a terrible mood most of the time.

None of the teachers commented on his academic performance. If you ask me, that was a sweet spot. The popular kids were those who scored well, and the kids who failed were ill-treated and called all manner of names.

Some teachers said awful things like, "Aren't you ashamed of eating so much and not even passing a slip test?" or "You are such a burden on your parents."

Cruising in the 60th percentile, flying under the radar, so to speak, those were the lucky kids.

And who was I? Neither the popular one nor the lucky one. I was the cruiser who, for some reason, caught the teachers' eye in a bad way. I got it worse than the last tier—or so I felt.

Girls and boys never really talked to each other. Not unless we were fighting in groups, which happened often enough.

School was a horrible place, and yet there was nowhere else I would rather be.

My school had a massive library. And once in a while, when a teacher was on leave, we were sent even if it wasn't library period. Everyday, I hoped some teacher would go on leave. In general though, we couldn't just walk in whenever we wanted and read, even during lunch and recess. The "library ma'am" would look up the class timetable—not in a computer, mind you, but in a book she maintained—and shoo us back to class.

She was especially wicked. She wasn't content with simply not letting us in. She went on to complain to the vice-principal, who in turn called our homes and complained.

My school had internal phones. Extensions, they called them. Who would have thought of such an awesome thing about telephones?

She used her extension to call the vice-principal and complain.

On one such occasion, my grandmother answered the phone. The vice-principal ma'am started her rant, and my grandmother cut her off. In her agrahaam Telugu, she asked what a kid was supposed to do if the teachers were unworthy and demeaning instead of going to the library!

Do you reckon that made my life easier?

Oooooh noooooo!!! No, no, no!

It got worse.

Now it wasn't just the class teacher and the librarian who hated me. It was the whole staff, starting with the peon outside the staff room, the ayah who helped out with the pre-primary kids, all the way to the PT sir.

Because guess what?

He was the principal ma'am's husband!

On one of those dreary days when I was punished and made to stand outside the class, Srilatha joined me. She smirked, which she later argued was a smile. Whatever it was, it said,We are not so different, you and I. They hate us both equally!

And boy, did they.

She tried to talk, but the teacher came out, thunderous. That only made Srilatha talk more.

There were many subsequent occasions when we chatted away standing outside the classroom and getting beaten up for talking.

They told us not to talk — what did they expect, huh!

That is how I know Srilatha's family wasn't ashamed of her. They didn't care if she did well in school. There was a pond outside their house where she swam often. She had two older sisters, one of them already married and with a baby on the way.

And on one of those bright frosty days, Sunil joined us.

What had he done to get sent to Siberia? I never found out.

By then, he had already turned into this melancholy youngster who frowned at you if you said hello. He was still pale but had shot up and towered over us like a starved ghost.

Despite his frowning, he edged closer while Srilatha and I chatted. He hung his head but we caught a smile or two from his profile.

It would have been a great friendship, but my family moved away to a different town and that is the end of it.

Stir something?

Do you look back and come to the realisation - I never quite realised how strong I was

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