An English Class.

I always liked my class 9 English classes. Firstly, the teacher was such a nice person and secondly because i like the subject. The classes used to be a riot. Here is a description of one such class. i have fictionalized it slightly to make it more eventful but it is essentially based on facts.

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The bell rang proclaiming that the chaos that reigned in our class should end now. But an incorrigible bunch of hooligans that we are, we didn’t stop until Sagarika aunty dropped in and gave us a piece of her mind. That did the trick. We settled down like tame little kids with faces that deceived no one.

And then our English aunty entered. Almost half the class forgot to stand up and wish her. I was among the other half for unlike most of the class I found English rather interesting. She surveyed the class with an exasperated expression that suggested that she would have loved to stomp out but I guess she wouldn’t accept defeat that easily.

In the first bench, Abhirup, our class prodigy, promptly reminded her about what we were doing and what we were supposed to do. Although I would have loved to call Abhirup an attention seeking ass, I never could because I myself admitted he wasn’t one. But that didn’t make me any happier.

Aunty cleared her throat to speak but was easily ignored. She was slightly louder next time. A few heads turned half-heartedly but the reverberating buzz in our class didn’t abate.

“Quiet everyone! Today I am going to…”

A loud groan emitted from the class as the student expressed their level of enthusiasm for the lesson.

Almost used to this kind of behavior, she went on teaching. She stopped suddenly and it seemed that she was trying to discern what was happening at the third last bench of the middle row.

“Aritran!” She shouted.

“Yes ma’m?” asked Aritran. I could see some discreet but hurried movements of his hand. What ever he was doing wasn’t strictly by the rulebook.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Nothing!” replied Aritran. I thought that wasn’t entirely the perfect answer. She could have told him off for not doing anything. But did I mention our English aunty wasn’t very bright?

“Come here and sit in this bench.” She said.

Aritran obliged.

“And don’t disturb the class.”

Aritran nodded.

She then went ahead and began to tell us about Salim Ali’s extraordinary interest in birds and his proficiency at spotting rare bird. A useless talent in my opinion but maybe, that’s why I don’t have the makings of an ornithologist. Anyway, we weren’t fascinated and hence the occasional groans that the class offered.

I had to admit that Salim Ali sounded pretty unimpressive as a protagonist of the story. (Actually it was a biography but did I say I was following her? Nah!)

She tried to keep up her lecture for a few minutes against stiff resistance from us. But maybe we were getting on too many of her nerves because she flung the book on the table for grand effect and glared at us. She suddenly took off her specs when she realized that glaring through her specs gave her an appearance more comical than intimidating. Some of us tried to suppress giggles.

“Why are you doing this?”She asked, clearly tired of our impertinence. “If you want to talk, get out of the class.”

But her voice lacked any conviction because she knew it as well as we did. No one was going to get out of the class to talk.

“It wouldn’t be fun then.” Debarun told me knowingly. I suspected it was because no one had the guts.

“Please don’t do this. Your constant talking is very disturbing for a teacher. Haven’t I told you enough times?”

She might have told us but we made it a point to forget such instructions within minutes of their being given. And so we were disturbing her again.

“If you don’t stop this I would have no other option but to tell Indrani aunty.” She said, hoping that maybe mentioning Indrani aunty would keep us in line.

For reference, Indrani aunty was our history teacher. She was lethal enough in that post but she was also our class teacher. It is my infallible belief that it was through a grave misunderstanding that Indrani aunty became a teacher instead of a detective. He eyes and ears were frighteningly sharp. Her cross-questioning techniques were even more so.

And our English aunty was right, well almost. That threat did lessen the noise considerably.

Our class contained a character that went by the name Anwesh. A comedian and entertainer by nature, we counted on his diversions at times like these.

And so, Anwesh, foreseeing a nasty outbreak of silence, livened it up a bit. He began to chatter excitedly not bothering to keep his voice down and then he screamed.

Aunty flinched visibly. Then her eyes narrowed.

She said “Anwesh! What was that?” now she was really mad.

Anwesh looked at her, his face the perfect imitation of an innocent child’s, “Aunty, he tried to murder me!” he exclaimed holding up a geometrical compass to lend credibility to his claim.

Aunty wasn’t impressed and her face hardened when most of the class began stifling their giggles.

“This is just too much. I am going to report this to Indrani aunty. Who else was involved with you?” she asked Anwesh.

Anwesh looked terrified.

He said, “We weren’t playing, aunty. Darpan just jumped at me with a compass!”

Darpan who had been, for so long, enjoying the scene like everyone else stood up abruptly, his face registering total surprise.

“Aunty, I-I-I didn’t do anything. He is lying.” he stammered accusingly.

Aunty was fast losing whatever control she had over her temper.

“I really didn’t do anything.” Darpan murmured again with an accusing sideways glance at Anwesh.

It seemed Aunty had reached her boiling point and was about to explode when-

TRING TRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING!

The bell rang signaling the end of the class.

And our teacher was unceremoniously ousted from the classroom with hasty apologies and perfunctory promises of behaving ourselves.