Little Drops of Goodness

Longri was a good boy. Only he was misunderstood most of the time. It was not that he was not loved. He was loved and cared for. But people did not see Longri for what he was.

Mrs. Anthony's classroom was usually a riot in the amusing sort of way. Her's was the most commanding voice in the entire block. It was a wonder that a 60 year old could utter with such energy and carry on glowering over poor eight year olds. But Mrs. Anthony had her own problems. For one, the cold Shillong air was not doing her good. She was used to the warmer air of the valley. For another, her class of 1986 had Longri in it.

Back in 1986, I had my own set of problems. They ranged from the large palm-fulls of hair oil my mother lovingly applied on my hair every morning to the fact that waking up at the most unearthly hour of 7:30 AM to catch the school bus was the most dreadful of things that an eight year old should ever go through. Then there was the fact that my parents always bought clothes for me that were two sizes too large so that I could wear them longer. And that eventually created a bleary eyed me with pasted hair and folded shirt sleeves and folded pullover sleeves and cotton padded Naughty Boy shoes. I was in 8 year old social hell and being an eight year old did not really give much freedom to voice my utter despair at the ensemble that I saw in the mirror and pitied.

Longri was the other boy who wore large clothes and was way below the cool quotient in the classroom. And perhaps this is one reason I had such an affinity for him from the very beginning. I fould solace in my carefully created 'babu look' to match with his carelessly garbed disshevelled person. I started school and chose Longri to sit next to. My mother had instructed me to go early and take the front desk. It would facilitate the teacher seeing me and I could hear her loud and clear not to mention the fact that I could see the blackboard clearly and my things would not be stolen because teacher would be very near. I was after all being sent to the most expensive school in the entire region. I had to make the most of it.

It turned out that the front desk was not the most coveted place in the classroom. Rather, it was the last row of desks that were the prize. And Mrs. Anthony knew it too. So she gave a test the first day. Extremely difficult sums involving carrying over and keeping track of how much was borrowed in subtraction problems. I did miserably and kept the front desk. There were quite a few wise ones who got everything correct and ascended to the last row desks. That being settled, I found Longri by my side. Only, Longri did not care and Mrs. Anthony cared very much that Longri was in her section.

A teacher's job is not easy. And I have realised it from my own new found loathing of cheeky children in my building. It requires patience and resilience and energy and every other trait that a superhero can muster. Poor Mrs. Anthony, about to retire, just happened to have lost some of those traits in her few decades of teaching. Longri happened to try everyone of those faculties in a way that I am sure I would not have survived had I been in Mrs. Anthony's shoes.

'Longri! Why are you fidgeting? Have you finished the sum? Come here!'

These are the break times in the class. The entire class gets to look up at the terror at the front and amuse at Longri's new trick.

'May I know why you are drawing these instead of doing the sum on the board?'

'I don't know the sum Miss.'

'That's beause you weren't paying attention. Here, let me show you.'

At this point, a rather disappointed classroom goes back to doing the sum for the terror called Anthony.

Longri returned to our desk and pondered over the sum that Mrs. Anthony had just showed him. It had the correct answer to the sum on the board. He put the notebook in front of me. I checked the answer and then found my mistake. I quickly corrected it and sat back, giving Longri a pat on the back. As for him, he tried to copy the sum into his fair copy and having done something that might have been the sum for all I know because at that time I was quite sure that I could read only my own handwriting and could not be bothered with others' work. However, something told me Longri had not understood a thing.

When Mrs. Anthony came round to check the answers, she gave one look at Longri's notebook and then picked it up and threw it out of the door. Longri followed and remained outside or rather ventured out till sometime later when Boss (that's what we called our principal) appeared at the door and he had Longri in his hand.

'Miss, I found this boy loitering in the corridor. Has he been naughty?'

A rather abashed Mrs. Anthony rushed to the door and said something to Boss. They nodded and Longri was reinstated to his seat. Mrs. Anthony took a brief moment in collecting her energy following which we got the worst lecture that eight year olds could get; one that included threats of sending us to the principal's office for caning and calling our parents for a meeting, which was worse.

Later, actually much later in the term when I knew Longri better, I asked him somethings as we climbed the bell tower. The bell tower in our school was or is rather, every boys dream. It resembles a tower that one sees near a power transformer. It could be treated like a ladder to climb up to some height. It was a great achievement to be able to climb up to the third rung. Shiv, our classmate had climbed to the fourth rung. But he had failed one year and so we reckoned it was expected. We would grow enough to climb to the fourth rung by next year.

'Longri, do you like school?'

'I like school.'

'I don't like school.'

'School is better than my house.'

'How?'

'It is bigger.'

I could not beat that logic. School was indeed bigger than my house too.

'But I can watch TV in my house. And I don't have to study all the time.'

'I don't have a TV in my house.'

'Do you like Mrs. Anthony?'

'Yes. I like her. She is my grandmother.'

'What? Don't bluff!'

'Don't tell anyone. She asked me to keep it a secret. Said she would punish anyone I told. So you cannot let her know I said anything.'

I felt the huge burden of a secret. I hated Mrs. Anthony and did not want to be punished by her.

'Is she nice to you at home? Does she shout at home too?'

'No. She works at home too. Corrections and all that. Ayah and I play.'

'What about your parents?'

'What about them? I don't have parents.'

And by that time we had gone up to the third rung and come back and so you see, I could not go on asking him anymore questions.

That day, as a special treat to the class, Longri picked up a discared chewing gum from the grounds and put it in his mouth. We were returning from gym class. There was an uproar as a dozen or so boys hurried to report the incident to Mrs. Anthony who first turned pale then fierce. Having bellowed a command for all of us to sit down, she approached Longri and me and pulled Longri up by the ear.

'Spit it out at once!' she roared.

Longri spat it out on the floor. That day, Mrs. Anthony sent Longri to Boss' office to be caned. When he returned, he was tight lipped. I asked him how it was. He showed me 'five' with his hand. Mrs. Anthony gave a lecture on health and hygiene and why we do not pick up any food. But as she passed by Longri, she ran her hand through his hair and gave him a pat on the head.

'Longri is a good boy, gentlemen. He will not eat from teh ground from now on, will he?'

Longri said, 'No Miss.'

Mrs. Anthony gave him a kiss on the forehead. Ofcourse it was forgotten in the next period because Longri had not done his homework.

By the end of the term, I was able to make sense of the sums Mrs. Anthony gave us and one fine day, I was the only one who got all sums correct. I was sent to the last row.

Longri stopped coming to school from the next year. My loyalties were limited to the time I was not accepted in the social circle of the clever boys of the class. But when my classmates realised I could do well in Maths and Science and also that I could write poems that got published in the school magazine, they warmed up to my oily hair and large clothes. By the end of the year, I was one among the crowd and forgotten Longri, like the rest of them.

As for Longri. I suppose he did not care. I hope he did not.