I rebel so that you may survive….kuch kas

I rebel so that you may survive….kuch kas

It began just like another day at school. The good old headmaster , nicknamed Drago, if my memory serves me right, had finished explaining the intricacies of the polynomial equation when the high pitched bell rang, calling an end to the math period. Out he went and soon enough few us followed. To go to the loo was the standard official reason. The minutes before the next period and away from the preying eyes of the Principal, was fun time. Pranks committed, the list of which will take reams of electronic space. Cricket scores, transactions involving buying hot botata vadas and roasted peanuts from the telewala who peddled it in front of the school, are few unmentionable ones. The logistics of how the botata vada exchanged ownership was as intricate as the Mumbai dabawala business system.  The class monitor, who occasionally happened to be yours truly, was part of the game. That was my way of getting the thugs to behave at other times. 

That day fate determined otherwise. Having done their bit, the pranksters were returning back to class, a few nano seconds late. Only to fall right into the path of the swinging cane held by the glaring Principal. All of them got their share with no time to dodge or offer explanations. Swift punishing strokes moving at the speed of light bang onto the leg of one and then the other as she and the cane performed their well choreographed moves.  I had followed Drago to check up on something and on my return ended up at the receiving end of the cane. 

It ended soon as it began. I was stunned. My ego was hurt as I fought back the seething anger inside me on one of the rare corporal punishment belted out to me when I was not in the wrong. A quick representation made to Drago, later, was fruitless.  Stunned silence was all that would have greeted anyone wading in at that time. 

Singh sir  as usual floated into the room. A very affable person, an excellent teacher of English literature, always garnered respect from the whole class. As soon as he floated in, oblivions of the genocide, he floated out in response to summons from the Principal.  He returned soon, glum faced. In a resigned voice he announced suspension of class till we are sufficiently punished. An unending imposition as ordained by the Principal. He then sat down looking straight at us. No one moved. The physically or emotionally hurt stared right back at him in disbelief. The seconds ticked and so did the minutes. Still the class remained in suspended animation. He enquired and we replied through silence. He got up and left to inform the Principal that the class was refusing to follow instruction. The Principal, her full 80 kg plus frame, marched in. The cane too came and as I glared at it, the Principal, after a brief lecture on discipline, which no one heard, asked anyone who wanted to object to go out of the class. Few more minutes ticked       by. A close friend was the first to get up, followed by one who had got hit. I had to express my revolt. Time stood still. The cane mocked. Legs unsteady. The anger demanded action, so I got up and walked. Soon some more gathered courage and walked out. 

Result: we were asked to go out of the school building. Class to start the imposition. Then followed a sequence of events when we managed to instigate other students, some Dons and others who have long suffered the tyranny. . Sensing trouble the administration clamped a curfew.  Well meaning and studious  students, albeit adolescence driven pranksters, had long suffered a host of  policies and rules that exploit a rather benign group of Parents in that middle class suburban Mumbai.  A Jewish School without much of Jewish tradition or educational influence run by a Jewish lady, the Principal.  It was time for doing something about it. The events provided the fuel. Most of our  teachers were aghast. So too was our favorite. Our class teacher.  Young and confident and a good teacher, silently adored by us as only adolescent boys can. 

The days that followed quickly led to most of the students from all classes backing us and  we went on strike. We, a motley group of a dozen students, in a way, provided leadership. The situation and event became the talk of the entire town. We steadily refused help political parties. We brushed off interference from vested interests. We fought, debated, decided strategies .All that young minds could. Met many parents and got them to align. Negations began. Draft settlements debated. Finally a settlement. Victory? In some ways yes. The school became less exploitative. Was discipline the sacrifice we made?  The debate remained inconclusive. We, probably, lost the affection of our class teacher, Singh sir and few others whom we cared about. A huge sacrifice! Did the episode give us the confidence to lead? Did it put us through a crash course on debating, building consensus, negotiation and many such skills? A resounding yes! For me it was another example of revolt against injustice. It was thus much more. I rebel so that you may survive. Albert Camus. My experiments too.