Still unshaken and distracted by the early morning accident, I completed my morning ablutions, had a hurried breakfast, packed my bag and started for school. The bus, as usual was jam-packed and there was hardly any place for me to stand even on one foot. To add to my discomfort I was being sandwiched between two gentlemen of substantial size who were constantly stepping on my toes. We are told how our late Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri had to swim across river Ganges to go to school. I envied our late PM for I would rather swim across the Ganges to go to school than travel by an overcrowded RTC bus.

At that moment the conductor came to me and demanded to see my bus pass. With great difficulty I extracted the pass from my pocket and handed it over to him only to be told that it had expired the previous day. The conductor glared at me and made some rude comments about errant school boys who forget to renew their bus passes and steal free rides. He refused to hear my plea of innocence and ordered me to get down at the next stop. Thumbing lifts from some kind motorcyclists, I managed to reach the school but only to join the bunch of late comers anxiously marking time in front of the closed school gate.

The morning class room sessions were uneventful. Then came the lunch break. For cricket lovers among us, the lunch interval is something that we look forward everyday. For, in that glorious half hour, you see many budding Tendulkars and Srinaths showing off their skills at all available corners of our school ground. That day, in the lunch break, I took a wild swing at the first ball I faced, only to see my bat swishing through empty air. The ball seemed to have a mind of its own and instead of making contact with my bat. It made contact with the middle stump and uprooted it. I was out the first ball and spent the rest of the lunch interval chasing the ball which other batsmen hit to all corners of the ground.

Then came the worst part of the day, it was social studies period. That teacher is most strict one. She had given some homework the previous day, and I remember doing it very clearly. To my surprise, I could not find the book in which I had done it. Usually I check my school bag everyday morning before starting from the house. Due to that day’s morning mishap, I was little absent minded and did not do my routine and there I was, perfectly in soup. My mind was frantically searching for an excuse, as the teacher was approaching my desk. I was sweating like anything. I mumbled some vague excuse but only to stand for the entire period as a punishment.

After school, I did not take my usual bus and instead decided to walk home. I was too afraid to test my luck and risk another encounter with an ill-tempered conductor. My father usually gives me a ten rupee note as contingency money to be used only in emergencies. I could never understand what my father meant by emergency. What emergency can a care-free school boy have? That very day I received the amount, but I invariably felt hungry and convinced myself that the situation was serious enough to spend my emergency money. So, as I wearily walked home that day, I realized what a real emergency was and how important it was to save for a rainy day.

I was tired and exhausted by the time I reached home. I finished my homework, had my dinner, went to my room and collapsed on my bed, thankful to God that the miserable day had finally ended.

-K.P. Phalgun

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