Ravi stood beside the door, a smile extending from ear to ear. He was no more than 4 feet tall, but wore a bag that was twice his size. His well-oiled hair was neatly parted on one side and he held a smaller bag that had his Tiffin-box and his water bottle.
“Go quickly”, his mother told him, “You might miss the bus”. The last bit that his mother had told him, he knew, was something that was as unlikely as him getting a prize in the quiz competition that he was going to attend the very day. Missing the bus and going to school by car was a distant dream, a luxury that only his brother was entitled to. His brother knew exactly how long to stay in the toilet (thereby missing the wretched bus), an art that his brother assured him would come only with experience.
“And where do Muslims go to?” his mother asked asked, hoping at least something she had taught him the previous night had gone into his little head.
“Mosque” he screamed and sped away, his little bag swinging from one end to the other.
His teacher guided him into a room filled with students of all ages. She told him his number and he made his way to his seat. He sat between 2 girls, both at least 5 years older than him. They looked at him and giggled; he distinctly heard the words “Cute boy” and felt terribly annoyed. He shuffled and shifted in his seat, determined not to look at either of them. He removed his pencil-box and sharpened his pencil wondering where the invigilator was.
Before long, he was given his “Question paper” and an adjoining sheet where he had to mark his answers. With an air of confidence that would have given Vivian Richards a run for his money, he looked at Question 1.
Who is the India’s Minister for External Affairs?
He scratched his head and bit his pencil. He knew just one Minister and that was the Prime Minister. And as far as he could remember, the country had just one minister and a President. He looked at the choices and he smiled. Option ‘b’ was ‘Manmohan Singh’. He calmly circled the option. One down; 49 to go!
The next few questions were a cinch. One asked about some Minister in Punjab and he wrote Yuvraj Singh; the answer to the next one he was sure was “Eyeball”, the question being “Which part of the body is most affected by smoking?” and another asked about the author of David Copperfield and he guessed “Uncle Pai”. After a few more questions he stood up, his head barely clearing the top of the table, and asked
“Madam, I think you have given me the wrong OPTIONS”
The invigilator peered at the tiny figure from behind thick, teacher-like glasses, and with a superior smile that had sympathy and a touch of frustration written all over it, she asked, “Oh, is it?” Wrong options indeed!
Within a few minutes she was back from wherever she had gone looking slightly flustered. “I am really sorry,” she said, “That paper wasn’t meant for you. It was for the sixth standard students” and handed him another question paper.
*****
“So, thambi, how was the quiz?”
“Very difficult”, he said and dug out the question paper from his bag and placed it in his mother’s outstretched hand.
“Now, let me see. Who is the king of the forest?”
“Tree!” he screamed. That was probably the easiest question.
“….And the father of the nation?” she asked, with a slight frown on her face.
“God?” he asked uncertainly. He didn’t see her shake her head in displeasure.
“Name a faithful animal.” She asked hopefully.
“Fox. F for faithful, F for fox” he chanted, running around the room, pretending to be a train.
“And where do Muslims go to?” Did her forget that too?
“Church” he yelled at the top of his voice and sped away from the room, tired of his mother’s incessant questioning, leaving her to her own thoughts.
“Go quickly”, his mother told him, “You might miss the bus”. The last bit that his mother had told him, he knew, was something that was as unlikely as him getting a prize in the quiz competition that he was going to attend the very day. Missing the bus and going to school by car was a distant dream, a luxury that only his brother was entitled to. His brother knew exactly how long to stay in the toilet (thereby missing the wretched bus), an art that his brother assured him would come only with experience.
“And where do Muslims go to?” his mother asked asked, hoping at least something she had taught him the previous night had gone into his little head.
“Mosque” he screamed and sped away, his little bag swinging from one end to the other.
His teacher guided him into a room filled with students of all ages. She told him his number and he made his way to his seat. He sat between 2 girls, both at least 5 years older than him. They looked at him and giggled; he distinctly heard the words “Cute boy” and felt terribly annoyed. He shuffled and shifted in his seat, determined not to look at either of them. He removed his pencil-box and sharpened his pencil wondering where the invigilator was.
Before long, he was given his “Question paper” and an adjoining sheet where he had to mark his answers. With an air of confidence that would have given Vivian Richards a run for his money, he looked at Question 1.
Who is the India’s Minister for External Affairs?
He scratched his head and bit his pencil. He knew just one Minister and that was the Prime Minister. And as far as he could remember, the country had just one minister and a President. He looked at the choices and he smiled. Option ‘b’ was ‘Manmohan Singh’. He calmly circled the option. One down; 49 to go!
The next few questions were a cinch. One asked about some Minister in Punjab and he wrote Yuvraj Singh; the answer to the next one he was sure was “Eyeball”, the question being “Which part of the body is most affected by smoking?” and another asked about the author of David Copperfield and he guessed “Uncle Pai”. After a few more questions he stood up, his head barely clearing the top of the table, and asked
“Madam, I think you have given me the wrong OPTIONS”
The invigilator peered at the tiny figure from behind thick, teacher-like glasses, and with a superior smile that had sympathy and a touch of frustration written all over it, she asked, “Oh, is it?” Wrong options indeed!
Within a few minutes she was back from wherever she had gone looking slightly flustered. “I am really sorry,” she said, “That paper wasn’t meant for you. It was for the sixth standard students” and handed him another question paper.
*****
“So, thambi, how was the quiz?”
“Very difficult”, he said and dug out the question paper from his bag and placed it in his mother’s outstretched hand.
“Now, let me see. Who is the king of the forest?”
“Tree!” he screamed. That was probably the easiest question.
“….And the father of the nation?” she asked, with a slight frown on her face.
“God?” he asked uncertainly. He didn’t see her shake her head in displeasure.
“Name a faithful animal.” She asked hopefully.
“Fox. F for faithful, F for fox” he chanted, running around the room, pretending to be a train.
“And where do Muslims go to?” Did her forget that too?
“Church” he yelled at the top of his voice and sped away from the room, tired of his mother’s incessant questioning, leaving her to her own thoughts.
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