episode-2(Late again)
part-2 (late again)
I grew up in a small town in Tamil Nadu, India, called Sivagangai. I completed my schooling there, and my school was 4 km away from my house. The school started at 8:45 AM, and I would wake up at 7:00 AM. Although I tried to reach on time, I never made it. I always reached school at 8:46 AM, just after the gate closed. The watchman sometimes opened the gate to let me in, but most of the time, that didn’t happen. After the prayer, our Physical Education teacher, Master Chowdappa, would come to the gate. He would look at each student’s face and ask them to show their school diary. If a student was late, he would write in the diary: “Our son is late to school today. Please don’t let this happen again,” and would ask the student to get it signed by their parent. This was the first warning, and then he would allow the student to go into the school.
Each student had to show their diary, and if they had been late before, it would be noted in the diary. These students would stand aside. If a student hadn’t gotten their parent’s signature on their past late-entry note, they would be treated differently and would stand in a different row. The third category was me. My late request sheet was always full, but I would still get a signature from my mom, so I was more special than the others.
Master Chowdappa looked at me with an angry face because I was the only student who was late every day. He raised his hand with full force, as if to beat me. I was always scared to see him because he was 6.3 feet tall and had a muscular body. All the students looked at him with fear and respect. If anything went against a student in our school, Master Chowdappa would go and fight for the student. Everyone had stories to tell about Master Chowdappa.
Once, there was a volleyball zonal tournament with up to 40 schools participating. Our school’s volleyball team performed well in the tournament, but some wealthy, self-financed schools wanted to win the cup that year. They altered our school’s match schedule so that our team had to play all the matches. There were issues with points and everything, but Master Chowdappa saw all of this. Despite the challenges, our school team made it to the final.
There was a big gathering of students and teachers from all the schools, ready to watch the match. The match began, but our players were exhausted because they had played four matches in the last two hours. In the first set, we lost. During the match, Master Chowdappa understood the problem. He told the players, “I know you are all tired, but this is the last match. You will get two days off in your classrooms, I assure you.”
Our team played well and beat the rich school team, Angelo Junior. We won the match by winning set after set. Our school students celebrated the victory, but the Angelo Junior team’s players started fighting with our school team. The zone head tried to stop the fight, but Master Chowdappa entered the scene and fought with the zone head and the principal of Angelo Junior School. Eventually, the zone head handed the cup to our team. The story of this event spread throughout the students.
Master Chowdappa punished every student who had been late without their parent’s signature. He sent them back to school, and those who didn’t get their signatures had to face extra punishment. Everyone had to get their parent’s signature and return the next morning. Finally, when it came to me, Master Chowdappa looked at me. I was ready, knowing where and how he would beat me—usually on the leg, sometimes on the hand. I was fully prepared. But instead of hitting me, he told me, “Come to my room.” I was a little shocked. Master blew his whistle, and all the students went to their classrooms. He also entered the school, and I stood there, watching him.