My Life..., Chapter 11 (The Inept Handling of Tuft)

Chapter 11

The inept Handling of Tuft

As school children we greeted 9.30 to 4.30, Monday to Friday, with mixed feelings. The pleasurable ones included the time commuting to and from school in groups with pranks and lively chats, the PT and drawing classes, and the occasions David Master substituted for the regular teacher to enliven our spirits with adventures of Tarzan - to an extent that we prayed that all periods were so.

Among the not so pleasurable ones were Mathematics, Science and Geography classes, dry as they were by nature. That the subjects stayed in hands that in no way enhanced the prestige of the faculty made remedy worse than the disease.

Like birds of the same feather flock together, we went to school in groups. We had to walk through the narrow single-path bunds that separated one paddy field from the other. Slipping on the muddy path, and the new textbooks and notes getting submerged in water, were common occurrence. Half way at the paddy fields students from neighbouring village Puthur would join us from their direction. Then we would pass through a small patch of Tarakkad village where Tarakkad students would join us. The three groups would walk together the last five hundred yards to school, from the East.

From the West it would be the Vadakkanthara, Nellissery groups heading, while from the North it would be Kalpathy, Chattapuram groups, and from the South the Pallipuram, Tirulakkadavu students. Thus it was a conglomerate of young human race making it to the school, and to the Government Victoria College in front.

It was a Friday. And on Fridays the TGIF feeling for school children was not any less than for office-going adults. All the members of East group would enjoy top of the world feeling, while the few skirt and dhavani girl students and the saree-clad college-going ladies would walk close by in a group of their own. It is at this stretch that boys would try to be at their best with jokes, mimicry or acts that would attract giggles from the opposite camp.

Sri Ramaswamy Iyer, our Social Studies teacher was walking in front, with three solid lines of vibhuti making full use of his ample forehead. The thick coating was sufficient to take on any sweat without signs of any wear and tear till next morning. Joining the wide gap between the eyebrows was a well-circled kum kum of a diameter even the elderly ladies dreaded to sport. He was a Devi devotee. He was among the three teachers who donned a coat to school. The other two wore it pressed, and Ramaswamy Iyer with wrinkles intact.

He had just knotted his tuft after leaving it loose to dry up in the sun. This action attracted the attention of the boys behind. One of them signaled my youngest uncle to swing the tuft gently. Docile by nature my uncle was hesitant. But the girls had already begun to giggle in anticipation, and it became a prestige issue. He took the plunge, did a few mock sessions initially at a 12-inch distance, then 9, then 6, before he got ready for the final assault. Split seconds before that the teacher turned back and delivered three consecutive slaps on my uncle’s face. Unfortunately they were not a token version, but ones that left a piercing sound in his ears for the next half-hour. He was so taken aback by the sudden onslaught. For the girls his flop-show evoked even more giggle than the original version could have.

The reason for this faux pas was that we were going to school from East to West. The morning sun was at our back. The teacher’s three-times longer shadow was right in front of him, and the advance giggle of the girls made him guess something was amiss, and probably watched in his shadow the attempts. He turned back to act just in time. Many students coming from the other three directions also witnessed this blatant act in public – a delivery that a teacher would normally reserve for the classroom.

Overcome by shame my uncle did not report to school. Instead he hid himself in Chettiar’s shop nearby. Chettiar had provided a bench without any backrest, partly covered with shutters, for students to smoke unseen. An hour later, with no order forthcoming for cigarettes, soda, or even peanut cake pieces, Chettiar felt he could not take this liability. The school and college authorities could pounce on him for giving asylum to anti-social elements and also acting as an accomplice to the wrongdoings of the youth.

‘You better go home and tell your Mom that you have a stomach pain; hence you returned,” recommended Chettiar. My uncle knew that his statement would not be taken at face value and he would be subjected to far too many questions than Chettiar could imagine. And, coming as it would from the wife of a seasoned advocate, he could hardly hope to survive her cross-examination. He knew what exactly was itching Chettiar. So he ordered an item or two on credit. And that set at rest Chettiar’s primary concern.

Meanwhile, in the school the teacher sent for my eldest brother who was in the same class, but in a different section, and asked him for the whereabouts of my uncle. My brother knew his hideout, but pleaded ignorance. Fear began to engulf the teacher. He knew the boy’s father was an advocate. And any legal battle for beating in public an under-18 was the least he envisioned to preside over his retirement.

He went on a convincing spree with my brother. “Yes, it is okay, he could swing the tuft like a pendulum, but his own father’s. The latter might enjoy that as one coming from his last son, grown up though. But definitely he can’t do it with others, especially with a teacher, and in public view. You see my point.” My brother promised to convey it verbatim.

“And, ah, ask him not to bother to tell the incident to his father. I will also not take it up with him. By the way, I find him lagging a little in Social Studies. Ask him to come to my home for an hour’s tuition for two months, and I will get him to the top. Okay?” He conveyed this freebie perhaps as a self-admonition.

Twenty-four hours later everything got resolved when my uncle felt reassured that the teacher won’t report it to his father who was a known instant dispenser of justice with anything that was easily accessible at hand. He politely declined the teacher’s offer of a free temporary private tuition. He didn’t’ want fresh issues to rake up at home, as he was just a middle-grader, and nowhere near the bottom warranting a private tuition.

Thus, the one who wanted to play pranks at someone, found himself being made fun of by the co-students for the next few days.

Continued……