15 Ways to Improve Your Credit

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My Typical School Day

Today was like any other day in my life but for some reason, I felt the need of writing it down.

I woke up to my mother’s voice in the morning with the textbook I’d been reading the night before lying open on my chest. I looked at the time. Half past five. I jumped off the bed in fright.

Shivering in the morning cold after a quick, reluctant shower, as I was getting dressed, I found my socks were not knee-length. They were an inch below that, I assume. Enraged, I shouted at my mother, who had had the good will to put out my uniform after I had unknowingly dozed off, exhausted, for the umpteenth time last night. She left my room in silence as I began to nervously rummage through the drawer to find another pair. I didn’t want to be scolded for this today. My sister, dressed already, used to this routine, signaled me to carry on as she walked towards the drawer. I was barely finished when the van honked at the door. I gulped a small glass of milk, my breakfast, and waddled to the van with untied shoes and socks in my hand.

“Did you see her outfit at the party yesterday? Wasn’t it horrible?”

“I couldn’t agree more. So old-fashioned.” a second girl joined in.

A third nodded her head vigorously in agreement and started asking about which boys were planning to turn up at the school fete this Sunday.

I leaned my head against the window hoping I could go to sleep.

I have a classmate, A, who lives near my house so we go in the same van. In the evenings, we cycle together and attend the same coaching classes. After dropping off our bags in the classroom, A and I rushed to the sports field. It was our ‘Special Assembly’ today which meant our class would perform a skit.

The skit was based on Eklavya and Dronacharya. The girls playing these characters were in immaculate costumes which had been selected by our class teacher after three weeks of trials of various clothes. When I went closer, I saw that the girl playing Eklavya was crying because she had forgotten a plastic thumb she had arranged for the skit at home. With tears streaming down her face, she was desperately trying to call her parents to convince them to bring it down to the school before the assembly started. “How much of a difference will that plastic thumb make to another weekly special assembly? What is the price we are paying for such perfection?” I wondered.

Given the fact that we had put around a month of practice into this skit, it went well. The principal said a few words of appreciation before going on to lecture the school about the increasing absenteeism and indiscipline.

When the assembly got over we proceeded to go up to our classrooms to begin the day’s studies. I heaved a sigh of relief when I made it past the uniform checking without an incident. The daily panic that 100m walk creates in me raises a plethora of unsaid questions in my mind.

It was Moral Science period first. We took out our textbooks and our teacher read out a chapter as we kept answering some questions from the textbook intermittently. Sometimes Moral Science period is all about a healthy discussion on a topic, but more often than not it’s based on a chapter from the textbook.

It was a break between two periods when the class monitor called out loud for everyone to submit the English homework that had been given the day before. “I’m gone,” I thought with a sinking heart. I had forgotten to carry that notebook since English was not on the timetable today. I cursed myself vehemently for not taking two seconds to look at my study table where I’d left that book the previous night. Two other girls went down with me to the staff-room to tell our teacher we forgot the books because we didn’t have a scheduled class today. She gave us a look that made my eyes moist with fear and went on to tell us how we were utterly disrespectful children who were unlikely to attain anything in life because we lacked discipline. I fought back tears as I dragged myself back to the classroom.

Physics class followed and our teacher was reading a chapter out loud. I didn’t understand how the equation for heat exchange in a calorimeter should be written. I raised my hand and asked her. She read the same paragraph to me again and gave me a look suggesting I should’ve understood by now. I nodded and sat down in my seat.

When Sports period began, we went down to the field. After a few warm-up exercises, our teacher proceeded to teach us how to march. It has been the same for the last three years. “Shouldn’t we be taught about our changing bodies during this period? Shouldn’t we be learning how to play different games?” I wondered.

My heart fluttered a little as we started to go back up for Chemistry class. I love my Chemistry teacher. She knows the subject and she makes learning fun. She jokes around with us sometimes and I’ve rarely seen her scold anyone. The bell rang for lunch break too soon.

I’ll take some time to explain the scenario here. We are not allowed to stay in classrooms during lunch. Anyone found doing so is reported to the class teacher. Girls have lunch in groups of friends which have practically been the same for years. If you want to have lunch in a different group, you ask one girl, she asks a couple of others and you join if they all agree. It’s no use though, because if you do join, the conversation is so specific to their group that you will feel lost anyway. Any time a girl breaks out of a group, it is a point of discussion. What happened that she did so? Whose group will she go with now? Is her doing so right? And god forbid if the members of your group decide you’re not fit to be with them now. You’ll have to ask other people and if they politely refuse, well then you’re on your own. Congratulations on being the creep who has to eat her lunch alone now.

I went and took my usual place in my group and started eating.

“Did you hear the new album dropped by One Direction?”

“Oh yes I would like die for Zayn, isn’t he the cutest?”

“Definitely. I agree. Did you listen to it?”

“Oh, umm, no guys. I’ll listen to it today?”

I am not a fan of One Direction. I appreciate the Kishore Kumar songs my Dad puts on at night but I don’t have the guts to say so.

“Did you guys hear about that science olympiad happening this time?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t. So what are you guys wearing to the birthday party this Saturday?”

I am not invited to the party. I fell silent. I wonder why I can’t stay in class and read a novel after having lunch. The bell rang, interrupting my thoughts abruptly.

Back in the classroom, our class teacher came in and started discussing about the arrangements to be made for the fete this Sunday. She finalized the decorations we’ll be doing and who all were supposed to get the charts, paints and glitter. She told us we were supposed to bring sixty rupees worth of prizes for the game. She also told us it was compulsory to buy at least 200 rupees worth of coupons for the fete. I don’t want to spend anything on the fete. My heart sank for a second time, as I imagined my mother’s face when I would ask her for this extra money. She would have to adjust some expenses now.

It was SUPW (Socially Useful Productive Work) or in simpler terms, Craft period next and I took out the bag of stationery items my mother had to get from halfway across the city because these rare materials were available only there. Needless to say, they were expensive too. I wonder where the original aim of this venture, making something useful out of waste, get lost over time?

The bell rang for the end of the last period. I packed my bag and walk out of the school to our van. Seeing my sister’s face brightened up my mood a little.

I sat inside and took out a book to finish my coaching homework. We are not allowed to do any other work in school, as the school discourages taking coaching classes. “Why do they not allow it if they can’t hire teachers who can teach us the subject rather than just cramming discipline into every nook and corner of our soul all year round?” I wondered.

I reached home, took a bath and gobbled lunch before my mom dropped me off. I mumbled sorry for my behavior in the morning when she was asking me about my day. “My day?” I thought to myself. “What do I tell her?” “It was great mom,” I lied. She smiled and told me she would be there to pick me up in the evening. I got moist eyed for the second time today, thinking of the love I received from her each day. Do I deserve this?

I love my coaching classes. It’s one of the parts of my day I look forward to. The teachers teach well, they are funny and try to be friends with us. They give us a day to submit homework if we tell them school has been hectic lately, and they encourage us if we perform well. As the last class ends, I asked A if she would cycle with me today. She said yes and I told her I’d come to her house to call her.

I was going to her place when I saw another friend. I stopped to say hi and ask her if she’d like to join.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” she asked.

“Sure. Why not?” I anticipated it will be something bad, that has been the trend anyway.

“Why do you reach A’s place every other day when she hates to cycle with you, you know? She is always crying about how she doesn’t want to hang out with you. Why do you force her?”

I was dumbfounded. I had no reply.

Just yesterday during a free period in school, some girls had been playing Antakshari. I had started singing a song. A, who was also there said in a raspy tone, “You know, you’re so out of tune you should probably not sing at all.”

I had won first prize in a singing competition back in class 3. I won’t be singing for many years to follow.

I turned my cycle back, fighting back tears. I shared everything with my mother who for the umpteenth time told me to be stronger. Her words have always given me hope.

I opened school home-work which is almost always just copying questions and their answers from the textbook. I got to coaching homework after that and put out my uniform for the next day. I glanced at the novel I’ve been wanting to finish for a month now. Taking my Physics book to bed, I see it’s already well past midnight.

“Only a few more months to go,” I thought to myself.

— — — — — — — — — — —

It’s been six years since I left this school. I’m almost done with a double major from a reputed college.

I’ve been extremely lucky. I’ve found great friends and I can feel the love when they’re around me. We talk about everything from bands to movies, from gossip to career plans.

A certain friend extremely dear to me has brought out aspects of my personality, I had no idea even existed. This friend pushed me against my will to rediscover myself.

My current friends describe me as affable, kooky and vivacious.

They always push me to sing but that’s one thing I still can’t bring myself to do.

15 Ways to Improve Your Credit

My Typical School Day

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