Chitradeep And the Attendance Quest

Aditya Kulkarni
Aug 31, 2018 · 6 min read

It was a regular boring day in 11th grade, about half-way through the year. A beautiful, sunny day like this was meant to be spent playing snooker in the dark basement at ‘Cue-11’, Chitradeep thought to himself, but he was unfortunately stuck here, in Calculus.

Well, it could have been just any class, since he and Amar were spending it playing ‘Book Chess’. This was a new game they were inventing, which was like regular chess, but where every 2nd move by each player was decided by a random page opened by the other player in a text book. They could have just been playing regular chess, but that would have meant partaking in an activity their parents approved of, which neither of them could bring themselves to do. So they created this new game which, of course, made no sense to start with, but whatever little sense it did make was being eroded by the steady addition of ad-hoc rules, such as the one they were arguing over now.

“The rook can move diagonally if it is surrounded by more than 2 pawns”, Chitradeep said.
“You’re thinking of a knight”, Amar said forcefully.
“Bullshit!” Chitradeep said, instantly regretting it.

He regretted it not because he thought it was the rook that could move diagonally, but because the volume of the “bullshit” was high enough to reach everyone in class, including the teacher, Mrs. Annie, who was pontificating about how Newton had invented Calculus to calculate planetary orbits.

Chitradeep instinctively ducked his head as low as he could, hoping that Mrs. Annie wouldn’t identify him as the source of the highly inappropriate comment, which she would think was directed at Newton. That was not to be, however, as Mrs. Annie, noticing the only person in class trying to hide their face, identified the culprit.

“Mr. Chitradeep Sethi” she said, placing unneeded emphasis on the “Mr”. A student drawing the teacher’s attention in class was like the Hobbits drawing the attention of Sauron’s eye. It usually indicated that a massacre lay ahead.

Chitradeep’s blood froze, as Mrs. Annie looked straight at him. He thought about doing the “Who, me?” routine, but his unwise decision of attempting to hide after yelling “bullshit” had removed that option from the table.

“Please stand up”, Mrs. Annie said, the chill in her voice freezing the air in the classroom. As Chitradeep slowly stood up, activity in the rest of the classroom came to a halt as everyone’s attention turned to him. Like bored villagers attracted to a public stoning in the village square, the rest of the class perked up and settled in to watch the spectacle.

Mrs. Annie was infamous in the school for her public displays of affliction. She would single out the offending student, and with the precision of a torture aficionado, publicly flog them with pointed math questions designed to strip them of their last shred of dignity. The student, having their ego shot out of the sky with math-powered missiles, would then be offered a detailed look at their future career as a road-side tea vendor. Finally, Mrs. Annie would hold up this student as a cautionary tale to the rest of the class, pointing out that the same fate would befall them if they didn’t ride the calculus-bus on the math-superhighway to life-success.

Everyone in class leaned forward as they prepared to witness this spectacle.

“What part of Newton’s work do you find has parallels in cattle excrement?” she said.

On a scale of fight to flight, Chitradeep’s mind was dialed up all the way to flight. If such things were possible, he would have grabbed a jetpack, pumped his fist up to the roof, and blasted out of that room like superman in a hurry. Alas, the school didn’t supply any jetpacks. As Chitradeep’s mind was searching for other flight options, it did something remarkable. In hindsight, the only explanation for what followed was probably that his mind tripped and fell into the pit of inspiration.

He decided to fight.

“Pardon my passion on this subject, Ma’am, but I think Newton has been manipulating us from beyond the grave.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Annie said, startled by the unexpected response.

From the depths of the pit of inspiration, Chitradeep had decided that in order to best defend himself, he must accuse the accuser. And since he couldn’t figure out what to accuse Mrs. Annie of, he decided to accuse Newton instead.

“I think Newton is guilty of creating a post-hoc narrative, rearranging the random and chaotic process of mathematical discovery into a linear narrative…” Chitradeep said, not sure where this line of thought was going, but fully committed to this runaway train of thought.

“…to create the illusion of inevitable genius for the history books, in an attempt to transfer over to himself glory from his contemporaries who undoubtedly had large contributions to the advancement of nascent calculus…”

He was now enjoying this, waiving his arms, looking all around the students in the class, who looked back at him with confusion and eye-rolling, like the audience at the Colosseum would have if a gladiator had burst out into a song and dance routine.

“..and we, as students of history and mathematics, should serve as the jury in this trial, where Newton stands accused of crimes against history…”, Chitradeep continued, pointing to the portrait of Mahatma Gandhi, who Chitradeep dragged into this as a substitute for the currently absent Newton.

“…and while my use of a common euphemism referencing the noble oxen may be out-of-line in our temple of learning, I ask you…” Chitradeep continued, making his voice as deep and as serious as he could, his arms fully extended, “…who’s really out of line here?”

Mrs. Annie rolled her eyes, seeing through the faux outrage Chitradeep was trying to manufacture against poor old Newton. She considered whether she should just punish him anyway, but decided it was not worth her time trying to argue against a 16-year old that fancied himself a modern Shakespeare.

“For God’s sake. Just sit down” Mrs. Annie said, dismissing him. The class collectively let out a disappointed sigh.
“Thank you” Chitradeep said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Amar whispered, as Chitradeep sat down.


The school bell rang and Mrs. Annie dismissed the class. As Chitradeep and Amar strolled out, they found a hoard of students rushing past the hallway, everyone in a mad dash towards the central notice board.

“What’s going on?” Chitradeep said, as he watched a river of high-school students crash up against the notice board.
“Oh, shit. I think the attendance shortage list is probably out”, Amar said.

Chitradeep’s heart sank. The day of reckoning was finally here.

At the half-way point in the school year, the principal compiled a list of students that didn’t meet the requisite 75% attendance. The school required that every student attend at least 75% of classes, and those that didn’t at the end of the year would not be allowed to take the final exams, which effectively meant they’d flunk the whole grade. That meant that attendance was more important than whatever you scored in tests and assignments. It was the nightmare scenario and this half-year list served as a warning, the academic equivalent of a dead horse’s head in your bed — Shape up, or it’s your head next.

Pushing and shoving, Chitradeep and Amar got into the stream and fought their way forward. When they came up against the notice board, they frantically searched for their names.

A few seconds later, they saw it. Their names. Right there.

“Attendance Shortage” columns showed a bold “YES” against both their names.

72% for Amar, and 71% for Chitradeep.

They’d really stepped in it now.

To be continued…

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