#1 “Why are you crying? He is your father.”
“Everyone, submit the money to me.”, the teacher said as she walked in the class.
As she said, “money” I remembered that she had asked us to bring 50 rupees for the identity card and I had forgotten.
“Roll Number- 5”
I stood up, “ Ma’am, I forgot today. I will bring it tomorrow.”
She shook her head in annoyance.
After the following five students, she realized many students had given a 100 or 200 rupee note. Now that she was running out of change, she asked if students wanted to pay for their friends who hadn’t bought the money today and collect the amount from their friends as it was becoming difficult for her to bring change for a class of 40.
“Roll number- 31?”
Yukti walked to the teacher and gave her a 100 rupee note,” for roll numbers 5 and 31".
When I heard her, I told the teacher that I would submit the amount the next day, and she didn’t need to take it from Yukti.
But Yukti insisted, and ma’am asked me to return the money to Yukti.
It made sense. Yukti was my best friend. The teacher would give students their change the next day anyways.
I rehearsed asking my father for fifty rupees.
The next day before going to school, when my father came to my room, I asked him for the money.
“What for?”
“Identity card.”, I said.
Silence.
He wasn’t looking at me.
I waited.
“Papa?”
“Hun?”
“The money?
“Who is your class teacher?”
“Ms. Kamna.”
Class?
“3rd- C.”
(He knew nothing about me.)
“I will give it to her myself.”
“But, Yukti gave it to me. I forgot to take money yesterday.”
He finally turned to me.
He seemed calm but stern.
He stepped towards me and “whack”
It was my right cheek.
It hurt on a winter morning.
I got numb. Heartbeats started racing. My right cheek and right ear were burning and my palms got sweaty.
“Who asked you to take it from anyone?”
My vision got blocked by water. I blinked twice, and two tears rolled down my eyes.
He said something for the next five minutes but I couldn’t understand.
I was eight.
I didn’t know my mistake then. I don’t know what my mistake was even after more than a decade today.
Maybe my father wanted to teach me a lesson. Maybe.
I walked down the stairs for the school bus and found my mother standing in front of the kitchen.
She brought me breakfast.
A tear fell in the cauliflower fry.
I ate in silence. I could still feel the vibration in my right ear. I faintly remember my mother saying, “ Why are you crying? He is your father.”
Aradhya.
