new school

Today was the first of the six classes that my new school’s holding as this introductory thing to the real classes, which begin on June 1. Apparently the 11th and 12th grades in this country are a different unit altogether in most places, and since there are students from schools that follow different boards, this new school of mine felt the need to make things clear so as to not hinder progress. In the beginning we were made to sit in this auditorium-like place, and had to sit through a speech given by the bald-ass Principal (during the course of which this one boy was rebuked for conspicuously laughing at some of the things that the Principal said that he obviously deemed funny), following which the disciplinarian dude walked up on stage and put forth a not so pleasant list of rules, stating that the behavior of the students needed to reflect the prestige of the institute, or something like that. In grades 9 and 10, I used to go to that school for this after-school stuff, and I was familiar to a degree with the disciplinarian’s ambitious (and largely successful) attempts at disciplining the students at the school, as well as the fact that most of the rules he made were draconian. He even specifically said that ‘the four-letter word is not allowed’. Of course, we all got the message, but what he said was so vague that when one construes it in a certain way, they can say ‘fuck’ liberally without being lawfully punished. I should have liked to hear him say, “No saying ‘fuck’,” more because it would render him hypocritical than the fact that the rule would have not had a loophole. Oh, I just discovered one: Who says you couldn’t write the word? At any rate, I don’t particularly care, since I’ve never had any problems with adhering to the rules or controlling my tongue. So after the bald-ass Principal finished talking at length on a concept I failed to grasp altogether because I wasn’t paying him attention, and after this absurd exaggeration of a disciplinarian finished making clear what he wanted to make clear, I proceeded to my classroom, which I had no trouble at all doing, unlike some of the other students, because I was very familiar with the place. We had math class, where we did this topic so easy that I don’t even want to talk about it; after which we had chemistry class, which was exceedingly boring, because I had learned the topic he was teaching three separate times earlier, and it wasn’t hard either, so I yawned the greater part of the class away.

I don’t even want to dwell briefly on the disconcerting situation I found myself in after exiting the school, but I have to write it down here for the sake of the records. My driver had conveniently parked the car on the other side of the road because the traffic cops had become all self-assertive today for some reason and were not, for whatever reason, letting people park their cars on this side of the road. I mean, my driver couldn’t use the underground parking lot to pick me up, because that would be a waste of time and stuff. But those imbecilic traffic cops would hear nothing (I imagine), and they forced him to park on the other side of the road. That coupled with the fact that the traffic today on that road (which just so happened to be a large and busy one) was particularly bad rendered it imperative for me to cross it. I have to admit: I’m a total loser when it comes to crossing roads; at least in this country. The whole concept of the crosswalk is absent altogether, and where it is present sporadically, it serves an ornamental purpose more than anything else—just like the designated lanes on the road, which are nothing more than white decorative lines to the majority of the unqualified, brainless motorists in this city, if not country. I mean, in Calcutta, which is my hometown through my parents, although hardly any road has lanes (I strongly suspect communist influence), people are less inhuman when it comes to driving. Today, while crossing that damn road, this city bus screeched to a stop six fucking feet or so away from me. I felt all dizzy and disoriented when I reached my car.

For some reason I’ve been watching cricket of late. This IPL thing’s going on, and it’s kinda interesting, even though I wouldn’t forego some of my other TV shows in favor of it. Anyway, even though I don’t like this city one bit, I find myself supporting the Deccan Chargers (a newspaper company in this city owns it). They lost a game last night. It was ridiculous, actually. I started watching when 12 odd overs were up and Gilchrist was clean bowled. They had to score some 70 runs off 48 balls or something against the Delhi Daredevils to win. Andrew Symonds came out on field and brought it down to 25 runs off the 20 remaining balls, and then he got out because of a reckless swing he attempted, and this followed a series of ridiculous dismissals. A defeat was imminent for them, so I went to bed, and hence don’t know all the details. They did lose. Sad—no, pathetic.