PART 3:
Originally posted by annu127Riddhima...
Armaan & Muskaan..
Abhimanyu..
Nikita.. Rahul
"YOU ARE GROUNDED FOR A WHOLE MONTH! NO TV, NO VIDEO GAMES, NO BASKETBALL, NO FRIENDS!" I knew mom was serious this time. Her red eyes, flaring nostrils and a raised hand short of slapping her only son, reminded me of the Goddess Kali images I had seen at the local Hindu temple.
"I-I am s-sorry mom," I lowered my eyes and gasped, my wails stuck somewhere between by tummy and throat.
"JUST GO TO YOUR ROOM ARMAAN!"
"Mom'.can we negotiate here?" I pleaded with my hands folded and a most innocent pout that in the past had helped me get away with murder.
"Badtameez ladka! What is there to negotiate?" She was horrified.
"One month? That's too long mom'.please," I fell at her feet, "I promise I will be a good boy now. I will take the garbage out every day, not fight with Muskaan, eat all the green vegetables'please don't ground me for a month."
"Armaan, go to your room," dad walked in from work a little early that evening (my belief in God just went a few notches up as I had just been praying for God to send dad ASAP.)
"Yes dad," I wiped my face and smiled inwardly. Dad would never deprive his beloved son of his lifelines for that long. Dad was definitely a softie when it came to his kids, and I did not mind that one bit!
To my chagrin, dad never came upstairs to my room; instead he became stern like mom. Dinner was cold, so was his good night kiss. That night, I couldn't sleep at all. Was it your bleeding nose, my punishment, or dad's aloof behavior that hurt my feelings- my first fling with insomnia?
Days went by and all I was allowed to do was travel back and forth between home and school. Standing at my window, as I saw my friends hollering in the streets and their driveways, something inside me simmered like the dal in the pressure cooker, mom was cooking downstairs. Abhimanyu, Nikita, Rahul, Muskaan were all there- shooting baskets on MYthe scorekeeper. With a band aid on your nose, you carefully wrote down the scores of the two teams that hammered my hoop. Just like the whistle blew steam off mom's cooker, I finally broke down and punched the wall of my room with such force that my fist started bleeding. Strangely, it felt good- seeing my hand bleed, the pain on my knuckles felt like an antidote to my misery. As I felt my anger thaw in bits and pieces, I punched again'..and again. This time the pain felt like a warm, nibbling sensation that ran through my whole body. basketball hoop and there on the bench, you sat with a pad and pencil-
"ARMAAN!" Your voice at my door interrupted my madness. I was shocked to see you staring at me in horror; your whole body trembled like a leaflet.
"Why are you here?" I hid my fist behind my back and looked away.
"I-I need another pencil. Aunty told me to check in your room."
"Score keeper? That's what they have all made you?" I smirked and with my good hand passed a pencil to you. Quickly, you grabbed the pencil and was about to leave when I called you, "Riddhima..stop!"
You froze in your steps.
"Don't tell mom what you saw. She will get mad at me again. I am already grounded."
"You are weird Armaan," your words came like a bolt from the blue. I stood stunned as you ran away as fast as you could.
"YOU ARE WEIRD!" I shouted back and punched my fist against the bed post this time. The vibration from the hard wood stung worse than the impact on the wall. I don't know why, but I wanted to cry out aloud at that moment. Every kid goes through a moment like this in their life when they think the whole world hates them, that everyone is against them, that they are the worst kid in the world.
With my bleeding fist, I was about to break into tears when a surprise guest knocked at my door- Padma aunty.
"Can I come in beta?" No grown up had ever knocked at my door and no grown up had ever asked permission to walk into my room.
I was taken aback. I hid my wounded fist in my pocket and nodded, "y-yes aunty."
"Give me your hand," she walked in with a first aid box and stretched her palm.
"I am okay aunty." I was both ashamed and surprised as she pulled my hand out of my pocket.
"No you are not Armaan," she stared at my hand and then without asking any more questions, cleaned it with an antiseptic solution. Deftly, she put an ointment on my abrasions and wrapped my hand in a gauze and bandage, "so what happened?" She tried to gaze into my eyes for answers.
"It was an accident."
"No this was not an accident Armaan," she cupped my face in her palms and kissed my forehead, "the other day when you hit Riddhima with a ball- that was an accident." That kiss felt heavenly. My parents had not only grounded me from fun, they had also rationed their display of affection towards their mischievous son. The moment Padma aunty kissed me; I knew that when I grew up, I would never stop kissing my kids even if they were the worst kids in the world. After dad's snub, if I had stopped believing in God, my faith in guardian angels was reinstated by aunty.
I lifted my gaze and stared at her with disbelief, "I know, but no one believes me aunty. I-I didn't mean to hit Riddhima."
"I know beta'chalo lets go down. Shivani is baking cookies for all the kids."
"Cookies?" My eyes lit up as my mouth watered. Even if mom was a drill sergeant at times, she was the best cook in the world, "are all the kids downstairs?"
"Yes, they all came in for a snack. While Shivani was busy with the dough, I sneaked upstairs to check on you. Riddhima told me that you were hurt."
"She told you? Does mom know?" My heart raced nervously.
"No'she doesn't." So you did honor my request- my first glimpse into how trust worthy you were.
"Thanks aunty," I smiled for the first time in days, but my pleasure was short lived as I recalled my punishment, "but I am grounded. I can't play with my friends."
"Who is talking about playing Armaan?" Padma aunty chuckled, "it's just cookies and milk'.I'm sure you are allowed to eat."
"Okay," I followed her excitedly. As we descended the stairs, I saw your face perched between the banisters of the stairway. Your eyes almost popped above your bandaged nose as you intently watched us come down the stairs. You might never know, but silently I thanked you for sending Padma aunty to my room. I don't know what you were thinking with those big brown eyes of yours, but now when I think back, why do I think that you were genuinely worried about me?
"ARMAAN IS HERE!" An excited Nikita ran towards me, "where have you been Armaan. Why are you not playing with us?"
"Because he is grounded," Abhimanyu chomped on a cookie and grinned with his chocolate stained teeth that I was tempted to knock off at that very moment. First, my hoop, then my mom's cookies- why did he have the first right on them today, just like he had on you the other day?
"Arre Armaan..tumhare haath ko kya hua?" Mom came running to me. I liked it, in fact, loved it when mom ignored Abhimanyu's 'grounded' comment and touched my face worriedly, "yeh kab hua? School se tho theek aaye the tum?"
"I'I," I paused, too ashamed to reveal the truth.
"Shivani'.I asked Armaan to help me with a box upstairs'..bechare ka pair phisal gaya aur haath mein lag gayi." I had no idea Padma aunty could lie, but is that the good kind of lying people talk about- white lies?
"Box?" Mom was baffled.
"Uffo! Shivani! Two kids have definitely burnt your memory cells. Remember, we are in charge of the next neighborhood summer party? I thought I would get a head start. I know you keep your party supplies in the closet upstairs."
"Yaad aaya! Now I know why you only want one kid," Mom joined in the chuckle, "chalo Armaan'.sab ke saath baith jao, I have baked your favorite chocolate chip cookies."
"So, that means I am not grounded?" I tried my luck, but alas.
"That's not what I meant!" Moms face became stern again. I felt humiliated in front of my friends. Another thing I promised to remember for my kids when I was a grownup- never insult them in front of their friends! It hurts'.really hurts, more than any wound on your body.
"Hey Armaan'.I have a proposal for you," Padma aunty rescued me again, "and for you too Shivani."
"Proposal?" Mom raised her eyebrow.
"Well, as we all know, Armaan is the best basketball player amongst all his friends'.isn't that true guys?" Aunty glanced at all the kids.
"YES HE IS!" They all (except Abhimanyu I am sure- I was too thrilled with the admiration to notice) screamed in unison.
"Riddhima beta, would you like to learn basketball from the best player here?" Aunty looked at you, surprising everyone with the question, "this could be Armaan's apology to you and also help you become a good player'.what do you think? Armaan can be like your teacher and as far as I know, teachers are always nice to their students."
"NO!" An innocent Muskaan with a milk moustache jumped up, "Armaan bhaiyya says his math teacher is very mean!"
Everyone laughed at Muskaan's comment.
"Muskaan beta'.teachers are always good, just like parents, they always want the best for you. Sometimes they can appear mean, but that's because they want you to learn," Padma aunty explained.
"OH!" Muskaan nodded her head and guzzled her milk down.
"Riddhima beta, what do you think?" Your mom nudged you again.
"Okay," you, always the obedient and angelic girl, nodded your head.
"Does that mean I am not going to be grounded for a month?" I jumped at the proposal.
"Shivani?" Aunty looked at mom, who just shrugged her shoulders.
"I guess if Armaan promises he will be nice to others and not hurt them again, and also teach basketball skills to Riddhima, I can negotiate on the punishment," mom sighed and then smiled at Padma aunty. I am not sure if it was your mom's brilliant suggestion or her son's praise in front of other kids that prompted that look of relief on mom's face.
"I PROMISE!" I jumped in the air.
"And you remember all the other promises you made too?" Mom grabbed the opportunity, "the garbage'green vegetables'.hmm?"
"Yes! Yes!" I twirled around, absolutely thrilled about the proposal, even if that meant eating broccoli! Broccoli was a small sacrifice for basketball, and I was old enough for such sacrifices, I told myself.
"So, can we start today?"
"Yes, only if you say sorry to Riddhima and give her a huggie-kissie," mom pursed her lips.
Abhimanyu broke out in a loud chuckle, "HUGGIE-KISSIE? HA HA'HA'HA!"
"WHAT?" I almost lost my balance, so did you- your jaws dropped to their knees at mom's suggestion. When we were little, that was acceptable way to apologize, but at 10 years of age- NO WAY!!!
"Shivani'.these kids are past the huggie-kissie days," Padma chuckled, "they are almost pre teens'..chalo Armaan sorry keh do'wo hi bahut hai."
Padma aunty knew kids so well. We all know that she was a Psychology major, but do all parents have to be Psychology majors to understand their kids?
"Sorrrrrry!" I avoided eye contact with you and focused on my cookie instead. I pretended I had not heard "it's okay" from you. The 'huggie-kissie' phrase still had me in heebie-jeebies, giving me a creepy sensation all over my skin as Abhimanyu continued to mouth the phrase and tease me with his eyes.
The six of us gobbled up the warm, soft, fresh baked cookies and ran out to the driveway.
I grabbed the ball and even with my bandaged hand, bounced it ardently, making up for all those lost bounces over the past few days.
"I thought you are going to teach me," you came up from behind.
"Of course he is going to teach you, but first you have to give him a huggie-kissie!" Abhimanyu doubled up hysterically.
"HERE RIDDHIMA!" I threw the ball her way, "CATCH! LET'S PRACTICE CATCH FIRST!" Purposely, I ignored Abhimanyu's remark. Rahul, Nikita and Muskaan cheered for you, "catch it Riddhima!"
You spread your arms wide in the air as if you were cheering for a team. The ball missed all contact with you and rolled away into the lawn.
"Not like that Riddhima!" I shook my head and walked towards you but before I could show you, Abhimanyu held your hands and positioned them in front of your body, "like that'.this way, you will be ready." Once again, he flashed his silly, mean grin at you, infuriating me to the core. I had barely been un-grounded, and could not risk another mishap because of Abhimanyu.
"Guys! Why don't we all stand in a circle and practice catch," I picked the ball, inhaled my anger bubbles and acted like a real coach.
"Yes, let's do that! Even I like to play catch," Rahul, the delicate, less coordinated boy of our group added.
After our mini drill, I was pleased to see that you had finally grasped the concept of catching a ball. Being a teacher was definitely a gratifying experience. I forgot my anger at Abhimanyu and 'dispersed' my class as I was itching to shoot some baskets. While everyone left, Abhimanyu and I challenged each other to some hoops.
"Is she your girlfriend?" Abhimanyu stunned me as I scored a basket.
"Who?"
"Riddhima?" He teased me.
"OF COURSE NOT! I HATE GIRLS!" I replied vehemently.
"Why are you being so nice to her then? She hates you." He snatched the ball from me.
"I hate her too!" I know I had lied; that was always my first response, my defense against anyone trying to link you with me. "This is the only way I can get out of my punishment."
"If you are doing her a favor, maybe she should also do something for you. I never do anything for anyone for free. My dad says nothing is free in this world." His words made me ponder for a few minutes. Abhimanyu had a point. He always has a point. He was a smooth operator- even when he was 10, his mind was always wheeling and dealing an unwritten contract.
"Hmm'.but what can she do for me?"
"Math homework!"
"Math homework? But I am in fifth grade and she is in fourth grade."
"She is a nerd Armaan'..she is like a human calculator. I have seen her help some fifth graders with their homework in study hall. You hate math, don't you? Let her do your homework for you."
"What if mom and dad find out? That would be cheating."
"It's not cheating. You are just helping each other. You teach her basketball and she helps you with math. What's the big deal?" To this date, I don't know if Abhimanyu was trying to help me make a deal, or was trying to get me into trouble. The gullible 10 year old in me, fell for his plan.
"Bye Abhimanyu," I left my ball and ran inside. You were upstairs in Muskaan's room while our moms sipped on their cups of tea and 'poha' mom had just cooked.
"Thanks Padma. I felt bad about grounding Armaan for that long, but I couldn't bear to see my son hurting your daughter like that," mom's voice floated into my ears as I ascended the stairs.
"Bachchon me yeh tho hota rehta hai Shivani. Your Armaan is a very sensitive boy. Be careful, he gets his feelings hurt easily."
"Nahin Padma! He is just like Billy- thick skinned, made of Teflon. In dono ko kuch bhi keh do, inke kaan par joon tak nahin rengti!"
"Well, I hope I am wrong then." That's all I heard as I reached Muskaan's room, confused at our mom's conversation. Me- a sensitive boy? A sissy? Naa! Padma aunty did not know me that well after all. It's only now when I am 28, I realize how right your mom was. Sensitive does not always mean tears; sensitive also means self destructive behavior by a person, angry at himself for hurting someone he really cares about, but doesn't know why.
I whisked you away from Muskaan's doll house and asked you to join me in my room, "Riddhima'come here. I want to show you something."
"I want to come too," Muskaan got up with her dolls and their frilly accessories.
"NO'NO GIRLY TOYS IN MY ROOM!" I glared at Muskaan and shooed her away.
"What do you want to show me?" You skipped excitedly behind me.
I shut my door behind us and pulled out my math folder, "you know I am teaching you how to play basketball?"
"Yeah," you nodded, "mom says one has to be good at everything, not only school work."
"Yeah, that's right but you know I am very busy in fifth grade. I get a lot of homework and don't have time to teach you basketball every day."
"Oh," your face fell, "so you can't teach me?"
"No, I can, but only if you do something for me."
"Me?" Your face lit up, "what?"
"This is my math folder. I hate long division."
"I know long division. I learnt it in my Chinese math class. I can teach you."
"No'no need to teach me. I know how to do it, but it's very boring. Can you do my homework every day?"
You were aghast, "that's cheating! I am going to tell mom." As you turned around to leave, I pulled you back by your wrists. I had seen the hero pulling the heroine by her wrists in a lot of Hindi serials that my mom watched on Indian TV channels, but we were kids and it felt strange that I was doing the same to you.
"YOU ARE HURTING ME!" You yelled. I let go of your wrists and stepped back, "I am sorry'please don't tell mom. I don't want to be grounded again but remember I will not teach you basketball unless you do my homework."
"Okay," you rubbed your wrists against your belly, "I will do it, but promise that you will teach me basketball after school tomorrow."
"Okay'here is my folder."
"I will write the answers on another sheet, you can copy them later."
I should have known that you were definitely smarter than me, but my over confidence got the better of me, "no, I don't have time to rewrite all the answers'.just write them in my folder."
"But the teacher will know."
"Just write in bad handwriting, don't use your regular handwriting, okay? Now I am going downstairs to play basketball." I stuffed my folder and pencil in your hand and dashed out like a free bird to enjoy the freedom of sharing my hoop and ball with no one.
My grand plan worked for lengthy duration of two days! I had underestimated the intelligence of my teachers and overestimated your ability to muddle your beautiful handwriting.
"Armaan Malik!" My teacher stopped me at recess, "the head master would like to see you now."
"Mr. Scott?" I knew I was in trouble. Mr. Scott only called upon kids if they had performed extra ordinarily well in some school event or if they had messed up big time. The odds were in favor of the latter as I had not excelled in any praise worthy school event (at least to my knowledge.) The optimist that I was, I kept my fingers crossed for a miracle- maybe my slam dunking skills had caught his attention, or my holding Muskaan's hand at the bus stop had warmed his heart, or I was being selected for the school basketball team as the youngest player in the history of our school!
When I saw you sobbing in Mr. Scott's office, I wanted to retrace my steps and run away from there. The math teacher stood across from a very serious and stern looking principal.
Cheating was a serious offense at our school. Both of us were equal culprits in this crime. I hung my head and stood silently. Mr. Scott and the math teacher reprimanded both of us in the most stern and harsh manner. Strangely, it was not their admonishment that bothered me as much as your quivering body and heartfelt sobs and bawls. I had let you down once again, hurt your feelings rather than your body this time. I was used to punishment, but this was probably the first time in your life that you had to face the wrath of a teacher- or any other grownup.
Our parents arrived shortly and were asked to take their kids, who had broken the ethical and moral code of conduct of the school, home for seven days! Yes, we were both being suspended from school for seven days.
Shashank uncle was livid and could not believe that his darling daughter could have done anything like that- there is a mistake Mr. Scott. I know Riddhima. She would never do anything like this.
"I am sorry Mr. Gupta, but your daughter has admitted to the cheating."
"This boy must have threatened her or something. I know Armaan since he was a little. He has always troubled my daughter!" He pointed fingers at me. Padma aunty looked away, disappointed in me.
My parents were equally humiliated. They refused to defend me; they knew their son was not the most spotless character in the world. Their son had put their friendship with the Guptas and their dignity to shame once again.
"I-I-HATE ARMAAN!" You inhaled between your sobs. Your hateful, petrified eyes made me diminish in stature like I had never felt before.
"It's my fault Mr. Scott," I mustered the courage to speak, "Shashank uncle is right. I-I forced Riddhima to do my homework. She didn't want to cheat, but I told her I would beat her up if she didn't listen to me."
There was a stunned silence in the room. I had taken a leaf from Padma aunty's book- I had lied to protect you.
"Armaan?" Padma aunty was visibly hurt. I am sure she had not expected that from the boy she had so compassionately helped just a few days ago. I am not sure if I had done the right thing at that moment, but when the principal reduced your suspension to just a warning and altered my suspension to a transfer to another elementary school in the neighborhood- a school meant for 'troubled kids,' I felt relieved for you. You remained silent and accepted the softer blow to your reputation- a warning rather than a suspension. I am sure you must have thought that I deserved the harsher punishment as it was my idea.
Mom and dad's protests fell on deaf ears. More than cheating, it was the aggressive streak in me that prompted that transfer. I was a bully in the making and I needed help right away, they were told. It was a matter of six months they were told. If I performed well in the special school, I could join the regular sixth grade class in Middle School next year. They were doing my parents a favor- preventing a juvenile convict in the making.
You walked away with your parents, back to your class, your dignity reinstated after a minor warning, which I am sure was also very disturbing for you, and I stood there all alone in the principal's office as my parents went to fetch my belongings from my class.
'to be contd'
41