The Lunch Box  


‘Minniii…,’ the shrilling voice struck like a knife in my brain. It was 5.40 AM. I can sleep for another five minutes. Let her shout.

‘Minniii…’ Again? What’s her problem? I  opened one eye and looked at the watch. Oh my god! It was 6AM! I threw the quilt and ran toward the bathroom. Her dialogues were coming even in the bathroom! Why must she shout for everything?

‘Since last twenty minutes, I’ve been asking you to get up, but you never listen. Now, look at you, the bus is about to come, but you’re not bothered! It’s a daily routine now!’ She was cooking in the kitchen and chanting her morning mantras. Minni this, Minni that.

I was combing my hair and at the same time trying to put on the shoes. I was really late. I must rush now. The bus must be coming anytime. Her non-stop cribbing was irritating.

‘Where is your lunch box?’ She stood in front of me with hands on her waist and a killer expression on her face.  

Oh! It is in my bag, I think’ I grabbed the glass of milk and gulped  in a single go.

’What is it doing in the bag?’ She was shouting again. ’You don’t even take out your tiffinbox, shame at you!” Her speech was continuous.

 Thankfully, the bus was continuously honking the horn. I ran towards the gate. She was coming after me. I sat in the bus and looked at her, she was waving with a smile. I waved back and smiled.

This was our morning routine. Six days a week!

    ’Hi, Meenal!’

    ’Hi Tanya’ I sat with her. She was my classmate and friend.

    ’Upset?’ She was smiling

    ’No yaar, I hate to wake up early, you know.’ I was telling her a matter of fact. It was a torture to get up at this unearthly hour, everyday.

‘Nobody likes to get up that early, look at everyone in the bus.’ She started laughing. I just looked at them and started laughing too. The most energetic boys and talkative girls, all were sitting with long faces! Our laughing made them smile too, and we all got charged.

    ‘Nikhil, have you got my CD?’ This was Pooja.

    ‘No yaar, sorry. It was lying on the table, and mom was watching. You know how she is. She’ll ask so many questions why I am taking it to the school, so I didn’t bring it. I will tomorrow, definitely.’ He promised.

    ‘Neha, what are you reading?’ This was Mohit now. We were all surprised to see that she was studying in the bus. That too when exams were far off.

    ‘Nothing really,’ she closed the book, but Mohit saw that it was some paper hidden in the book.

    ‘Oh, Neha! What’s that?’ He tried to snatch the book, but her none-of-your-business was so stern that he pulled his hand off. He must have felt insulted, his face was red. He sat quietly after that. Neha too was sitting, crossed.

Everyday, someone must behave like this; we  never reach the school without a quarrel in the bus. The bus entered the school. All of us picked up our bags,  tucked the shirts neatly inside the skirt, checked the ties, and got out. My classroom was on the second floor. I hated to climb the stairs, but had to do it daily, six or seven times a day.

Some students were already in the classroom, others were still coming. Now we have to get ready for the stupid queue for the assembly. It felt like we were the nursery kids.  Our only privilege was that we were not required to keep the hands on the shoulders of other kids in front in the queue. .

Folded hands and closed eyes, we started the morning prayers. My lips were moving, but the mind was elsewhere, ‘Did mom keep the lunch in the bag? I think she didn’t. When she took out the lunch box from the bag, she did not keep it back; there was no time in fact. That was the moment when the bus had come. Will I have to go hungry today?’

Now the prayer is over and the assembly is going on. News, short skits; these were so boring! The students on the stage were performing nicely, but it was so boring for us to watch the same thing daily. Everyone knows it, but the practice will never end.

‘Come on here, Gaurav!’ It was the voice of our class teacher. She was furious. A flash of grin went through our faces. Something interesting was coming up! With a grim and serious face Gaurav inched forward to the class teacher.

The class teacher was smart, beautiful.  The boys thought that she is sexy too! For us, the girls, she was just a so-so. She normally wore the sari and had a style of her own. Her nail-paint and lipstick matched the colour of her sarees. She leave her hair open, and  when she talks her hands  automatically go to her hairs. She fondles with them. When she turns her face  some flicks stay on the face. She is in a wrong profession.  She should have been a model rather. In fact, it was a subject that often gave winds to our creative ideas.  My smart mind never failed to argue  that she couldn’t be a model because of her height! She is way short. It was no dispute though  the teaching doesn’t go with her personality. All she knew was imposition of strict rules when they were not required. She seldom missed a chance to find the faults in us. Today, the sword was going to fall on poor Gaurav! We all waited in anticipation what she is going to lecture on the scapegoat! It’s thoroughly entertaining regardless of the fear that it could be our turn, just any day.

The teacher thundered at Gaurav, ‘Look at you! Is this the way to tuck the shirt in the trouser?’ She was pulling his shirt. ‘Why do you boys wear the shirt double than your size?’

Gaurav is a lean and thin fellow, and yes, he was indeed wearing  a big-size shirt, but so did everyone! Even we girls did! What should it become ridiculous? Children grow fast, and it is the parents who buy us big-size clothes. Where is our fault?

‘Gaurav! Is this the way to keep your hair? And why can’t you fold your collar properly?’ She took it upon herself to tuck in his shirt, and arrange his hair! Dumb, he just kept looking at her with a stupid grin on his face.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself! You are smiling? Shame on you! From henceforth, I must not see you boys and girls, improperly dressed.’ She was shouting at the class now, but the period was over and she left the class. We were looking at Gaurav, and he was pulling his shirt and loosening his tie, and grinning like an idiot! The recreation was over.

The history and science periods were boring as usual. I started feeling hungry and waited for the lunch break. Suddenly I remembered that there was no tiffin. I will share with somebody.

It was the lunch break and out of habit, I opened my bag and what? The tiffin was there! I opened it and saw my favorite sandwiches and French-fries! Wow!

‘Oh! She is the sweetest mom on the earth!’ I felt like hugging her and telling her that I love her more than anything on this earth! I must tell her today. She is such a sweet heart. She is right when she tells me some horrible things in the morning. It is really my fault.

The friends came and we started eating.

‘Meenal from 10th B please come to the music room. Its urgent’ this was the class speaker announcing. Shit! Is this the time to call? They won’t let me eat in peace. I shut the tiffin and ran to the music room.

The school was preparing for the annual day. It was the dance practice. Dancing is my hobby, but not at the cost of my tiffin, for heaven sake! It went for other two periods, The boring math’s period was skipped automatically. It was a great feeling!

The music teachers were finalizing the songs and the steps. I saw Richa di who was quietly standing in a corner. No hi, no nothing? It was very unusual of her. She is in the 12th standard, the most senior class. She is the head-girl, best in dance, best in academics, and above all sweetest by nature. Her being quite was clear that something was wrong. I went to her and said, ‘Hi, Richa di!’ I was her favorite; she looked at me with a faint hint of smile.

‘What’s wrong?’ I was curious.

‘I am not participating in the dance,’ She told me.

‘But, why?’ Dancing was her passion, so it was strange

‘ My mom is against this. She told me not to participate as its going to effect my studies’ She was looking depressed.

‘ But Richa di, you are very good in studies, do you really think it’s going to effect?’ I was wondering.

‘ No, it won’t effect, I know and I tried my best to make her understand that, but she refused. I just told ma’am about it and I am really feeling bad.’ There were tears in her eyes.

‘Tell ma’am to talk to her’ I proposed.

‘No way! She will get furious and insult them. No, it’s ok. I will not participate.’

I felt very strange. This all rounder girl’s mother was dictating her not to participate in her school activity? This is ridicules! Why all the mothers have to behave like Hitler! Suddenly I started hating my mother too. Why they have to behave like, some super human. Why can’t they let us decide our good or bad? Ask them for the permission to go for a movie with friends, they will give you a list of one thousand things that why shouldn’t we do that. Give them the reason to go for a birthday party, they will refuse, without listening. This is disgusting. We are not allowed to move without their permission, are we the puppets in their hands? They really brake our little hearts!

After attending last two periods, it was time to go home. We went to the buses. We were tired, but chirping went on non-stop.
We saw Mohit coming and sitting at on the last seat. We saw Neha, looking for Mohit, and she went and sat with him. We all looked at each other, What’s going on?

‘I am sorry for my behavior in the morning.’ She was telling him.

‘It’s OK! I also behaved badly!’

‘Friends?’

‘Friends,’ they shook hands!

‘Party, party.. .’ We were shouting in unison.

Mohit got down and bought ten ice-candies.

‘Cheers!’ It was a party, indeed!

The bus started, and we started listening to the music. You see, we have installed a music system in the bus with the pooled money. So, the one-hour drive was not boring anymore, and while coming back, this hour virtually, becomes the shortest.

The bus stopped with a screech . I saw mom was standing on the gate. I got down and the boys started shouting-‘Bye Meenal.’

I wanted to kill them, at that instance. Who is going to explain their absurd behavior to mom?

‘I hate you, guys!’ I cursed them silently.

‘Hi, mom!’ She was frowning.

‘Huh…Hi!’ She actually was smiling.

We came inside. She opened the bag with her running commentary.

‘Now, I must take out your tiffin box myself, you don’t have time, you are a busy girl.’ She was sarcastic.

I just ignored her and went to change my clothes.

‘Miiinnii…’

‘Oh, my god! What happened now? I came running. She was standing there, tiffin in her hands, anger on her face, and her mantras!

‘This is what I get up early in the morning for, to make your lunch, and see, you don’t have time, even to eat that?’

Oh my god, now how I am going to tell her what happened. I was too tired. I shrugged my shoulders, and went back to the bathroom. Chanting, constantly coming behind my back.