It was a hot, sweltering afternoon. The earth seemed to stand still; the trees themselves seemed to be standing only by sheer force of will. The pavement was so hot that it could be felt through the sole of your shoe.
It was in this intolerable heat that the lot of us schlepped to class, regretting every step away from hostel. It was quite astonishing that M.Singh- the sleep-o-holic was coming to the class today.The road seemed to stretch out in front of us, never ending, pavement almost liquidified, just on and on. So we reached class after crossing the Sahara Desert only to find that the professor has reached there before (the bugger HAD A BIKE! Oh only if…). So our M. Singh asked “Sir, May we come in?”- A glance- “No”. Shock! Disbelief!“KyaHua?”
“You are late and I do not entertain late comers.” And then something cracked, a crack that resounded from within everybody’s spine. The heat of the day seemed to have awakened M. Singh’s ancestral Rajput war blood. The anger at not being shown mercy, the frustration of having endured the heat for nothing exploded in a flash.
“Sir, ye kya baat hai sir, itni dhoop mein aaye hum…”
HAS HE GONE MAD. MAY BE THE SUN APPLED HIS BRAIN?
“How dare you….”
“Sir, it’s the sun sir he’s not in his right mind.”
“I have been teaching for….”
“I am striking you and name from the list..”
“Sir, he is sorry sir..”
“Never come back. Now get OUT.”
And we scoot- almost literally caught between the frying pan and the fire.
The thing was, he accepted a written apology a day later and at least M. Singh is a fourth-yearite now.