Where do you live? Not in the physical, but in the temporal plane — Where are you? Past, present or future? Yours or someone else’s? How has that meditational course you took treating you? How much dust has it gathered? Can you recall how to be more present? How many breaths you were supposed to count? Can you tell me what it said about being more present? (I’ll attach my email at the end, please let me know)
It is not a challenge to live in the present. But what about the ledger of losses of the past and promises of the future? These questions continue to haunt me. It’s been 10 years when I first wondered this. One should have better worries in sixth grade.
“We are going to learn tenses. And you all are idiots.”
No one could represent us at this trial, we had been convicted and sentenced to a humiliation we no longer felt.
“I know you’ll forget the rules and start yammering away. I have been teaching 40 years and I know exactly what will work on you.”
I think that is definition of being discriminated against — when you are not the subject, but are subjected to things. Like most of those being discriminated against, we didn’t care and continued the all-important business of wasting time.
“Every class I’ll teach this term, you all have to speak only in the decided tense. Every class, a different tense. Every sentence, from each of you, only permitted in that tense.”
The scared among the pack heard this. Leaves rustled. Murmurs. Alert sounded. A sudden quiet. Prey waiting for the attack, unaware they have been hit.
“It seems you are up for the challenge. Good, very good.”
“Let’s keep it simple today — Simple Present Tense.”
Clueless and confident (two key characteristics of pre-pubescent boys), we looked at board. We were sentenced to confinement — I felt but didn’t understand.
“Excuse me, sir. What does this mean?”
“Thank you, Vaibhav. You speak correctly. We are to talk only in simple tense in this class.”
“Sir, how will we say everything like that?”
“You are on the right track until now. Let us see how this works out.”
We were explained the rules of all the three tenses and their forms on this day of simple present. No significant difference could be recorded in the engagement of the class on that day. However strongly our kind teacher might have thought that this medicine would forge a miracle, we were looking elsewhere at some every day rabbit being pulled out of the mundane magic of middle school. It was an art-killing time. We learnt it among ourselves.
“Simple Present Continuous.”
Surely, this was a joke. But was it? The beauty of an all-boys school, I have always felt, lies in its ability to consume, and create extremes. Balance and diversity of gender keeps us sane and harmonious. Skew the balance and it is petri-dish. A vial. A bomb. A show.
Challenge was accepted and tackled in a silent agreement we knew we had with no need to formalise. We were going to keep quiet. 40 minutes wasn’t that long. Clocks were ticking. Morning light was bright. Birds were chirping in the neem trees. We could have been meditating, if we had the minds for it. Alas, we had killed them while killing time.
As it goes in a waiting game, the unpractised falters.
“Sir, what will you teach?”
“Get out. The rules are clear. Simple Present Continuous only”
His own sentences would fail a stringent test of grammar, but rules were rules. The verdict was fair. The prey silently concurred. It was a fair attack. The move was made, and ground was lost.
“Sir, what are you going to teach today?”
“Good, Pranay. You are following the rules, good.”
He had won this set, there was no need to rub it in our faces. Condescension by a teacher was what we were used to, but the dynamics of a match were different. We could face defeat, but not the loss of pride. These are the unwritten rules of mobs that exist in sixth grade — they are shared OTA through a medium yet to be cracked by NASA, directly onto one’s boot drive, ready for use after a quick nap.
“Present Perfect.”
“So, have you finished your homework?”
We knew the rules, the consequences and wanted to win. So much is lost in the world trying to incentivise people. Sugar, salaries, gifts, bonuses, donations, seats of power, bribes, sex — all this resulting in a false feeling of knowingness and loss of innocence. Decision makers need to return to this class room. Let the world be innocent, there won’t be a need to give incentives.
“Yes, I have finished my work, sir.”
“Good. What about you, Pulkit?”
“I have not finished my work, sir.”
“At least, you have spoken in the right tense.”
The pack was satisfied. The weak link had not let them down. Pulkit was aware of this. These moments built street cred fast. No one could afford making the team lose. It was a constant struggle — trying to get into a better social level. You couldn’t shrug and say you were over it. You wouldn’t want to be an NPC, right? Are we all NPCs? Who is the main character? Is it worth it — being an NPC? These problems come into our lives later, I suppose. In sixth grade, we just drove over NPCs in GTA San Andreas.
As the days rolled by, we got better at tenses and this game. We wanted to win. But how? How was this supposed to end? Were we supposed to keep playing until the tenses ran out? Were was the fun in that? You want things to blast or bleed to know they have ended.
A meeting was called by the brave. Some snickering, newly learnt slangs tried out, plans presented and rejected, but then — Hope.
“What if we take the game to the next level?”
“How?”
“He says we need to talk in tenses, why don’t we do in tenses?”
“What?”
“Simple Future.”
The conference was broken. The challenge was furled.
“Sir, tomorrow will be a good morning.”
“Smart, Ritik. Don’t risk being clever.”
“No, sir, I will not. I will do my work on time.”
“The time is now.”
“Sir, the time will only come tomorrow.”
He wanted to say that teacher has broken the rules, twice by now. Dammit, he didn’t know how to accuse someone in the future of things they were doing right now.
“Tomorrow, you will not be in this school, if you continue with this.”
“Sir, who knows where we will be this time tomorrow.”
I need to come clean — I shouldn’t have sung “This Time Tomorrow” by The Kinks one day prior to this.
“Will you be going out yourself or shall I drag you?”
This was a small victory. We had forced the predator to follow the rules. Was it enough? Will this be a lesson a greed? We were not to know.
There was a reason why our teacher has decided not to follow rules that day. The infinite chances that Universe takes every day, had fallen against him. There were no rules anymore. There were no games. There were no birds chirping for him. He was going to die. The blood cells weren’t following the rules. His heart couldn’t take this chaos anymore.
Don’t expect idiots to understand this. They shuffled into their everyday business of killing time. They were not told any of this. All they knew was that there was a game, and they were victorious.
The universe played its chances against me too. My mind thinks against me. It makes me think what they say shouldn’t be thought. It doesn’t follow the rules. It aches when my boss says I need to work. It dances when I need to sit still in a seminar. It smiles when someone’s disappointed with me. It loves someone the most when they are saying goodbye.
It goes back to a classroom when there is no longer time enough to study. It wants to learn when I need to earn money. It wants to eat when I am broke. It wants to leave a party without eating and still vomit back home. It wants to live in the present. It wants to win over the past. It wants to plan a future. It wants to live in the dark.
How many breaths was I supposed to count?