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Twelve-year-old Dhruv sat crying in one corner of the playground, plucking

at the grass, watching the other kids play at the far end. It had been a couple  of months since he first started avoiding them. His friends often talked about

how his dad and mom were separating and they would ask questions to  which he had no answers.

‘Do they fight?’ ‘Don’t you try to stop them?’ ‘Will you leave us?’ ‘Will

you stay with your mom or your dad?’ ‘Is your mom marrying again?’ ‘Is  your dad?’

Their curiosity was legitimate. No one knew of such a case in their

middle-class neighbourhood. Divorces, even in television soaps, were  cause for much distress. Families were meant to stay together till the end of

time.

School was a nightmare. He would have stopped attending if not for his  mom. She taught in the same school—chemistry and maths for eighth and  ninth standards—so skipping school wasn’t an option at all.

Things had gone downhill so slowly that he didn’t notice anything in the  beginning. It was like Tetris on slow rewind. He thought other kids were  going through the same crisis. For the past few months, there were rumours

of his mother having a torrid, Mills-and-Boon-esque affair with the  principal, who also owned the school and three other branches.

The seniors

would often cook up stories about his mother and the principal locking  themselves in his room for hours.

Dhruv would innocently ask, ‘Why would  they lock themselves in?’ The seniors would affect a boisterous, evil laugh.

He would ask again, ‘Tell me, why would they lock themselves in? Tell

me?’ He would try hitting them and they would push him away. He would  then lock himself in a bathroom stall for three straight periods.

Today morning, between the third and the fourth periods, when he was

hiding in the bathroom, he overheard two seniors talk outside.

‘I can’t believe Namrata ma’am is banging that oldie. She’s quite

something, isn’t she? Very perky breasts for thirty-five,’said a senior,  probably in the ninth grade.

Dude. We should totally check out the CCTV footage. Imagine her *****

on top of that man! Did I tell you? That guy in the other class? Ramit? That  bastard dropped a pencil and Namrata ma’am picked it up. She totally bent

over and showed everything. He tried clicking a picture but it came out

totally blurred.’  ‘Should we repeat it in her class tomorrow?’  They laughed. Dhruv heard the taps run. The boys left the washroom.

Dhruv returned home in a sullen mood.

‘Why are you not eating, Dhruv?’ his mother asked, ladling another

spoonful of rice, then cradling his face in her palms and kissing it. She was  a good cook. Despite the toxic environment, Dad always ate quietly,  concentrating on every morsel.

‘I don’t feel like eating.’

‘You didn’t eat your lunch too. Is there something wrong? Someone

troubling you? Should I talk to your class teacher?’ Mom asked, making  little rice balls.

‘I don’t feel like eating, Mumma,’snapped Dhruv, pushing her hand away.

‘What’s the problem, Dhruv?’

‘IT’S NOTHING! THERE’S NO PROBLEM, MUMMA. LEAVE ME

ALONE!’ His mother retreated in shock. Dhruv had never shouted at her.

They were always on the same team. And then he spoke. ‘Don’t pick up

pencils from the ground tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I am asking you not to, Mumma!’

‘But why?’

‘JUST LIKE THAT!’

‘What’s the matter with you, Dhruv?’

‘THE SCHOOLWANTS TO SEE YOU *****. THEY WANT TO SEE

THE CCTV FOOTAGE OF YOU IN THE PRINCIPAL’S ROOM WITH  THE PRINCIPAL.’ Dhruv pushed the plate away and ran to his room.

His

father looked up from his plate, his eyes burning embers. For the next three   hours, he heard Dad and Mom shout at each other in the next room, things  breaking. He blamed himself for opening his mouth and cried into his

pillow. Later that evening, he sneaked out of the house through the window.