The Prankster and the Poet
Fuzzy teenage memories wrapped in an autofictional account
Altaf Ma’am was clear, “Antara, you sit on the outside and don’t let Rizwan go out.”
Rizwan is a collective headache shared by all teachers. I am supposed to help them tame him. We are bench partners since last Monday and I haven’t had one peaceful day since. He made a parody song to mock the new Geography teacher. Flashed his wicked smile while showing everyone a page in Nancy Drew that had the word ‘bra’ on it. And once brazenly changed into the sports t-shirt IN FRONT of everyone. Including the girls.
We have nothing in common except our thick pair of glasses. And our big bags which have to fit on a small bench. We also fight with equal enthusiasm. Every morning, I draw a line on the desk with a purple chalk. Yet our elbows collide. He says, “Itna mere side aa gayi hai toh mere upar hi baith ja na!” and I threaten to report the doodles he drew of the Math sir and the Biology Ma’am as an alleged couple. He reminds me that I am not so innocent either. I contributed to his mischief by drawing the maroon lips of the Biology ma’am.
The worst revelation came yesterday. Rizwan has read all the Harry Potter books and moved onto something called ‘Lord of the Rings’. I am still on Prisoner of Azkaban. I thought he looked like Harry and behaved like Malfoy. Turns out the prankster is a bookworm too, like Hermione. You can’t be all of them at once. That’s just not allowed.
One day, Altaf Ma’am rushes into the class, yelling, “Who is A M G?”
I raise my trembling hand. I haven’t spelt out my name in the English notebook. Classic me. She starts clapping, and asks everyone to join her. They aren’t the sarcastic slow claps the Sports Sir mimes every time I come last in the race. Altaf Ma’am is beaming in her orange sari. “Whattapoem! Whattapoem!” She tells the class, “I gave you all three prompts to choose from. Antara has written one poem weaving all three. And it is beeautiifull.”
I look around. Everyone is as surprised as me. An average student never expects applause. The claps start to die down, but on my side, Rizwan claps vigorously and revives the clapping for a little bit more. He is…proud? I am pink.
We resume fighting the next day. Seeing us complain and crib every day about having to tolerate each other, our friends hatch a plan to change the seating arrangement. They are ready to convince Altaf Ma’am, to make Ayush, the class topper sit with Rizwan while I can sit with my friend Sana.
I should be happy but I am not. “I don’t want to change my place, he is the one who will have to leave,” I claim. The next morning, Sana tells me that he said the exact same thing. I hide my smile like a Rasgulla in my mouth. I take my purple chalk and draw a squiggly line this time. Rizwan says nothing, not even when our elbows rub a little.
What (or who) does this story remind you of?
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Even though I am miffed Antara didn’t want to sit with me, she’s forgiven! Love ke liye saala kuch bhi karega 😂. Very very cute Sunday reading this has been. Want more more MOAR OF adventures of Antara and Rizwan!
It's hard to draw a purple squiggly line between loving Raju's writing and loving it A LOT. I roll from one to the other without knowing how, especially when she writes YA romance 🫶🏼