Intense Desires...

I was looking for locker number 45 as I walked down the hall of Kendriya Vidyalaya School No. 1 in Vikas Puri, New Delhi. Nishant Tiwari was assigned locker 46. It was directly outside my homeroom, Room 15. For the first time in my life, I knew people on the first day of school. From kindergarten to ninth grade, I attended a different school district every year. It felt fantastic to be back at Kendriya Vidyalaya School No. 1 in Vikas Puri for my second year. My parents relocated frequently. They moved almost every year I was in school, and they had moved several times before that. By the time we arrived in Vikas Puri, New Delhi, I had already spent time in Pune, Bengaluru, Indore, Udaipur, Ranchi, Lucknow, Ahmedabad, and, yes, Neemrana. For kindergarten, second, third, fifth, and sixth grades, I attended Christian Convent schools. I am a foodie who enjoys my meals, particularly my lunch. I enjoy decorating it and bringing in a large number of items. My lunch was usually the same every day: two butter sandwiches, one with chicken and the other with egg spread, followed by french fries, an apple, a banana for fruit, and chocolate for dessert. I admire my mother for that. She is aware of my preferences. I went to homeroom after stowing my bookbag and lunch in my locker. I sat down after seeing my name on the fourth desk in the row near the window, right behind Nishant, of course. Ms. Anita Joshi, a tough-looking, fit, and rigorous lady in her mid-thirties, was at her desk reviewing her homeroom class roster. I knew she'd be teaching an introduction to chemistry in 3rd period. The last pupils arrived. The bell rang. I knew the majority of those from the middle school, where eighth and ninth graders were housed. There were a couple of cute females and a couple of people I'd had issues with the previous year, but no pals. I didn't have many pals. My best buddy from ninth grade had moved over the summer, and my prior best friend, who was still a good friend, lived a few blocks away in Tilak Nagar, near our old house. The principal came on the speakers and welcomed us, as well as made a few announcements about clubs and sports that had already begun (the cricket team had been preparing for a few weeks), and then we rose and recited the Pledge. This is something I've said every school day, regardless of which school or city I was in. I think I even said it in my nightmares at times. When I get to college, I'm hoping it will go away. When Ms. Joshi called the roll, and when she said, "Ashvani Tyagi," I answered, "Ashu, Tyagi please," because that was my code name. She seemed to scribble something in her grade book. This is something I'll be doing every period today. My mother and her relatives were the only ones who called me Ashvani. Oh, and Mrs. Karuna, my ninth-grade English teacher, addressed everyone by their given name. She was a traditional teacher, rough as a coconut on the outside and sweet as a cucumber on the inside. However, I have read that senior secondary teachers can tell by the level of your grammar, spelling, and word choice how you are going to fare in your life. I had a feeling the rumor was genuine. Yamini Khanna, a new student from London, England, an exchange program student, was the really cute Barbie on the seat next to me. Little did I know that saying "Hi" to her as the bell rang to send us to the first period would have such a tremendous impact on my life. I could only discern the tiniest accent in her "Hi" back. We exchanged greetings and realized that we had a couple of classes: Math first period and English fifth period. I resolved that this year would be better than the previous one. I was routinely picked on in ninth grade. Being the new kid, being forced to dress differently (my parents didn't like blue jeans-I didn't even own a pair, and if my parents had their way, I wouldn't have I had moved out), and earning exceptionally outstanding grades made me the focus of a lot of jokes, jostling, and plain bullying. It had gotten better after the class bully challenged me to a fight, which I had accepted. It wasn't even close in the end. I also had bruises on my back and chest on several occasions. Because I constantly asked them to refrain from assaulting my gorgeous face, and they complied by using my body as a punch bag. And I always presented myself as a tough guy, acting as though it never hurts when they strike. I'm going to reveal a secret here; please don't tell anyone; it always hurts. He'd yell, "Let's go," and take a swing at me as soon as we were in the locker room. I ducked. But then I swung back. When he dodged, I hit his shoulder, but he was taken aback that I was fighting back. I decided to press it right then and there. I never landed another punch, but he kept backing away, stunned by what was happening. I simply turned around and returned to my locker as the sports teacher entered to check what was going on. Durgesh Saroj never heard the end of it, that he had backed away from someone who was meant to be the class wimp because he had chickened out of the fight. I was aware that I needed to be cautious, but it was close enough to the end of the year that I was able to avoid any potentially harmful circumstances with him. That was the end of the bullying. And I was perplexed as to why I had never attempted it before. As I walked down the hall to Mr. Ravinder's health class, I ran into a couple of old foes, including the aforementioned Durgesh. They didn't say anything. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be there. If that's the case, then perhaps, just maybe, 2001 will be a good year for me. I also ran into Priyanka Jha, my ex-girlfriend from the previous year. We had split up throughout the summer, but I wasn't very upset about it. She remained a buddy. An enraged friend used to smack me in the face while laughing like a donkey. Strange! It's bizarre. I'm grateful to her since she ended our relationship, and now I have fewer injuries. He... He... He... I entered Mr. Ravinder's class, which was only down the hall from my own. My name was on the board, along with a note that said, "Sit wherever you choose." I sat in the front row, center, as I had done since I was in elementary school. It made the board easier to view. Yamini sat on my left side without asking, which made me thrilled. A swarthy kid with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses stood to my right. Just before the bell sounded, he leaned over and said, "Ritvik Prakash," and I said, "Ashu Tyagi." Mr. Ravinder took the roll ('Ashu Tyagi, please,' he observed), distributed our books and syllabi, and then asked us to introduce ourselves and explain one fascinating fact about ourselves. Each child had a turn standing up and stating their name as well as something noteworthy about themselves. Yamini explained that she had recently relocated from London and gave some background information. Ritvik added that he had a ham radio, and I mentioned that I went to different schools in different cities practically every year. "What is it?" I inquired. Amateur radio, often known as ham radio, is the non-commercial transmission of communications, wireless experimentation, self-training, private recreation, radio-sport, contesting, and emergency communication using radio frequency spectrum. He concluded. I was ecstatic to learn about it because I had never used it or even heard of it before. The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Om and I happened to have the same lunch slot, so we decided to share a table. I mentioned I had a younger brother and sister, and he said he had two younger brothers. Surprisingly, both middle children were named Anoop. His father was a service engineer with Infosys, and his mother was a nurse. My father ran a gas station and my mother was a stay-at-home mom. My father's books were done by her, but they were primarily done at home and didn't take long. Ritvik lived too far away to bike from our house in Vikas Puri Blocks, which is a large area in and of itself, but my mother had never refused to give me rides, so I decided we might meet up later. I inquired if he was a chess player (a game I had learned over the summer from Sourav Bansal, who lived just down the street from me, but he was a high school student about to pass out for college). We both liked chess and played cricket. Ritvik excelled better than I did in both games, but he never seemed interested. Still, he played with me. 'It was the start of a long friendship.'