Upur 15

 Chapter 15

The Pranks

Childhood and adolescence are perhaps the only periods in life when mischief is not merely tolerated but celebrated. A prank played in youth seldom remains just an act of foolishness; it becomes a treasured memory, retold decades later with the same laughter and excitement. Even senior officers, businessmen and professionals, when reunited with old friends, invariably return to stories of schoolboy escapades. Rank, status and age disappear, and for a few precious moments they become children again.

Pranks were the heartbeat of our class.

Some were harmless, some daring, and a few bordered dangerously on disaster. Yet every prank brought with it thrill, suspense, laughter and, occasionally, lessons that remained with us for life.

One of the central figures in many such adventures was our chemistry teacher, Mr Augastha.

Mr Augastha was an unusual personality. He walked with such graceful movements that, when viewed from behind, many students jokingly remarked that he resembled a lady. He was completely unconcerned about what others thought of him and had the habit of speaking whatever came to his mind without bothering about diplomacy or consequences. Most importantly, he possessed an extraordinary ability to ignore minor disturbances and continue teaching as if nothing had happened.

One day, while he was busy explaining chemical reactions on the blackboard, disaster nearly struck.

A boy sitting in the back benches mischievously flicked a small piece of chalk towards a friend. His aim, however, was hopeless.

Instead of hitting the intended target, the chalk struck Shilpa, a tall and heavily built girl seated in the front row directly below the dais.

Shilpa froze.

For a second she looked stunned. Then her face turned crimson.

In those days, even an accidental incident involving a boy and a girl could become a matter of prestige. The class fell silent. Everyone sensed trouble.

Mr Augastha, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware, continuing to write equations on the blackboard.

Whispers erupted across the room.

Who had thrown the chalk?

The girls sitting in the rear benches had clearly seen the culprit, but wisely chose not to reveal his identity. They maintained complete silence.

Shilpa, however, was not willing to let the matter pass. She rose from her seat, clutching the offending piece of chalk in her hand.

The atmosphere among the boys became electric.

Every backbencher lowered his head.

I distinctly remember the dreadful thought racing through our minds:

What if she names the wrong person?

Being falsely accused of teasing a girl was social suicide in those days.

Before Shilpa could utter a single word, Mr Augastha turned around, irritated at the interruption.

"Yes... what is your problem?" he asked sharply.

"Sir, someone threw this chalk at me from behind," she replied innocently, holding up the evidence.

Mr Augastha looked at the chalk piece, then at Shilpa.

Without missing a beat, he pointed towards the dais and said matter-of-factly,

"Yes... keep it here. You girls can play with the chalk later."

Then he calmly turned back to the blackboard and resumed teaching.

For a moment there was stunned silence.

Then the backbenchers exploded.

Unable to laugh openly, many buried their faces in their palms. Others bent under their desks, their shoulders shaking uncontrollably. I remember boys gasping for breath as they struggled to suppress their laughter. The veins on some necks had visibly swollen due to the effort.

Shilpa looked around suspiciously.

Sonia, sitting in the last row, quickly signalled her to remain quiet.

Believing perhaps that another girl must have accidentally thrown the chalk, Shilpa reluctantly sat down.

The crisis had passed.

We silently thanked our stars.

If mischief had a permanent ambassador in our class, it was undoubtedly JP.

JP possessed an almost romantic fascination for electricity. Whether it was repairing switches, making electrical gadgets in the physics laboratory or experimenting with wires, he was always the first volunteer. He even carried a green-handled Taparia screwdriver tucked into his trousers like a professional electrician.

One gloomy monsoon afternoon, when dark clouds had turned the classroom unusually dim, JP decided to conduct one of his "experiments."

During recess, he somehow managed to insert a ten-paise coin inside an electric bulb and fixed it back in the holder.

Then he waited.

Patiently.

Like a hunter waiting beside a trap.

A few of us were taken into confidence and instructed merely to "watch the fun."

Soon Mr Augastha entered the classroom and began teaching. After a few minutes he paused.

"It's too dark," he said. "Sooraj, switch on the light."

Sooraj obediently walked to the switchboard.

Click.

BOOOOOM!

The bulb exploded like a miniature bomb.

Glass fragments showered across the classroom.

Fortunately, no one was injured.

"Ofhooooo!" exclaimed Mr Augastha in his trademark feminine style.

That single expression was worth the entire operation.

The conspirators nearly collapsed with laughter.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Mr Augastha looked directly at JP.

"Can you tell me whether this was an exothermic or an endothermic reaction?"

JP, who had been proudly twirling his screwdriver beneath the desk, froze.

"Exothermic, sir," he replied after considerable hesitation.

"Good," said the teacher.

JP brightened.

"Now tell me why."

JP's confidence evaporated instantly.

He looked helplessly around the class.

No assistance came.

After waiting for a few seconds, Mr Augastha smiled.

"So, it was a tukka—a lucky guess?"

"No sir," protested JP.

"Then tell me the reason."

"I had read it in the book, sir."

Mr Augastha folded his arms.

"While standing on the desk and changing the bulb a few minutes ago?"

The entire class erupted.

JP stood speechless.

He had been caught red-handed.

"Sorry, sir."

"So you think you can fool your teacher?" Mr Augastha said dramatically. "Shame! Shame!"

His peculiar manner of speaking made the class laugh even harder.

JP quietly sat down, defeated.

Only then did we realise that our apparently absent-minded teacher observed far more than he let on. He simply chose not to waste time over every act of mischief.

The most daring operation ever undertaken by our class occurred after a physics test conducted by Daddoo Sir.

The paper was brutal.

When the answer sheets were collected, despair was visible on every face. Some girls were on the verge of tears. Nobody expected to pass.

As discussions continued gloomily, Panda suddenly summoned everyone.

"I can save the entire class," he announced confidently.

Every eye turned towards him.

Panda then unveiled one of the most audacious plans ever conceived by schoolboys.

Within one hour, everyone would reattempt the paper at home using books and notes. Fresh answer sheets would be prepared and tied exactly like the original bundle.

Meanwhile, Daddoo Sir would be lured away from the staff room.

The operation was planned with military precision.

Poondri would request Daddoo Sir to solve difficult problems in class.

The girls would ensure he remained occupied.

I was assigned surveillance duty near Water Point Number Two.

JP would monitor the opposite approach.

Raina would stand outside the staff room carrying a pile of notebooks as camouflage.

John would act as courier.

Panda himself would execute the replacement.

The mission commenced.

Miraculously, everything unfolded exactly as planned.

The original bundle disappeared.

The new bundle appeared in its place.

No alarms were raised.

Two days later, Daddoo Sir entered class carrying the corrected papers.

His expression puzzled us.

Everyone had scored exceptionally well.

No student had obtained less than sixty percent.

Daddoo Sir looked deeply suspicious.

He repeatedly glanced at us while distributing the answer sheets.

But he said nothing.

The class maintained complete silence.

The secret remained buried forever.

Years later, however, we realised that although the prank had succeeded brilliantly, it had also taught us an important lesson: shortcuts could provide temporary relief, but hard work alone could guarantee success in life's real examinations.

Another memorable incident involved three exceptionally bright students who attempted to outsmart their biology teacher.

The class test required students to answer any four out of six questions.

Three boys quietly attempted five.

Their logic was simple.

If the teacher accidentally checked all five, they might gain additional marks.

The plan worked—almost.

Two of them escaped unnoticed.

Venkat did not.

An exceptionally intelligent student with beautiful handwriting, Venkat answered all five questions flawlessly.

The teacher, impressed, awarded him forty-five marks.

Out of forty.

The impossible score immediately exposed the deception.

"Why did you answer five questions?" asked the teacher.

Venkat smiled innocently.

"Sorry, sir. I forgot in the excitement."

The teacher accepted the explanation and asked him to strike out one answer.

His score instantly dropped.

Meanwhile, his two accomplices retained their inflated marks.

Venkat glared at them threateningly.

The others smiled quietly.

For a moment it appeared he might expose them.

But revealing the truth would implicate everyone.

Displaying admirable sportsmanship, he swallowed his disappointment and remained silent.

Young minds are extraordinarily fertile and creative.

The same imagination that once engineered harmless school pranks, if channelled wisely, can later build careers, institutions and even nations.

Whenever I look back today, I realise that those mischievous boys were not merely pranksters.

They were future engineers, officers, teachers and professionals rehearsing—through laughter, risk and adventure—the art of life itself.