Monsoon Memories Read Online Free PDF

the boys (some of them still furtively swallowing the last bits of the fruit), much to their humiliation and the guilty delight of the rest of the class. ‘Kneel down facing the statue of Jesus, and recite, “Our Father” and three “Hail Marys” ten times,’ snapped Sister Shanthi. And, once they’d done so, brandishing the wooden cane reserved for such occasions, ‘Hold out your palms.’
    Shirin was at the end of the long line of boys—the lone girl sticking out like a guava in a basket of cashews. Her classmates sitting on the floor in front of them watched wide-eyed—the terror that Shirin felt writ large on their faces. She had never been caned before. She always cried when one of her classmates got caned, and now that she had to face the same thing, she could feel the sobs building in her chest and threatening to overflow. But none of the boys were crying and she didn’t want to be labelled a coward and a crybaby.
    Anil, the first in line, cried out as the cane came whooshing down on his outstretched palm—not once, as was customary, but twice.
    ‘This will teach you not to run away from school again,’ said Sister Shanthi grimly as she started on Steven who was next.
    Involuntary tears filled Shirin’s eyes. Her palm trembled. Oh, why had she done this? It was sheer agony, awaiting her turn, hearing the yells of her partners in crime, feeling their pain. When Sister Shanthi reached her, she stopped and shook her head in disapproval.
    ‘Shame on you,’ she said, ‘gallivanting with all those boys. What will your mother say?’
    As it was the Catholic ‘English Medium’ school, the nuns spoke only in English, of course, and the pupils were expected to do so too. And even though Shirin didn’t know what ‘gallivanting’ meant, even though she couldn’t fathom why it would warrant such disgust and her mother’s displeasure, Sister Shanthi’s words hurt more than the caning. Shirin got caned not twice but thrice. As she watched welts rise like Madhu’s yeasty dosa mix on her red palm, Shirin thought, I deserve this, for disappointing my mother.
    But the worst was yet to come. Shirin had just joined the rest of her class when the headmistress of their school, Sister Maya, entered and looked at all of them in turn, until her eyes locked with Shirin’s.
    ‘Shirin,’ she said, her ugly face looking more ogre-like than ever, ‘please come into my office.’
    The school building was comprised of two rooms. The larger of these housed the various classrooms, separated by cardboard dividers which could be moved depending on the size of the class. The other room served as the headmistress’s office. Scary Sister Maya closed the door to this room while meting out punishments. The rest of the school would hear the wails of the transgressor and imagine the worst. When the child came back out, he or she was so traumatised that they never talked about the incident again. But they were never what the nuns labelled as ‘naughty’ again either. The nuns were very effective at quashing their charges’ spirits.
    Shirin could feel scores of terrified eyes on her, as the school collectively followed her progress, pitying her, and at the same time guiltily relieved that it was not one of them. She made her way to Sister Maya’s office, her legs trembling, her sore hand held slightly away from her dress so that it wouldn’t accidentally brush against it, her eyes fixed on Sister Maya’s unyielding back.
    Once inside her office, Sister Maya turned to face Shirin, and reached behind her to close the door. As her fleshy hand neared Shirin, she tried hard not to flinch, even as a little stubborn part of her rebelled. Why only me? Why not the boys as well? Then the door slammed shut and she and Sister Maya were alone.
    Sister Maya stared at Shirin from over the top of the spectacles that were perched precariously at the tip of her bulbous nose. This close up, Shirin could see the tiny black freckles dotting it. It