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said that you never know how many belong to that set in reality. Then there are the rest who form the general set—to fill the classrooms. All the dumb and stupid girls are in this set. Shirodkar, quite obviously, is not part of any of these sets. She forms an independent set of her own. Singleton. Just like me. I wonder when our sets would, if ever, intersect.

    I t was time for mid-break after the Maths class.
    We ran to drink water and then did the ‘vulgar’ task. We do it quickly. No one bothers to waste time on such activities. We eat at home before coming to school, hence there is no need to carry a lunchbox. But a few boys, like Gaitonde and Ghasu Gokhale, carry tiffin boxes. They huddle together in one corner and eat. The birdies too bring lunch. Stupid people like them waste the entire mid-break eating. Ambabai insists that I carry lunch every day but do I care? Sometimes I carry peanuts in my pocket; they are good to munch on when I get bored in the fourth period.
    We sit in the shade of the woods during the mid-break. That’s one remarkable thing about our school. The woods are literally a mini-forest. It belongs to Surya’s kaka, hence no one can ask us to leave. We allow Dashrath, Santu, Bhaishetye and such boys to come there. We sit on the big branch of a tree that bends down low, almost touching the ground, before it curves up again. In summer, it is full of a kind of sticky fruit. There are other trees too. Surya can identify all of them. There are many like palash, hirda, jamun, etc. There is a mango tree, but it never bears fruit. But the trees provide a cool shade, however hot it may be outside. There are huge rocks over there and we have enough places for everyone to sit. The paddy fields skirt the wooded area, but I don’t quite enjoy looking at them from there.
    ‘Joshi, let us go and have some ice-candy.’ Surya said, after drinking water. ‘It is so hot today.’
    ‘No, you carry on.’
    ‘Come on, bhenchod. Why are you acting pricey? Chitre, come on.’
    Surya has money in his pocket at all times, and is always buying something or the other. Whenever Phawdya mans his vegetable shop in the evening, he manages to snitch a few coins. Chitre’s parents give him pocket money. I am the only one who never has any. The ice-candy costs five paise; the milk bar is for ten. But my parents do not give me any pocket money. It’s very embarrassing. To add insult to injury, Ambabai keeps harping, ‘Your friends treat you every day. One day they’ll ask you to treat them at a good restaurant. What will you do then? Never take such favours, okay?’ But Surya does not appreciate this logic. He drags me while Chitre and Phawdya follow.
    The ice-candy seller comes in the afternoon. We hear his bell in the fourth period. Earlier he would come right into the playground, but Appa drove him away. Now he stands below the tamarind tree outside the gate. Then there is an old lady there, who sells berries and guavas. A few days back, a lady came selling some batata wadas, which she carried in a steel box. She met Appa first, asking for permission to sit in the school verandah, but Appa promptly refused. She then sat below the tamarind tree for two days. Her petticoat, peeping out of her saree, was frayed at the edges. Surya started his usual nonsense, asking her, ‘Your wadas seem nice. Are they hot?’ She caught Surya’s pun but replied coolly, ‘Son, I have children of your age. They go to school too. I sell these to earn some money for their books.’ That shut him up. He treated us to the wadas. She was there for a couple of days but could not sell much. We did not see her later.
    We cannot get the ice-candy to the playground. We have to sit in the grove and eat.
    ‘Chitre, you need to teach us Maths, okay?’ Phawdya said, sucking on the ice-candy. ‘Else we are doomed.’
    ‘We need to do something about Bendre,’ Surya muttered. ‘Worse, she does not seem to be getting married any