"Speaking of punishments," I ventured, "do you think there were some students who never faced the rod?"

"Absolutely," replied Harish sagely, "like Smruti, for instance. She appeared as docile as a lamb."

"Don't let appearances deceive you," I cautioned. "There was a mischievous streak hiding within her."

"Supriya is another," Harish said. "And thinking back now, Manasi, Madhura, Leena, and Manjusha."

"I agree," I nodded knowingly. "If any teacher dared to punish them, they'd go hungry that day, because of sheer guilt."

"And what about Tushar? Or Sanjay?" Harish probed.

"You didn't know Tushar then," I chuckled. "Let me share two tales about him that might change your mind. Back in fifth grade, during Mali Sir's drawing class, known for his 'नमस्कार', Tushar, on cue, exclaimed, 'आम्ही करतो चमत्कार!' Mali sir, though amused, instructed him to step outside."

"Then there was the time Tushar, inspired by our Sunday ritual of watching Vikram and Vetal, enacted a princesses' song for me," I recalled with a smile. "We were caught in a dance by Hema Kulkarni madam. Tushar bore the brunt of her disapproval that day."

"As for Sanjay," I continued, "he was more than meets the eye—enjoying mischief while maintaining a facade of studiousness. When Kolhe sir caught him talking and he denied it in an innocent tone, Kolhe sir's response was swift and sharp." "Speaking of punishments," I ventured, "you know I was never a studious chap. Yet, miraculously, I escaped the rod on most occasions."

"There were, however, three memorable occasions when the teachers saw fit to maul me," I continued, recounting with a shudder.

"Firstly, there was the infamous episode with Kolhe Sir," I explained. "He had resolved to either make a scholar out of me or send me to an early grave. Each day, he meticulously inspected my books. Finding the smallest fault would result in his massive hands descending upon my hapless head. On days when my work appeared faultless, he would invariably find fault in my handwriting and subject me to scathing criticism."

"Then, there was the unfortunate incident involving a love letter," I recalled with a grimace. "A certain maiden in our class had received a clandestine declaration of affection. In a fervor, she raised an outcry, summoning Kolhe Sir, PT Sir, Rao Madam, and even Usha Kulkarni to interrogate the suspects. Amidst the accused, only three remained under suspicion. Prashant Mahajan, sensing self-preservation, unceremoniously implicated me over the more formidable Kaustubh. I found myself dragged before the authorities and subjected to a tirade of rebuke, save for Rao Madam, whose belated arrival merely added insult to injury by inquiring about my distress and the likelihood of physical altercation."

"In 10th std., the saga continued," I sighed. "Ashutosh and I were condemned for neglecting our Biology assignments, relegated to kneeling in penance. Amidst our humility, we spotted young Amit, perennially stationed outside. Seizing a chance for diversion, we began to tease him. Unbeknownst to us, Rao Madam materialized from the shadows, admonishing our mischief before leading us, heads bowed, to her sanctum. There, we resumed our penance until the idle curiosity regarding faculty salaries led to our second reprimand. Rao Madam's tolerance reached its limit, and we felt the sting of her disciplinary duster. Ashok, in a gesture of camaraderie, attempted to lighten our spirits with an Asterix tome, only to exacerbate our troubles as Rao Madam vowed our public humiliation in the morrow's assembly. Needless to say, it marked my first and final dalliance with truancy throughout my tenure in the 10th grade."