Singh had hoped this incident would help break the ice but it didn’t. Miss Das remained as taciturn and reserved as before. Singh went back to his routine, which was to sit in class and stare out of the window. Very occasionally, he taught a lesson. Today he was teaching Surdas’ verses on Radha and Krishna. He paused when he reached the bit where Radha’s tears wet her cholivastra: ‘I am sure you monkeys know the meaning of “cholivastra”.’ He turned to Jasper, the 9 C triple failure, ‘You’ve been in this class for three long years. I’m sure you know the meaning of this word.’ Jasper played him along, ‘No, sir, no idea.’ Singh pushed his chair back dramatically and glowered at everyone. He gave the translation in slow, measured tones: ‘“Cholivastra” means blouse . . . the poet is saying that Radha is so upset at being separated from Krishna that she can’t stop her tears from falling. She cries so much her blouse gets soaking wet. You have all seen films. You know what happens when the blouse is wet.’ Then Singh sniggered. This was the signal the boys had been waiting for. They thumped their desks and stomped their feet. A distracted Miss Das, sitting at her desk in the classroom opposite, turned her head to see what the hullabaloo was all about. From where she was, she couldn’t see the boys but could see Singh all right: he was leaning back in his chair and grinning at her.

The windows of Miss Das’s class had been shut for three days now. She had got a boy to shut it the day Singh’s class exploded at the blouse joke. If Singh wanted a glimpse of her now, he couldn’t just casually turn his head; he had to walk past her classroom. Miss Das taught other sections on the same floor. She made sure that the windows opening onto Singh’s part of the building remained shut each time he had a lesson. This exercised him a great deal. He wasn’t sure why she was doing this. He hadn’t done or said anything to her.

Awasthi knew that Singh had taken a fancy to Miss Das. He didn’t take it too seriously until one day his wife mentioned it to him.

Mrs Awasthi also taught in the same school. She was a class teacher in the junior section. One morning, during a free period, Miss Das complained to Mrs Awasthi, ‘That Singh fellow has made a habit of staring at me. He looks at me in a very strange way. I don’t like it one bit. He makes me very uncomfortable.’ Mrs Awasthi nodded and continued to plough her way through a stack of notebooks. She made a mental note to consult her husband on the subject.