Singh was in a foul mood. Awasthi had just conveyed to him the gossip coming from the junior school’s ladies’ staffroom. Singh was furious. ‘Whore,’ he muttered to himself and walked off in the direction of 9 C. The boys stood up and greeted him. Following his long-standing principle, Singh didn’t greet them back but perfunctorily gestured to everybody to sit down.

Singh reflexively turned around and looked in the direction of Miss Das’s classroom. He hated her for talking about him in public. He found it difficult to sit, so he paced between the rows of boys. It was while walking back to the head of the class that Singh saw the helicopter on the blackboard. The copter sported a big heart with an arrow across its centre.

‘Who did this?’ he said, turning around. ‘Tell me who drew this helicopter.’ Silence. He gave a final warning, ‘I need to know who did this. Own up and we can talk.’

The boys had been in Brooklyn High for the last nine years. They were too jaded, too world-weary and clever to fall for Singh’s let’s-be-honest-and-all-will-be-forgiven line. It was a trap best avoided. Their best chance lay in unity. Singh’s offer of surrender and reconciliation was greeted with pin-drop silence.

‘Everybody stand up on your chairs. And put your hands in the air.’ Everybody noisily clambered onto their chairs and obediently raised their hands. ‘Jasper, get the cane.’

Jasper stepped down, grateful for the walk and fresh air. Within any school system, freedom and urinating are inextricably linked. He went to the toilet and had a long, hot piss. He then went to the water cooler and drank palmfuls of water. Time was of the essence in these matters. Every second counted. Slowing down the over rate might just help save the match. On his way back, Jasper climbed the staircase one step at a time and walked into the class empty-handed. ‘Sir, I looked everywhere but just couldn’t find one.’

Singh knew the game only too well. He asked Jasper to get back into position and went out in search of the cane himself. There were still twenty minutes left for the period to end. As soon as he left, the boys burst into giggles, happy in the knowledge they had derailed Singh successfully. ‘Poor sod,’ said Jasper. ‘Dickhead,’ said Suri. ‘Chutiya saala,’ said Pervez, the master cartoonist. ‘No juice in his balls,’ offered Monty, the collaborating cartoonist.