Strangers

Sam heard a din somewhere in the darkness. It sounded like the clanging of metal, one heavy and the other sonorous. It started off as a faint rhythmic vibration, almost undetectable, like the distant chime of an old grandfather clock; slow and regular. Then it grew louder, with every passing minute, pounding against his eardrum relentlessly, like caged waves dying to break free. He covered his ears to block the noise out. He could feel his pulses hammering against his temples, threatening to crack open his skull. He couldn't bear the assault anymore and in a moment of acute restlessness, he forced his eyes open.

The room looked unfamiliar. Everything in it was a blinding shade of white. The walls, the rows of bedspreads, the flooring, the curtains – all white. It seemed like an endless snowy desert; cold and austere. He looked at the clock. It was six in the morning. There were boys of different sizes; all wearing blue striped pajamas, with toothbrushes in hand, lining up outside what seemed like a common washroom. Some had their eyes closed while they leaned on the boy in front of them, refusing to let morning disrupt their lingering dreams of the previous night. Some had bundles of soiled laundry in hand, their disinterest showing, while others were busy complaining about the futility of compulsory morning assembly. While Sam sat on his bed watching this curious group of adolescent boys trying to figure out where he was, it all came back to him.

It was around noon the day before when his father had dropped him off before the towering iron gates of an old building with a bag of clothes, money in an envelope, and some empty words of advice. Sam read the sign above. Glenwood Boarding School, Kurseong. His father seemed to be in a hurry that day, avoiding eye contact and constantly reading his watch. He told him he would come and meet him often, but Sam knew he was lying. After he left, Sam stood there staring at his receding back till he was no more than a moving speck in the distance. He wanted to run to his father and plead with him, making earnest promises of future good behavior such that he reconsiders the punishment. But he didn't. He turned around and walked through the gate, a pile of nerves, not knowing what this new chapter had in store for him.

Sam was greeted by the principal Mr. Bentley, as he entered the school. He was a tall man, not more than forty, with an amusing sing-song voice. He talked to him as if they met everyday, often ruffling his hair as they spoke. Sam was thirteen and he couldn't remember the last time someone did that to him. He felt like a kid and strangely, he liked it. After going over certain rules of the school that were mandatory for everyone to follow, he escorted Sam to his room. Sam wondered what his room would look like. Maybe it had no windows. Maybe it was in the basement, with a leaky ceiling, infested with tiny crawling tarantulas. All he wanted was a room with a door that he could bolt, such that he could drown out the crowd and write in his journal when he wanted to. And just as Sam was sorting out the various scenarios in his head, Mr. Bentley stopped in front of a wooden door bolted from the outside. He forced the creaky latch open and led him into the room.

Out of all the hundred odd possibilities that he had imagined, Sam did not expect what he saw around him. It was a long rectangular space with about twenty-five beds lined up, each one exactly two feet apart from the other. Everything he happened to lay eyes on was white. The window panes were wiped clean, and the Christian arches supporting them reminded him of the quaint chapel in his old school. The room had a curious musty odour, one that smelled of age and history. The beds did not look like anyone had slept in them for a decade. The sheets had been neatly tucked in. The pillows were in place. The only creases that one could see were from the iron. He wondered if he was to sleep all by himself in this gigantic room. As if he had read his thoughts, Mr. Bentley confirmed that he’d be sharing his room with twenty-three other students, some older and some younger than him. This special arrangement was in keeping with the spirit of fostering a sense of brotherhood between students of all ages. Sam had always had his own room. He had no idea what it was like to share a space with others, his every move under constant disguised scrutiny. He felt constricted just by the thought of it. Mr. Bentley handed him the schedule for the week and took his leave.

Sam looked at the paper and imagined what his life was going to be from then on. His day would start at six, with breakfast at half-past seven and classes from eight through four in the evening, with an hour long lunch break thrown in between. There were stipulated hours in the week for physical training and sports and even music. Dinner was at seven and they were expected to retire for the night by ten. Sam did not hate the schedule all that much except for the fact that he had to wake up that early. He was a heavy sleeper and waking up in the morning always proved to be an insurmountable challenge for him. However, considering that twenty-three other students would accompany him in that daily struggle made it seem possible. Sam heard the clock down the hall strike two. He realized that he was late for lunch. Since he felt too sick to have anything in the morning he felt rather famished and intermittent gurgling noises screamed of an empty stomach. He opened his duffel bag and took out a cucumber sandwich that his maid had packed for him in the morning. He chomped on it hungrily. It tasted like cardboard.

…………………

It was almost nine at night when his roommates started streaming in gradually. They were mostly involved in animated conversation regarding various events of the day. There were stories about a certain Mrs. Rosemary who tumbled down the stairs rather unceremoniously before a class of giggling second graders. The older students were busy discussing the game of cricket during lunch break, where the bastard umpire ‘Pastry’ was shamelessly siding with his best friend’s team. Sam didn't know his way around the school yet. So except for a wordless dinner downstairs in the hall, he was holed up in his room for the most part.

The boys mostly acted like he didn't exist. Some were glancing at him from time to time, and having decided that he was not worthy of attention, instantly reverted back to more amusing topics of conversation. Some didn't even bother to look at him or say hello. He could as well have been a piece of dried lime dangling from the ceiling. But Sam was used to being invisible. He was too busy scribbling in his journal, struggling to enunciate his multiple addled emotions.

‘Are you new?’

Sam looked up from his journal, startled. A young boy was standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him with wide-eyed amazement.

‘Yes’, he said curtly.

‘What’s your name?’ asked the boy.

‘I’m Sam. And you?’

‘I’m Chintan Neelamraju. My friends call me Chinoo. I like the latter better.’

‘Good to know.’

‘How old are you?’ he asked, in a rather business like tone, with hands on his hips.

Sam couldn't suppress a smile. The whole idea of a precocious kid asking him his age, like he was his grandfather, seemed rather amusing.

‘What’s so funny?’ said Chinoo frowning.

‘Nothing. I’m thirteen. And you?’

‘I’m eight. I’ll turn nine in two weeks. Did you know? The boy who slept in the bed next to you was also thirteen.’

Sam turned to look at the adjacent bed. It was empty. He wondered where the other thirteen year old was. They could be friends in the future, he thought.

‘I haven’t seen him all day. Where is he?’ Sam asked curiously.

‘Oh he’s not here anymore,’ the boy said, shrugging his shoulders.

‘So then? Did he change schools?’

‘No. Apparently he killed himself. Anyway, the Dean will be on his rounds soon. I should better go to sleep. Nice meeting you Sam. You’ll like it here.’

The boy retreated to the far end of the room yawning, blissfully unaware of what he had said. And in that moment, Sam wanted to be anything but thirteen. They said it brought bad luck. He couldn't look at that bed anymore. He turned on his side, closed his eyes shut and let out a silent prayer.