Frightening Fifty Seven Poem by Bashyam Narayanan

Frightening fifty seven

I was a bright student in the class
Those days while studying third grade

We did not have note books
Writing on a paper using a pencil or pen
Was the privilege of those studying in
Grades fourth and above

I was waiting for that wonder experience
Of making use of the paper

Wooden-Framed slate of about one foot long
And half or a bit more of foot width
Was the thing I used for writing and erasing
So that it was ever in use
Some preferred black painted thin unreakable metal sheets
In place of the polished mineral stone slate

What all we had done at the class
Was never known to people at home
People at home were too not so keen those days
To bother children with regard to studies
They got worried when children returned home from the school
With a disturbingly low marks written on the slate
By the teacher after an examination

Since these chalk written marks are erasable
Some boys, even girls, developed the skill
Of changing the marks to comfortable levels
On the way back home
I did not do that at all
As I was always above average
And I used to return home
Proudly displaying the great numbers on my slate

But once there was a debacle

it was half yearly examination
One of the three term examinations
We were administered
The others being quarterly and annual
Pass marks in the annual only took us to the next grade

I wrote a social studies examination that day
Teacher used to write on the black board all the questions
And we would write the answers on the hand held slate
Ensuring that we wrote all the answers within
The two sides of the slate

After the examination time was over
We took the answers bearing slate to the teacher
And he corrected the answers
And he wrote the marks scored with a chalk
And in a size any one could read from a distance
I remembered to have written all answers right

Our class teacher was absent that day
And a different teacher was handling our examination
This teacher was known for his strict ways

I was waiting in the queue of students
For my answers to be assessed
I was not anxious at all
As I knew all I wrote were right answers

My turn came
The teacher started ssing my answers
He was asking someone to read the first question on the black board
That boy was reading not the right question
And that made my answer wrongou

I was interfering with the boy who was reading the questions
The teacher was not happy with me and asked me to keep quiet
The order of questions c out of hanged
And many of my answers were not matching with the questions read
Despite the fact I wrote all correct answers

I attempted to bring to teacher's attention what went wrong
He was in no mood to listen
Naturally he was in a hurry to correct answers of other students
The teacher finished correcting my answers on the slate
And gave me a mark of fifty seven out of hundred
The lowest ever mark I had scored those days

I could not protest any further
And accepted the marks given
With no desire to display it
Rather I was ashamed of that mark

The other issue was that
My mother would be waiting to see
My level of performance
I should show her the slate and marks over it

I was walking slowly towards home
And was mentally preparing for an onslaught there
To my relief my mother was not at home
I knew she should have gone to the temple
Where recitation of Tamil verses was going on
Also I knew the vantage point where she used to sit
For listening the recital

It was my responsibility to go the temple
And show her the marks
She would be waiting for me

En route a classmate of mine met me
And he pulled the slate from me to know my marks
How come you scored so low was his reaction
I narrated the events in the school
He also said that he knew how my mother would treat me
For this poor performance
He took the slate from me
Went inside an adjacent house
And came back with the slate
On which the marks now read eighty seven

You deserve better marks he said
But with the marks on the slate
I could change that only to this

I was not happy still
And went inside the temple
Reached the location of recital
And from a distance I showed the marks on the slate
Mom showed no excitement or sadness

Later at home she was to say
My performance was decreasing day by day
And this eighty seven had nothing to be happy about

She did never know that
It was a frightening fifty seven