School is a Jail

The following is a true story. When we were in school, we thought that it was a Central jail. For close to six months we were not allowed to cross the borders of our campus.

We all have that one special bizarre story from our lives that we like to tell at parties; mine is about the time, I was in 11^th standard in school.

I was arrested for being drunk 10 KM from where I was supposed to be sleeping.

It was 2:00 AM in the morning. My parents, who were residing in Vizayanagaram, were woken by a phone call from a complete stranger. As my mother answered, the caller slurred,

"Hi, Maa? It's me. . . . I'm in jail for being drunk"

Now, I should point out three important facts:

1. I was not in jail for being drunk. I was peacefully asleep in my Gupta house dormitory.
2. I am their only child in hostel.
3. At this moment, my mother, wonderful woman that she is, entered into ‘Parental idiot mode’.

Somehow, she believed that she was talking to me. I still don't get it, but for the next five minutes she talked with this drunken kid, all the time assuming it was me - her one and only child away from home.  She was very worried, not that I was drunk, but that I was in a great trouble.

Then I understood, I had obviously not made that memorable an impression with my parents that they should believe and be totally convinced that I was drunk. And that drunkard son was behind bars.

Because "I" (the caller) was drunk off his a**, my parents got little information out of him. They didn't even know which jail I was in. They assumed it was in police station near New Poorna Talkies, but they had absolutely no concrete information. For a half hour, they panicked. My mother wanted to call a lawyer friend of theirs. My father, meanwhile, was all for letting me stay in jail because "It'll teach him a lesson. God dam it, if he is drunk he should be where he is now."

(Great. . . err, thanks, Dad. I guess I have learnt a lesson. Next time I get in trouble, don't call Dad.)

My parents desperately needed more information, got on to their ‘Lambretta’ scooter and into a search mode all over Vizayanagaram. But they couldn’t locate their drunken son. 

Finally, they knocked our house master’s door. Then, all of them trooped to my bedside in the dormitory to check.

They found me fast asleep. And that was not what they expected.

"Ravi, what are you doing here?!"

"Mom? What are you (I looked around to see it was still dark outside) doing here!"

"But what are you doing here?" thundered my angry and confused Dad.

I was still in a semi conscious state and the three of them looked to me like some German SS agents looking down on a poor Jew.

"Arrr.. ummm I'm sleeping!”

"No, you're not. You're supposed to be in jail."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"We just got a call from you. That you're in jail for being drunk"

"Drunk? Can’t you see I'm in my bed? Sleeping!" And in case they had missed my earlier point: "It's still dark outside!"

And then came their favorite question: "Were you in jail or are you in your bed?"

My sarcasm decided to wake up. "Yeah, Mom. I'm in jail," I snapped back.

“This school is a Central Jail.”

At this point, my father pushed aside the rest and stood in front of me to find out exactly what was happening with his apparently drunken, no good, loser son who might as well just stay in jail because sure as hell no one was going to bail him out any time soon. The whole charade began again.

"No, Dad, I'm not in jail," I kept explaining.

My parents couldn't figure this out. It seemed as if they were angry with me for not getting arrested. "You said you were in jail, damnit! Why aren't you in jail?"

I felt horrible for disappointing them like that, but what could I do? I simply wasn't in jail. Eventually, I tried to plead, and they yelled enough, so that we all realized I hadn't been arrested. The rest of the boys beside me woke up and looked dazed. We were finally allowed to go back to sleep. 

Meanwhile, somewhere in a jail cell, sat a very confused and inebriated young man. Initially, I thought it was a practical joke. I suspected a guy, also from Vizayanagaram, who doesn’t drink even today, but pretends to be drunk just on a cola.

But I have concluded that no one would have thought to commit a practical joke that elaborate. No one would have assumed that my mother wouldn't recognize my own voice.

Looking back, my night might have been unpleasant, but it was nothing compared to the night of this drunken (or pretending to be drunk) person, who used his one precious phone call to have a five minute chat with my Mother.