Date: July 9, 2008 (Wednesday, 9:00 AM)Location: Dakshin Barasat High School

  The morning sun peeked zily over the rooftops of Dakshin Barasat, casting a soft, golden hue that failed to match the enthusiasm—or ck thereof—radiating from Aritra Naskar’s room. He stood in front of his small, slightly cracked mirror, adjusting his school uniform, which had developed permanent creases from his unique "iron-by-folding" technique. His white shirt wasn’t exactly crisp, but it was clean enough to pass inspection, and that was what mattered.

  Aritra gnced at the clock, sighed dramatically, and stuffed his books into his bag with the precision of someone who didn’t care about precision. His bag was more of a portable bck hole than an organized container, where pens disappeared into the abyss and notes mysteriously crumpled themselves.

  Ma appeared at the door, her hands on her hips. “Eat your bananas, Aritra. They’re good for your brain.”

  Aritra groaned but grabbed two bananas, shoving one into his mouth and the other into his bag. “I’m pretty sure my brain doesn’t need potassium to survive math css, Ma.”

  “Don’t forget your water bottle!” she shouted as he stepped outside.

  “As if dehydration is lurking around the corner waiting to ambush me,” he muttered, grabbing the bottle anyway.

  The Journey to SchoolWith his trusty bicycle, Aritra pedaled through the familiar streets of Dakshin Barasat. The morning breeze spped him awake, ruffling his hair more effectively than any comb ever had. The roads were alive with the usual chaos—cows ciming prime spots in the middle of the street, rickshaws zigzagging like they were in a slow-motion car chase, and local aunties gossiping louder than the market vendors.

  Reaching the school gates at 10:30 AM, he parked his cycle in the overcrowded bike stand, where bikes leaned against each other like exhausted marathon runners. The school bell hadn’t rung yet, so students clustered in groups—some revising, some gossiping, and others just pretending to be busy.

  Spotting his friends, Deep Halder and Arnab Das, near the school gate, Aritra walked over, his bag slung over one shoulder.

  “Oi, Mr. Corporate Tycoon,” Deep greeted, smirking. “Back to the commoners’ world?”

  “Yeah, thought I’d grace you peasants with my presence,” Aritra shot back.

  Arnab chimed in, “Careful, Aritra. If you become too rich, you’ll start thinking the school’s ceiling fans are for decoration.”

  They burst into ughter, drawing curious gnces from other students.

  First Period - Mathematics with Mr. BhattacharyaTopic: Differential Calculus

  The bell rang, dragging them into the cssroom like reluctant soldiers heading to battle. Mr. Bhattacharya, their math teacher, walked in, his bald head gleaming under the flickering tube light. His expression was as cheerful as a tax auditor during the financial year-end.

  “Good morning, css,” he droned, adjusting his thick, outdated spectacles.

  “Good morning, Sir,” the css replied in unison, with all the enthusiasm of a Monday morning arm.

  “Today, we’ll begin with Differential Calculus,” he announced, turning to the bckboard with a piece of chalk that squeaked like it was protesting its existence.

  Aritra whispered to Arnab, “If boredom had a face, it would be Mr. Bhattacharya expining limits.”

  Arnab snorted, earning both of them a sharp gnce from the teacher.

  “Aritra Naskar,” Mr. Bhattacharya snapped, “since you find this amusing, why don’t you come to the board and solve this?”

  Sighing dramatically, Aritra walked up to the board. The equation read:

  lim?x→0sin?xx\lim_{x \to 0} \frac{\sin x}{x}x→0lim?xsinx?

  Aritra picked up the chalk and solved it effortlessly, adding a theatrical flourish at the end by underlining the answer twice.

  “See, Sir? Limit reached—both mathematically and mentally,” he quipped.

  The css chuckled, but Mr. Bhattacharya wasn’t amused. “Sit down, Mr. Naskar. Maybe next time, you’ll limit your jokes.”

  Back at his seat, Aritra muttered, “And that’s how you integrate humor with math.”

  Second Period - Physics with Mr. DasTopic: Laws of Motion

  Mr. Das entered next, carrying a stack of notebooks that seemed heavier than his enthusiasm. His unkempt hair and thick-rimmed gsses made him look like he belonged in a physics b rather than a cssroom filled with half-asleep teenagers.

  “Today, we’ll discuss Newton’s Laws of Motion,” he announced, pulling out a dusty pendulum from his bag like it was an ancient relic.

  Aritra leaned over to Arnab, whispering, “I swear that pendulum’s been swinging since Newton discovered gravity.”

  Mr. Das’s radar-like hearing caught him mid-whisper. “Aritra, since you’re so fascinated, come here and demonstrate the first w.”

  Standing up dramatically, Aritra walked to the front.

  “Newton’s First Law states that an object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion—like students during lunch break,” he said, earning another round of ughter.

  Mr. Das cracked a rare smile. “At least you understand the concept. Now, show the actual demonstration.”

  Aritra picked up the pendulum and gave it a gentle push, expining how inertia kept it swinging. Despite the jokes, he nailed the expnation, leaving Mr. Das mildly impressed.

  Lunch Break - The Great EscapeAt 1:30 PM, the lunch bell rang—the sweetest sound of the day. Students burst out of cssrooms like prisoners on parole, flooding the corridors with ughter and the aroma of homemade lunches.

  Aritra, Deep, Arnab, and Rimi gathered under their favorite banyan tree. Rimi banced her tiffin box with the grace of someone used to having an audience.

  “So, Aritra, how’s life as the css clown?” Rimi teased, unwrapping her lunch.

  “Better than being the teacher’s favorite,” he shot back.

  Deep grinned. “Careful, Rimi. Aritra might start charging for his jokes soon.”

  They shared food, swapped stories, and ughed about everything—from school gossip to Aritra’s imaginary pns to open a Wi-Fi-enabled tiffin service.

  “One day,” Aritra decred dramatically, “I’ll be so rich that even my tiffin will have Bluetooth.”

  Arnab nearly choked on his food from ughing. “You’ll be the first person to pair rice with curry via Bluetooth.”

  Third Period - Chemistry with Mr. SahaTopic: The Solid State

  Back in the cssroom, Mr. Saha stood like a sentinel near the bckboard. Known for his monotone voice, he had the unique ability to turn even the most explosive reactions into sleep aids.

  “Today, we’ll continue with The Solid State,” he announced, drawing complex ttice structures with chalk that screeched like nails on a chalkboard.

  Aritra whispered to Deep, “Solid state? More like solid sleep.”

  Mr. Saha’s ears twitched. “Aritra, differentiate between amorphous and crystalline solids.”

  Aritra stood up, feigning seriousness. “Amorphous solids are like my handwriting—no clear structure. Crystalline solids are like Rajib’s notes—perfectly organized but painfully rigid.”

  The css burst into ughter. Even Mr. Saha cracked a reluctant smile.

  “Well, at least you’re not completely lost,” he muttered, waving Aritra back to his seat.

  Fourth Period - Bengali with Mrs. GhoshTopic: Rabindranath Tagore’s Essays

  Mrs. Ghosh entered with a collection of Tagore’s works, her passion for Bengali literature evident in her animated expressions.

  “Today, we’ll read Tagore’s essay on the simplicity of rural life,” she announced.

  Aritra whispered, “If Tagore saw our school lunches, he’d write an essay on survival.”

  Mrs. Ghosh, ignoring the whisper, began reading with such dramatic fir that even Aritra listened quietly—partly impressed, partly afraid she’d assign extra homework if he joked.

  Fifth Period - English with Ms. SenTopic: Julius Caesar

  The final css of the day belonged to Ms. Sen, whose sarcasm was as sharp as her grammar corrections.

  “Today, we’ll discuss Mark Antony’s speech,” she announced, her eyes scanning the room for a victim.

  “Aritra, perform the speech,” she said, not even pretending it was random.

  Aritra stood, dramatically clearing his throat.

  “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your… tiffin boxes.”

  The css erupted with ughter.

  Ms. Sen shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Sit down, Mr. Naskar. You’ll either be a comedian or a revolutionary.”

  The Final BellAt 4:30 PM, the bell rang, signaling freedom. Aritra and his friends gathered their books, exchanging looks of mutual survival.

  “We made it,” Arnab sighed.

  “Barely,” Aritra replied. “I think my brain reached solid state during chemistry.”

  They ughed, stepping into the warm afternoon sun, ready to face another day of chaos, curiosity, and camaraderie.