He then inquired with a tone imbued with reverence, "What brings you here today, Dada Ji?" His voice resonated with a profound respect as he sought to grasp the significance of the old man's visit.

  My grandfather, his voice deep and commanding, posed a question filled with curiosity, "How did you come to hold the position of principal?"

  The principal, momentarily taken aback, replied with a sense of bewilderment, "What has transpired, Dada Ji? What have I done to warrant such attention?"

  My great-grandfather, his voice tinged with irritation, retorted, "Can't you see I am here with my grandchild? Do you not grasp the gravity of our purpose?" He decred emphatically, "We are here for admission."

  It was an unusual day that seemed to hold a strange aura, especially when my great-grandfather told me that a teacher transformed into a cat in his presence—a tale I couldn't fully grasp at the time. Little did I know, this day would weave itself into my own destiny.

  After a whirlwind of discussions, the cssroom began to empty, and just as I thought I could escape, that thug teacher called out to me.

  My heart raced, and a chill of fear swept through me like I’d just seen a spider the size of a small dog. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead as if I had just run a marathon in a sauna. Hesitantly, I approached him, stammering, “I am Aarav,” like I was introducing myself to the principal on the first day of school.

  The moment was so tense you could’ve sliced it with a butter knife. He leaned in, his voice booming like thunder, “Do you know any math?” I felt like a small bird caught in a storm, fpping its wings wildly while trying to remember if 2 + 2 really was 4 or if that was just a cruel joke the universe pyed on me. I could only shake my head in disbelief, thinking, “Does knowing how to count my snacks count as math?”

  "Very well," he decred, his tone softening just a fraction, "come here every day to study. Now, go." I stumbled back to my seat, still reeling from the encounter. As I plopped down, I couldn't help but think that this was the first time someone had ever asked me to study instead of running away screaming. Maybe he’d heard about my legendary ability to turn textbooks into doorstops!

  As I lumbered home from school, a cloud of dread floated over me like a very judgmental rainstorm. I gnced at my great-grandfather, hoping for some wisdom but also maybe a sprinkle of humor. “Bauji, I don’t want to go to that school! The teacher looks like a thug who moonlights as a rollercoaster operator, and he punishes kids with a stick! What is this, a medieval dungeon?”

  My bauji, with his wise eyes that seemed to have seen every terrible haircut trend in history, looked at me seriously and said, “If you endure this time, you will have a great future.” At the time, I thought, “Great, I can’t wait to tell my future boss I survived the Thug Teacher Academy!” His words felt like a riddle wrapped in an enigma, but at that moment, all I could think was that they had to be the adult version of a dad joke!

  After what felt like an eternity, we finally reached our haveli, Sharma Sadan, which is conveniently located just far enough from the vilge center to be considered a training ground for Olympic walkers. My grandfather was out pretending to be a farmer, while my grandmother was engaged in the ancient sport of utensil washing—where she cims she’s the reigning champion.

  Our house is like a bizarre duplex—one side is our family’s chaotic circus, and the other half is where my great-grandfather’s brother lives with his brood of equally wacky descendants. We might as well put up a sign: "Welcome to the Family Zoo—entrance free, but loud, embarrassing stories are mandatory.” Despite the circus atmosphere, we somehow manage to live in harmony, united by a strong bond… and the fact that we all collectively agree that sharing dessert is non-negotiable!

  As soon as we got home, I made a run for it, dodging my great-grandfather who was bent on making me study. Just as I thought I was in the clear, I heard a voice that could only belong to him—cold and ominous. "You brat! Where are you running? Come here, or I’ll beat you!" My great-grandfather had never been one for empty threats; I half-expected him to whip out a rubber chicken or something equally absurd.

  I wasn't scared of my great-grandfather, but that walking stick? Pure nightmares! It had seen more action than a superhero sidekick! So, I looked him dead in the eye and said, “I’m hungry, bauji. I’ll be back faster than a squirrel on espresso!” Then I sprinted up to the upper floor like I was training for the Olympics, hoping the stick wouldn’t throw a tantrum!

  I greeted my grandmother with the enthusiasm of a kid who just spotted a giant pizza. “Grandma, what’s for dinner?” I asked, hoping for something more gourmet than the usual “whatever’s in the fridge!”

  As she scrubbed the utensils like she was training for a dishwashing Olympics, she said in her sweetest voice, “First, I’ll finish this, and then I’ll serve you food.” I could see she was trying to channel her inner chef, but I knew she really just wanted to finish her “pre-dinner workout.”

  So, naturally, I dashed to my room like a cheetah on a sugar rush and turned on the TV to watch a movie. With my mom being the Hindi teacher at our vilge government school, I felt like a king in an empty castle—no one to nag me about homework, or worse, ask me to help with the washing! I sprawled on the couch like a sloth on vacation, ready to enjoy my little movie marathons. I could almost hear Grandma from the kitchen: “You better be ready to eat or I’m serving your food to the dog!” Ah, the culinary stakes were high!

  After what felt like a gastronomic eternity, my grandmother finally served me some food. As I dove into my meal like a hungry squirrel, everything was going smoothly—until, out of nowhere, a loud voice boomed, “Aarav, come down right now!” It was my great-grandfather, sounding like he was trying to summon me for a medieval knight’s assembly. Panic hit me like a ton of bricks. I turned to my dear grandmother, my st line of defense, and begged for help.

  She bravely charged outside like a knight in shining armor and told my great-grandfather that I was sleeping. Me? Sleeping? As if! I was wide awake, enjoying my meal and secretly plotting my escape. Thankfully, thanks to my cunning grandmother’s fib, I was off the hook—no dungeons for me today!

  I continued my TV marathon until the afternoon when my mom strolled in, looking as tired as a sloth on a sugar crash. She told me to clear out because she wanted to sleep. Now, you might be wondering why she didn’t just crash in one of the other rooms. Well, that was because the other room had not one, but zero fans. Yes, that’s right—our house was like a sauna in the summer!

  Now, let me break down our humble abode. We’ve got a grand total of six rooms on our side, which means there are twelve rooms in the entire house. The coolest room is at the front on the ground floor, where my great-grandfather, grandfather, and my great-grandfather’s sister used to sleep. They probably told ghost stories at night, or maybe just argued about who snored the loudest.

  Behind that room are three others, but they're locked tighter than a vault. Why? Because they’ve been transformed into crop storage units, housing our harvested gems and other essentials—think of it as the family treasure room, minus the treasure. There's just enough space in one of them for a sleepover, but you'd better be friends with custrophobia!

  Upstairs, we have two more rooms and not one, but TWO kitchens! Yes, a chef’s dream, unless you’re the one stuck washing the dishes. And let’s not forget the roof that crowns our humble haven, which I affectionately refer to as our haveli, because why settle for a house when you can feel like royalty?

  After a few hours, my grandfather started shouting for someone to make tea, which felt like an emergency broadcast alert. I could practically hear the tea kettle calling my name. My mother sprang into action, brewing the tea like she was on a cooking show and the clock was ticking down. Meanwhile, I was plotting my escape strategy — a secret mission involving stealth and a whole lot of dodging old people.

  Just as I was perfecting my pn to sneak out the window like a ninja in pajamas, my mother who had the hearing of a hawk and the eyesight of a hawk wearing gsses, decred, "Go and give the tea to them." There went my pn! I sighed, wondering if there was a medal for ‘Bravest Tea Deliverer of the Year’ because I was definitely earning it as I made my way downstairs, armed with steaming cups and a side of dread.