Mohan hated going to school. And I mean, really hated going to school. In that respect, he was no different from the scores of kids who despise the mere thought of attending school. But there was something about Mohan that set him apart from his peers. What made him different was his thinking. It was way way radical. Over the top. You see, at that tender age, Mohan had very firm ideas about everything under the sun. Especially about school.    

He thought school was a sheer waste of time. Why, he could learn so much more just sitting at home. He could read what caught his fancy instead of those boring tomes which people called textbooks. Mohan was convinced that no good could come out of reading them. So, why bother with them at all.  

But like all parents, his mom and dad had some very strange ideas indeed. They insisted he go to school day after day after day. With only Saturday Sunday off. And that bugged Mohan no end.  

Oh, it wasn’t just studies, though they constituted a big part, there was another reason why Mohan hated going to school. You see, he loved to talk. God had made him like that. Given him the gift of gab. He could talk for hours and hours and not get remotely tired. In fact, he thrived on it. He liked talking so much that if there wasn’t anyone around, he would talk to himself! Complete strangers, visiting relatives, building friends, school friends, assorted staff - maidservants, milkmen, drivers, he discriminated against no one and yakked nineteen-to-the-dozen with them all.  

But could he indulge in his favourite pastime in school? Hardly! Each time he happened to open his mouth in class, the teacher in charge shushed him. “Mohaaan,” being their constant refrain. Even now, far far away from school, tucked safely in the cool environs of home, he could hear the reprimands. “Mohan, how many times have I told you to keep quiet” or “Finger on your lips, Mohan” or “Quiet, class. Mohaaan, didn’t you hear what I just said?” Really, what was the point in going to school if he couldn’t talk to his friends?   

One day it so happened that Mohan got a severe scolding from his class teacher. Mohan being Mohan was holding forth on a vague topic. The boy next to him was showing every sign of dropping off to sleep when suddenly the teacher appeared next to them. She was livid. Mohan would have to leave the class. Mohan did. But that was it. The last straw that broke the camel’s back.  

Mohan swore he wouldn’t go back to school. He had had enough. Luckily for him, his mother and father were out of town. Attending some second cousin’s wedding. Oh, they were always attending some function or the other. Mohan didn’t mind. So long as they didn’t insist on dragging him along. This once, they had left him in the care of Ramdin, an old faithful. Ramdin of leathery cheeks and frail arms. Truth be told, Mohan looked upon Ramdin as his personal property. He often declared, “When I grow up to be famous, Ramdin will be my right hand man.” A phrase he had picked up from a commercial potboiler.  

Despite the age-gap, Mohan liked talking to Ramdin. Actually, Mohan did most of the talking and Ramdin did all the listening. That’s suited Mohan just fine. Naturally, they had a good friendship going. In every friendship, one gives more and the other is happy to receive it. It was the same in the case of these two.  

The first day of Mohan’s Quit School Movement dawned. It was bright and sunny. Mohan could hardly curb his excitement. He felt as if he had scaled the high walls of prison and broken free. Hurrah! He got up at half past ten and dragged himself out of bed. He decided against brushing his teeth. He wanted poorna swaraj. Complete independence. And that included freedom from the dreary rituals of routine.   

Shortly before noon, Mohan was reclining against the bolsters on the diwan in the drawing room, leafing through a Tintin comic. Ramdin was hovering around the room, a feather duster in his hand.  Mohan tried to engage Ramdin in a conversation. He called out, “O Ramdin, what are you doing? Come here, let’s chat.”  

“Not now, Mohan baba,” panted Ramdin from the effort of bending over and over. “ I have work to do.”  

“What work?” asked Mohan a tad impatiently.  

“Let’s see,” began Ramdin, ticking off an invisible list off his fingers. “There are water bottles to be filled, cushions to be plumped, books to be dusted….”  

His little master appeared thoughtful. Hmmm, this long list of chores could keep Ramdin busy and Mohan bored for hours.   

No, he couldn’t let that happen. It was the first day of The Quit School Movement, after all. He had to make it as exciting as he possibly could. He would have to think of something. But what? Mohan tapped the side of his head for a few seconds. Idea! “Why don’t you let Ganga do it?” he piped up, referring to their temporary maid.   

“Ganga!” Ramdin harrumphed. “She doesn’t do a thing. If I don’t keep an eye on her, she will sit all day and stuff her mouth. She hasn’t moved a finger in the last two days. Let master come back…”  

“Oh, master will be back in two days. Don’t tell me we can’t chat and play till then.”  

“I will try, Mohan baba, I will try.”  

Ramdin busied himself with work again. He leafed through the comic listlessly. He even tried watching a bit of TV. Flipped through news channels, music channels and of course, cartoons. But that was no fun. TV characters don’t talk to you, do they? And he really wanted to talk. But there was no one around. His friends? How could he call them? They were all away at school.   

The morning passed in sheer restlessness. Mohan did what he could under the circumstances. He tried filling his coloring book for a while. But he could take it no more. He tossed the book aside impatiently. Then he switched on the computer but event that couldn’t hold his attention for too long. Everything seemed so dull. What he needed was some good conversation. Yes, that would definitely cheer him up. He went looking for Ramdin and found him cleaning the utensils in the kitchen. As it turned out, his arch- rival Ganga had bunked work. Again.   

Ramdin ran the tap, washed the vessels, and arranged them neatly on the marble platform.   

Mohan’s curious eyes followed every move. Finally, he could take it no more.  

“Aren’t you tired of doing the same thing over and over again? Oh, why don’t you go to office?” he asked.   

“Not everyone goes to office, Baba.”  

“My dad does.”  

“To go to office, one must be educated.”  

Why aren’t you educated?”  

“Because I didn’t go to school.”  

Because Mohan could fire another question at him, the doorbell rang. Ramdin went up to answer it.  

That set Mohan thinking. Gosh, Ramdin was doing all these boring things because he didn’t go to school.   

Mohan shuddered with distaste. What if he had to do all these boring things when he grew up?  No way! He would go to office wearing a nice shirt, a gleaming leather brief case in hand and have a lot of fun. He wouldn’t run around answering doors, doing dishes, cleaning rooms with barely any time to chat.   

He sighed. He knew what he had to do. He had to start going to school. It wouldn’t be so bad, he consoled himself. At least he would get to talk to people during the lunch hour.