‘And I will expect you to not look to your left or right. You look straight ahead, or you look at your paper, but if I catch you doing something you shouldn’t be doing, then only God can save you from my wrath.’

The invigilator rapped her steel ruler on her desk for emphasis. Everyone had got her point.

It was raining outside, a midsummer day, the last of the final exams. After that, summer vacation (but only for the students, the invigilator reminded herself). Then the report cards would come, students would break down and cry, or cheer and the teachers would smile (fake smile plastered on their tired faces). The parents would take their children away, either home to a thrashing or to a fancy restaurant. What would the teachers do? Still come to school, still wake up at eight and take the long commute to the shining glass and brick edifice that would imprison them for weeks.

The invigilator stamped the school seal on a sheet of paper. She didn’t need to, it already had a seal. But she did it. She found pleasure in besmearing it, staining it with her doing. It gave vent to whatever was bothering her inside.

The students, to her luck, were a good lot. Human biology class, only about forty kids, most of them serious. She liked the looks of them. No one here would dare to stuff entire answers down their shirts, or write down pointers on the palms of their hand. Even if they did, they wouldn’t get away from her. She was as fierce as she looked. Once, a boy had tried to cheat. He had practically his entire school textbook stuffed down his sock. He was suspended from exams the next day.

She recalled the boy’s shining, teary face, and smiled. She derived pleasure from being mean and hurtful, because she knew as well as everyone else that there really was no room for being nice in this world. It’s a rat race, she thought, watching one earnest-looking girl turn over her paper and discreetly look over to her other side to see if the next person was ahead of her. If you can’t beat them, then you ought to die.

The rain was letting up. Those sitting next to the window were beginning to fidget, and for good reason. The eleven o’clock morning sun was about to come out. The invigilator checked her watch. There was another hour left until freedom. She rapped her desk again, to quiet down the mutterings of discomfort, just as easily her school silenced hers. The muttering stopped, but the twitching and fidgeting didn’t, and it wouldn’t, either. People would keep on twitching and fidgeting, past school and university and internships, past marriage and children and old age. What to do? You just have to bear with it.

She looked out the window, head turned slightly towards the class (so that they’d know she had her eyes on them). The rain had completely let up. The roads were still slick, the pedestrians still holding up their umbrellas, the sky still clinging to its gray clouds. It was a swirl of murky browns and blacks. No color, no life. Just automated, robotic existence. She looked at the only tree left standing by the side of the road. It seemed tired, too, like it wanted to die, but the fierce desire of the municipality to stick to their ‘beautification’ plans was keeping it alive. It was like living off life support—a painful, drawn out existence.

She didn’t know why, but the tree kept her mesmerized for some time. There seemed to be something red dancing amidst its leaves. She looked closer. It looked like a piece of the sunset sky, and it was caught in the leaves. She left her desk and stood by the window. Then she saw it. A little girl, a street urchin, was holding a cheap red balloon, and shaking a branch of the tree, the raindrops sprinkling down on her dense curls. She was laughing, and smiling, and looking around at everyone. And that glimmer in her eyes—the invigilator didn’t know what that was for. Why was the girl so happy? What did she have to live for?

It seemed fate had been listening to her. Just that moment, the beggar from down the street shuffled over to the girl on his one leg, and asked, ‘What are you doing?’

The girl smiled and shook her balloon at the old man. ‘Look, uncle. See how the raindrops shine in the light? Like bits of gold and silver? Isn’t it pretty?’ and she shook her branch at the old man and laughed, and scampered away.

The invigilator was startled when someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was that earnest-looking girl. She was holding out her paper to her. Everyone else had already submitted theirs and left. Through the open glass doors there were sounds of hooting and cheer. Even the earnest-looking girl was smiling.

‘Miss, can I leave?’ she asked.

The invigilator nodded.

The girl gathered up her things. Just as she was about to leave, she turned around and said, ‘It’s a nice day, isn’t it?’ Then she walked away.

The invigilator looked away from the window.

She didn’t understand why these simple joys were denied to her.