I hadn’t really noticed ’til the second term of tenth grade.
Every little thing that took place in the school, he knew about it.
Students having pizza delivered to school or students bringing phones to school…he knew.
He was all seeing, all knowing, but, he never told on us.
He had the ultimate leverage, but he never used it. A silent watcher, he would weave through corridors, noting everything that goes on in almost every classroom.
He would enter the school every day at exactly eight o’clock in the morning, and would go to the office, and through to the principal’s room.
And then, he would traverse the three blocks (junior, senior and senior secondary), dutifully performing his work.
He, in doing so, has induitably seen more than all the security cameras installed in the school.
Around twelve thirty, he would leave, and then return at around three, traveling the same route. In the two years I have been at Hindu School, there has not been a single day that I have not seen him pass our class.
Another characteristic feature of this entity is that he catches us in our most unorganized moments- the prefects running around, helplessly trying to instill a shred of authority, while paper planes fly everywhere, and the rowdies of the class are yelling out insults to each other.
With a sort of surprised smirk, he would walk past us, and the racket would continue.
At this point, my readers would ask-
Who is “he”?
“He”, my readers, is the school’s enigmatic tea seller.