Juvenile Delinquency!!

A small incident during Class 9.. Bhawan's Rajaji Vidyashram

There was a fast food joint outside the school. Evenings saw the place swarming with students from class 11 and 12 who got pocket money. We class 9’ers weren’t so fortunate. The only capital we had were our devilish minds. So we would walk-in, order what ever we want, eat it and scoot. The plan was simple but dangerous. Occasionally the storekeeper would produce the bills on time. So we would start making conversations with the class 11 guys while eating and leave before they did. This was to make the shopkeeper believe or assume that the class 11 guys were treating us or paying our bills. And we would leave before they left the shop. The fact that we wore the same uniform made us un-identifiable targets. This worked on well for almost a month. But then – all criminals are caught, no matter how sleek their means. One fine day, we were caught red-handed. We tried to run, but the shop boys out ran us. The shopkeeper was a Moslem, one with gray eyes, a white beard and a topi on his head (I am trying to make him the villain here). He smiled at us. For one moment, I thought that he might excuse us (I was too dumb struck at that point of time). But the man decided to walk us down to the police station after giving us a few whacks on the butt. We begged the rascal all the way to the police station. But he wouldn’t budge. I thought of my mother’s face when she would come to know that her kid was after all a juvenile delinquent (chuckles). Bile rose in my throat as we neared the station. Just a few feet from the police station, a 50-rupee note magically came out of my friends’ pocket. Quite honestly, that’s the most valuable piece of currency I have ever laid my eyes on. The shopkeeper gave my friend a raised eyebrow. My friend gave him a cool look and said, “You may keep the change”. My eyes bulged out. The shopkeeper seemed to consider it for a while. My heart raced like Michelin tires on a formula one tarmac. Looking at us as if we were moths on his bridal-bed, he said “OK. Now Run”. My heart was filled with gratitude. I ran all the way to school, picked up my bag and ran home. Only the next day, when I had fully recovered I asked my friend why he hadn’t remembered having money with him before we got the beating. “I forgot,” he mumbled.