Firefly by Shubham Negi

    translated by Shruti Sonal

    “Even when the sun set, the moonlight feared, flames of candles were snipped
    There was still light due to a pack of fireflies”

    – Aashish

    She already knew that an announcement of her name would arrive soon. Yet, when the sound actually came, her heart seemed to leap in her stomach. “The principal has called Vaani”. All the necks in the class turned towards her. The events of yesterday were on the tip of everyone’s tongues. Freely leaping over their stares, Vaani came out of the class.

    Due to Covid, the new session had failed to start in May. Vaani and her classmates had joined class 11 just a week or two back. The previous day, the math teacher was on leave, so the art teacher was on duty in his period instead. He was in a jovial mood, so he began talking to everyone. Walking around the classroom, he asked the students what was something new that they wanted to see in school that year. Arun promptly replied that the duration of the lunch break should be increased. Piercing through the round of laughter that ensued, he quipped that it was not possible to finish even one innings of the match during the stipulated break. Isha’s wish was that, like other schools, they should also be taken on a trip. One by one, everyone was sharing their wishes, and then the ball fell in Vaani’s court. She had her answer ready. Yet, her hesitant hands kept tossing the ball between themselves. Her face kept looking at the faces staring at her.

    Arre! This is not an interview where you have to give the right answer. Whatever is on your mind, feel free to share it.” Ramesh sir had sensed her hesitation. It was not that Vaani was a shy girl. Or a girl who used to stay silent in class. Who forwarded the class’ collective complaints to the higher authorities? Vaani. Who welcomed esteemed guests at school events? Vaani. Who took part in state-level debating competitions? Vaani, again.

    That’s why her hesitation seemed odd to everyone. Actually, what was on her mind had probably never been talked about previously at the school. But, when the umpire showed her the green flag, she decided to throw the ball at the classroom.

    “Sir, the month of May is about to end. Next is June. Here, people might not know that June is celebrated globally as the Queer Pride Month. I think here also, we should do an event some day to commemorate it.” She had not thrown a mere ball at the class, but rather a rock. She was no longer afraid.

    “Queer means?” Ramesh sir knew a little about it, but his surprise-filled mouth managed to blurt out only these two words.

    “Means gay, lesbian, trans etc folks.” Hear hear, these prohibited words had fallen on the school’s ears for the first time. Some of the students in class started looking at Vaani in bewilderment, while others let a laughter escape from their teeth. Shielding herself from the glares, Vaani kept standing upright, eager to answer all the questions thrown her way.

    She was fond of English and Korean music. Boy bands and girl groups were trending. A British pop star, who was a part of one such boy band, had spoken about Pride Month on Instagram. Vaani had got to know about it from there only. The more she began reading about it, the more she started to realise the lack of conversation around it in school.

    The art teacher, playing the role of the protector of Indian culture, tried to quickly dismiss the topic. “There’s a decorum in school, beta. Some topics are beyond the level of school.”

    “Sorry sir, where is this written?” The words were pitched in a straightforward manner, but caught with a layer of anger spread over them.

    “If these things were worth teaching you all, then wouldn’t NCERT itself put it in the textbooks?” A slight hint of red had appeared on Ramesh sir’s face.

    “What do you mean by these things, sir?”

    “These things mean these things. This… queer… or whatever they’re called.”

    “What is the issue in discussing these things sir?” Vaani put ‘these things’ in bold-italics and asked. Her friend was squeezing her hand and requesting her to sit down instead.

    “Um, it’s not like I have any objection to these people. But why should we teach kids about adult affairs? It’s all a deviation. What will kids do after learning about adult affairs?” Like a pendulum, the necks in the classroom kept moving to and fro, from the teacher to Vaani, and back.

    “If these affairs are a distraction, sir, then why do our English-Hindi textbooks have plots revolving around marriage? The Proposal, Cinderella…umm, Reed Ki Haddi, and many more. And…so many school skits talk about these… yes, we sing romantic songs in singing competitions too. And so many other things. These are not a deviation, sir. Not at all. It’s only that they’re straight stories, hence they’re okay.”

    Vaani herself was taken aback by her words and passion. She had leapt into the waters without giving it much thought. It was only when she was inside, that she realised that she could swim. As she continued to swim, drops of water splashed onto other children, and their colours started transforming too.

    Ramesh sir did not have an answer to her question. Defeat began to boil inside him, but he managed to maintain composure inside the classroom. In order to hide his discomfort, he went and stood behind the dais.

    “So what do you want? What should we do in June?”

    “Sir, for starters, we should have an awareness program. In it, we should talk about the queer community. About Pride Month too.”

    “Will you suggest a program for the pride of normal people too?” This was spoken in anger and also heard in anger. “People like us also have a lot of problems.” The oscillating pendulum, which was staring sometimes at Vaani and sometimes at the teacher, increased its speed.

    “These ‘people like us’ sir,” Vaani made a gesture of inverted commas with her fingers and continued, “which of their problems are because of their orientation? When that’s not the case, then what pride? What program?” Vaani took a huge leap into the water.

    “Appeal for this in front of the principal. Sit down for now.” The sound of Vaani’s leaps had started pricking Ramesh sir’s ears.

    Vaani sat down but one word in particular continued to ring inside her body. As soon as she sat down, she spoke again.

    “With all due respect sir, one more thing. You used the word ‘normal’ for straight people. This in itself is an example of why we need awareness programs at school.”

    Had she crossed the boundary? The pendulum got stuck and started sounding an alarm. The teacher’s face was drained of its colours. And as teachers often do, he decided to ignore this instead. As he looked at the clock, he realised that there was still time for the period to get over. After looking for all possible means to cloak his shame, his teacher-brain decided that yelling at the whole class was the best option.

    “Why are you all looking at me? The math teacher is on leave, does that mean you won’t study? Take out your math books and do the questions silently.”

    IAsking questions seemed out of reach, some students thought, but found it better to say that to each other in the lunch break instead.

    ***

    The incident had happened yesterday. Perhaps it was also narrated to other teachers afterwards. Now, she was standing outside the principal’s office. The students in the class were thinking that Ramesh sir had complained about her. But that was not true. The art teacher had merely suggested appealing to the principal as a tactic to dismiss the argument. But it was Vaani’s mind that saw it as an opportunity. That morning, as soon as she came to school, she gave an application in the principal’s office. Now, she was standing outside the office, waiting for the hearing.

    Inside, the Wikipedia page of Pride was open on principal Kusum’s computer. Before calling Vaani inside, she wanted to take a quick look at it. Kusum ma’am used to do her work with immense dedication and hardwork. She was a woman of strong principles. During the covid phase, when classes were operating online, she could have easily sat at home and relaxed. She did not have any subject to teach. However, despite that, she would join the online class links from time to time, in order to ensure that the teachers and students were not taking online studies lightly. But these very principles of hers often made her harsher than required. One of the school’s cleaning staff, Nita, lost her husband to an untimely death. Following that, all the teachers tried to help her financially and suggested raising her salary. Nita returned to work merely twenty days after her husband’s death. When she told the principal about the salary hike suggestion, she refused flatly. How could Nita go beyond the word limit set for her position? With a fallen face, she resumed her work. Later, when a teacher enquired about this, principal Kusum bluntly retorted that Nita always cut corners at work. Everybody knew about it. So what hike?

    Now too, she wanted to know about the topic before the discussion with Kusum. How could it be that you enter a war, only to realise your weaponry needs more edge? By the way, this was not the first time that the page had been opened on Kusum ma’am’s computer.

    Four years ago, her son had been selected for admission in Navodaya Vidyalaya- in class nine. He did not want to go to the hostel, but she was very keen on sending him. After all, she knew the level of her school inside out. As she was the principal of her household too, along with the school, Gaurav was sent to Navodaya.  Things did not turn out as she had anticipated. Gaurav settled in soon. And just like that, four years had passed. Now, he was in class 12. Contrary to their doubts, the distance strengthened the mother-son bond. Then, following his class 11 exams, Gaurav came home for a week. Both of them were watching TV after dinner, when the mother asked her son jokingly- “Arre, have you not made a girlfriend?”

    Gaurav knew that his mother was a bit ‘modern’. At first, he merely shook his head in response. Then, added nonchalantly, “right now there’s no one. But when I have one, it will be a boyfriend, not girlfriend.”

    After that, Gaurav was taken back to his hostel, but only to pick up his luggage. Now, he was enrolled in principal Kusum’s school. Miles away from the boys’ hostel, but in close proximity to Kusum ma’am. She was of the opinion that it wasn’t the right age for him… to talk about love affairs. Gaurav took off her mask of worry by reminding her that it was she who had started the girlfriend topic. Then, he yanked the chair and went outside. Along with the shaking chair left behind in the room, Kusum ma’am too, kept shaking for a while.

    For the past two months, Gaurav was here at the school, but lost somewhere else. His depression had penetrated into her eyes too. She closed the Wikipedia page  and summoned Vaani

    ***

    When Vaani came out of the principal’s office, fireflies were twinkling in her eyes. In her hands was a planner. Inside it, she had to make a framework of the events that would take place in June as well as a list of resources that could be circulated in the upcoming teachers’  meeting.

    In her office, principal Kusum was signing the application using a green pen. Approved. As she ran the pen’s ink over the paper, she thought about running her hands through Gaurav’s hair. She turned her chair towards the window. For a long time, she kept gazing at something admiringly. Then suddenly, she rang the peon’s bell, and sent him to call Gaurav.

    Shruti Sonal (shruti_writes) is a Delhi-based writer, poet and journalist who loves to tell stories in all their forms. ‘In Which Language Do I Remember You?’, her debut collection of poetry, was published by Writers Workshop in December 2023. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies, including Penguin India’s “Ninety-Seven Poems”, HarperCollins’ “The World That Belongs To Us”, and the Alipore Post’s “Memories On A Plate”. She has also been among the winners of the All India Poetry Competition by Poetry Society, and a Writers Ink Screenwriting Fellow for 2023-24. Meanwhile, her short story ‘Snow’ is featured in Kitaab’s Best Asian Fiction of 2023. She has prominently written for publications such as Times of India, Scroll, The Wire, The Hindu, Film Companion and more.

    Shubham Negi is a poet, writer, and director, who often tells stories centred around queer themes. He is among the five people selected in Netflix’s TakeTen competition, and also a fellow of a screenwriting lab organized by Netflix and The Queer Muslim Project. His short film script was the runner-up for the QDrishti Grant at the Kashish Film Festival Mumbai in 2024. His Hindi stories and poems have appeared in Hans, Sadaneera, Samkaleen Janmat, Chakmak, and other prestigious literature magazines. He has performed at Spoken Mumbai, Spoken Delhi, and Times LitFest Bangalore. He was awarded a Special Jury Award in Hans Katha Samman 2022.

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