Autobiography of brook stream

That huge bell never stopped ringing. It got us out of bed, it summoned us for meals, it rang between class periods, it sent us unwillingly to bed.

One morning it failed to ring, or rather, there was no bell to ring.

Someone had removed it, and it wasn't found till late in the afternoon.

What a glorious day! As there was no bell to rouse us, everyone got up late, and there was no morning PT. Some of us missed breakfast too.

The teachers got confused and mixed up their classes. How could the school manage without it? Confusion reigned.

Of course, no one owned up. It could have meant expulsion. Some suspicion fell on the Sports Captain because of our aversion to morning PT, but nothing could be proved.

No one was very anxious to find the bell - we were quite happy without it - but it was finally discovered hanging from a branch of one of the trees.

'It may have been Mr. Sharma,' surmised Brian.

The poem is an autobiography of a stream. The stream is a speaker. It tells the story of his life. The brook (stream) comes from the places where water-birds like coot and hem live. It suddenly rushes out and is seen flowing among fem. It makes a lot of noise as it flows hurriedly down a valley.

Mr. Sharma, our Maths teacher, was known to walk in his sleep. And sleepwalkers did funny things sometimes. 

'It could be Mool Chand himself,' suggested Cyrus Satralkar.

Mool Chand was the school chowkidar, who also had the job of banging the brass bell at appointed times.

'Why would he throw it away?'

'He must be as fed up with ringing it as we are of hearing it.' This was my theory.

'Perhaps he wants a rise in salary.'

The identity of the culprit remained a mystery. Happily, the senior Hockey team went on a winning spree against all corners, and our month-end exits were restored.

But soon there was another sensation.

A girl was admitted to our class!

The boys were scandalized.

No girl had ever studied in our school before.

The brook starts out from the dwelling place of birds such as the coot (a water bird) and the hern (archaic word for heron). It makes a sudden rush as it flows out. The presence of sunlight causes the brook’s water to sparkle as it flows among the fern.

We protested.

'What's the problem?' asked Mr. Knight, our class master. 'Haven't you seen a girl before?'

'But - but. Sir ' Tata was our spokesman. 'How will we concentrate on our studies?'

'When did you ever concentrate on your studies, Tata?'

'Are we going co-ed, sir?' Adams wanted to know.

'Not at all,' said Mr. Knight.

'This is a special case. She is the school accounts manager's daughter, and he can't afford the Girls school fees. So, I'm sure you'll make her feel very welcome.'

The accountant was a popular man who also ran the school's tuck shop and allowed most of us a certain amount of credit.

Brook This poem describes the journey of a stream from its place of origin to the river that it joins. The poem has been written in the form of an autobiography where the brook relates its experiences as it flows towards the river.

All our objections faded away. At first, Sunita, our new entrant, was a bit of a distraction because, although she was very shy and demure, she had lovely curly hair, bright eyes, pink cheeks and a smile for everyone. All the boys were very polite and attentive to her and Brian in particular was always ready to help her.