A person is in Dixie’s land before he turns a teenager; to be in clover is the motto of childhood. As a child, I treaded on enchanted grounds commanding the commotion every possible moment. I used to be a nimble-footed child and the studded blobs of mischief used to be my trademark. At every given or created opportunity, I used to excel in rodomontade; sometimes I used to follow rules, and at the other times rules used to follow me. I loved to win every time in every activity just like any other child.
I used to play merciless pranks on my friends and my teachers with equal gusto. I clearly remember putting an incensed fire-cracker beneath the wooden chair of my Sanskrit teacher as she just settled in; every punishment that later followed was worth the sight that we witnessed looking at her changing facial gestures as the fire-cracker exploded. It was fun; pure adolescent fun. Once I placed a small puppy, the progeny of a stray dog, in the table of my English teacher. As she opened the drawer, to her horrid disbelief, the canine came out crawling. She produced this ear-splitting scream and we, the kids, were in seventh heaven with sweltering joy. I enjoyed all the attention and felt like a star; the fact that I was the class monitor never made me deter from any of the prank-playing motives.
As I was the best scholar in my school, and was good at extra-curricular activities as well, the tag of class monitor came naturally to me. With every discordant deed that amounted to the saucy pranks played by me, requests were made to the school principal to dethrone me of my class monitor-ship by the affected souls; however, the second best student was way behind me so dethroning never actually happened. Alas, nothing can replicate those magical days of our lives; long live childhood.
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