A Class Photo

“Tomorrow we will take a class photo,” announced Sister Alphonse, her voice echoing through the Lower Kindergarten classroom.

Her students, a group of bright-eyed little ones, stared back blankly. They clearly had no idea what she was talking about.

“Does anyone know what a class photo is?” she asked, scanning the sea of confused faces.

Only one hand shot upLaxmi, the class star and Sister Alphonse’s favorite. She had an answer to every question.

“Yes, dear?”

“We will take a photo of the class,” Laxmi replied, beaming at the chance to speak.

“Not of the classroom, but of the students,” Sister Alphonse clarified.

Kittu, meanwhile, was lost in his own world, watching a sunbeam slowly crawl across the classroom floor. Every sunny morning, it appeared just as Sister Alphonse’s lesson was halfway through, and by the time the bell rang, it would have traveled all the way to the door.

“Krishna Prasad,” Sister Alphonse called, pulling Kittu from his daydream. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”

Kittu stared at her, unresponsive. His mind was miles away, as usual.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

Kittu rose slowly, bracing himself. Sister Alphonse had a habit of pulling his ears, and today felt like no exception. He was convinced she had a particular fondness for his earsalmost daily, they found themselves between her fingers.
That morning, he’d shared his theory with his friend David: “I think she pulls my ears because she doesn’t have her own.”
Sister Alphonse’s habit concealed her ears, so Kittu believed she secretly longed for his ears.

“Krishna Prasad Naidu, are you even present on this planet?” Sister Alphonse’s stern voice cut through his thoughts.

Kittu blinked, focusing on her stern expression framed by her white hair. He saw no trace of kindness in her eyes.

“Tomorrow we’ll take a photo of all the students in this class,” she repeated.

“What do I have to do?” Kittu asked, dreading the idea of having to sing in front of everyone.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just come in your clean uniform and sit quietly for the photo.”

‘That sounds manageable,’ Kittu thought, relieved that there was no mention of ear-pulling.

Later at home, Kittu passed the message to his mother. “We will take a class photo.”

Shyamala, his mother, nodded knowingly. “Oh, it’s because your LKG year is ending. The school takes a class photo every year before final exams.”

“Why do they need a new photo every year? Can’t they just use the old one?” Kittu found the whole idea puzzling.

“Because you’ll grow up, your friends might change, and the class photo will be the only reminder of the time you spent together.”

“What good times? LKG is the worst class ever,” Kittu declared.
He firmly believed school was a waste of time compared to staying home.

“Someday you’ll look back fondly on these days,” Shyamala said with a smile.

“That’s never going to happen. All I’ll remember is Sister Alphonse pulling…”
He stopped himself, realizing he hadn’t told his parents about the ear-pulling. Some things were best kept from adultsthey never quite understood.

The next morning, Shyamala carefully pressed Kittu’s uniform. “Sit straight and remember to smile.”

Kittu was more concerned about whether the photo session would end early enough to let him go home early.

“Form a single line by height!” Sister Alphonse’s voice rang out as she organized the students. Kittu, one of the shorter ones, was placed in the front row on the ground. He didn’t mind; it allowed him to inspect the floor closely. The cracked cement fascinated him, especially the little blades of grass poking through. He tugged at one, and ants scurried out of the soil. Kittu gently put the ants back downhe never liked hurting small creatures. One black ant crawled onto his arm, and as he raised it to his face for a closer look, it began inching towards his nose.

“Everyone, look at the camera. When I say three, smile!” the photographer instructed.

A week later, the photos were distributed. Kittu brought his copy home, handed it to his mother, and dashed outside to play. But before he could make it far, his mother’s voice called him back.

“Kittu, come here this minute!”

He hesitated, knowing the tone meant he couldn’t argue. He returned to find his mother glaring at the photo.

“What are you doing in this picture?”

Kittu studied the photo, trying to locate himself. By then, his older brother Shyamu had joined, and the moment he saw Kittu, he burst into laughter.

“Kittu’s got his finger in his nose!” Shyamu howled.

Shyamala scowled. “I told you to sit properly! Now we’ll have this photo forever, with you like this.”

Kittu squinted at the picture and remembered the moment. “An ant was trying to crawl into my nose. I was just trying to catch it!”

Shyamu laughed even harder, and soon Kittu was giggling too. Shyamala shook her head, exasperated.

“Sometimes I wish I had girls instead of these monkeys,” she sighed, shoving the photo beneath the pile of family albums.