The bell could be heard ringing faintly over the wild screeching of the kids. Mrs. Gauri Shinde broke into a sweat trying to file the fifteen kids of her section into a single line, but these kids knew that every time they are made to form human chains, it's time to go somewhere, and if there's one place noisy toddlers love going to when they are in the colorful confines of an educational institution, it's home. 

God, does she want to go home herself. With her mother-in-law off to a merry trip to Badrinath and husband slating deals in Dubai, she can finally watch old Bollywood hits over tea for breakfast, lunch and dinner in absolute peace. Weekend never sounded sweeter. 

But her eclectic dreams of a distant weekend dangled on a rocky pause because Radha Dubey was crying yet again. The girl surely had a pair of lungs on her. 

"Karan, stop pulling her hair!" Gauri rushed towards the kids who had gotten themselves in a roulette once again. It was the Bahl kid, notorious as ever and violent to the T. On seeing their teacher approaching him with an expression that was sure to land him in trouble, five year old Karan released Radha's pigtails, albeit with aggressive reluctance. 

"She hit me," was his rebuttal when Miss Gauri knelt in front of the girl, who much to his annoyance, was still bawling her eyes out. "Miss, you did not see but she hit me first!"

Between sobs and hiccups, KG-II's personal complaint box managed to utter a line in her defense. Her wide-eyed gaze levied her innocence. Karan's sneer on the other hand didn't help his case much. 

"You saw no?" He turned to his classmate standing behind him. "Oy Ritwik, tell Miss that Radha hit me first."

But Miss had had enough obstructions on the road to her weekend and was in no mood to entertain the naughtiest kid's crippling arguments. Gauri picked up the girl in all her tear-stricken glory and promised her that Karan wouldn't be able to hit her if she stood at the front of the line.

Ritwik, on the other hand, realized that it was indeed his dear friend who needed some petty consolation. Swinging a chubby arm over Karan's shoulder to offer solidarity, he spoke wisely. "She's a girl, chhod na. You are brave, so let it be. Dadu kehte hai that we should not hit girls anyway."

"But she hit me first!"

"I did not!" Came the protest from the front of the queue. It didn't take very long for the screaming battle to resume.

Now restless and reconsidering her job profile, Miss Gauri yelled at her class to reclaim her authority. When the teetering silence lasted for a little over two seconds, she grabbed Radha's index finger that still pointed at the instigator of her tears and led the tiny tots of Mystic Preparatory to the front yard.

By the time the gates opened, the duel was long forgotten. A silver Esteem now grabbed Karan's attention, parked a small distance away from the main entrance. His mother seldom came to pick him up from school, did Gauri Miss call her up? Would she actually be telling his mother all the complaints like she had warned? Did he really cross the line (even though it's not his fault if he couldn't actually see the line Miss was always yapping about)?

An idea seized him. If he could manage to escape the yard and run to the car himself, Miss and Mom would not get a chance to meet, and if they didn't meet, Miss won't get the chance to tell Mom about the pencil he broke when he couldn't get the Ws right, the puppet he ripped apart because he didn't like its voice, the boy he hit because he wouldn't share his crayons and the girl who cried because he yanked at her pigtails. 

The prospect was shiny, rebellious, challenging. All he needed to do was escape Miss Gauri's hawkish gaze and run out of the gates—exactly what he had been warned against. And so, this dare-devil of a five-year old sidled up next to a classmate whose grandmother had arrived at the gate. Walking as quietly as his new shoes could afford, Karan reached the wrought iron grills on the threshold just in time to hear his name being called out.

Alas, a foolproof plan shattered to smithereens with a step hanging in the air. He could still make it—he could leap out of the periphery and run, but before the execution of his escape strategy could commence, Miss Gauri had already repeated his name thrice and his oblivious cover of a classmate had long left him unshielded. Uh-oh. Another event added to the list of final warnings.

Miss Gauri Shinde, on the other hands-too-full hand, scanned the yard for the most notorious kid she had ever encountered. Running on a limited patience supply this particular Friday noon, she grabbed Karan's hand fist and hauled him to her side where a man had turned up, claiming to be a close acquaintance.

"Karan, do you know this Uncle?"

He did not, but to say no would mean risking a parent-teacher meeting in front of all his friends. Moreover, this Uncle did not look like one of the ice-cream truck men from the movie his cousin had shown him on his computer. In fact, he didn't look like he could be scary even if he tried. With trousers tucking in a brown, half-sleeve shirt, a matching leather watch fixed tightly on his wrist and a kind smile on his clean shaven face, this man resembled Amir Khan from his mother's favorite movie.

A grin appeared on Karan's face—extra toothy to make it look real, a practiced smile that worked on his nanny every time his milk magically drained itself in the kitchen sink. Miss Gauri Shinde observed the guardian slip duly signed by Mrs. Bahl that the man handed her after the reluctant exchange of the kid and nodded in dismissal. "Alright. You may take him home."

Once they had safely walked out of the school premises, Karan noticed the empty driver's seat of the familiar Esteem, but no sign of his mother. Striding towards the car, he peered at his ride, askance. "Aap kya naye driver uncle ho?"

The man crouched on his haunches, drawing his eyes over his tiny mirroring form. He struggled, tongue thick when it came to the introduction that was supposed to follow naturally.

"Aaj ke liye yahi maan lete hai."

Friday nights were special.

Throughout the week, Prakash Bahl was an unapproachable man. Late night calls with international clients and early morning meetings occupied most of his time. But each fortnightly Friday was a reserved time block in his schedule.

Karan burst into peals of unrestrained giggles, balancing himself on his father's shoulder, tugging clumps of his hair to direct him around the kitchen.

"Fridge?" Prakash followed his son's instructions. "Fridge se kya utthana hai? Lauki?"

"Nai, nai!" Karan squealed, leaning into his father's head to bask in the warm glow of the appliance. "Woh dekho, mera chocolate. Woh utthao!"

"Chocolate?" His father grabbed the purple bar. "Ab toh mai hi kha jaunga ye chocolate, tum baitthe raho upar."

"Naheeeen! New-driver-uncle ne mujhe woh chocolate diya hai, woh mera hai!"

Shutting the door, he pondered, "New driver uncle?"

Prakash let his son run off with the sugary treat, carrying his doubts with him into the living room.

"Neeti, Shakti chhutti pe hai kya? Naya driver kyu rakha hai?"

"Naya driver nahi ttha."

The stiff response made him sit next to his wife. Her finger hovered over the red button of the remote. She swallowed a thick lump, tried to blink away the rising panic.

"Fir Karan kis naye driver ki baat kar raha thha?"

They had an understanding. A compromise that she needed to respect with honesty. Under her husband's scrutinizing gaze, that was the least she could do anyway.

"Rajveer Karan se milna chaahte thhe."

_____

Namoshtaii!

You know what's ironic? In DB's first chapter, I had said that Karan is my favorite without thinking that he might eventually take advantage of that. And now, here we are. I'll try to be consistent with updates but considering that I've officially become that adult who salivates over 11 PM bedtime, it's gonna be tough.

A big thanks to ughhmaybeits_Titli for making the graphic in the banner below! She's legit my go-to person for all things vector, digital and artsy. If looking at that kind of art makes your day as well, definitely check out her Instagram page doodlytart and aesthetic.shadesx!

I doubt we've ever done a prologue in the Dil series. Or any of my books for that matter. Guess there's always a first. In fact, you know what, today tell me about your firsts. Could be anything. The first time you tried the coke-float or pineapple in pizza or had your first kiss. 

Cheers to four years and counting! Read, vote, comment and promote!

~Shubhodiya