Thank God I was not a Romeo

In Bihar there is a famous region called Mithalanchal. It gets its historical significance from Sita the wife of Rama. Once it was the kingdom of Raja Janak, Sita's father. Situated in the northern Bihar a notoriously famous state of India, it reminds me about its rich cultural heritage when we go back to the history. I feel mentioning this because there are not much at present in Mithalanchal to boast about. It’s my native land so my love for my soil keeps me reminding something great about it every now and then.
Darbhanga a small town of Mithalanchal. Who knows? One day it may become the capital of Mithalanchal, if the process of state demand goes on in our country at the same pace as it is now. I was born and brought up there and I remember my school days very well, as they are something which is difficult to forget for anyone in his life. They are the best period of one’s life.
They were the days when I with my friends use to go to my school in dresses we liked to wear and with one notebook. First period we use to attend and then our classes continued to be outside the classrooms, but inside the compound and without any teacher. Mathematics we were forced to attend as Mr. Theorem our Maths teacher, was very strict. And it was the first period with attendance. How can we afford to miss the school even for one day? Then we won’t be able to appear for the exams. So this motivated us to attend the classes on theorems and quadratic equations. The medium was Hindi and I use to crack my head on the tough Hindi terms “dwighatiya samikaran”, “ek char wale samikaran” etc etc. I was a victim of this language attack as I was directly coming from an English school to a pure Hindi school. It still haunts me sometimes but now I have the ability to show my scholarly Hindi.
One special feature about my school were the Romeos all around. To vent out their frustrations they use to write strange things about the Juliets who always rejected their proposals. The teachers ignored those writings but if someone was caught red handed then it use to be the day of our Principal. A long and heavy wooden rod, my Principal’s one and the only weapon, was hard enough for the Romeo’s backs or legs. And these wooden sticks were especially trained to give the ancient experience of torture to the poor Romeos.
And the next day all those brave friends of mine will come with their guardians to the School. Seeing them, I use to thank God for not giving me those Romeo instincts. I was always a passive observer sitting with all my "good for nothing" friends and criticizing either the administration of the school, or the Indian Education System.