Mumbai does not wake up gently.
It jerks itself into consciousness.
Local trains scream against rusted tracks. Vendors argue over five-rupee coins. Political banners flap above broken footpaths like promises no one remembers making.
At 7:15 AM, Sushil Mandal stands at the gate of Shivaji Municipal High School.
He always arrives before everyone.
The building is government-aided — faded yellow paint, cracks spreading across the walls like old scars. A new digital banner hangs awkwardly above the entrance:
"Future Leaders Summit – Sponsored by Shakti Infrastructure."
The logo is sharp. Modern. Expensive.
Too clean for this building.
Sushil studies it a moment longer than necessary.
Something about it feels misplaced.
He cannot explain why.
So he simply remembers it.
---
7:20 AM – Staff Room
Sushil enters quietly.
Slim build. Straight posture. Ironed shirt despite the rising humidity. His movements are controlled, economical. Nothing wasted.
He teaches Hindi to the upper classes — Class 9 and 10.
Language requires precision.
He likes precision.
He takes his usual chair near the wall — from there he can see both the door and the window.
Habit. Not paranoia.
A minute later, Tej Narayan Mandal walks in.
Math teacher for upper classes.
Tall. Fit. Clean-shaven. The kind of man who still stretches every morning before work. His presence carries steadiness.
"Good morning," Tej says.
"Morning," Sushil replies.
They share a surname but no relation.
Only professional respect.
---
Pushkar Bharti Jha arrives next.
Science teacher for upper classes.
Slim like Sushil, lighter-skinned, slightly restless energy in his movements.
"Good morning, sir," he says.
"Good morning."
Pushkar drops his bag on the table with mild irritation.
"Traffic is a headache, especially near the railway line," he mutters. "The freight trains keep moving back and forth fifty times before clearing the track."
Sushil allows a faint smile.
"A kingdom of chaos, ruled by fools," he replies dryly.
Pushkar laughs.
---
Aditya Kamti and Kailash Paswan enter together.
Both handle lower classes up to Class 3.
Aditya teaches Hindi. Kailash teaches Math.
Both are moderately fit, slightly slim but softer in build than Tej or Sushil.
Aditya is always in a joking mood. He can say anything, anytime, anywhere.
"Lower classes are easier," Aditya says as he sits down. "At least they don't question the system yet."
Sushil glances at him.
"Not questioning isn't always a good thing."
Kailash chuckles. "There he goes again. Philosophy before breakfast."
Kailash is Vishvnath's nephew.
He manages the school hostel as well.
He carries authority without earning it.
There is something greedy in his eyes — something careless in the way he speaks about students.
Sushil has noticed.
He has not commented.
Yet.
---
Md. Mazhar Alam enters last among the teaching staff.
SST teacher for upper classes.
Middle-aged. Slightly heavier build. Thick mustache. Slow, deliberate movements.
He folds his newspaper with precision before sitting.
He has seen education reforms change every few years.
He trusts none of them.
He and Sushil get along well.
Their conversations are quiet but thoughtful.
---
Then comes Om Paswan.
Middle-aged. Slight belly. Confident smile that lingers a second too long.
Vice Principal.
He greets Neelu differently from the others — a familiarity that does not go unnoticed.
The entire school knows about their closeness.
No one speaks of it.
Om takes it upon himself to make life difficult for most teachers. Surprise inspections. Sudden remarks. Casual intimidation disguised as administrative discipline.
He enjoys power in small doses.
---
7:35 AM – Authority Arrives
Director Vishvnath Sahni enters.
Middle-aged. Heavy-set. Frequently irritated. A man who finds offense in minor inconveniences.
Behind him walks Principal Neelu Sahni.
Sharp. Controlled. Efficient.
If Vishvnath holds the title, Neelu holds the system.
"Next week trustees may visit," Vishvnath announces. "Upper classes must maintain discipline."
Neelu adds, "All documentation must be properly updated. No mistakes."
Her eyes briefly scan Sushil. Then Mazhar.
Upper-class teachers.
A pause lingers.
Om stands near her chair, leaning slightly forward.
Subtle alignments.
Invisible but real.
---
8:05 AM – Before Class
Students flood the corridors.
The atmosphere shifts instantly — from structured adult order to chaotic adolescent energy.
Sushil pauses outside Class 9-B before entering.
Inside:
Upper-class energy.
Less noise. More ego. More ambition.
Pavitr Prabhakar sits near the window.
Slim. Alert. Observant in a way that feels older than his age.
Rohan Sheikh sits upright. Notebook open. Pen ready.
Two boys at the back whisper about some upcoming "event."
Sushil does not interrupt.
He writes on the board:
"Language Shapes Thought."
He turns.
"If we change the words," he asks calmly, "do we change the meaning?"
Silence.
Good silence.
He prefers thinking silence over obedient silence.
---
Lower Classes – Parallel Motion
Downstairs, Aditya's classroom sounds like a controlled storm.
Children reciting alphabets. Giggles. A pencil fight quickly stopped.
Kailash draws large numbers on the board, exaggerated gestures to command attention.
Tej's math class upstairs is nearly silent — intimidatingly focused.
Pushkar's science lab carries the faint smell of heated wires.
Mazhar's SST lecture drifts into a discussion about governance systems and historical reforms.
The school is alive.
Different rooms.
Different energies.
One institution.
---
Midday – Staff Room Again
Teachers return in waves.
Pushkar complains about broken lab equipment.
Tej discusses exam preparation.
Mazhar mentions a new state education circular.
Om laughs loudly about "lazy students these days."
Neelu enters, checking registers.
Her gaze pauses at Sushil's attendance sheet.
"Upper classes must maintain high pass percentage," she says.
"Understood," Sushil replies calmly.
He does not argue.
He does not flatter.
He simply acknowledges.
His neutrality makes him difficult to categorize.
---
End of Day
As students leave, Sudheer Bhaskar locks classroom windows one by one.
Thin frame. Nervous movements.
He respects Sushil deeply.
"Sir… tomorrow there will be a timetable change," Sudheer says quietly.
"Why?"
"Director said there is a special meeting in the afternoon."
"About what?"
Sudheer hesitates.
"Not told, sir."
He leaves quickly.
Sushil stands alone in the corridor.
Children's laughter fades beyond the gate.
Sunlight thins across the tiled floor.
Nothing dramatic has happened today.
No scandal.
No tragedy.
Just a school.
Teachers doing their jobs.
Administrators giving instructions.
Students learning.
And yet—
If someone looked closely enough…
They would notice how carefully Sushil Mandal observes everything.
Not suspiciously.
Not angrily.
Just attentively.
Like a man who believes systems matter.
And systems, he knows, are built by people.
---