The water cooler

Photograph by Darbe Rotach, via OKP Photo

The water cooler used to be our salvage. We would rush indoors as soon as the first recess bell had sounded, lining up, sometimes pushing and shoving to get to the water first. Cold, a few degress less than ice cold water would hit our parched lips, sweat soaking our brows, dripping into the basin as we knelt down and just shoved water into our mouths with our hands. It was a moment of zen, that moment we all looked forward to, but could have easily bypassed by not playing cricket or football in 35 degree weather. Or we could have walked away from our games a few minutes early and had a drink calmly, enjoying it. But no, we all rushed together. It was a time of day that we revered, a reason to be a few minutes late to class, a reason to have our shirts soaked with water by the time we stumbled back into the class, intoxicated by the cool buzz now coursing its way down our bodies.

Taunts and threats were exchanged. Challenges laid down as we waited for our turn. Class 9B would kick the living crap out of 9A in football, say the time and place.. we'll be there. On other days, formulas for quadratic equations were exchanged in whispered tones, cos and sin laws were told to friends who had forgotten to study for the test that day. Essay topics that had been given to other classes were talked about, and people passed on information on crappy teachers and hard exams like we were brothers, not the competitors we turned into as soon we walked into class. Teachers were bitched at, stories were exchanged, all in the wait for water. Who wanted to go to the water cooler outside the school building? It was too hot, the water and temperature. We would rather stand here, behind 30 guys hearing that sweet sound of constantly running water from a tightly pressed button tap. And hearing the people ahead of you utter that satisfied gasp of AAahh! was proof that we were not mistaken in our belief that this was the cure to all of our problems.

During history class, when Mrs. Farhat was ranting off on Ashoka and his armies, or on the worth of finding minerals next to the subcontinent's riverbeds, I would raise my hand at the worst point, "Teacher can I go drink some water, please?". She would look at me increduslously trying to come to grips with how this question fit into the annals of history, dejected that it didn't, she would finally say yes and I would take my sweet time to walk all the way to the cooler and walk back smacking my lips, much to the chagrin of my classmates.

During Ramadan, the water cooler became my enemy. I would pass by it dozens of time in a day, sometimes taking a quick drink without even thinking, only to have my friends rail on me for hours for having broken my fast so easily. We would see non-muslim kids taking drinks after a game of football, and would silently vow to never play football again during Ramadan. Ha! a short lived fantasy indeed.

On days when it was too hot to play, I mean really hot... you would smell food at the water cooler. Some kid would walk up, masala dosa stinkin' up his breath, then another smelling of idli and sambar. More people would come by, potato chip residue lining their fingernails, and god help them if they happened to dirty the sink, that most sacred of corners in our school- insults would fly, fights would break out and in the end, no one would give you a chance to bypass them in the line for the next few weeks, at which point another person would garner our ever-renewed anger at having soiled the one place we truly enjoyed in the whole school.

On the second floor of the Boys Wing at Ideal Indian School in Doha, in one corner, lies a steel case with pipes connected through the back. The three small taps that line the front of this massive box have satisfied many a generation of boys looking for the perfect solution to their tired bodies. I was one of them, and one day very soon, I would like to go back and gulp a lot of water from that cooler just to feel like a kid again.