A Classroom and some fleeting memories

 
Having studied in a co-ed school from kindergarten to high school, never in my wildest dreams did I think that one day I would join a girl’s school. The broiler chicken in me waned off over time after I moved to Kerala from Chennai. Chennai was my first home and indeed it was a painful departure. But neither was it the Partition nor the Stone Age that you could never see your friends ever again. So I slowly tuned in to my new settings.

My learning process spanned over three educational systems. All of them have one thing in common --- academic bulimia, where you simply throw up whatever you learn from textbooks. However, you can’t blame the schools because our modern education system is hell-bent on teaching us that way. But apart from this, one thing that makes life after high school exceptional is the natural ease that comes along with the academic bulimia.

Normally, an average class is a mix of the class clowns and pranksters, nerds and all-rounders—more like mixed vegetable soup. But my class is a blend of just one variety – the naughty ones and the multi- faceted characters. Of this, the naughty ones make up an overwhelming majority—an extremely spicy dish where chilly was the main ingredient. I still wonder how Ceema Miss even managed to stand between us.

 Humanities is a pretty dull subject to opt for. If a story of kings and queen could be made so vibrant with Mini Miss’ unpredictable jokes, we realized that politics was not just a story on Indian elections. It was also about Shiny Miss who never once suspected us of all the mischief we’ve done in her class. Then comes Gisha Miss who is also a child like us—a child who can be both naughty and nice. English wouldn’t have been fun if we didn’t get to listen to our Jilsy Miss find herself at a loss for words to speak Malayalam—a language that had cast a spell on her tongue.  When it comes to our Malayalam teacher, she is what the name suggests, literally. Seena Miss can be a Malayalam dictionary when she wants to.

Forgive me if I’m getting carried away. But I’ll feel myself guilty if I don’t write on our Economics teachers --- Ceema Miss and Sr. Annjose. If one was the innocent wide-eyed pussycat, the other was its stoic-faced mother, and a person who cracked jokes like normally.

In this rat race called life, it is these uncommon characters that splashed colour to my otherwise dull canvas. If my previous school dug out the writer in me, Sacred Heart’s  unearthed the woman of substance buried inside me.

                 

Not Just a Car

It was no crowd puller. Nor did it own striking features like an Anti-Lock Braking System or a power steering. . Yet my family maintained a close-knit relationship even though it left us three years ago. I still remember the day we bought the golden wagon. It was just another warm summer evening for the rest of our neighbourhood. People flocked to the beach after a tiring day’s work and kites could be seen streaming along with the northern winds. We had been sitting with crossed fingers and were anxiously waiting for it to arrive when we heard the honking of a car outside. In fact, in its eyes I could see the same eagerness we had to meet our new friend.

When one talks about his/her car giving it a nostalgic touch, we attribute it to a Volkswagen or other vintage cars. But this was just an ordinary Maruti Suzuki Zen – a typical vehicle for a middle class family living in a typical Indian society.

It wasn’t one of our wildest dreams to own a car. But it was one of our unfulfilled dreams to own one fitted with an AC. The box-like structure with its dark tinted glass and a not so good looking face was just another hatchback. It was a second-hand vehicle. Yet it was something more to us.  Other than a few dents on the back and a couple of scratches on the bumper, it was like brand new to us. Even when my brother slammed the gate open and broke the headlights, and when it had to bear with my mother’s constant mishaps at the parking lot, it stood like a faithful dog and bore with our careless mistakes.

Now while I have written paeans in memory of a plain old car, you might ask why I got rid of it then. After a couple of breakdowns and numerous scratches that had been daubed on it as the fruit of our bad driving, we felt the need for a change.

I still remember the day it left us. And when it went away never to return, I felt a sudden pang in my heart. And I knew that the rest of us felt the same

Dad

W

hen I stood perplexed in the dais, it was he who revitalized me and made me silver-tongued. It was through his inspiration that I started to write. If it wasn’t for him I would never be able to enjoy the pleasures of life. If it wasn’t for him my family would never have risen to this position. For eight years, I had lived a life worth royalty. But when he flew away never to return, my life became dismantled. His pale grey eyes looked at me as a last glimpse and a radiant smile appeared on his face as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the beauty of heaven. It was a true reminiscence I can never forget. I had spent eight years of my life with a saint — my Dad.

                                     

Nature's Necklace

At the peak of sunrise, when people wake up from their slumber for the auspicious day to get a glimpse of the deity of Lord Krishna, the tree which once seemed to be leafy and naked of flowers, starts to adorn itself with ornaments of gold that are seemingly matchless to real gold. And as it stands, glimmering in the morning rays with pearls of dew studded on it, like a bride bedecked in the most exquisite jewellery, it is truly deserving to be known as ‘Kanikonna ‘     (Golden Showers).                

  A few days back, we were all in the midst of the exam fever. Revisions and warm-up test papers were all a part of our diet. But the wonderful thoughts of summer vacation had made me more enthused to study. Now that the holidays are here and ‘Vishu’ is just a few days ahead, those flowers are in aplenty. Even though its summer and the wrath of the Sun God tires us out, the serene view of the ‘Kanikonna’  hanging in a bunch from the branches refreshes my mind. In the monsoon season, this tree would be hiding a amongst the other high and mighty trees. It shies away from everyone and its bare branches would stick out becoming a nuisance. But now, no one would go past the tree without stealing a glance. It stands as a queen amongst the other flowers and when the wind is on its cheek, its petals wither away and fall onto the ground like   ‘Golden Showers’.  This is one of the most remarkable idiosyncrasies of the ‘Kanikonna’.

 Summer is always the best time for children. We can play and have fun to our heart’s content. Besides this, the lemon yellow flowers that envelope the tree and canopies my house gives the environment an atmosphere of spring.

Down Memory Lane

Gone are the days of fun and frolic, the days when nature was children’s playground. Parents were never so fussy about their children having fun in the scorching sun. They let them live the life the way they wanted. While boys catapulted juicy ripe mangoes making the bushy-eyed owner of the mango tree run on a wild goose chase, girls were busy collecting broken bangles and colorful beads to gamble with it. They mastered the art of origami by making spinning tops and watches out of the fronds of the coconut tree. They chased cycle wheels down the winding village path with a stick as if it were a Rolls Royce running at 60 miles an hour. As the hoop hurdled over hedges and bushes, making a light hum as it went wheeling through the streets was a pleasure to watch. They sledged across muddy areas on areca nut leaves as if it were a wagon. Contrary to the present day schools which are exam oriented and slave the children with the sole purpose of making them engineers and doctors, the schools of yesteryear implied to the motto ‘Learning Without Burden’. There was no stress over exams and no child sweated over too much on Algebra or Geometry. But who cares? Exams and homework are only the fragments of the education process. But childhood is just a tickle of feathers that can be blown away by the wind at anytime. Nowadays, children are getting attracted to the technological wiz like magnets while their childhood shrivels up. Have they ever seen ant lions moving around in a pile of sand making beautiful patterns as they trailed along? Have they ever experienced the sheer bliss of breathing in the sweet scented smell of the Night Queen flowers on moonlit nights? But when play stations and idiot boxes rule the world, who is even bothered to make them understand the joy of childhood? Dreams are just dreams.