We all have memories about our first school, some good some bad. Let me tell you about mine.
I started my schooling way back in 1964, (God, I am Ancient!!) in a little known village in Kollam district, where our ancestral home is located. It was the same year that Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru passed away. My mother was down for her third delivery. Having given birth to the much awaited ‘boy’ baby, got through divine intervention from Goddess Meenakshi of Madurai Temple, to whom many a petition had been filed, my mother was busy with the new one on the scene. Interestingly, she had to send many more petitions to the self same Goddess Meenakshi years later to get a granddaughter! Goddess Meenakshi had the last laugh after all!!
Father was away on duty as the Officer in charge of moving rice from Andhra Pradesh to grain-starved Kerala. He was stationed at Vijayawada. We were to join him soon enough. But till such time as that would happen, mother thought it best that I attend the one and only village school with my cousin, her sister’s daughter.
I was already five years old. Those were the days when there were no play schools or kindergartens. I had been idling away my time as it were, doing nothing, till then. Doing nothing, did I say?? Wrong!! We had duties to perform like helping to fill water in the big vessels in the huge old bathrooms, washing clothes as also sweeping. We were good little helpers to our mothers. I remember walking around with a plate of mashed rice and vegetables feeding my little brother, when he had begun to take baby steps. “Kaake nokku mone” (Look at the crow son), I’d say and he would look at the crow and open his little mouth while I slipped a ball of rice in. A little mom at five!
With school looming large on the horizon, it was an abrupt end to the lazy summer days spent under the jackfruit trees making mud pies, playing on the swings and looking for tender mangoes beneath the mango trees. I didn’t like it one bit! In fact I positively hated the thought of going to school. Why?? I wouldn’t know. My cousin sister, who was about 6 months older to me, was happy enough to go to school. Her elder brother, Chettan as we called him, all of 8 years old, was our caretaker. As I walked to school with them, slate clutched in my hands, I sobbed all the way, my Chechi giving me curious glances.
The school, was an open building with white washed mud walls and thatched roof. There were plenty of trees around and it was all so shady, cool and pleasant. There were wooden benches for us kids to sit on, no desks as such. A blackboard stood in one corner. Plain and simple.
I abhorred the school. I cried and cried and cried. It got so bad one day that I was sent back home. I remember sitting on the raised doorstep of one of the rooms in our ancestral home, with tear-stained face, anxiously watching mother who was seated across the nalukettu, having breakfast. She was talking to her sister and aunt. Turning around she caught my glance. Anger spread across her features when she saw me thus.
“Jnaan ezhunettu varatte!!” (Let me get up and come over) she said at her threatening best.
I wailed louder! I was not sent back to school that day. But I did not attempt to cry so much as to be sent back home after that. Accepting the inevitable, I accompanied my cousins with a heavy heart.
The recess time in school was the only part I enjoyed. My cousin brother would come to collect us and we would go with him to the well. Cool water would be drawn up by him and his friends, who treated us, his sisters with the utmost respect and affection. We would drink the water and watch while the boys threw stones and collected mangoes. We then shared the raw mangoes with them, relishing each bite. That about sums up what I thought was the best time in school.
I don’t remember any of the teachers except the mustachioed Math teacher, who rolled his eyes at us five-year olds and kept us perpetually nervous. One day he was giving us a test. He would write the simple addition sums on the blackboard and we had to write the answers on our slates. No giving the answers out loud, said the teacher.
‘2+3= ____’ He wrote on the blackboard, and as he wrote he repeated aloud,
“Two plus three is..”
The innocent fool that I was, I blurted out loud,
“Anchu” (Five)
He whirled around, twirling his cane and asking,
“Aaraa athu paranjathu??” (Who said that) I was terrified, but kept mum. I was unsure if anyone else had caught me answering. Luckily for me, most of my classmates were laboriously writing on their slates and had missed my reply. But I was sure the teacher with his x-ray eyes would find I was the culprit. As luck would have it, he didn’t! Hmmm… I must have been pretty good at keeping a straight face in terror even those days!!
As we walked back home, that was the chief topic of discussion among friends. I wanted very badly to confide to them about the faux-pas I had made. But no, I couldn’t bring myself to do that, not even to my Chechi. Years later, this story was first unburdened to my own children, who thought it all extremely funny! Imagine, keeping a secret for, how many, 35 or 40 years!! Well, if you have any secrets to keep you know whom to approach!! You would not get to keep it any safer in Fort Knox!!
Very soon I got used to the school and the children there. Far cry from the initial days when my cousin and I, wanted to take a bench of our own to school as we didn’t want to sit next to the what we thought ‘dirty’ village children!! Grandma used to tease us even years later about this. Yet the same children became my buddies as I soon made lots of friends. Years later my Aunt still recalls that I had more friends than her daughter, my cousin.
I had begun to enjoy the school and my local friends when it was time to leave them all behind and accompany father to Vijayawada. On a rainy day we left our ancestral home behind. That meant a sad goodbye to my first school as well. More than four decades have elapsed, but memories linger.
I loved this alot… u r back with the simple, nostalgic narration… all my five senses were up while reading this… i touched the jackfruit tree, i smelled ripe mangoes, i saw “the mustachioed Math teacher”, i heard the noise of “dirty” village children and i even tasted the cool well-water…
very nostalgic and out of the space for me, who NEVER has those experiences….
loved it, alot…
Hello Shail Ji,
U lived up with your ‘omnipresent’ persona of my blogger with that messg. Thank you. I truly appreciate the gesture.
Just dropping by to say hello and have added Shail’s Nest to my Fav’s.
Nostalgic trip down memory lane, that to rewinding almost 4 decades back where you seem to recount the minutest details like it just happened yesterday. I will be back here soon. Take care n regards always
We all at times hark back to days gone bye, in our memory they seem to be better than today, then we stop and think for a little while. Where they really better than today? Has our memory fuzzed out the hurt and blotted out the thing we want to forget? Its a question of perspective. They were great if you want them, to be that way or they were horrible, as far as I recall.
Nostalgia can swing either way, the choice is always ours how we remember our yesterdays.
Beautiful writeup Shail Mam!
Malgudi (kollam) Days!
Swathi: Welcome to my nest. You have always had a soft corner for my memoirs!! 😛
Radhika: Thanks for dropping by Radhika. Everything remains fresh in my mind even after all these years. I can still see myself, sitting on that raised door way shedding tears in between throwing anxious glances at mother awaiting probable repercussions for returning from school!! 😉
Vikram: You are right, nostalgia can swing either way. 🙂 Thank you for stopping by.
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As usual, another classic post. Took me to my school days – Holy Angels’ Convent, Trivandrum where I studied till 4th Std. I remember a loving nun who pampered me a lot. I boast to my son that I was a student who was given double promotion from LKG to 1st Std.!!
Thank you for taking me to Kollam!
Best Wishes,
Renjith
@Renjith P Sarada,
Well, we are in the same boat then. I got promoted to 5th from the 3rd grade 🙂
Really wonderful trip down memory lane! How did you manage to keep your secret for 40 years? Was the teacher that terrifying? 😀
@Dreamer,
The teacher was terrifying. But keeping it a secret had more to it than the teacher. My cousins would tease me and I dint want the news to spread. As it is I was a constant source of amusement to the rest! 😉
Even in your youngest school days you had your own mind. That doesn’t surprise me. Very interesting insights into the experiences of a budding scholar. Very well-written, Shail. Thanks for sharing.
I want to tell you a story about my kindergarten days when we can get some privacy. 🙂
@Bob Hoff,
Yes Bob, though it took years for it to be evident to yours truly! 😛 😉
I am dying to hear your stories! How about mailing them??! 😆
@Shail, I will mail.
Bob
@Bob Hoff,
Oh good! 🙂
My rating for the above story out of four possible smileys–
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
Bob
@Bob Hoff,
Awwww geee thanks Bob!
Hi Shail,
How can I change pix of Jimi and I on this page?
Thanks,
Bob
:o)
@Bob Hoff,
I hope you got my message saying how to do that?? 🙂
Very nice one Shail 🙂
What I liked most is your Manglish doesn’t stand out at all 🙂
@Krishnaleela,
*scratching head* Why, what, how Manglish??
haha Nothing yar , the malayalm dialouges you have typed . It didnt sound like another language at all . It goes with the post . 😀
@Krishnaleela,
Ohh ok! 😛 😀
What a fantastic post. Such simple story telling never fails to move me. Though I had all the previlege of going to a township school with all the modern amenities, I feel I should have been born earlier. Like I should have been my mum’s mum and she my daughter. I want to go back to that era to see the simple life.
Life is so complicated now. Sigh!
@Anita Menon,
Thank you 🙂 I bet your child will say the same about your school time! Lol 🙂 Everything seems simpler when you look back 🙂
ha ha Shail, you kept a secret like that for 35 or 40 years huh ?? 😀
Such a cute and beautiful write up…many of us will relate to the writing on the slate, the open class rooms – such wonderful times, for sure !