January 4, 2012
From kindergarten to class IV, I studied at the Chinmaya Vidyala school located at Kunnumpuram. Primarily because it was close to where we lived and the school was housed in an old building right next to the houses of my paternal aunts. So lunch and evening snacks could be had at their homes. I visited those aunts today and the school was in session as we walked up the narrow lane.
From the old two-storey building in the 80s, the school has expanded into adjacent properties in three directions sprawling across an acre. Five new buildings now surround the original one that still stands.
Since it was only 10am, the shortened version of the national pledge was being loudly recited in the classrooms from one of the buildings. "India is my country," initiated the class leader. The others repeated after her.
I was class leader for most of those days. Yesterday I read the second installment of U.A. Khader's new travelogue on Myanmar that is being serialized in the Madhyamam weekly. Khader's mother was Burmese. He had lived in Burma till he was 5-6 years old. As a man over 60 today, he is having a tough time locating his childhood village. Though a far inferior writer with a much frugal account of experiences, in terms of memory I am in a better situation than him about my days
in Chinmaya Vidyala. The words of the pledge being parroted in unison were enough to trigger plenty of them.
"All Indians are my brothers and sisters" the pledge continued
Back then, the school was small enough to have the entire assembly fit into the roughly 10m by 25m ground next to the building. Lines of tiny heads full of black hair. Colored bows and ribbons on the feminine ones. The P.T. sir would lead the pledge.
He was an old man, always dressed in a white mundu and white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had the common Malayalee habit of walking with free tip of the mundu lifted and lodged into the left arm-pit. Nothing about him looked like he was qualified to teach 'Physical Training'.
In fact, physical training consisted of an hour or so each week of "exercises" which were done again standing in line,raising arms, spreading them, attention and stand at ease. When he wasn't imparting such training, he would be walking around the
"campus" with a cane poised to dispense some discipline. I have never seen him cane anyone. Like dictators and religious leaders, he knew the power of symbols!
The head mistress, Mrs. Indira Kurup, also routinely armed herself with the cane. A petite, wiry lady with graying hair, she dispensed excellent British English sentences in a guitar string twang voice. She insisted that everyone speak at least to her in English in the English medium school. Her husband was some big shot at the Sriharikota Rocket launching station. I remember one morning reading in the newspaper that he had won received some promotion. My parents suggested that I should congratulate her. But that needed to be done in English.
"Congratulations on your husband's promotion," Amma told me exactly what needs to be said. I walked around the school that whole day silently repeating this mantra in my mind, but never quite gathered the guts to tell her. As soon as I saw her, the words congratulation, husband and promotion would jumble up in my head with the rhyming words acquiring an affinity. I am sure the couple of times she noticed me that day, based on my facial expression,she must have thought I was suffering from constipation. I remember her being very friendly the once I met her in her office after I had "grown up" and reached high school in a different school.
Vimala teacher who channeled my first words into four lines of the English notebook. Mridula teacher, Vasantha teacher, Jayanthi teacher.
"I love my country"
Few friends bubble up in the mind.
Anoop S.K.M who became a popular child TV star and continues to act in
serials today.
Anoop S who looked a lot like the 80s Malayalam movie hero, Ratheesh.
I remember a discussion we had the day after one of the Kerala assembly elections. Discussion simply meant exchange of statements we had picked up from our parents. I believed then that "opposition" was the name of a party. So when I read in the newspaper that K. Karunakaran who had been the chief minister and had lost the elections was becoming the opposition leader, I thought he was a clever man who knows how to continue ruling. Anoop was convinced that K.R . Gauri was going to be the next Chief Minister because his uncle had told him so.
Uncles were undisputed oracles in our universe then.
It was one such avuncular insight that he shared once that offended me greatly. His new "knowledge" was that girls who had birthmarks or moles on top of their
upper lips were bound to have "love affairs" in college. Those were the days when "Love affairs" were a blemish,scandalous, a photoshopped appearance on the cover of FHM etc!
"Left side or right side?" I wanted specification the mole-cular location.
"It doesn't matter." He said.
This information upset me because Lakshmi, the object of my unconditional, undying passion in those days, did have a pretty little black spot to the right upper lip that made her pearly white smile even prettier. It was easy for me to imagine me and her in place of Mammootty or Mohanlal and their heroines in any of the romantic film song of that era.
Boshi, who was equally smitten by her and so was, naturally, the villain in my book. Of course, both of us never consulted her about any of this.
The other Lekshmi and her brothers Eeswara Pillai and Thanu Pillai.
Dhanya, dangerous, because she lived near by and knew
my aunts and would tell on me.
Sabi, who in hindsight, had distinct "Asian" looks.
Harish,the tall one, with his two pretty elder sisters, who came to pick him up from
school and I would tag along since they would help us cross the main road.
Nagasangeeth and Ashok who were the most punished when I monitored the
class. Class monitor. Class leader. Potent position of power!
The seeds of my control freak nature sowed early.
It was the leader's responsibility to make sure that everyone kept quiet during the "free periods". If someone talked, the leader had to write their name on the
blackboard for punishment later. For each repeat offense, a tally mark would be added next to the noted name. Picket fences of chalk tally marks would be erected
regularly on the board next to names of Ashok and Naga who often
fought each other. Punishment involved either kneeling down or standing outside the class.
Visakh who chewed his tongue while writing.
Shyam Somanath with his toothy grin.
Vinod Krishnan, whose dad dropped him every morning on a scooter. There was a
rumour that they even owned a car!
Manjula, Lakshmi's best friend, who even at that age, had become
formidable bundle of superstitions. "Don't put your left feet first!" "Don't snap your fingers like that!" "You should lift the book with your right hand only!" and so on.
I think her grandmother living with her might have had something to do with that. My parents knew hers. It was tiny Thiruvananthapuram back then. After Amma told me
that Manjula had a heart condition, I stopped being offensive about her beliefs.
I remember it was a giant leap of faith when I moved on to holding the cap of the water bottle that doubled as a cup, during the short morning break, with just one hand instead of both.
Kid sleuth books and the hit CBI diary movie made us all aspiring investigators. Somebody tripped Hari on the staircase while we were coming back from the
assembly.... Aha! Time for the 3rd standard detectives swung into action with
12-inch rulers that were the only instruments we had. Careful notes were made about the shoe prints on the stairs. After a lunch break of investigation, finally all the blame was put on Nagasangeeth, the standard scapegoat. Undeniably,we showed signs even back then that we would excel in Kerala police or the other corrupt investigation agencies of today.
The whole class had to chant chapter 12 of the Bhagavad Gita everying morning. Standing with folded palms and eyes closed. This exercise lasted a fairly long time especially in a seven year old's life.
One day, while half way through the prayer, I became aware that I might not be facing in the right direction towards the teacher. You see, my feet weren't pointing
in the same direction.
Worry!
The chant continued from my mouth, but my brain was busy adjusting one feet to match the other one's direction. The Sanskrit mantras supposedly cleansing my soul, I was engaged in the pivotal perturbation of my soles.
Borderline Panic!
The marginal adjustment continued for the rest of the prayer. With eyes closed, of course!
When the final verse was chanted and the whole class opened their eyes, there I was, miraculously facing the exit.
From the smile on our class teacher's face, I am sure she was cheating with her eyes open and amused all along by my devotional spin.
"...and I am proud of it" as the class leader finished the pledge this morning, from among the repeating chorus, a distinct louder voice pulls itself ahead of the group.
Hmm...there is an aspiring usurper among the back-benchers.
Leader beware!
No comments:
Post a Comment