Discovering that I like books more than people

I am euphoric. My father is being transferred to Calcutta. We are in a train - in a first class compartment. So far, I have only traveled by 3rd class. I feel important. Today, though I am deeply embarrassed by my feelings of the time.

I am not going to miss the school in Delhi. Aside from the miserable experience of having to recite poetry, all I can recall is standing at the school bus stop in a blazer wondering if the bus has already gone or am I early.

It is a few months till my father gets a government flat from one the various priority queues. Its location is in the C row, where the flats are for clerical staff except that a couple of flats are kept for special cases like my father's. The class consciousness of the government officials' families was very noticeable. As soon as any of the children knew my address, they would wander off.

I spend my time reading books from the National Library. I read a lot. I have a rather peculiar way of bragging about it. When the exams came, especially the finals, I am bored. I keep up with the studies during the year and just cannot spend much time revising. (I am finally doing well in my studies though my parents never highlighted any of it.) The 60+ in humanities and 80+ in maths and science keep me among the top few students.

During one of the exams, I found Anand Math - a pretty thick and heavy book for a pre-teen but I enjoyed reading it during the classes when we were supposed to be quiet and revising.

Given my attitude, I can easily appreciate now that while my fellow students were friendly with me, there was no closeness with anyone. I miss that today.

A Lasting Education in Appreciating Poetry :(

The classroom is still a tent. It seems bigger or I am sitting further back. The school must have shuffled the students when moving to the next class. No one I know is in my section.

The teacher seems far and the blackboard small. I am anxious. I had to learn the poem, 'If you don't succeed at first...". I dread the thought of being called. I am called and the memory after that fades, except that it did not end happily.

Was I standing in front of the class, tongue-tied? I just don't know. All that remains is a sense of panic.

A decade later, I am in a cozy, compact class on English literature. The only reason I am in the class is that I need to take two courses in English to get a degree. A fellow student has brought a guitar. She is singing "I want to put beans in my ear".

The professor is discussing the topic of poetry. She wants to know why I do  not have any opinion or comment to offer. My mind just goes blank. She probes me further - finally, I relate the above incident. She commiserates with me as she believes that memorization and recitation of poems in schools have ruined poetry for many, including me!!

I am happy that I can at least enjoy some novels in verse -  like the Golden Gate.

The Birthday Party

My sister celebrated her birthday at my maternal grandparents' place. I want to celebrate mine. It is not a convenient time.

My grandmother is being operated for cataract on the same day. A room has already been cleaned and green curtains installed. We are not allowed to enter the room. The operation is to be done at home. (I wonder why I never asked my parents about it, especially why it was at home and not at a hospital.)

My parents give in to my stubbornness, as I normally do not ask for anything.

There are 4 students in my class who travel by the same school bus. Two are already in the bus and two board the bus along with me. I decide to call them.

On the day, I am waiting anxiously. No one shows up. I walk nearby where one of the students stays. The house is closed and  no one is home.

A second boy lives a little farther away. I walk and find him playing cricket with his friends. I drag him home. We play a while and go through the motions.

It is not a total disaster. Many of my aunts and uncles have come to visit my grandmother and they join in the celebrations.

I still get very nervous if guests are late :)

3rd year, 3rd school and a medical checkup

My father got an official accommodation. I could no longer continue with my existing school.

Most likely, my father took the help of Khushwant Singh and I was called for an interview at a prominent public school.

My father tells me that the principal was impressed. He asked my age. That was simple but he asked for months and days as well. It seems that I had no problems.

I remember that the classes were in tents. One day we lined up for a medical checkup. Among the vital statistics measured was the length of the penis.

I must have felt awkward because I did not tell anyone at home about it.

My second year of schooling and a new school

Other than this memory, I have no recollection of my first school, except that I never talked to the girl in the front row :)

My father changes his job. His job is transferable and my school is changed to a newly opened English medium school.

My teacher knows my mother. I recall my mother telling my father that the teacher sent a thank you note. She appreciates the corrections my father makes in my class work and home work of her errors in English. 

The school is a bit far and as far as I can remember, I walk home alone. It seems striking today that my generation's parents weren't worried about children getting lost or being kidnapped or rash drivers killing us on the road.

Why on earth do I remember this?

I can't remember when or even where. I am with my favorite youngest uncle. He is a bachelor and fun. So, I have at best just started school.

It is a wedding and I can't recall whose. The setting is a tent with chairs and a stage. The compere is inviting any of the guests to come on stage and showoff their talents.

I recall my uncle making some wisecracks and booing one of the guests who comes on stage. I am admiring him for his 'wit'.

I have no recollection of anything beyond that or discussing it with anyone anytime.

If I think back about the incident, it makes me cringe though I played no direct role

My first proper school

I am sitting in a classroom. It is pretty big but half empty. I am sitting on one of the last occupied benches.

The teacher must have given us something to do. I can see her with other teachers standing in the sun in the corridor. They are all knitting.

I am looking at a front bench, wanting to talk to the girl sitting in the front row.

The boys sitting next to me wrinkle their noses. They are making snide remarks at me. I have just released a silent bomb. I am wishing that I wish I could be sitting alone in the back.

I am walking home, a bit desperate. I don't make it in time. My pants are full of crap.