The rain did not deter us, nor did an excess of sun. We just played on. We imagined ourselves to be surrounded by cheering millions. In our imagination that jagged plot will sometimes be the Lords and sometimes the MCG. No quarters were asked for and none were given. Pride mattered a lot. While fighting for pride I also realized the stark poetry of this fight. I have been aware of this poetry since and the pain that it often entails. In a human life this pain is often.
There was a lot of physical pain too since we were chronically short of equipment. Sometimes, we managed a pair of pads and gloves which the two batsmen divided between them. Toes and fingers were bruised often. Looking back, it seems like a miracle that none of us were ever seriously hurt, though we often played with a cork ball. None of us, however, ever made it to the school team. Actually, we did not even try.
Just as the houses in the town, our school too stood on stilts. I loved and hated school, just as all boys do. I was fond of all things about it which bore no relation to the studies. I loved the flames of the forest and the gooseberry trees on the premises. I loved the knoll standing behind school and being in the goofy band my mates and I formed. Of course, I hated the studies. School meant reading things which I never wanted to read. It was no fun knowing the Latin name of an insect. It was so much better catching it and keeping it in a jar.
Even when I was very little, my parents never accompanied me to school. So, even as a six year old I walked to school on my own. Then cars were few on the streets and our little town held no threat for a child. It was less than a kilometer’s walk. I walked across the school football ground which was about a hundred meters from our house. Once I had crossed the ground, I crossed a street and will be at the gates of the school. A short enough walk it was. But when you are little that is a very long way. As far as I was concerned, I crossed a continent every day. The flames of the forest which stood on the other side seemed mired in a haze. I imagined their branches to be swaying under the breath of an unseen monster. On many days I picked up a little stick on the way. Those days I used to kill a dragon or two almost every day on the way to school. Those were hostile lands that I crossed. It rained often on the way to school. I always carried an umbrella. With the umbrella unfurled I could imagine myself a brave paratrooper landing in hostile lands. Sometimes, it served as a shield during battles with monsters and enemy soldiers. The junior classes started early. So, as a six year old I set out from home at six-thirty in the morning. The classes began at seven. In the winters it will be misty in the morning. I will not be able to see the trees and the school up yonder. Then, I will fear what if I do not find them where they were? Fortunately, they never played the trick on me. However, I would have been happy if the school did, at least once. The school never did go away. It always remained where it was.
When I was little, I always wished the Sunday to last forever. But the Sunday never did. The rest of the week did seem to last forever. Monday morning always came bearing clouds of sadness. I will be sad because sometimes school seemed to be too cruel. In the class I often sat by the window and invited trouble. I will be caught looking out and chastened with words which stung. There were teachers who struck terror in our hearts. There was Mrs. Mamang who always did. It took me many years to realize how kind she actually was.
When you sat by the window the sunshine outside beckoned. But the call had to be ignored because there were sums to be learnt. Mr. Das taught the sums to us. One day, when I was in grade one, I was telling my friend a tale – how Tarzan once ripped the belly of a giant serpent. Our squeaky voices could never escape him. He overheard me and gave me a scold. I loathed him from that day regarding him quite a philistine.
Strange trees formed a thicket behind our school. They did not bear flowers. Instead, their leaves turned crimson before dying and became flowers in their moments of death. I was told that a ghost or goblin lives in the thicket. Some of my mates even claimed to have spotted it. I regarded myself fortunate that I never did. Nevertheless, I sometimes lingered around the place gingerly during the lunch break. But I never dared to venture into the twilight beneath those trees. It could be an excellent place to conceal oneself during a game of hide and seek. But the twilight beneath those crimson leaves was just too forbidding. However, some years later when they chopped those trees down to raise our new science lab no goblin escaped from their midst. May be, it did after all. But goblins had ceased to be real to me by then and I failed to notice.
Sometimes, during a class, I will look out of the window and see the clouds tangled in the forest upon the hills. The forest will wear the clouds upon its canopy and they will gently shift shape. I never stopped marveling at the sight. Marveling, of course, had its perils because a multiplication table might escape your attention. It took me some time to learn those. The clouds distracted and the rain distracted too. So, I sometimes irritated Mrs. Partin and sometimes Mrs. Pillai. “This boy notices everything except the book in front of him,” Mrs. Pillai said to me once. Since I generally managed to be sufficiently flippant with my answers in the class, I found this to be a rather unfair observation.
I became friends with Tope in the second grade. With a name like Tope Bahadur Tamang this Gorkha boy wore his martial ancestry on his sleeve. And a true Gorkha he was. Tope was simple and guileless and could be fierce when protecting his friends. I never saw him fearing humans, or an animal for that matter. But his world was populated by multiple goblins. I do not think he quite feared them, but he definitely treated them with a nervous respect. Tope was among my very first friends.
There was a lot of physical pain too since we were chronically short of equipment. Sometimes, we managed a pair of pads and gloves which the two batsmen divided between them. Toes and fingers were bruised often. Looking back, it seems like a miracle that none of us were ever seriously hurt, though we often played with a cork ball. None of us, however, ever made it to the school team. Actually, we did not even try.
Just as the houses in the town, our school too stood on stilts. I loved and hated school, just as all boys do. I was fond of all things about it which bore no relation to the studies. I loved the flames of the forest and the gooseberry trees on the premises. I loved the knoll standing behind school and being in the goofy band my mates and I formed. Of course, I hated the studies. School meant reading things which I never wanted to read. It was no fun knowing the Latin name of an insect. It was so much better catching it and keeping it in a jar.
Even when I was very little, my parents never accompanied me to school. So, even as a six year old I walked to school on my own. Then cars were few on the streets and our little town held no threat for a child. It was less than a kilometer’s walk. I walked across the school football ground which was about a hundred meters from our house. Once I had crossed the ground, I crossed a street and will be at the gates of the school. A short enough walk it was. But when you are little that is a very long way. As far as I was concerned, I crossed a continent every day. The flames of the forest which stood on the other side seemed mired in a haze. I imagined their branches to be swaying under the breath of an unseen monster. On many days I picked up a little stick on the way. Those days I used to kill a dragon or two almost every day on the way to school. Those were hostile lands that I crossed. It rained often on the way to school. I always carried an umbrella. With the umbrella unfurled I could imagine myself a brave paratrooper landing in hostile lands. Sometimes, it served as a shield during battles with monsters and enemy soldiers. The junior classes started early. So, as a six year old I set out from home at six-thirty in the morning. The classes began at seven. In the winters it will be misty in the morning. I will not be able to see the trees and the school up yonder. Then, I will fear what if I do not find them where they were? Fortunately, they never played the trick on me. However, I would have been happy if the school did, at least once. The school never did go away. It always remained where it was.
When I was little, I always wished the Sunday to last forever. But the Sunday never did. The rest of the week did seem to last forever. Monday morning always came bearing clouds of sadness. I will be sad because sometimes school seemed to be too cruel. In the class I often sat by the window and invited trouble. I will be caught looking out and chastened with words which stung. There were teachers who struck terror in our hearts. There was Mrs. Mamang who always did. It took me many years to realize how kind she actually was.
When you sat by the window the sunshine outside beckoned. But the call had to be ignored because there were sums to be learnt. Mr. Das taught the sums to us. One day, when I was in grade one, I was telling my friend a tale – how Tarzan once ripped the belly of a giant serpent. Our squeaky voices could never escape him. He overheard me and gave me a scold. I loathed him from that day regarding him quite a philistine.
Strange trees formed a thicket behind our school. They did not bear flowers. Instead, their leaves turned crimson before dying and became flowers in their moments of death. I was told that a ghost or goblin lives in the thicket. Some of my mates even claimed to have spotted it. I regarded myself fortunate that I never did. Nevertheless, I sometimes lingered around the place gingerly during the lunch break. But I never dared to venture into the twilight beneath those trees. It could be an excellent place to conceal oneself during a game of hide and seek. But the twilight beneath those crimson leaves was just too forbidding. However, some years later when they chopped those trees down to raise our new science lab no goblin escaped from their midst. May be, it did after all. But goblins had ceased to be real to me by then and I failed to notice.
Sometimes, during a class, I will look out of the window and see the clouds tangled in the forest upon the hills. The forest will wear the clouds upon its canopy and they will gently shift shape. I never stopped marveling at the sight. Marveling, of course, had its perils because a multiplication table might escape your attention. It took me some time to learn those. The clouds distracted and the rain distracted too. So, I sometimes irritated Mrs. Partin and sometimes Mrs. Pillai. “This boy notices everything except the book in front of him,” Mrs. Pillai said to me once. Since I generally managed to be sufficiently flippant with my answers in the class, I found this to be a rather unfair observation.
I became friends with Tope in the second grade. With a name like Tope Bahadur Tamang this Gorkha boy wore his martial ancestry on his sleeve. And a true Gorkha he was. Tope was simple and guileless and could be fierce when protecting his friends. I never saw him fearing humans, or an animal for that matter. But his world was populated by multiple goblins. I do not think he quite feared them, but he definitely treated them with a nervous respect. Tope was among my very first friends.
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