Five Minutes Away (Getting to School Part 1)
I remember my first day to school. Not bawling and screaming, but probably with salty streaks down my cheeks, clutching Pappa's shirt as I rode pillion on the Bajaj Super FE. My school was only a five-minute walk from home. As soon as I was declared capable of crossing the main road by myself, I began walking myself to school.
Towards the end of the quarters' complex would be the Kendriya Bhandar, not open yet; then the market began, still sleeping in rags; at its end the dilapidated yellow van with bright red letters announcing China On Wheels. This was where the main road was. Crossing it brings you to sector 12. Walking along the footpath, one could see the DTC buses speeding on the nearly empty road, vans collecting children for school, and of course fellow schoolmates trudging up with colourful burdens on their backs, sometimes led by a parent. I would find myself being proud of walking to school by myself.
Towards the end of the quarters' complex would be the Kendriya Bhandar, not open yet; then the market began, still sleeping in rags; at its end the dilapidated yellow van with bright red letters announcing China On Wheels. This was where the main road was. Crossing it brings you to sector 12. Walking along the footpath, one could see the DTC buses speeding on the nearly empty road, vans collecting children for school, and of course fellow schoolmates trudging up with colourful burdens on their backs, sometimes led by a parent. I would find myself being proud of walking to school by myself.
In Junior school, I had a special arrangement for school travel. In the mornings, either Pappa would take me, on foot or on the scooter, or I'd go by myself. In the afternoons, Sharma uncle's auto rickshaw was appointed to ferry around 15 children from school to their doorsteps. How did Sharma Uncle fit 15 children into a three-seater auto? We were tiny people. The tiniest of all were jammed onto a plank placed above and behind the auto seat - the area usually used for keeping extra luggage. Opposite what was normally used as a seat, a narrow plank of wood was fitted in a way that four or five students could sit on it, gnashing their knees with those of the ones sitting on the cushioned seat. There is no question as to which side one rushed to, if they were one of the first ones to reach the auto. But the cushioned seat also came with its negatives: your bums would have to share the seat with the shoes of the tiny ones.
When I was one of those tiny ones, I used to long to grow up and sit on the proper seat like the Didis. But when I did get there, I reached the hard-hitting realization that the poking shoes of the tiny tots, resting their feet behind your buttocks, became nastier in the rainy season. Needless to say, the crowded atmosphere in the auto would often get heated. I remember a sister duo: the older one would yell at Sharma uncle for the auto being so stuffy; yell at her younger sister for being annoying; and yell at anybody else who annoyed the younger one. Sharma Uncle usually just laughed away the words directed at him. But for the tiny me, the 5th grader appeared to be a more dominant adult than he was. When she graduated and went away to senior school, never known before peace was experienced on the rides back home.
One particular day during the monsoons, it was raining heavily in the morning. Numerous preparations had to be made to get me to school relatively dry. My shoes and socks were packed into a plastic bag and another pair of non-uniform shoes were put on my feet; I put on my blue raincoat. Scooter ride was not feasible with all the water around, and the risk of drenching me in a splash. So with Pappa wielding the umbrella and my bag, we were ready to go. The clouds were pouring down too generously. The patch below our building had turned into a puddle, as usual. The edges of the roads too, were threatening to drown under water. Our feet soaked already, we kept to the middle of the road.
No appreciation of the sleepy surroundings was possible today; both eyes sweeping the road, careful not to tread into treacherous waters. When we reached the gate of the school, we were greeted by a chasm of rain water between the road and the school gate. There was absolutely no way around. One had to wade through. This was particularly the situation we were prepared for. Pappa handed me my bag, my bottle and the plastic cover with my shoes and socks. I trudged through the lake-like puddle, enjoying every step of it, to the waiting hands of the sister, who was seeing us to the school building.
I climbed up to my class with a sense of triumph. I must have been in class 3 or 4 at that time. The classroom was on the second floor with the windows facing the gate I had just swum through. When the bell rang, the class was only half full of wet uniforms and soaking shoes; the sky was full of promising grey clouds. After the prayer in class, a few more students trickled in, and looking around at the low attendance, we knew this was going to be a day of rainy-day-drawing assignments. Our teacher told us to remove whatever wet clothing we could remove, preserving decency, and to hang them on the window grilles to dry. After a few minutes of hesitation, people's hair came down, and under-frock dressed girls hung their socks on the rails. I only had to remove my raincoat and my shoes. After wearing the dry socks and shoes, I was the only one in class dressed in dry and complete school uniform.
No appreciation of the sleepy surroundings was possible today; both eyes sweeping the road, careful not to tread into treacherous waters. When we reached the gate of the school, we were greeted by a chasm of rain water between the road and the school gate. There was absolutely no way around. One had to wade through. This was particularly the situation we were prepared for. Pappa handed me my bag, my bottle and the plastic cover with my shoes and socks. I trudged through the lake-like puddle, enjoying every step of it, to the waiting hands of the sister, who was seeing us to the school building.
I climbed up to my class with a sense of triumph. I must have been in class 3 or 4 at that time. The classroom was on the second floor with the windows facing the gate I had just swum through. When the bell rang, the class was only half full of wet uniforms and soaking shoes; the sky was full of promising grey clouds. After the prayer in class, a few more students trickled in, and looking around at the low attendance, we knew this was going to be a day of rainy-day-drawing assignments. Our teacher told us to remove whatever wet clothing we could remove, preserving decency, and to hang them on the window grilles to dry. After a few minutes of hesitation, people's hair came down, and under-frock dressed girls hung their socks on the rails. I only had to remove my raincoat and my shoes. After wearing the dry socks and shoes, I was the only one in class dressed in dry and complete school uniform.
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