Childhood
We spend most of our childhood lives following the same schedule, without a lot of worries, thinking it will stay the same forever. The worries are restricted to finishing the assignments on time, doing well in exams, keeping up with what’s being taught in classes, and asking parents for money every now and then. My childhood was no different.
I lived in a two story house with my parents and elder sister. Our mornings started with mom waking up early, preparing breakfast and lunch(to be carried off to school) for me and my sister. My dad, my sister and I would wake up shortly thereafter and get ready before leaving for school. I remember feeling terrorized at the thought of the cold shower, even on a warm morning. I used to spend quite a few minutes just bracing myself to feel the cold water against my skin, and then at one specific moment, I used to decide to give in. It always amazed me back then, as it does now, how in a moment, we can say a loud and resounding NO to the things that are terrorizing us — a matter of will and courage. We left home for school at 7:30a.m.
My sister and I had separate autowallahs assigned to us. They used to pick us up from designated spots near our house. The auto rickshaws were packed with kids, with two kids even sitting next to the autowallah, one on each side. The ride to the school was around 20 minutes. On the way, I used to talk to a few other kids who were in the same grade that I was. On some days, I remember I had this sinking feeling when after conversing with a classmate in the auto rickshaw, I realized that I had forgotten something at home, like a notebook in which I had completed my homework. Fear drove me back then, fear in its rawest, most visceral form. After reaching school, I met my classmates and we got on with the day.
The day at school started with the morning assembly promptly at 8am. The morning assembly was constituted of: a prayer, followed by recent news, and concluded with the principal’s announcements. The assembly seemed like an ordeal at times, with the students standing for almost 35–40 minutes straight in the scorching heat. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, we had to assemble in the school ground downstairs for the assembly, whereas on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we didn’t need to go downstairs. Details like these stick out in my memory. If I close my eyes for a few seconds and try to imagine all that sticks out, all of it comes back to me as if it were only yesterday. That’s the lasting effect that childhood has on us I think — albeit it happened years ago, it becomes a part of us.
Some details of school life are quite clear to me. I remember that one time when I reached school a little late, and there were three of us who had been late to school that day. The school gate closed at exactly 8am and I had reached at 8:05am. The three of us stood outside the gate gawking at the children inside, while the assembly proceedings went on. For the first time in my life, I realized what being different meant — the eyes of children inside looking at you, judging you for what you had done, making sure that you don’t reach school late ever again. After the assembly proceedings ended, we were allowed inside and asked to wait for the principal. The principal arrived with a switch in his hand. He asked me first the reason why I had been late. I mumbled something along the lines of missing the school bus because I had woken up late that day. He struck on my arms and legs with the switch four times. Each time I let out a little cry. He then proceeded to do the same with the two others. That principal had a notoriety among students of being quite strict when it came to enforcing discipline. At the time, I felt the punishment was somehow justified. Now I wonder if a little leniency in enforcing discipline might have been much more helpful. If in childhood, fear is drilled into you, it stays with you as a driving factor for life. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” I do not agree with that. I still think children thrive in environments devoid of violence. It allows them to openly express what they want, and why they want it.
On another occasion, I remember I was in fourth grade and we were on our way back to class from the playground. It was the games period when we could go to the playground and play whatever games we liked. When we were climbing the stairs, the student right ahead of me tripped me and I fell on the stairs. My head burst open. Blood first started flowing in a trickle and then started gushing out. A teacher — her name was Priti(We addressed her as Miss Priti)carried me in hher arms and ran to the room where the first aid kit was. I remember the care that she tended to me, till the time my mother arrived. It was the first time I realized that there can be people besides family who can look after you like you are family to them. That realization has been with me throughout the years — it has allowed me to be vulnerable with a few people in my life who take me for who I am. That day, my mother and I thanked Miss Priti and went to the surgeon who stitched up the wound.
In 10th grade, we had to study Shakespeare’s play ‘Julius Caesar’ as a part of the coursework. The principal of the school(this was a different principal than the one who hit me earlier) taught us the play. He wanted all of us to read and understand not just the words, but the passion and the life that underlay the words. It was the first time I realized the magic of words — be it the soothsayer’s warning, be it Cassius convincing Brutus or be it Mark Antony’s forceful speech. My passion for words also showed in the exams, when I quoted almost entire lines from memory justifying my answers. It was no wonder then that I scored the highest in Drama class. Ever since that class, I have carried the possibility of finding that magic inside me. Words, when weaved together in a certain way, can enchant you like only a few other things.
I miss my childhood for the joys that it provided me. The memories of childhood are among one of my few closest friends. The wonder that is an inextricable part of childhood always stays with you, telling you that you should never forget where you came from, for that wonder is what makes you who you are. I always think at length about having that wonder in my eyes whenever I am working on something. It is what gives me life, allows me to open up and be vulnerable, to really connect with others viscerally. I hope you find that wonder as well and cherish it.
