Haunting Remembrances - Chapter IV

SHISHU MANDIR - A MEMOIR

Passing through the street gate, as we ascended the stairway to our school, the bright yellow building, with it's beautiful green gables, loomed higher and higher in our sights. We fell into silence, so much awe that scene inspired in us every time. Wanbok had hurriedly discarded the chewing gum or whatever he had in his mouth before we crossed the road. His more sedate cousin, not known for any frivolous indulgence anyway, maintained his usual, composed self (I don't remember seeing Klen engage in a full throated laugh, even in Wanbok's boisterous companionship, and the best we could extract from him was a sage smile at times)

The stairway, lined with beautifully flowering plants, sloped up directly to the backdoor of the school which led past the austere and forbidding door of the headmistress' office. That door and the office it concealed had such a grave and officious look to it, that we always preferred to give it a wide berth. Just ahead of that door, the pathway branched out through the playground to the main entrance under the gabled canopy. The playground was a flat, soft and lovely piece of green, with a dainty little slide and a seesaw in it. From that plateau atop the hill, our school looked down upon the colorful blend of Nature and humanity below - the Deva Kumar Hall close under us to the right, with the Rilbong area beyond it; the falling streets of Kench's Trace below us to the left; and the colorful valley of Bisnupur sloping down in front. Shishu Mandir stood as if on a natural pedestal, presiding over that eclectic precinct like a sacred temple, which it was too, for so many of us who had had the good fortune of being guided upon the honest and true path of life under its impeccable tutelage.

As soon as the collapsible iron gate was pulled open, all the students would go in slowly and line up in the long corridor for the morning prayer, before trooping into their respective classrooms in an orderly manner under the strict supervision of our headmistress, Bogi Miss (we all wondered how she got that name). I remember that corridor so well. I remember how it struck me with awe and wonder when I first stood in it with my father, holding on to him with my little hand in his. What a long corridor it was. The wooden floor so shiny; the creamy yellow wooden ceiling with parallel striations that tapered off in the distance to my little eyes; and the long row of sparkling white lattice windows with glistening glass panes looking out into the beautiful playground! I felt so little and timorous in that setting that day. But the moments that followed were to affect me even more that day. I remember looking at my father as he talked to the headmistress. Then I sensed his hand gently disengaging from mine, patting me on the head as he walked slowly away! On seeing him go, leaving me alone in school, my mortification knew no bounds. I cried loudly and ran madly after him, and managing to catch his coattail, held on for dear life. It took a few staffers and a lot of struggle to finally pull me back into the school. I recall the feeling of despair and desolation of those moments, my first ever away from home, so clearly even today. Oh! how I sobbed that morning, with tears streaming so copiously down my face as would have put a summer tempest to shame. At that moment of total despondency, I felt a tender caress on my face, and a kind hand wiping my tears. I looked up to see an elderly lady looking compassionately at me with a beaming smile on her face. Her name was Maya Didi. She was, I think, some sort of a keeper in the school, although I never was curious about her exact station. She held my hand lovingly and took me to the pantry, sat me on a little chair and gave me a cup of milk. Her kindness and affection struck me even at that infant age, and I somehow felt a kind of comfort in her presence which soon made me forget my sorrows and adapt easily to my new environment and its inhabitants. My delight and comfort were further enhanced when father got her to chaperone me to and from school. It made life seem so much the more enchanting. Maya Didi seemed to be everywhere, like a good fairy. Every time I forgot the new sweater - knitted for me by mother in glistening wool - on the playground, she would be there to retrieve it. Every time I lost my favorite red and yellow umbrella, she would find it for me. When I wandered too close to the edge of the playground, she would appear out of nowhere to pull me back. When it would be raining or overcast, she made sure my raincoat was buttoned all the way to the neck (how I hated that raincoat). During tiffin time, when I sat on the soft grass of the playground to open my tiffin box (what soft grass it was everywhere, I could sit anywhere I wanted) she would come with the daily cup of milk. Milk was anathema for me in my childhood, and I regularly threw a glass out of the window every morning at home, when mother wouldn't be watching. Yet, when I saw Maya Didi with her smiling face offering me that despised drink, I drank the whole cup uncomplainingly, every day, just to make her happy. How Maya Didi went about her work with such remarkable assiduity day after day, looking after all the children and attending to so many other chores, and still maintaining such a patient, kind and calm disposition is something I cannot help wondering about even today.

Two blitheful years passed by, through Nursery and Class-A, in carefree fun and merriment. I had by then explored every bit of the school - the classrooms with their neatly set desks and colorful stools; the pantry, the teacher's room and the washrooms in the basement; the wonderful playground and its beautifully colored slide and the seesaw (how tirelessly I played on that seesaw, and how I loved playing it with Wanbok, and bouncing him with my sudden bumps!)

When I reached Class-B, I was allowed to walk to  without my kindly chaperone, as Wanbok and Klensing entered my life. Yet, I always had the comfort of seeing Maya Didi around, and never felt too much away from her at any time. It was also in Class-B, that I was awakened to the fact that school was not just about fun and games, when for the first time I was detained in class during tiffin time for my inability to complete a mathematical problem. It was agonizing to see my classmates go out onto the sunny field for tiffin one by one after completing their assignments while I languished in the dark room, looking helplessly at the blackboard, wondering what the answer could be. It was also in Class-B that I was catechised on order and discipline, as senior girls from Class-III were appointed monitors in our class. I remember how afraid I was of these girls, who looked so big and tall to me then, that I would sit perfectly still, not daring to move a limb for fear of incurring their wrath.

Nevertheless, time and Class-B passed swiftly by, and so did Class I, II & III in quick succession. Each had its own memorable moments: moments that remain unfazed by the scorching flow of Time, and which still adorn my present moments of reflection and nostalgia. The memory of my class teacher, Padda Miss, in Class-I, who so kindly helped me with my essays on animals which I somehow couldn't start with anything else but "A --- is a four legged animal. A ---- has two eyes and two ears. A --- has one tail" etc etc. Memories of Bibha Miss, in Class II (that bright room at the end of the corridor with the quaint bay windows) chiding me for writing with an inch long pencil with a blunt tip and for using a faded scale and a blackened eraser, and how she with the whole class applauded me when I got myself a new pencil, sharpener, a shining wooden scale and a geometry box (my prized possessions). Fond recollections of my admiration for my girl classmates - Anuradha, Dantina, Sangeeta and Mousumi, for their intelligence, discipline and faultless manners, and how I tried to emulate their ways. And how can I ever forget how our class teacher, Lupu Dutta Miss, in Class-III, encouraged me to improve my handwriting, and I tried my hardest to copy exactly Dantina's style of writing in an effort to impress my teacher.

In all the six golden years of my student life that I spent in Shishu Mandir, the charm and enchantment of that existence as I lived through it, never dawned upon my consciousness in the fullest import that it did when the time came to part with it. Never in my mind in those six carefree years did it ever occur to me that I would have to leave that fairyland one day, nor did I ever contemplate it. So, when the final results for Class-III were out, and the fateful hour of separation and estrangement bore down upon me all of a sudden, it came too inopportunely for me, and found me wholly unprepared to face its brunt. The sudden realization that I would no longer tread that familiar path again; that I would never again sit in one of those classrooms, and never again walk that corridor; that all my classmates and all the kind teachers would be gone from my life, never to be seen again; that no more would I enjoy those exciting Saturdays when I came with my best dress on and played so many beautiful games; that never would I get to sit in Deva Kumar Hall and watch those exciting plays and skits; never again would I go on those wonderful picnics with our teachers; and that never more would I feel that soft grass or play on that seesaw again; filled me with an overwhelming sense of grief. And when I thought about Maya Didi, and that I may never, ever see her again, I found myself vainly fighting to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes. Six years after I first set foot in that school, desolation and despondency gripped me again, but this time not because I had to come to school, but because I had to go away from it.

In that tender, sorrowful moment, as I looked back one last time at those beautiful gables, the sparkling lattice windows and the inviting little playground, they all looked wan to my eyes, and seemed to implore me to stay. How I wished I could. But I knew I must go. With blurry eyes, choking throat and grieving heart, I slowly walked down that familiar flight of steps, away from my dear little school, away from that little fairytale world of my felicitous childhood, never again to return. But never will the glow of that golden period of my life ever lose its shine in my heart. Its coruscating presence will continue to dispel the darknesses of my life, and soothe my soul, just as Maya Didi's kindness comforted me once upon a time.