Dancing frock and the tinkling smile

She was the last one in the last flock of Swans that flew with their young ones. 

She never left her chicks behind to grew up as ugly ducklings, her white spanning wings always protected them, gave them warmth and a cosy feather bed.   

We would flock around her.

The sleeveless frock in floral patterns and the striped footwear always trigger a smile on our face. 

To the wide opened twinkling eyes that surround her, Laura teacher would smile.

It was the time of Peggy Book and Paul’s Desk Work, the ways we were initiated to the English language. We would find a figure almost the same that of  Peggy’s mother or the Anne in Paul’s Desk Work in her, the same frocks, the same hair do, the same white smile, the madam’s there. Lovingly we would call her Madamma teacher. 

Of course she lived her life like a Madamma, in attitude and attire. But her life we often felt was a mission, a mission to nurse and nurture the little ones. 

I had always found her under that old Jack tree,  where she would wait with the nursery kids either to collect them in the morning or to pack them off  in the school bus, in the evening. I never had the opportunity to sit in her class, because I joined the school at the first standard. I was at the Infant Jesus Nursery School at Pongumoodu, run by the same congregation of the sisters. 

So we were moulded and encouraged to join St.Mary’s for the first standard. 

My first encounter with Laura teacher was at the anniversary of the nursery school,  where I was in the lime light. 

I had to deliver the student speech in English before a large crowd. When I stepped on to the big stage which made me too small like a little star in the sky, and  the big audience in the front who waved like the sea, I looked for a soothing face to smile at me, to over come my stage fear. 

At the front row of the audience were distinguished guests which included the Holy Mar Gregorius, my head mistress a loving woman who later flew to Philadelphia for charity work, a few sisters whom I have never seen before and a very white woman in her frock. 

While the sound man came and adjusted the mike for me pulling it down the stand, I was still searching for someone who could instill the courage in me. Seconds ticked, I couldn’t begin, I thought I would forget the the whole speech. My teachers and my parents were gasping why I could not begin. They were all around me in the stage, but I never dared to look back or around, I kept my attention posture and looked straight.

My thoughts were flying, they flew frantic, all away from the simmering lights, on to the sky losing my way in the darkness, till I found a Swan with a motherly touch, she held me on her wings and flew me down. 

I blinked my eyes for a moment, and I saw her in the front row at the far left. 

A nod of love.

A soothing smile.

I gleamed. 

It gave me the courage to start.

I began….the little speech my father wrote for me.

‘ Respected teachers, distinguished guests and my dear friends.

I’m glad to stand before you..’ 

I did not change my eyes…

They were stuck at the Mother Swan.

She held me throughout my speech.

For a big clap at the end, and too many shake hands and in the crowd of friends that wrapped me around  I lost the Mother Swan.

But at the back of the stage, she was waiting for me.

She held me tight, kissed me on forehead and told me with love 

‘ You must come to St.Mary’s ‘

I smiled and nodded. 

That was Laura teacher. 

She smiles in my memories still, even the forty five monsoons that showered heavily on me could not wash away her tinkling smile from my heart ; the rays of love she dissipated were more intense than the rays of the sun. 

She was our St.Mary, she took us close to her bosom. 

Might be her soul, or the decision of fate, I got that divine opportunity to close her coffin. Sheeba was there, Beevi was there, Kani was there, Annie looked at me with tearful eyes.

We placed a bunch of roses for all of us and silently witnessed her exit from this mundane world to her heavenly abode. 

Thank you teacher.

RIP

Laura Rozario

Born 9-04-1936

Died 9-01-2018

A girlie talk

Its time to write about girls.

Not the way you expect, but how the little boys looked at them. 

There were many girls at the nursery class, but we little ones never looked at them as girls, the perception was gender free, they were just play mates, we never had  separate seats or play area, we all played together. But a graduation to the first standard shattered all the myths, we had separate desks and benches and even separate areas to sit. To see girls we had to look right, they had their typical hair do, a different attire that spoke out they are girlies, and the bags even, all contributed to an intended cultivation of a taboo that boys and girls are two different species. 

The taboo brought different perceptions, say ways of seeing.

Little girls became alien creatures, sometimes things of curiosity. 

My curiosity was quite different, several times I asked myself why they didn’t talk to boys, but there was two or three exceptions, one was Sreekala, the girl who looked like the Little Red Riding Hood, she always wore a scarf, and was very talkative. Her shrill voice shattered the  silence of the class, but she was never scolded, Saramma Mani our class teacher liked her a lot. Sreekala was with me since the first standard, I don’t know where Sreekala is now. 

Another specimen of curiosity was the twin sisters Asha and Roopa. Both of them had a crying face, they never smiled, never answered the questions teachers asked, and never shared their pangs with anyone. They simply looked at  others, a sort of innocent gaze, and never joined our pranks. I have often felt that they never talked to each other even. There was another wonderful pair in our class, Biju and Jiju who came from Paruthippara. The school bus would drop them at their steps and would take a turn in the narrow road close to their home that just fits a bus. Ammavan who took the role of a grandpa and the driver had a tedious time turning the bus, first at Paruthippara and then at Kariyam. Biju and Jiju once cornered Asha and Roopa after a test paper, Biju plainly put it, ‘Why don’t you study at home?’ Jiju was quite sober and full of compassion, he would ask about their father and mother. I was just a witness, I didn’t want to interfere, the twin sisters just returned their innocent gaze, no answers at all. I too felt sorry for them, and often tried to smile at them. The same innocent gaze, nothing much. But Roopa surprised me one day, when Saramma Mani teacher sent me out of the class, for going out to take a paper rocket. I had my green water bottle around my neck, I was thirsty but no water to drink. Roopa helped me to get some water, and it was good sign of a wonderful friendship, back at class the twin sisters smiled, I returned and there after we talked every day.  These all happened at the first standard, the first class room down the steps; I think two more class rooms were there, occupied by the nursery. I will come back to that later. 

Saramma Mani was fond of Banu too. Banu was tiny but cute, she was not talkative like Sreekala  but was active. She rolled around the class like a tennis ball, rebounding from benches to benches. Saramma Mani used to call her Bhaanu not Banu. Sometimes she called her Bhanumathy out of love. 

Another face that illuminated our class was Supriya, with her film star looks. She had height and size, and her pleasant face always wore a smile showing her beautiful teeth. Supriya most often interacted with us, so we crooked boys had no complaint against her. I think her father was in Malaysia, thats what she once told me. 

Other two faces that looked serene were that of Reena and Sumitha. Reena was always in a contemplative mood, her blue ribbon ran across her head like a bow, she had a perfect fit and style accentuated by her ribbon and hair do. Sumitha and Janadas came together, either they were family friends or they were neighbours. Sumitha had a poise of doing things, her presence was always felt, but did not over do things like Sreekala.  Lekha was notable with her village girl looks and mannerisms. But the most quiet in our class was Geetha, she is now working as Associate Professor in English somewhere. 

When the little boys graduated to higher classes they found that the girls have become more attractive than aliens that inspired curiosity. The first sense of the fatal attraction was aired by Jyothish George when we were in the third standard.  Jyothish was referring to Anitha M who was Banu’s neighbour and friend who always accompanied her. I think Anitha came in the second or third standard and left the school after primary classes. Anitha was beautiful in the parameters of the seventies, she was the only one who beautifully spoke English.  

In the third standard Rosamma was our class teacher, she was a well built woman, very fair and strict. But she cared the little children like Saramma Mani, who was an abode of love. One day while taking attendance Rosamma teacher, asked Anitha 

‘Why were you absent yesterday’ 

‘Because I was ill, I had sore throat too’ a clean reply as a volley in tennis. 

All the little boys looked at her, they felt proud of Anitha, who spoke at least one sentence in fairly good English. Our eyes rolled and rolled after her, Banu never knew the price of the jewel she was carrying around.

 So when we shifted our premises to the high school, all the excitement went off, it was a different air up there, the girls became very serious, and less interactive. One thing we noticed was that they have grown bigger than us boys. They looked down upon us, frowned upon us and they behaved like matured women. 

At the fifth standard, Sheela Raghunath was the focal point of attraction, with her creative talents. I still remember her plastic school bag in yellow, orange, white and black combination, the little boys too wanted the colour combination like that. But the class became a friction point with occasional fights with Suja Mary Samuel. These frictions were always there till we parted with girls at the seventh standard.  Suja Mary Samuel’s legacy was carried over by Shamsha, she often fought with boys, but she was quite loveable. 

But one good word has to be told, its all about Chitra, she was such good friend and an understanding girl. She never frowned upon the little boys, so was Beena KR.  Another good name was Gija Bhai, I don’t know how many would recollect her, I only knew her real story when Annie told, many years later. ‘Eda why don’t we trace her, I really want to meet her ‘, Annie said with compassion

‘ I too ‘ , I retorted.

Gija Bhai in fact lost an year at the sixth standard. 

On the first day, when I stepped in to our sixth class, at the left end of that old building down below, Gija Bhai warned me that passing sixth standard is quite difficult. I believed her, because for me she appeared like a sister figure. 

Sisters flourished, after the seventh standard. 

Ammachi took away Anitha Mathew, Anitha Mathew Mavelil, Suja Susan, Suja Mary Samuel and many others. She made us pledge in the name of the nation and constitution.

We are brothers and sisters.

It was the end of all.

The gospel of Hassina

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails

That's what little boys are made of !

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice and all things nice

That's what little girls are made of!

There were many attractions for the little boys, it included the snips, snails, puppies and dogs,  but I never think that the girls were made of sugar and spice and all things nice.  See I have the statistics, its not what Thomas sir taught us, but a little weird thought that snail picking little boys always had. 

I take your attention to our assembly on Thursdays, where you find our great Ammachi, looking as if a camera paning slowly to a wide audience. You see the enigmatic smile on her face, only Da Vinci’s Mono Lisa had that before. While she pans her eyes around other teachers would be taking their usual places, Thankappan sir in attention close to one of that thin wooden pillars that adorned the long corridor of our tiled main building. Then comes Alexander the great with his fly Rubikkutty, I always felt that they never had their food from the same kitchen. Rubykkutty teacher was so lean that bones projected from her chin, while Alexander sir had plenty like he always had two apples in his mouth. Then comes Benz with her elegant steps and smiling face, we the little boys searching for the puppy dog tails would look at KOT with hushed smiles. No, they never looked at each other, we little boys retreat. Then you find Thampi sir, chewing the betel leaves, slowly moving to the centre stage, and you find the other teachers humbly in position to hear what Ammachi had to tell. 

Meanwhile Ammachi would have scanned the entire assembly, and would call out a name. 

‘ Sudheer KR of IX A ’, all the little boys would look around, where Sudheer would be. 

‘ I had told many times not to go out in interval time. But I saw Sudheer outside the gate. I m sure it is for Hasina mitai ‘ she would deflect her head many times to both sides and then pan again with her powerful eyes, a vicious smile on her lips.

‘ If I ever found anyone eating Hasina mitai, I will  give TC at once ‘ again deflection of the head, the vicious smile. 

Not Sudheer KR alone, many were melting in the assembly under the hot sun. 

Ammachi’s was a missile attack, to the hearts of many of us, all our tiny little hearts too melted like the Hasina mitai, in our mouth. 

Ammachi again…

‘ Girls ‘ again deflection of the head.

The boys let out a deep sigh.

‘ This is for you too, I have noticed many of you eating it ‘

The boys looked each other, for the first time they pledged solidarity for the  girls.

Ammachi never knew the child psychology.

For boys it was like scolding  for loving a girl, for the girls it was like asking them to forget their first love.

So everyone screamed out from their hearts, we will never forget Hasina.

Hasina mitai became a symbol of innocent love, at the same time a synonym for revolt.

The little boys got out at intervals, wandered through the road, munched Hasina mitai to their mouth full and returned to classes.

What the girls did is still unknown.

They never joined the boys.

The Noon Talk

When we were promoted to the auditorium, I thought we were going to breathe plenty of fresh air. But the air remained the same, it  again smelled of chalk powder, plastic water bottles, and sweat that formed the typical class room smell which infused a little anxiety and longing to reach home.

The intervals and the lunch time were the only freedom hours for the little minds in those congested class rooms. Congestion does not mean congestion of space, but it could be congestion to tell answers fearing the long cane, congestion of little enmities, congestion of the black tie around the neck, even congestion of nose for someone spreading the cold for all around him. All through the four years spend at the primary classes , I had felt that only the lunch time decongested the noses and the nausea. Intervals were meant to pee at the ammonia smelling bathrooms, on the back side of the two storied old LPS building. The backyard was otherwise a vicious attraction, open enough to lure the little minds to play, but Sr.Anslem with her long cane hidden in the ripples of her white gown, could appear at anytime. Most often it would be a guerrilla attack, our little army had no idea that Sr.Anslem always enjoyed a birds eye view from from her spacious office room on the top. 

Let me come back to the lunch time.

We had two types of lunch packs, first the ordinary meals, which was meant for the commoners like most of us. We had to sit with our lunch boxes on the long narrow mats lined up at the  long corridor on the right side of the auditorium, and eat the lunch. Never ever the noon time had been pleasant, either the music teacher or Sr.Anslem herself would walk through the middle of the sitting rows to ensure everyone is taking lunch.  

The other was the special meals.

It was meant for a privileged lot. They used to sit in the west end of the corridor, on the little cool space away from the congestions, and ate the hot lunch in big steel adukkupathram. The privileged fellows included Jayakrishnan alias JK, his brother, Jayashree, Viji Thomas, Biju and Giju the twins, Jyothish George who left after the fourth standard, and many others who lived near and far. I still remember that old woman with smiling face and the big yellow vatti on her head bringing lunch for many of them, I think she used to walk from Paruthippara. But for Jayashree it was her grandmother or servant who brought the lunch. That short old woman would wait standing with the tiffin box in a cloth bag, Sanchi, long before the noon bell rang. Jayashree used to call her ammoomma. 

For little minds the sociology of noon meals caused severe indigestion. Me and Sarat would just roam around after our food, to see JK swallowing the rice balls with a gourmet’s enthusiasm. The other things of jealousy were the steel jar that filled with butter milk, and the big tiffin boxes that comfortably stacked all the dishes and rice, without mixing each other. 

A pinch of envy always made the noon talks less delicious. 

The K4 equation

Memories flew back to me after our cricket rewind at the school grounds. It was the time of test cricket, when the lunch break filled with Vengsarkar, Gavaskar, Srikanth, Kirmani and all, often triggered by Elvin Miranda, Biju AL, Edward and his cousin, our fluffy Gailson. I was lucky to be part of two rival teams, the XA and XB, I quit the ' B ' team headed by Robert Mathew and joined the ' A ' team led by  Arun in the IX standard. But I kept my old friends and met them often, noon breaks offered great celebration as I shuttled between the two divisions, still cricket served a cause.

I watched with joyful eyes, Arun playing cricket, because during school days he used to retire to the side of the ground due to wheezing problems, where the bushy cocoa plants and coconut trees offered enough shade to sit. The ' monitor ' badge did not allow Arun to sit in the class, so he came along, as a disciplined leader. Thankappan Sir always had an aversion for the lazy bugs sitting on the shade, so he cross-checked a number of times, whether their reasons are genuine. In retaliation the ' lazy bugs ' circulated stories about him, that highlighted his ignorance of the cricket game. One interesting story which Arun told me was his device of calculating time. Thankappan sir used to rotate his head whenever he was in the attention position, like a seconds hand on a clock. Thomas sir who was an accomplished mathematics scholar, was the first one to notice it, and he asked him to count on it. Every rotation of his head counted a minute, and thus he could easily calculate the time without a watch. Thankappan sir was happy and he perfected the technique to tune his biological clock to accuracy.

In the new division I was inducted to the captain's elite group only after the first term examination, till then I was regarded non challenging and less harmful. Arun already had the intelligence report about my ranks in VIII B through Robert Mathew; both the leaders had a hotline. But to everyone's shock I surpassed Gopu and shattered Ramalingom for the second rank in the Onam exams and  the greatest surprise was the marks I got for Maths. It took me close to Arun  and he offered me a hand with a smile, business starts with diplomacy. Arun used to keep a confidential list which included marks of possible close contenders when the answer papers are given back after the terminal examinations. After the second term, his list included four persons other than himself - Manu, Ramalingom, Santhosh S, Gopu...but everything gone topsy turvy as Ramalingom and others took their revenge, pushing me to the fifth place in the Christmas exams. We graduated to X class. No division change, and I was happy because I have been so much acclimatized with the A team. Days passed with the usual infights, jokes, talks on girls, the new corduroy jeans that Sim's father brought from Gulf, Elvin Miranda's shirts and hairstyle, Gailson's new cooking range and washing machine at home, Biju AL's fight with teachers, Thambi sir's exploding jokes and pinches that left postmarks on our tender stomachs, the curious wait for the third chapter in biology ( which was taken only at the end ) and Scaria sir's outrages for our small mischiefs.

One day Arun asked me to accompany him to his sister Abha's class, to get her progress card. I think she was in the fourth or fifth standard then; unlike Arun, she had only average marks for most of the subjects, but a big score for Maths. I laughed at the contradiction, and said that she shared her brother's brain only in Maths.

But Arun was jovial, he put it simply " We are a family of mathematicians "

" Mathematicians ! "  I exclaimed.

" Yes, I will show you " Arun said smiling

Back at the class he showed me his father's signature on a test paper answer sheet.

" Can you decipher it " Arun asked.

I was looking for the name behind the signature,  I failed after many attempts and finally read what I saw " K raised to 4 "

" Exactly, K raised to 4, " Arun said with a smile.

" True its mathematics, but what does it mean " I did not conceal my bewilderment.

" K K Kuttappa Kurup " Arun laughed

I was still baffling at the riddles of the mathematics family.

A lesson in responsibility

Our school auditorium

We graduated to the auditorium in the second standard. Now we could see the entire school campus, a bird's eyeview. There was plenty of air in the new place, but it lacked the ambience of a class room. We could overhear what students of other classes were taught. The clustered class rooms looked like a big honey comb; and I felt like a bee in one of its tiny cells. A great buzz of the bees was always there; at intervals and noon the bees would fly around as if the nectar is near.
Life and times in the second standard was different as teachers demanded a greater responsibility; you are no more a kid and have graduated to a senior.
Along with the class, many other things also got promoted to the next level. These included lessons, home works and punishments. Losses were many. Our privilege to board the school bus along with the nursery kids was taken off; at noon we had to fight with others at the common tap to wash our hands. To add the woes, Sr.Anslem always kept her eyes on us; every movement was watched, and were scolded for a minor lapse.
But my school days became more responsible, as my brother Madhu also joined the school in the UKG. I had to go and see him at the lunch break, and my every visit was registered and presented to mother at home. I would seek the help of any of my friends, usually Roy or Sarath. We would go through the untarred road through the left side of the auditorium, (now the topography has totally changed). We were not allowed to go through the corridor in front of the first standard, down the steps. I would look through the nursery window, till he sees me to get an aknowlegdement that my visit has been registered. Sr.Anslem's sanctions or any other unforeseen circumstances did not account for an excuse. I have to be there at noon. That was my mother's order.
One day I was not able to get out of class. There was a student strike in the high school and Sr.Anslem became more vigilant. Usually such student strikes did not affect the functioning of the LPS; but Sr.Anslem imposed more restrictions during such days. The bees were not allowed to fly around at noon. We would shut inside our hives; our wings fanning all the time for the air, and resonating the big hive with our great buzz.
I told Roy, that I wanted to go and see my brother. Roy said that the Queen Bee won't allow. She would have allowed us, but we feared to go near her; we were actually afraid of the cane that she would hide between the frills of her long white skirt.
We did not want to suffer.
So we decided to take a short cut, down the steps.
We had already found an excuse, that both of us had stomach ache, and we wanted to go the toilet which was adjacent to the kindergarten.
But the little bees were caught in the flight and produced before the Queen bee. She fletched her wings and took out the sting. We got one each just beneath the buttocks. The Queen bee knew that it would be difficult for us to sit on the bench, so she generously allowed us to stand outside the office room for an hour.
Roy did not speak anything.
He did not even look at me.
I felt sad and wept. Roy never accompanied me to nursery after the incident.
I learned three things about responsibility, which was also the very first lessons about life, that school life taught me .

1. Responsibility means hardship, suffering.
2. There are no short cuts to become responsible.
3. No body can share your responsibility.

The Python Game

Our class room, it had the same arrangement
twenty five years ago

I used to come early to school, because I was in the first trip. The school bus would go for the second trip after setting us free to run around. I was not alone; we were a trio, Roy and Sarath from Kariyam and me. Geetha was the only girl who came early along with us. (She is teaching at a college now) We used to run around sweating all over, and for that we used to get occassional beating from Saramma Mani, our class teacher.
After some days Saji also joined us as an early bird; he was the fattest boy in our class, so we called him perumpambu. He suggested a new game, that he would run and we have to catch him, we called the game perumpambu kali. If my memory is right, Gopu and Ramkumar also joined us whenever they came early. It was a hilarious sport, and we enjoyed it well. But the game did not give much excitement to Sr.Aslem who was the headmistress then, and Saramma Mani our class teacher. One day the serpant and the charmers were caught, we had to stand out of the class till noon. Saji cried, Roy too but Sarat did not, he had a lion's heart. I still cannot make out how it felt to me; I only feared Geetha, because she was my neighbour and I doubted that she would tell it to my father. But Geetha didn't, it was not her concern.
We were brave hearts, the game did not stop with a simple punishment. Next day we decided to start the game as usual, despite the sanctions of Sr.Anslem, we dared to. The plan was to run around the space near the bathroom. The blue print was ready, after the top brass met at the side seat of school bus; Roy, Sarat and me; we trio used to sit at the narrow side seat above the battery box opposite to Ammavan, the driver. But to our surprise when we reached the class, we found that the class room itself is dishevelled. We had to set it right first, we pulled the desks one by one. Meanwhile Saji came, and we had to finish arranging the desks to start our play. All of a sudden Roy screamed 'snake..snake..run'.
I was perplexed, I did not know what to do, I saw Geetha flying like a bird over the desks and making a safe exit through the door. I too ran out, meanwhile the screams transformed to laments and high school students came running down the stairs. They killed the snake, but the most terrified person was Saji. He thought that the snake came because we played the perumpambu.
And a beautiful game had its premature death.