Tura and Me

My Dad was posted in Tura when I was six. And that is where my serious schooling started. I was admitted to my fifth school and first KV. For those of you who are wondering where Tura is, its in Meghalaya, one of the seven sisters of our North East. A snug valley at the foothills of Tura hills, right under Tura Peak, this town is one of those quieter hilly destinations that we crave sometimes. Don’t go there looking for a Shillong, or an Itanagar. And comparing it with those places would be unfair. I spent three years of my life there. And it was a beautiful place to call home for those three years.

My school there was like the place, sleepy and simple. Not bothered much with studies or discipline, we had fun most days. But I owe a big part of my life to that school. That is where I learnt to write. I had written tons in my previous school as part of handwriting practice but Tura is where I learnt the logic behind writing, the connection between words and ideas. Was there some kind of magic in those West Garo Hills? I would like to believe so.

My Dad’s office cum residence quarters was located on top of a small hill. It was a cute Assam type cottage, complete with a leaking ceiling in the many rain-storms. After a wet night, if the sun dared to venture out, you could encounter a variety of snakes basking around. You really had to look where you stepped. The path that wound from the narrow main road to our quarter was the bumpiest free ride ever. Needless to say, my Dad’s Jeep would always reach home in leaps and bounds.

Still, the entire place was so picturesque, like straight out of a movie. Mornings were fresh and dewy, afternoons were lazy and drunk, evenings had a breeze blowing with the right amount of speed to call them romantic, and nights were silent and spooky. Won’t you call that inspiring now? And that’s when I started writing. I wrote a notebook full of crappy stories, which are still lying around some place, and decided that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.

This was also the school where I learnt Hindi, and got jeered at for my accent. And this is where I woke up to the politics that some cunning kids play. I learnt that people always side with the popular kids, that jealousy can break seemingly close ties between best friends and it could be dangerous to gossip. Apart from that, I remember that our school didn’t have a canteen, but hawkers greeted us at the exit gates, after we were let out. Ice lollies, masala tamarind pastes, dalmot, all heralded us with open arms. The ice lollies were nothing but sweetened ice in various colours and the only ice cream available in Tura. Yes, believe it or not, I have spent three years of my life without ice cream! I remember every time we went to Guwahati, which is around two hundred kms away, I would gorge on a choco bar, as our driver marveled at the eight bucks we paid for it. (Yeah, back then it was eight bucks for a Kwality choco bar.)

Another surprise for me there was girl power! The Garo society is matrilocal as well as matrilineal. That means you inherit a mother’s property not a father’s. And the groom stays with the bride’s family. How cool is that? We came to know many men there who were house-husbands, while their wives were the primary bread earners. I of course decided that no matter where I was when I was of marriageable age, I will come back to marry a Garo boy. That meant I would take him along with me to wherever I was staying, and I never had to leave my parents. (As a child, this was my second ploy to keep myself with my parents, the first being, trying to marry my Dad!!)

A place called Arhai Mile (Arhai meaning two and half) was the most happening place in an otherwise dormant town. That is where most of the shops were. People thronged it on weekends for vegetables, fruits, poultry and fish. Needless to say, everything was always fresh and sold with a warm gusto in Garo, the primary language spoken there. Apart from that, I had some Hajong and Koch friends too.

In and around Tura were many rivulets and valleys, some of which, we were fortunate to explore. I remember a picnic party that went from school. We just walked to the spot. The entire place was so untouched back then, you could just sit near the road and have a picnic! We also got to see our border with Bangladesh. I remember being surprised at it looking absolutely similar to my own country!

I never went back to Tura, looking for my groom, who would release me from the tradition of leaving my parents’ home, but searching on the internet, I find that Tura has changed a lot. Along with the rest of our country it too has grown. But in my mind’s eye I will always be sitting there on a hillock, blowing bubbles, writing stories or licking masala tamarind!

Getting Schooled into a Sikandar

There are always a few school songs or school movies that we grow up on. Some of them can make quite an impact on developing minds. I know some people who swear they used to walk like the T-birds in Grease, as teenagers. As I have already confessed, I have never been a great fan of school. I wasn’t a popular kid, neither was I an ace student. As a consequence I didn’t know which school movie to identify with.

Then I thought of my school, a KV (Kendriya Vidyalaya). Certainly not one of the best rated in sophistication. I remember kids from Public schools grimacing when I named my school, ticking me off instantly as a no-good loser. And I have met parents of Convent school kids who condemn all KVs because apparently the grading system is way too easy. Then I remembered, ‘Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar,’ one of the most successful Aamir Khan movies in Bollywood. The movie was a remake of the 1979 American movie, ‘Breaking Away,’ and mostly I don’t sympathize with remakes, but in this case, I haven’t seen the original and thus have no base to complain in terms of originality. ‘Sikandar’ is the name given to Alexander the Great in India. As such, the movie is quite a lesson in life.

The movie opens with Shekhar of Rajput College defeating Ratan of Model College in an inter-school marathon cycle race in Dehradun, which is the crux of the movie. The competition is between the affluent students of Rajput, Xaviers and Queens College and the local ‘have nots’ of Model College. Queens College is the girls’ college with all the boys mooning over them. We have Sanju (Aamir Khan), Ratan’s brother, an irresponsible, carefree teenager, his character most akin to Archie Andrews. He falls for the glamorous Devika (Pooja Bedi) of Queen’s College, the Veronica Lodge, who makes boys trip with her bubble gum bursts. But he has a friend, Anjali (Ayesha Jhulka), who silently loves him and always supports him, the Betty Cooper. Then we have the cocky Shekhar, the Reggie Mantle.

Sanju tricks Devika into believing that he is rich and woos her for some time, much to his brother and Anjali’s consternation. He does some pretty stupid stuff, which we found cute in our school days. Who can forget ‘Pehla nasha,’ an entire song in slow motion? I still remember the lyrics by heart. Pooja Bedi did a Marilyn Monroe too, in a short red skirt that flew around her looooong legs. After Devika finds out that Sanju runs a small canteen along with his brother, she dumps him and the story takes a turn for the worse. After a skirmish with Shekhar, Ratan ends up in a hospital. Sanju turns a new leaf and decides to take part in the race.

The reputation of my school was like Model College’s, in that we were all students of government employees. Nobody could brag of inheritance or fast cars. We all knew we had to somehow make it on our own if we wanted to make it big. Some of us thought of short cuts too. Some guys thought of manipulating the system. Some girls thought of marrying someone rich. But the song, “Jawan ho yaaro, ki tumko huwa kya,” was inspiring. We had a number of Sanjus as well as Ratans. I wasn’t like Anjali but I remember bunking classes (I once jumped off a first floor window to get rid of the rest of my classes).

The State Board in Guwahati is only up till matriculation and many parents want their children to move to CBSE after that. Consequently, in eleventh standard, a lot of new students joined our school. Most of them were from St. Mary’s and Don Bosco. As was inevitable, our boys went nuts. So many Devikas suddenly swarmed the school. They were very different from what our boys were used to. These girls had airs, they chattered away in English with a strange accent. Their Hindi was clipped which probably seemed cute to all our love lorn Sanjus.

Moreover, these Devikas were from a girls’ school. This sudden contact with boys must have been electrifying. Some of them went out of control, while others took advantage of our simple Sanjus. I remember a particular girl who captured the heart of none other than the head boy. Of course, they were famous. He was a bright boy and helped the girl with all his notes. After she got all of it, she didn’t want any of him. He was flabbergasted. I witnessed the scene of their breakup from our corridor. I couldn’t hear anything but it began with the head boy throwing down his lunch box, then tie, then belt, badge… Mercifully, the bell rang and we just guessed the rest.

The Bosconians weren’t lagging behind either. Some of them had been mooning the St. Mary’s girls since Nursery, climbing their school walls just to get a glimpse. Now that proximity wasn’t a problem at all, their hormones were hyperventilating too. As Bosconians, they also had an upper hand in being more polished and with more expendable income. So quite often we would come across an Assamese Shekhar Malhotra in the corridors. Some of our Anjalis were pretty heart broken, because they were never chosen by these spoilt peacocks.

All in all, the last two years in my school were quite a scene from ‘Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar.’ Some of us took part in that race against the affluent. I agree that KVites in my time had less exposure, were badly trained in English, didn’t listen to rock music etc. But we learnt how to fight a world thronged by hypocrites. We learnt to be cool, but with humility. We learnt to earn our first bike and pay for our high heels! Today so many of our Sanjus and Anjalis are engineers, doctors, pilots or are working in great places. Many of them own fast cars, or have built mansions, or dine in 5 stars daily. I know a KVite who won the Miss Universe title – Sushmita Sen. KVites win races too, it appears. And whoever wins is the ‘Sikandar.’

Passing by School Again!

School days, school days,
Stupid goofy fool days,
Science, History and Arithmetic,
Each one selected to make you sick.

- Archie’s Comics

Schooling is one of the longest periods in our lives, isn’t it? We start as toddlers, nursery babies. After mother’s milk, the next weaning is from our mother’s pallu. I have attended ten schools in my student life (I didn’t fail or anything okay, my Dad had a transferable job). I definitely learned a lot!

My son cries every day while going to school. The sight of his uniform starts the whole process, he’ll dilly dally while brushing his teeth, he’ll refuse to take his bath, he’ll mope in the taxi. And he’ll bawl when I say, ‘bye.’ And though I am an otherwise impatient mother, I kind of understand his grief. Because, boy, did I hate school? I can never relate to people who reminisce about their school days and sigh, “Those were the days, wish we could go back.” I am more like, “Am I glad those days are over!” My reasons were totally different though from my son’s. My son only hates being away from me. Within five minutes of my departure, his teacher tells me, he gets distracted, and transforms into an active class clown. He loves people, attention and learning. I didn’t like any. I was a shy person. And school was full of people, instructions and group activities. I didn’t like any.

There are so many stories of how we start going to school. I was okay for the first week. Then some kid bit me and I would cry till I puked every day. One of my cousins wrapped himself around my Uncle’s leg till he dragged himself along dramatically. And an acquaintance revealed that she used to cry till fourth standard, because she was under the notion that her mother roamed around town in her absence. But slowly we accept the harshness of being shunned away and soon start enjoying ourselves.

As we climb up to Primary school, we learn a new fear with many names – marks, pass, fail, rank, the list hasn’t ended. We also learn to make new friends, as well as fight with them, and then make up the next day. Personalities start forming, the leader, the curious one, the obedient one, the rebel, the bully. Name calling at the level of donkey and monkey become acceptable while the other adult ones are still a mystery. Words like ‘katti,’ ‘abba,’ ‘God promise,’ become part of our vocabulary. We learn a little bit of politics too, as Phoebe says about the second grade in Friends, “It’s so much better than first grade when you don’t know what’s going on and definitely better than third grade. You know with all the politics and mind games.”

The rawness and innocence of Primary school ends when we enter high school. From the most senior, we become the most junior once more. Not that we mind. I remember my high school was a whole other building across the road from our Primary school. We were so proud to be there!

In Primary school, apart from some precocious little princesses, girls and boys don’t really see themselves as different from each other. At least, I didn’t. But enter high school and hormones start raging. Body changes make us either shy or flirtatious. Personalities become even more distinct. We want to look pretty/handsome, so we choose hairstyles, clothes, school bags. Boys have a voice change and they become tall overnight. I remember so many boys who were shorter than me in eighth standard. One summer vacation later they were towering over me. With each class, girls’ skirts keep getting shorter and boys aren’t able to ignore this (not that they are trying). And this is only the beginning!

School after ninth standard is almost like a multiplex theatre. Some thirty movies are running at the same time. A loves B, but B loves C and C is confused between D and E. In our school, there was a broken classroom on the roof of our school which was named ‘Hall of fame,’ because whatever was left of the walls there were covered with various combinations of names and alphabets. To find out who was whose ‘fanto’ we just had to look for new scribbling. Ali Haider’s ‘A + R’ from his song, “Purani jeans aur guitar,” still reminds me of that wall.

For some, school ends with matriculation and a new, exciting journey begins in college. But others still have two more years. These final years are again a different stage. You get to choose your subjects, you get more respect from your teachers, and of course the entire school is in awe of you. I had my intermediate in school itself, and I think my last two years in school were actually my best. I made fast friends, whom I am still in touch with. I got to do away with maths forever. And I remember a lot of cute junior girls admiring me just for my sheer seniorness!

The day I left school was one of the best days of my life. Unfortunately, all my friends now loved their schools. They were all the Head boy- Head girl type, topping their class and what not. I don’t know how I came to fall into such company! I used to stay away from them in school! You let me know how your school was? Let me know if there is anyone out there who hated school too. I would love to have company while abusing my school life.