Those unforgettable memories

I really don’t know where to start about my school which gracefully housed me from KG to 12th. Fond memories gush in.

I still remember my first day of school. My first day tears were answered by a fat, chubby girl with her holding of my hands comforting me “Don’t worry. I am there for you.” Indeed she was there for me throughout my school days. Do you know my dear friend, even now whenever I go out I keep my eyes open with a hope that I shall dash on you one day? I want to meet you at least once and thank you for all you have given me.

The strict Anglo-Indian Miss in her mini-skirt flashes in next who taught me ABCD. My unforgettable class teacher for three consecutive years (3rd, 4th & 5th) - how sweet and caring she was! She didn’t even know how to get angry. Probably I got inspired by her in a subtle level.

My stint in I standard brings in cheer and laughter in me. That was the Annual Day function and I was one of the performers of the rhyme “Little Boy Blue, Come blow your horn” (I still remember the practice sessions vividly). Another participant brought costume for me and I performed with that on stage. Once my role was over, I immediately returned her belongings, and with just a slip to hang on, I ran towards my house which was very close-by at that time. Unfortunately, none was there and I started crying. I didn’t realize that my parents would have come to watch me perform. One of the neighbours consoled me and directed me towards the school. I found them in that huge crowd somehow and you know, they were shocked to see me in that beautiful costume.

Many teachers and friends walk my memory path briskly. I remember each one of them. How can I forget my 4th standard classmate who died of brain tumour? How many times I would have enacted the roles of “The Three Questions” and “The Merchant of Venice”, only God knows. I still admire the character Portia for her intelligence.

My drama and song practices, essay competitions that I have won, my drawing stints in the form of innumerable charts I had churned out for my class, the mid-day meal volunteering services that I managed diligently during my 9th & 10th standards, the soft corner that I always enjoyed from teachers and friends because of my quiet nature, my 9th standard science teacher who became one of my best friends (it was she who taught me that age is not a barrier for any relationship), my passion for English (I want to see the reaction of my English teacher when she reads my poems – will she mock me or praise me), the rustic atmosphere of creepers and crawlers decorating our 8th standard class which was supplemented with two swings next to our class, the celebration of Joseph Day with candles & incense sticks – I can write a novel on all these things.

And most importantly, the Christ on Cross from whom I have silently learnt the lesson of tolerance. How many marriages, the bride in white especially, had been blessed by that pure Master in front of my eyes! Am curious to know if all those marriages are working out successfully based on tolerance at least. My tears come alive whenever I think of those innocent days wherein I cried in front of him for the pains he had undergone at the time of crucifixion.

I am dreaming of visiting my school one day, sit in those steps and replay those memories, touch those walls passionately, visit the church and cry one more time for my Jesus. Will it remain a dream, I don’t know.

I have not forgotten anybody. My memory lapse stops with my understanding and recall of subjects. I don’t feel ashamed to shed a drop of tear as I reminisce those innocent, carefree days because I have a tender heart to feel them even now.