The red painted brick building stood tall. Although I had been a part of this institution for two years, this was the first time I was to attend the full duration of my school, 6 hours 10 minutes. In my kindergarten days, I had school only for 3 hours. Sooner than later, at the wink of an eye, I was at my mother’s lap. But now, that was history. I knew I was entering a journey of twelve long years.
I was standing at the school gate. Up above on the front side of the building, the school name was etched in blue letters. I was new to reading big words, hence I skipped it. I was escorted to my classroom by my father. He left me there and went away.
There was still time for the classes to start. Kajari ma’am would only enter at exactly 8:30 am. This year onwards, we would have only one class teacher and a separate teacher for Hindi. Till I was in the kindergarten, we had two teachers always in the class.
I had already made a mark on the school front. The kindergarten teachers had branded me a chatterbox. What was so wrong? We come to school to talk, laugh, play and study. But then, everything has its limits. I did not know until then.
I had reserved my desk. Karthik and I sat together. This was not to change for the next many years, or so I thought.
She entered the class. The classroom was noisy, as one always expects it to be. Since it was the first day after the school reopened for class I, there were numerous greetings, fights over seat sharing, etc. going on. It is always a big task for the teacher to control the class. But maybe, they have the power to control the students. As she shouted, “Silence! Please settle down”, it seemed the classroom had become a morgue, albeit temporarily.
I lived up to my brand. The chatterbox in me would not let go of me. Karthik and I always talked that too in Tamil.
I had known Karthik for a couple of years now. Both our fathers worked in the same office. They knew each other well, and hence we had become close friends. Moreover, having a person who speaks in your mother tongue is always a delight.
We spoke about anything and everything that was there for our age. Six year olds more often than not watched cartoons, and our favourite was Popeye, the sailor man. We were discussing intensely how Popeye used the magic of spinach to ward off Brutus from Olive, his lady love. When this topic was over, we spoke about how and why we fought with each other some day before, what each of us had got for lunch, how India fared in the cricket matches it played currently and why school was indeed for so long. Was ‘class one’ a big deal? A couple of months before we had three hour schools and now double that time we had to stay put!
We discussed about how fun holidays were, waking up late in the morning, no studies, only play. We showed each other the eagerness for the school to get over for the day, for the summer vacations.
“ Kaushik, stand up!”. Kajari ma’am had lost her patience. The chatterbox in me deserved this. I did not. But the first day of Class I passed with me standing for the whole day. I felt bad not because I was standing the whole day, but because Karthik was sitting the whole day.
Deep inside me, something was telling me, on the first day of my primary school, Karthik had made a good impression and I had made a bad impression. I had lost.