The evening was
reserved for “12 Angry Jurors”. I had heard good reviews of the play when it
was staged the last time in Kolkata. Even though I was to leave the next day
for my Maduranthakam – Bangalore trip of 15 days and packing was incomplete, I
decided in favour of going for the play. Vikas also has keen interest in
theatre and he used to be a part of it till college days, so I could not refuse
when he asked if I would like to join him for the show. I told him that I
would reach “Gyan Manch” before the scheduled time.
I had completed my schooling till class five from “ Abhinav Bharti Bal Mandir”,
and “Gyan Manch” was the auditorium for the same school. It was built while we
were still studying at the school. It was a Hindi medium school and would offer
schooling only till class Five, thus we all had to change our school after
that. With the passage of 27 years the school had become a high school and had
changed its name to Abhinav Bharti High School. There was no Hindi medium any
more, it would only offer studies in English medium. Gyan Manch also had become
quite well known and would be in demand for plays, literary functions, lectures,
talks, musical evenings and myriad performances involving a gathering of about
400 persons.
I had not entered my
school after passing out from there. The last 27 years seem to have flown by in
few months. Time flies fast. The moment I reached the gate I felt very
nostalgic. I entered and saw that Vikas was buying tickets at the counter which
had been set up near the staircase on the other side. Straight from the gate I
saw a canteen, I remembered that few school buses would stand there in my time.
On the right the garden stood alone in the sideways. It looked much smaller. I
waved at Vikas and shouted that I would be back in few minutes. He was at the
ticket counter and there were hardly 3-4 guys in the line. Gyan Manch would be
on the right hand corner of the premises, diagonally at an angle of 45 degrees
to the main gate of the school and the classes would be on the left. I strode
into the main school building without asking permission from anyone, as if the
whole school still belonged to me. It was evening and all the children must
have left 2-3 hours before. The gatekeeper shouted “Where are you going?” I
replied “It is my school!” and I just went in without waiting for his acceptance
of the same. I could hear his mumblings behind. Who cared? The gate was
open and I could see the fresh paint being done on the walls. That smell of the
paint could not take over the smell that I still felt after long 27 years, I
never knew it was so vivid in my mind and still so alivein my nostrils. The
light was dim, there was only one tubelight
switched on in the whole corridor. I suddenly felt young, very young, full of
life and hope.
I walked beside the prayer room on my left, and then I opened its gate at the
end of the corridor. It was all the same except with marble tiles; we had it
cemented then. The garden looked very small. The sound of the prayer chanting
started playing in the heart and mind:
“Hey Prabho
Ananddata, Gyan Hamko Dijiye....” In my mind the flashback reeled on: I saw
Ramrajji Masterjee standing head bent and eyes closed in one corner. I saw
Nandita Behanji, Gauri Behanji, Anusuya Behanji, Arti Behanji on the sideways
with folded hands and I also saw Leela Behanji trying to see if we were
properly dressed or not with her sharp eyes and a grin on the face. It all
looked real until the creaking of a window pane shook me out of my reverie. I
was back at my age, the prayer seemed to be going on in the heart, I could
still hear it and my lips followed. I moved back pulling the door and went
ahead towards the end of the corridor. After the staircase and at the left end
I could see the same ten ,twelve taps in a row, the shape had changed though.
We would take the bottle to the school but invariably would drink water from
there everyday. It was not packaged drinking water as we get now
everywhere, but we felt safe anyway. I remember that till class XII I had been
drinking from the taps the same way with one hand on the tap and one below the
mouth to collect the water poured from it. I bent myself and drank once again
only realising that the last time I did the same here, I had to move myself up.
I had grown in height since but am not sure if I know more about life today, than then.
They had made a gate to the canteen at the right side opposite the staircase
and I moved in to take a look. The canteen would attach to Gyan Manch. Vikas
was there. I called him and invited him for a tour of my school. He was
hesitant whether the gatekeepers would allow but then we entered the school
through the canteen door. Here we were in front of the staircase. I had already
taken a tour of ground floor so I just pulled him with me to first floor. We went
up till the balcony on the first floor, I saw the Staff Room at the far end of
the corridor on the first floor, it was still at the same space. It had a lock
and I wondered if it still had the same seating arrangement and almirahs behind
all the chairs with a big board table in the middle. I had butterflies in my
stomach… Would Ramrajji Masterjee call me there with my holiday homework copy? I
had never done my holiday home work in my whole school life. I could actually
never find time for it during holidays and would only think of doing it once
school reopened.
I showed Vikas the place in the balcony where we would stand
with our friends waiting for the buses to come in . I remembered how I would arrive
early as the school was near to my place and wait for my friends to reach by
buses. I never had to take a bus for any of my schools. I told him that “Lorry”
would also stand near the garden with other buses. He seemed confused; I
remembered that he did not know that “Lorry” was name of a bus and was not a
truck (a truck is popularly known as Lorry in the Hindi language), I smiled and
clarified. He smiled too; I felt as if he was also remembering the names of his
school buses which brought a smile on his face. The ground seemed very near. It
felt a little confusing. I went to the second floor with him and showed him a
place where Lila Behanji had made me stand after making a moustache on me. I
could not recall it was for which deed,
but I am sure it must have been the holiday home work :P ; In any case she was
infamous for making the moustache on children’ faces. Everybody feared her and
nobody liked her. What would I do if I meet her now?.. I would probably bow down
to touch her feet and then hug her very old, frail body. I felt a respect and attachment
for her which I never felt when she taught us. I felt humbled by what all my
teachers tried to teach me; only if I could understand it then..
I was in class four
and She would sit diagonally opposite to me at the other end. She was very dark
but had extremely beautiful eyes, long hair and sharp features. I was too young
to understand anything of love then but I very vividly remember looking into
her eyes for long to which she would respond equally. We did not speak much but
admired each other a lot. We had spent a long time just looking at each other, her
eyes were one of the most beautiful eyes I have ever come across till today,
very serene and calm. She had left school after class IV and we never met
again. Standing in front of my class IV room, I saw her too. She was still
looking into my eyes with a slight smile on her face.
So many scenes of those days flashed by in seconds. I do not remember much of
my life before class V but whatever I do remember, is all good. The memory of
me standing at the same place about 28-29 years back, wearing white half shirt and
half pant with black shoes, and speaking to Deepak Bothra, Vikas Saraf, Sachin
Kanodia, Devendra Bhargava, Vikas Jaiswal... It seemed unreal, life was so
simple and happy then. I wanted to stay back and spend some more time with my
memories but the play would start soon. I turned back and glanced at the right.
I studied in Montessori there in that hall and on top of the same hall in 3rd
floor we had Manovikas Kendra where children with special needs would come to
study. Connecting the dots I understood
why I was teaching them now in my spare time and why they still hold a special place
in my heart. They were the first impressions of God’s discrimination on my
little heart then, still unfazed.
We came back and saw the play. I stood up and applauded the last scene... Isn’t
Life all about conditioned minds and coloured hearts? My journey is to know me
as I am, as I stand without being biased by morals, customs, society, the
world, family, friends, pressures, rules and regulations, the time, the place,
the background, the upbringing... the conditions, the colours.
So I accept what I see... wrong or right, dark or bright… and I express what I
feel... without conditions, without colours.
