All kids are gifted; some just open their packages earlier than others and those who are helped to open do something which I did- they CRY! Seeing my sister running for a different school, faint pictures of my first day at school brought a true smile on my so otherwise face. With some help from my father, I am able to paint a proper picture along with the emotions that waved that day.
I was truly a kid, only four years old. If you look at me now you shall surely hang me for lying. Presently, four year oldies appear some sort of cherubs to me; at that age they were no less than devils that parade the hell. My mother woke me up, and after a proper brushing and bath she started dressing me. It was then that I started muttering-“nahi jaana.” Throughout the breakfast I kept on saying, sometimes in fainter inaudible voices and some times in pleading voices-“papa, please nahi jaana; mummy nahi jaana…”
It was a mixture of fear of staying away from home for the first time, and being surrounded by some one or rather so many that you did not know. Moreover, I was conned by rote not to do anything that troubled the teacher. In my dictionary of deeds everything I did troubled my mom, so everything I deed was bound to trouble the teacher. In other words, I had to do nothing. In short, you were being captivated without fetters, without cuffs, and you were being silenced without gags.
Taking in his arms (read as “making sure I don’t flee”), my father took me to the school. As soon as I saw the gates I started breaking the hell in my father’s arms. I was crying someone similar to a baby, who shall not stop unless given the exact thing needed; and I needed freedom from the approaching fear. My crying was so impressive that people in the streets halted to watch me. Brutus at his best- convincing Romans (here father). My crying became so furious that my father got agitated and carried me back home.
Seeing me being back at home, my mother and her neighbor friend asked what happened. On being answered, the neighbour had a good laugh. She calmly replied, “bhaiyaa…take him back. Everyone cry their first day. My son had to be forcefully seated in his class, with the teacher holding him back while my husband left.”
On seeing my father taking me back the same track, I again started having the same sinking feeling. I did not wish to go; my innards were being filled with the exposed fear of being surrounded by so many unknown people. The same scene returned. The school gate-my cries-the people halting. However this time my father took me inside. I cried till we reached the school grounds after that I stopped. Got down from my father’s arms. Carefully released myself from his grip and said, “papa…ab main khud chala jaaunga.”
My father gave me a sweet smile and pointed at the class where I had to go. I was in all probability reddening under the gazes of other children and parents staring at me, feeling a bit clumsy I started walking to my class. He remained standing there, till when I have no idea and I have not asked him till date and neither shall I ever do; marveling most probably at his son- “how soon they grow? Till yesterday, he used wasn’t able to walk two steps and today he is going to school for the first time.”
At noon, he was standing at the same spot. I ran and hugged him, as if I was seeing him after a lot many days. Even he hugged me, and we both started walking back home- hand in hand. However, I never asked him and most probably ever shall not- “did he stay there the whole morning? “