Thursday, November 22, 2012

First day at school

I woke up today feeling quite nostalgic. I dreamt my first day at school. And I was quite excited while narrating it to my hubby over a cup of tea. I don't claim to remember every single incident of my childhood unlike my brother, but the very few incidents that I remember, I cherish for a lifetime. I believe , I remember them for a purpose. Every time I go through my self doubting phase, I open my treasure  of childhood memories and they strengthen me. It helps me understand how I evolved ( that's a trendier word, than admitting I changed)
Today morning I remembered my first day at school. I remember the lunch box I carried. It  was an orange coloured mini briefcase with hardees written on it in bold yellow. ( Hardees was the Mc D of my childhood). Inside the case was my lunch box with a sandwich and a thermos with horlicks)
I remember my excitement in carrying it to school. No matter how many times I was served sandwich and horlicks at home, the fact that I was carrying a tiffin like my dad did to work excited me a lot. Such was my pleasure of owning the lunch box that while the teacher taught us rhymes, I opened my box and started eating. I don't remember if I did this out of hunger or at the pleasure of the new found independence of having a box that I could open and eat whenever I wanted. But I remember the teacher trying to make me understand I could not eat when the classes happened. I remember my mom trying to explain school had rules and time table. Even as a kid I found rules absurd and conforming to them a pain. Maybe radical education was my motto from birth.

I just knew I was not ready. Not ready to smile and draw slanting lines or paint apple on top of a single ruled page with A written all over. I was not ready to wake at 6 am and form an assembly line at  7. 
As days passed by and the teacher realised coaxing would not help, she decided the all time favourite punishment of teachers - beating with a wooden ruler ( I am so grateful we had no canes in Kuwait). I must admit I was a retard to believe a stranger would behave like mom just warn me with stick rather beat me. So when the teacher actually struck me with her ruler, I peed instantly wetting my skirt. I remember walking home all wet in a spare skirt the aayah who assisted the teacher. I had learned my lesson for lifetime, to conform. I wonder how differently they could behave to students who find it hard to accept the disconnect between school and home, real life and the foster one school imposes onto students.Years later I still harbour the same feelings for school but I regret for the years in between when I was trained into a docile hound. Today after a long time I feel I am my 'self' again and to think of it 3 or 29 it doesn't matter what age you are to understand the hoax around you :)

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