Among these, a giant urn of memories belongs to our schooldays. Don’t know much about other schools but leading a hostel life of Sainik School is way different than others; Waking up at 5, cursing our stars; hesitantly dragging our feet to the ground, half-awake; the whistle of the P.T.I echoing the field; seniors ruthlessly exercising their juniors and if you are lucky indeed you don’t have to jump like a frog all the way back to the hostel. And if the workout in the fields wasn't enough, well, the seniors are always there at your service in the hostel corridor. Such a fine way to start the day!
It has been four years and still memory of those days shine brighter than ever.
Mar 22, 2011
Stars above mirrored the stars below.
Under the vastness of the night sky sat people dressed in their ceremonial attire – mufti along with tie.
The 86 boys of class 12th decked the central stage; chief guests of the evening, their faces gleamed in the incandescent light. The twelve house flags at the rear end swayed in the light wind and in the centre dominating them, stood the school flag: two crossed swords and a flaming torch on strips of red and grey, the monogram bearing the name ‘SAINIK SCHOOL TILAIYA’ and the motto ‘FORWARD EVER’.
There was an air of celebration and separation as well. Finally, the day had arrived which every tilaiyan dreams of and dreads too.
It was the night of our school farewell.
Sitting at the back, I was brimming with emotions. I had been studying in the same environment for a decade and suddenly, I realised that the brakes have been pulled and my long journey had come to an end. And sitting there I pondered about what I had achieved in all these years. And then I reflected: does it matter? Definitely not, I concluded.
My head was a check post of memories rushing by; recollections of all those days spent in the school coming to take a look. Between ‘how to use a fork and a spoon’ and ‘What’s your aim in life?’ I had grown up from a kid into an adolescent. I considered my friends and I moving out in the coming days, going through separate ways with a silent promise of keeping in touch.
Meanwhile, some of my friends held the podium, sharing experiences and words of advice, motivating the juniors to do well and to bring laurels to the school. The school captain handed the school flag to his successor in lieu of a pledge to keep the school flag flying high. All of it appeared like a father giving away whatever he has earned in his lifetime to his sons before bidding a final goodbye.
All around the cameras clicked, capturing the moments of our last get-together. Opposite of us, the front row was occupied by the Principal, the Headmaster and the Registrar. They had troubled us a lot but I know that behind their every move was the motif of our well-being. In the next row sat all my worthy teachers who had enlightened us with their candles of knowledge. We had troubled them a lot; still they have a part and parcel in whatever we are today.
And the rows behind were occupied by the souls of the institution. Each one of them, we could identify as ourselves, over the years. Within all of us had drowned a troubled boy of class 6th and out surfaced a fine lad. Most of those class 6th boys bore a blank expression, clapping whenever required and having no definite idea of the things going on. The boys of class 7th were cheerful and relaxing as their most tiring year in the school was coming to an end; the same way we rejoiced, back then. I can never forget those days of ragging. My short height, if nothing, lessened my chances of an escape; it made me lot more entertaining than my other taller mates. My seniors were greatly amused but it was a nightmare for me. None of my mates would have ever performed the ‘kajrare’ song in his bed wearing shorts and t-shirts in the middle of night after being jerked awake. And the latest advertisement kept pouring adding further to my displeasure. Somehow, my seniors adapted them on me. I was some sort of portable entertainment; there were no mobile phones to save me then. At least I saved my mates all the troubles while they stood there giggling as I put on a hilarious show. However, these weren't the worst of things.
My seniors used to hang me wherever they found it suitable. It was really very bad. I used to curse them a lot. But now that those days are over I would gladly credit them for their gracious efforts; ‘coz of them my height has increased a bit.
It’s a simple equation in our school: work hard for five years and earn the last two years as a treat. These two years should be devoted to studies, but rarely does it happen. Getting devoid of seniors, we get involved in full time masti; mass bunk in class, especially Mr. Maiti’s; walking out of the line, barrettes dangling in our hands and Mr. D.K hounding us; the table banging in the school mess; those nocturnal adventures to the dam and the school mess; sitting on and if need be, pissing from the roof of the academic block.
But all those days are over now; memories are all that remain with us. We received our mementos. That was far more adorable than all my other prized moments.
All these years I witnessed the farewell of my seniors but this felt different. I sang the school song for the last time. A chill went down my spine. I felt goosebumps rising as I went through the lines of the song. I felt connected to the school by some invisible chain which had kept us confined within its boundaries all these years. In the upcoming days, the chain would fall loose and we would be free to venture out in the unknown outside world. But the most painful thing was there wouldn't be those familiar faces to laugh with during perilous times. Yes, we would make new friends, but they wouldn't be the same.
The most important day in a tilaiyans’ life, it was and then at the end of the evening we realised that we were no longer called so. A prefix ‘ex’ preceded our previous description; we were now ex-tilaiyans. It doesn't matter though; once a tilaiyan remains forever a tilaiyan.
I really miss those days; I miss watching 007 on a different pursuit every Saturday, with the background music playing, under the open skies, feeling the suspense building, not in the movie but about the school punishment that may or may not follow afterwards. I miss those ‘bathuras’ on Sundays and the chicken; I haven’t found their match yet. I miss counting the DLTGH. I miss the school parade when all the feet thumped in unison. I miss willing the clouds to rain a bit longer so that the P.T. was called off. And more than everything else I feel glad to be a part of this great institution.
The ceremony came to an end after singing the national anthem and we withdrew towards our nest with only one thought in our minds, the motto of my alma mater:
अग्रे सरत सर्वदा
(FORWARD EVER)
Comments
Post a Comment