I tried remembering the past. As far back as i can go. Long Long time ago. Nothing came back at first. Then some vague mental images. Almost like watching a 70's Eastman color movie written on a very scratched CD. I was small. Tiny almost. Wearing a school bag. No NO. I think i can go back further. I was in my mom's arms and she was feeding me whilst showing every animal/human passing by on the street and telling me that it/they were about to grab the next bit of my food. So hurry up and eat it fast son! I used to fall for it every time.
Now i was wearing a school bag. I had the glummest(neologism?!) possible expression on my face. Maybe i did not want to go to school. I reluctantly walk out of my house followed by my mother holding my baby sister in her arms. She says bye. I turn around to say bye. My mom raises my sisters hand and waves it signifying that my sister is saying bye. I grab my sisters tiny tiny hand and pull her. She almost falls out of my mom's clutch. I turn around and go happily to school. I still smile when i think of it. I was jealous. Jealous that my baby sister was suddenly the darling of the household instead of me. My mother figured that out real quick and made sure i did not turn into some psycopathic killer.
Most of the memories up untill then are very vague. I dont know if they are actually my mental images or images that i later recreated when my mom told me stories about my childhood when i was say 12 or 13 years old. They are sketchy at best but sometimes the colours are vivid. I remember that i was wearing khakhi uniform to my school. I had a green colour basket with pink hoops to take my lunch in. Some details are etched in memory. Some are not. Colours dominate. Feelings dominate. Instances and intensity fade.
I remember my first day at school. Vividly. Of my own recollection. My parents prepared me. I knew they were gonna leave me. Bitter tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard. My parents left me with my teacher and slowly left waving to me all the time. I turned and clutched the railing and stared horrified at the retreating figure of my mom. I swallowed hard to suppress the black bile that was raising in my throat. I was angry with the world. I wanted to cry. I did not cry. I was made to sit in the last bench ( i was tall back then too). I resolutely stared at the black board. All the while making a conscious effort not to cry. Other kids around me were howling. After sometime the teacher lost patience and yelled at some poor kid. He urinated right there. I watched in horror as the yellow liquid wetted his shorts and trickled down his thighs and into his shoes and onto the floor creating a puddle. The kid just stood there too frightened to move. I decided that not crying was a lot better than wetting your pants(or shorts in this case) in public.
I stayed quite. I copied my notes. Made a note of my homework. I was (and still am) a left handed person. That attracted quite a bit of attention from teachers and students alike. The teachers noticed that my handwriting was amazing and then realised that i never made a racket in class. And presto! i became the class monitor.
