School mostly meant
freedom and fun to me. To be always under the shadows of an extremely studious
sister was tough duty, but I tried sincerely (till second grade) and then
stopped. I became totally allergic to studies and only the fear of the unknown
(CBSE boards) could finally cure me in the tenth grade.
To sit through those
long lessons was no mean feat, but my young and carefree mind dreamt its way
through it all. All the hours in the classroom were spent fantasizing – about
anything that could be fantasized.
Fairy tales of
princes and princesses.
Bloody and
victorious wars to win countries.
Ships and sailors
who sailed to discover far off lands.
There was always a
reel running in the back of my mind, with a fabulous story on its track.
And sometime in fourth grade, I got a partner
to dream with me.
It all began when
the Malayalam teacher uprooted me from my usual last bench and made me sit next
to Rajitha. My only fault, you should know, was my “horrible” spelling and
equally undecipherable handwriting. Malayalam was a regular nightmare, only to
be closely followed by 9 other subjects.
Rajitha was smart
and had a great handwriting by the looks of it. But more than that, she could string two words
together in Malayalam and read it as well. Wow. That was my first encounter
with a wiz and the front benches.
Sitting next to her,
I was feeling outshined by the minute and I was just about making my mind to
hate her, when she turned and smiled at me. Out of politeness, I smiled back.
"Can you read that
word on the black board to me?” she asked pointing to a word.
Again, civility
induced me to read the word to her.
"Well, what's
wrong with you? You read pretty well. Why did the teacher pick on you?”
she asked.
Well, they were the
first words of praise that I received in the Malayalam class room. And with
that began the story of the best friendship I have ever had in my life.
After that hour and in
all the hours that followed, we sat together.
They say “beauty
lies in the eyes of the beholder”. It is true, because in my eyes, she was the
most beautiful and amazing person I knew. She had pretty black curls that made
me fall in love with curls. And she had immense patience with me as she
corrected my mistakes during class.
Even my pathetic
handwriting started to go uphill once she started helping me in class. She
instructed me as I carefully and slowly wrote down words on a four-lined
notebook. She encouraged me when the f’s didn’t curl as intended or when the
I’s came out crooked.
But what bonded us
together started in a Social Science hour when, out of the blue, she asked me,
"Do you like hearing stories?"
Interested, I whispered
back “Yes. But why all of a sudden?"
"I'll tell you
a better story. Give me a pencil and paper."
I tore a piece of
paper from my notebook and gave it to her. That was how our storytelling
sessions started.
Do you remember when
I said there was a reel running in the back of my mind always? About the dreams
of princes and princesses in far off lands. Of the sailors and wars.
Rajitha brought them
to life on paper.
She could make up so
many stories about princes, princesses, wars, famines, horses, fishes, stars,
fairies and angels. And as she narrated her story, she would draw on the piece
of paper. She deftly drew princes wielding swords, dogs who followed their
masters, fishes who lived in dreamy underwater worlds.
Her stories had life
in it, and I would always wonder, at the end of it, had it really happened.
Like the earth pulls
us towards it, we had naturally gravitated to the back benches by the time we
entered fifth grade. After all, there is no better place to tell a story than
the back benches of a classroom.
During that year, there
were a lot of things that I enjoyed doing with her. When the rains came, we
enjoyed making stories about rainy lands where people had to row boats to reach
places. She taught me how to make paper boats, which we took out to play in the
rain-made puddles.
On those really cold
days, we used to sit outside the classrooms before the morning bell, and
watched our breath forming vapour as we spoke. Then there were the games of
Black Shoe that we played with the rest of our friends.
Our favourite
needle-leaved tree, underneath which we spent most of our break times.
And after all this
togetherness, came the longest two weeks of separation – when I had chicken-pox
and was kept away from school.
Before we knew it,
we were a year older and a grade ahead. All of us were eagerly waiting for the
two-month long summer vacations in June. When you grow up abroad, long
vacations mean travelling to your hometown and that is how my family decided to
spent vacations that year.
I was really excited
to go home and meet my grandparents and as soon as the dates were confirmed, I
called up Rajitha and told her the news. She promised to be ready with so many
more stories by the time I come back.
Vacations were a
happy time. But I was waiting eagerly for school to reopen. And finally after
days of impatient waiting, school did reopen.
As was our routine,
I came to class early and decided to wait for Rajitha. When I did not see her
before the first bell, I thought she was late and would come running in as the
class started.
The second bell rang
indicating the start of classes, but there was still no sign of Rajitha. I had
perched myself on the last bench and it was getting lonelier by the minute, but
I decided to wait for her. Minutes passed into hours, hours into days and days
into weeks. Still no Rajitha.
It was then that a
girl who we used to consider a continual pest, informed me that Rajitha and her
family had cancelled and left for Kerala forever.
I remember sitting
in the last bench, feeling lonely and forlorn. I remember wishing that she
called me before she left. Maybe she could have left a note just for me.
A call or a note
would have given me a closure – it would have left me in peace about our
friendship. I would not have been left wondering about how she is or what she
is doing. But now, she is an open chapter in my book, one which I do not know
the ending of. And will always be left wondering if there was a story to tell…
Rajitha had opened
to me a whole new world. The world that I still live in. She is the reason I
love writing. The reason that I believe we should give our best in all that we
do. And I wish and hope that wherever she is, she would still be telling her
fascinating stories…
------
Girl… I have a tolerable handwriting now, but thanks to you mainly, I
scored laudable marks in Malayalam for the Boards. And how I wish you were
there to see my name in the honours list.
Life has changed in so many ways and during the course, I may have
forgotten how to make those paper boats. But you -you remain vividly in my
memory, just like it was yesterday.
At every turn in life, I keep thinking what it would be to have you by
my side. Maybe, like most friendships, we would have died a natural death. Or
maybe, we could have been together, doing all those things that we liked doing
together.
I can only wonder how it would have been if we were together, but there
is one thing I am sure of - it would have been different than it is now.
It would have been like having your shadow as your soul mate.
