Life always becomes topsy-turvy for
Tamil Nadu students once they cross their 9th grade at school,
especially for Matric guys. But, it transformed me from a geek to a natural
teen. 9th and 10th standards didn’t have much impact on
me as I wasn’t aware of the newspapers and channels giving them much
importance. After that, it all started.
The vacation after the completion of
10th is a joy for everyone as you have some 15 – 20 extra days of
being at home, ok, playing out in the sun, getting scolds from parents for
forcing yourselves into some sort of illness and abuses from the neighborhood
for breaking their window panes and glasses by playing cricket and making their
afternoon sleep a nightmare. However, the transition from holidays into getting
packed with loads of books and even more advice is a bit awful. People who have
seen you as a child or baby till then would start reinstating, “You are
stepping into 11th. Score good marks in the board exams and prove
you are so – and – so’s son. Etch your name in history and make your family
proud.” It all seemed stupid to me. How could scoring marks prove my
relationship with mom and dad? (The ration card is enough for this purpose;
to the maximum, a DNA test) Or is there some group of archeologists who
were specifically employed for recording the names of students who scored high
in the boards? How can my name be carved in the annals of history? Till then,
history meant Mahatma Gandhi, Sepoy Mutiny, Nelson Mandela, Lord Dalhousie
ahem ahem to me.
My school is the one which lets the
students free and creative. It is the kind of place I always love to go for
education. There were no compulsory swimming and handicraft classes; children
were allowed to be children. From the parents’ point of view, students would be
doomed if they study +1 and +2 at ARLM. So, it was natural that once I
completed my 10th, my parents were getting increasingly worried
about my adamancy in continuing there. They were thinking of cajoling me into
some schools which had these night classes and guaranteed international ranks
(!!!). Since I had already suffered a mental block due to the change of school
during my 6th standard and I needed some steady, long-lasting
friendship at least at this school, I was stern and stubborn.
As my parents agreed to my choice on
this, I had to undergo a similar agreement in the Memorandum of
Understanding on Mutual Terms. Since I had both mornings and evenings of
all the days free (i.e. relaxing, watching TV, hearing songs, a bit of
playing), I had to join tuitions for MPC. I thought, “Ok, let me join
like I am into this totally. After a month or two, I shall convince mom that I
can’t tolerate this torture. It’s making me exhausted.” So, dad and I went
for admissions. It was two days before the start of my school.
All subjects were handled at various
places in and around some two streets. First, we went to enquire about Math.
Getting into that area gave me a déjà vu of going into some refugee
camps at Mullivaikkal. Students were flocking out here and there either on foot
or by cycle. There were many parents standing there like us with their wards.
There were some experienced parents who spoke rich about the tuition masters
out there and some of them boasted, “My elder son also studied here. He
scored centums in Mathematics and Chemistry.” “Brats, always showing off
to other people”, I thought. Just then, there was a heavy uproar followed
by thundering footsteps. It was as if crates were moving here and there randomly
causing a heavy earthquake which could, by any means, easily go beyond single
digit in the Richter scale.
I was _____________ (use the most
superlative degree of ‘getting shocked’). It was a narrow steep staircase and
there were about 200 students rushing through them in the duration of just a
minute. (Gone In 60 Seconds, huh?) Dad stood there with his mouth wide
open. I thought my plan was going to succeed without any of my effort. I didn’t
know at that time I was going to get the most of my school life from there. It
seemed dad didn’t want me to get admitted there. He was of the view that if
teachers could not handle 60 students at a time in schools, how could it be
possible, by gospel, to carefully go through this mob of 200? However, since he
did not want that drive of 5 kms to go in vain, he stood there just to enquire
whether it was tuition at all. A veteran, telepathying dad’s feelings, patted
his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Sir. There are no problems here. The
masters out here are experts in their subjects and they know by heart the
psychology of each and every student. Moreover, you don’t have any option other
than this.” I really got irritated by his golden words and wished to slap
and punch him brutally till blood oozed off his mouth.
So, we stood in line. (I was
afraid it would be an interview of ‘Abhiyum Naanum’ kind.) When our turn
came, there were some formal questions and an application form. That was it. I
couldn’t believe dad signed it. I had been hoaxed by dad’s emotions outside.
Physics admission was a short film – like version of Math admission procedure.
There were no such formalities for Chemistry. So, that was it. My fate was
totally sealed. I had to undergo this hell for the next 20 months. It seemed
like some of my friends who didn’t like to join tuitions were mocking at me,
clapping hands, high – fiving, jumping in ecstasy. Yeah, they are now free
to play and hangout anywhere while I will be writing unit tests here.
My school was the only honest, ‘useless’
one in our locality that had this habit of teaching 11th syllabus
for the whole of the academic year. There were two guys from my locality and
school and we three became bada dosts. We would leave by 8:45 in the
morning and return by exactly the same time in the evening. (oh well, yeah, night)
So 11th went on smoothly. But, it was strange that I never ever got
that idea of stopping tuitions after going in there for the first day, at least
because of the girls.
The routine became twisted and
strangling once we stepped into 12th. As there were ‘intensive
coaching classes’, our school timings increased by 1 hour each in the morning
and evening. So, it was obvious that the tuition schedule also changed. Now, we
had 6:00 AM to 8:00 PM timings, which meant we had to start off daily before
5:30. I felt doomed. “Curse higher secondary schooling. Which bloke ever
found out this system of mugging and vomiting?” This was the flash going
through everyone’s mind. The strength at tuitions started slowly decreasing out
as numerous fellas could not cope up the rigid working fixture.
But, bingo!!! That was when even a
guy like me was part of a ‘gang’. (Before that, there were some perfectly
fit guys who would attract girls at the first sight and fear juniors easily;
only they were eligible to form gangs.) One of my buddies’ house was just
next to Math tuition where we would be seen most of the time in the post –
school hours. It was where I learnt that there can be more than one mom to a
child, in terms of love, care and affection. Oh, how I still long to eat those
delicious crispy dosas and oily chappathis from my friend’s mom! That pure soul
fed whoever came dressed in the ARLM attire. Particularly, my ‘second mom’
always had some special delicacies made ready for me during some special
occasions. For example, vadai during kandha sashti and pongal
during some other occasion. And, that was where I drank fresh milk directly
from the cow. Those cattle became one among us. There were some kitties which
had to bear our so – called caresses.
There were fist fights between guys
of different schools mostly for no valid reason. If one luxurious fellow was
there to afford an FZ in the opposition, somebody would rise from nowhere in
our camp owning an R15. This ‘competition’ would reach the peak on Teachers’
Day, when we would spy on our enemies to know what they planned to gift the
teachers. Apart from this, we joined hands to help some buddies, who couldn’t
afford to pay the tuition fee on time; we helped out certain Tamil medium guys
to catch up with us; we wrote extra assignments for some who were down with
illness. (I remember myself doing this in exchange for superb lunches from
friends.)
There were puppy loves,
infatuations, ‘love – at – first – sight’ and what not of that kind. My heart
always skipped a beat once I noticed a ‘barbie’. Interschool competitions due
to girls overtook the race towards marks. Some guys, whose homes were nearer,
brought mobiles to show off and sometimes ‘spoke to their crushes even with nil
balance’. Birthdays were celebrated with great joy and gala; there were
competitions everywhere and for everything. And not to forget the ‘hurrahs’ and
‘yippees’ after the results of each cycle test by knowing which school had scored
more number of full marks.
We bunked tuitions secretly to watch
matches, to go online in FB and to go out for yummy fast foods. There were mock
quarrels among us on who would pay for samosas we bought during recess
everyday; there were curses for teachers when someone from our gang got abused
and humiliated and blessings for their families if they awarded us marks
without noticing some mistakes. There were these mutual occasional lifts among
friends on account of a blowout.
We never let some habitual
activities forget us. Watching at least 1 movie a month and going to hotels or Kayendhi
Bhavans at least once in a week are some of them. We mostly never bunked
tuitions even when illness struck us; instead, our option was school, where there
were not many ‘quality’ girls and there was no question of attendance. Since 12th
portions had started well in advance in tuition centers, we were comfortable
with school tests. So, our taking leave very often was never an issue there.
Playing pen games during lunch by forming teams of 4 was the best pastime. I
remember myself going to at least 10 shops to buy a particular type of Montex
which was comparatively strong and would not fall off unless hit ruthlessly by
some rusty opponent.
Now, I am going to start my second
year at college. No doubt I enjoy university to the core. Yet, those two years,
which laid the foundation to my everlasting friendships, would never go away
from my heart. Sometimes, I even mull if there are really any possible way to
rewind my life back by three years - to continue cycling 10 kilometers a day, to
brawl with counterparts, to eat Pani Puris and to help each other
without seeking any beneficial return. We may be scattered in terms of
topographical demarcations but we always unite in the name of our tuitions and
school.
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