St Jude School and Memories – Part 1

Many say I am bit nostalgic about past. Yes, I am. I feel proud of all the memories I have. I believe, without memories, whether good or bad, the very existence of human race can be challenged. The memories are the key to our past, the cradle of our present  and hope of our future. And the school life has given me a lot of memories to share. Today, I am onto my first school : St Jude School, killipalam.

St Jude School and Church

St Jude School and Church

I joined St Jude school at the age of 4. The very first days of  the world experience outside my mother’s safe hands. I had my kinder garden for one year, before I joined St Jude. That was in Gandhi memorial pre school. At those days, I was quite afraid and cried a lot in the early days. I still remember the very first day at Gandhi memorial. My uncle dropped me to the school. At first, I was very excited about the prospect of joining the school. The excitement was generated in me by my mother who gave all the dreams of new friends, teachers, games, cartoons etc. But when Uncle left me in the school compound and the grilled door shut between us, it was too much for me. I joined the chorus of my classmates, crying at the top of my voice: My uncle still mentions about that scene quite often.

But when I joined St Jude, I was more matured enough for not crying on the very first day. But I knew the pain in holding that mild weep between the breath. I don’t remember much about the LKG or the lower kinder garden. All I remember is standing for the morning prayers and the after noon sleep on the bench. I was very curious then. During the morning prayers, when all stand, I used to turn and watch everyone’s faces. I was eagered to know how each one of them hold the hands during prayer. I wondered why everyone has their own way of prayers. Some folded their hands, some drew cross on their chest. Then, I didn’t know the boundaries drawn by religion. I didn’t knew I was not born as a human, but a caste and religious symbol. I didn’t know that more than recognising myself as a boy or girl or by my name, I was also identified based on the caste and religion by the so called society.

During my UKG or the Upper Kinder garden, I remember the name Jijo, who was the guy who sits adjacent to me. During the after noon mandatory sleep hours on the bench,we used to do all the kind of nasty stuffs possible without detection of teacher. We used to draw under the desk, play with pencil box, all I could remember off. Another stuff, I remember of that year is the small space in the wall at the entrance of the school. During the disperse at the evening, we form a queue at the school entrance. Near the door, there is this tiny space which could easily fit a small kid. I used to hide there till 2nd standard while standing in the queue. I enjoyed myself contained in that small space. After that, I no longer fit in that space. I also remember now, the Ayahs or the care takers in the school, who served the milk from our milk bottles in the colourful plastic glasses kept at school during the interval. But I prefered to sip my milk straight from the milk bottle, sent to me by the father who was in army then.

With the entry of Ist standard marked a new begining in the long path of my education. Keep reading the rest in my next blog post.

When is it better to be sorry than safe?

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