Moments Frozen Through Time
….And ponder nostalgically over the obscure memories of a foggy winter morning on a date and day, more than a decade old, whose particulars I need not trouble myself to repeat. Sure enough, you would hear the footsteps of a little boy with a pair of shining boots, a large red tie (….which was quite a thing of wonder for him….) and combed hair would be all set to step into an era of his life. Memory has eclipsed the way he did behave that day. But amidst the hundreds of scenes that he did recall about his anxious mother, thoughtful father, or the dear blessings of his frail grandmother, he knew, more than enough – that the school had become his friend – ‘the best friend’.
This camaraderie had a long way to cover. Through stories obscure, incidents misty, tales long forgotten….The things learnt on my mother’s lap, the friendship done in a cosy corner, rivalry undone with a hearty handshake. My heart still longs to join the tune of that unattentive student in the tiresome history classes, or pour over the Geography maps. The prizes won had boosted the student a long way into his career. The punishments he suffered for some tiresome mischief, then considered to be a curse, now appears as dark colours of a contrasting picture. There were days of biting pains and painful bits; of thrilling hearts and hurting thrills; of remarkable friends and friendly remarks. I boast the way, all of us, the friends, helped each other in our wells and woes. Misunderstandings and quarrels have vanished deep down the heart and an emotional blanket that cloaks it brightens only the warmth of love, endearment and camaraderie.
The annual results were an amalgamation of frustration and tension for us. Yes! I do reminisce how everyone encouraged each other after mortifying reports and how our class burst into the sound of claps. I know not whether it was the high intellect of our mathematics teacher, the cool strategic progress of our Bengali aunty, the caring nature of our History and Geography teachers, or the inquisitive mood of our Science aunties, that has bound me in a coherent bond with the red building down the Southern Avenue.
Nostalgic feelings stirred into the brim as I stroll down the memory lane. As I stand behind a moral bankruptcy at the bitter end of a jocund school life, there is a more strainous way to cover. Lost will be those old friends, the lost classes, the lost teachers, the pricking nails of the last benches, the lost leaves of the old neem, the lost azure sky through the window small. I wish if I could get back to those of my school life through one flick of the magic wand…..Oh God! How splendid it would have been. In a life of pain and pressure, of tensions and competitions, of fortune and despair, my frenzied fingers will often leaf through the pages of the old diary. Bereft of a loving school, though I am, the memories will drive me a long way through the days of my life and even inspire me to strive for betterment…
“Touch my life with the magic of thy fire
And its burning gift of pain –
Make it precious…………”