Sarbani, is a member of the Naba Disha Project which works with underprivileged children, in an attempt to mainstream them into formal schools and the mainstream society at large. During her remeniscences, Sarbani recalled her own childhood and looked back at her life in Jamshedpur , her shift to Calcutta, her family and experiences. Interestingly, she recollects some incidents from her school life that are etched onto her memory...These incidents and her reflections on them made us all think about the nature of the memories and events that remain engraved in our minds as children that stay with us even after years pass...
Sarbani Das
‘Child is the Father of a Nation’- a famous statement made by William Wordsworth, haunted my mother before my birth. My mother, an offspring of a Brahmin Pundit and an early 20th century homemaker had been a protagonist since childhood. The Partition had made her rootless along with her family. She lost her father and continued her studies amidst poverty with sheer will power and determination. At an early age she took up a government job and continued her higher education. Though she took up the responsibility to run the family, preference in all matters being given to her brother made her constantly restless. At this point of time she came across this statement from Wordsworth and started wondering “why ‘father’ of the nation? Why not ‘mother’?” She was not a die hard feminist ever, but she always believed in the equality of men and women.
Mt father on the other hand, has always been a very rational and supportive human being. His long association with the Government of India at a senior level helped him to see the problems of anything at its roots. Having been born in such a family, as the youngest child was thus certainly not heart breaking. Since I had 2 elder siblings, I was not only guided by my parents but also my siblings.
My brother, used to imitate my father in his absence, but when he was present, all my brothers naughty ways vanished. With a wink of an eye he could lie to save his skin. My sister however, was a complete contrast to my brother. Being disciplined, organized and systematic by nature, she was always the prim and proper one. She was the one who complained about by brother’s lies.
Sadly, but truly, I got more attached to my brother and his unscrupulous ways. I found him more colourful by nature, with so many complexities, yet a great amount of ease and simplicity. This contradiction of his nature drew me towards him. It is he who I saw bunked his school to watch movies at noon show, but made swell class notes for that friend who could not attend school due t fever. He often puzzled me when I found that in spite of his truancy and bunking and long absences from classes, he still topped his college.
My first day at ‘Sacred heart’ convent was a wonderful experience for me. The sprawling campus. The greenery the cleanliness all made me instantly cheerful. It was love at first sight. I can still remember the day, when one strongly-built, dusky lady with curly hair came to me with a smiling face and asked “what is your name, baby?’. With her broad smile, she won my heart within a moment. She was my class teacher, Sharon Domingo, my first mentor outside my family. A bond was created between us very soon. And that is still intact.
As I grew up, I was getting many new friends, some liked me , but I did not like them, on the other hand, I liked some, who in turn did not like me. The perfect match I found as friend, was in class seven. A girl from Kolkata joined my class. A plain Jane in appearance, she surprised me when she said at lunch time, “tui aamar theke khete parish”(you can eat from my Tiffin) Such informality was unbelievable in a convent, that too in the first meeting! I was touched by her warmth and friendship grew instantly, which ia still as vibrant today!
A deeply distressing event occurred in my life when I was in class 8. It shook me completely. I had found my geography teacher helping my friend by telling her answers during a test. I knew that my friend was taking tuitions privately from this teacher. This was one extremely disturbing memory for me.
My best moment at Sacred heart occurred when my father was about to be transferred to Kolkata. I had always been branded as a ‘naughty girl’ in school. All my teachers regularly complained to my father about my talkativeness and casual nature. The only exception was my English teacher. On my last day at school, she called me to the teachers’ room. To my surprise, she handed me a gist wrapped in colorful paper. On being asked to open it, I found in it a Bengali book. Though I was not very conversant with Bengali reading, I managed to read the title of the book, “Jiban Smriti” (the memories of life) by Rabindranath Tagore. My teacher then held my hands and said, ‘try to read this book. Grasp the meaning of it.’
My experiences with schools differ entirely between Jamshedpur and Kolkata. I joined one of the reputed schools of Kolkata in class 8. My first encounter with the school was quite interesting. I entered the class 8 A room. A lady in her mid thirties was teaching English. A poem was being taught. The teacher asked the class a meaning of a particular word. While no one else knew it, I did. At that time I was introduced to the class by the Principal. After that, on my own I gave the meaning to the word asked by the teacher. I knew that my answer was correct but it failed to satisfy my teacher. She somwhow started to dislike me from the very first meeting. Not a single occasion was spared by her when she found that I did not know certain answers. In the first term exam I got the lowest marks in English, which was hard to believe. Gradully a sort of dislike grew in me too about he English subject. In my final exams I once again scored the lowest in English.
Thankfuly, the situation changed in class 9. My class 9 English teacher was very encouraging by nature. Gradually my interst in the subject came back. I started scoring good marks in English and made up my mind to continue my higher studies in this subject.
When I had moved to Kolkata , I used to be initially tease din my class by my classmates as ‘Bihari’, due to my accent. I however, never lost my heart and engaged in verbal arguments with them. Slowly all of that disappeared and we all became friends. I started enjoying this school too.
I appeared for my secondary exams and scored good marks. On the fare-well day, tears came into my eyes. I then realized that within a short span of time, I had grown to love this school too. Somewhere within me I felt sad to leave it. But on the other hand, I felt happy knowing that I was entering a new phase of life, wit new experiences in store for me. M childhood was over at last and I had become an adult.
‘Child is the Father of a Nation’- a famous statement made by William Wordsworth, haunted my mother before my birth. My mother, an offspring of a Brahmin Pundit and an early 20th century homemaker had been a protagonist since childhood. The Partition had made her rootless along with her family. She lost her father and continued her studies amidst poverty with sheer will power and determination. At an early age she took up a government job and continued her higher education. Though she took up the responsibility to run the family, preference in all matters being given to her brother made her constantly restless. At this point of time she came across this statement from Wordsworth and started wondering “why ‘father’ of the nation? Why not ‘mother’?” She was not a die hard feminist ever, but she always believed in the equality of men and women.
Mt father on the other hand, has always been a very rational and supportive human being. His long association with the Government of India at a senior level helped him to see the problems of anything at its roots. Having been born in such a family, as the youngest child was thus certainly not heart breaking. Since I had 2 elder siblings, I was not only guided by my parents but also my siblings.
My brother, used to imitate my father in his absence, but when he was present, all my brothers naughty ways vanished. With a wink of an eye he could lie to save his skin. My sister however, was a complete contrast to my brother. Being disciplined, organized and systematic by nature, she was always the prim and proper one. She was the one who complained about by brother’s lies.
Sadly, but truly, I got more attached to my brother and his unscrupulous ways. I found him more colourful by nature, with so many complexities, yet a great amount of ease and simplicity. This contradiction of his nature drew me towards him. It is he who I saw bunked his school to watch movies at noon show, but made swell class notes for that friend who could not attend school due t fever. He often puzzled me when I found that in spite of his truancy and bunking and long absences from classes, he still topped his college.
My first day at ‘Sacred heart’ convent was a wonderful experience for me. The sprawling campus. The greenery the cleanliness all made me instantly cheerful. It was love at first sight. I can still remember the day, when one strongly-built, dusky lady with curly hair came to me with a smiling face and asked “what is your name, baby?’. With her broad smile, she won my heart within a moment. She was my class teacher, Sharon Domingo, my first mentor outside my family. A bond was created between us very soon. And that is still intact.
As I grew up, I was getting many new friends, some liked me , but I did not like them, on the other hand, I liked some, who in turn did not like me. The perfect match I found as friend, was in class seven. A girl from Kolkata joined my class. A plain Jane in appearance, she surprised me when she said at lunch time, “tui aamar theke khete parish”(you can eat from my Tiffin) Such informality was unbelievable in a convent, that too in the first meeting! I was touched by her warmth and friendship grew instantly, which ia still as vibrant today!
A deeply distressing event occurred in my life when I was in class 8. It shook me completely. I had found my geography teacher helping my friend by telling her answers during a test. I knew that my friend was taking tuitions privately from this teacher. This was one extremely disturbing memory for me.
My best moment at Sacred heart occurred when my father was about to be transferred to Kolkata. I had always been branded as a ‘naughty girl’ in school. All my teachers regularly complained to my father about my talkativeness and casual nature. The only exception was my English teacher. On my last day at school, she called me to the teachers’ room. To my surprise, she handed me a gist wrapped in colorful paper. On being asked to open it, I found in it a Bengali book. Though I was not very conversant with Bengali reading, I managed to read the title of the book, “Jiban Smriti” (the memories of life) by Rabindranath Tagore. My teacher then held my hands and said, ‘try to read this book. Grasp the meaning of it.’
My experiences with schools differ entirely between Jamshedpur and Kolkata. I joined one of the reputed schools of Kolkata in class 8. My first encounter with the school was quite interesting. I entered the class 8 A room. A lady in her mid thirties was teaching English. A poem was being taught. The teacher asked the class a meaning of a particular word. While no one else knew it, I did. At that time I was introduced to the class by the Principal. After that, on my own I gave the meaning to the word asked by the teacher. I knew that my answer was correct but it failed to satisfy my teacher. She somwhow started to dislike me from the very first meeting. Not a single occasion was spared by her when she found that I did not know certain answers. In the first term exam I got the lowest marks in English, which was hard to believe. Gradully a sort of dislike grew in me too about he English subject. In my final exams I once again scored the lowest in English.
Thankfuly, the situation changed in class 9. My class 9 English teacher was very encouraging by nature. Gradually my interst in the subject came back. I started scoring good marks in English and made up my mind to continue my higher studies in this subject.
When I had moved to Kolkata , I used to be initially tease din my class by my classmates as ‘Bihari’, due to my accent. I however, never lost my heart and engaged in verbal arguments with them. Slowly all of that disappeared and we all became friends. I started enjoying this school too.
I appeared for my secondary exams and scored good marks. On the fare-well day, tears came into my eyes. I then realized that within a short span of time, I had grown to love this school too. Somewhere within me I felt sad to leave it. But on the other hand, I felt happy knowing that I was entering a new phase of life, wit new experiences in store for me. M childhood was over at last and I had become an adult.
No comments:
Post a Comment