Saraswati puja is over and like everything about it, even Goddess Saraswati was never been very kind to me yet if I am respected today that only because of my sparse ideas and paltry knowledge. This day always make me feel like a student, which I am indeed as learning never ends. This day also reminds me about a few things from the past, specially how once study was meant to me like quinine tabs.
Migration is often joyous and often painful. It all depends upon the circumstances under which one had to make the choice. My family migrated from East Bengal or forced to do so, apart from the subsequent trouble that the family had to go through, I have no idea how my granny managed to cope up with the situation then as she was a widow with four kids and a grandson to look after. The area where we stayed were surrounded by people from East Bengal or what you call it Bangals, so it was home away from home for my granny. We were something like a joint family but a very small one, my father was the only son and was having three sisters. My elder aunt was staying in Jammy. Here, I am not going for a headcount of my sibling and the relations between us; all we learnt that, we were staying under one roof and as a single unit. For the first time when we started scribings, it was a very unique way, it was not on a slate or a paper but on the leaves of Asian Palmyra palm (talpata). My grandma scribed the alphabets on the raw leaves with the help of an iron nail and then left those for a few days to dry up, after that, she would overwrite on the same with a homemade wooden pen and ink made out of charcoal. We all started writing on those leaves with same type of pen and ink, her handwriting was just unbelievable, still I have a letter of her with me.
Father was working with Tata Iron and Steel and was staying in Jammy, he used to visit us on holidays. I was naughtiest among all and least bothered about the studies. While studying in class three my elder brother who was then teaching me or tried hard to achieved the unachievable task, finally got annoyed and told me that studying is not my forte and he was very sure that in mathematics, I would get zero. One day he threw my books and copies and vowed that he had enough of me. It was a great insult for me and I took that challenge very seriously but not the way everyone would do. I had gone through the whole mathematics book without missing a thing, I knew the every question along with its page numbers and also the page numbers of the answers sheet. Today I look back to an eight year old girl, she amazed me, frankly I, myself fail to read her mind. Often, while narrating the same piece, I feel very proud, not because I solved my arithmetic book by reading it as it was a history book but it was the challenge that was thrown to me I took it in my stride, never mind how it was and what it was.
My class four result was horrifying, my all marks were just standing at the minimum required level but I was promoted to class five. Women in the house desperately wanted us to study but we were not going anywhere and most probably in my granny’s initiative, father took us permanently to Jammy. That was the first time I migrated, not knowing that I would never go back to the house in Kolkata, certain amount of me left behind in that house as lifestyle changed after we migrated, the package that I left behind in my Kolkata house consists of a chunk of my innocence too.
I supposed to go to the middle school that was only meant for children of Tata Employees and it was under CBSE board. After a discussion with the head mistress father informed me to go to the school and get myself admitted. To my horror, my father instructed me to go to the school all alone. He refused to accompany me because of my horrible result; he felt that it was a great insult for him to accompany me. It was all girls’ school and ten minutes walk from our quarters, therefore, most probably I was ten years old, a new place, unknown thoroughfare and all unknown faces, I was nervous and very scared while approaching the school head mistress. The head mistress, an old lady of around fifty-five years asked me to go to a specific class and meet the teacher. When I entered the class, the teacher instantly asked for my report card and it was all written on her face. If she was given a chance then certainly she would have thrown me out of that class. I was holding a fountain pen, which was leaking, she told me to stand away from her as if I was suffering from some infectious disease. It was a new class and in front of whole lot of girls those supposed to be my future classmate, she quietly yet severely insulted me. After I started going to school, our class teacher changed and I never had to face her.
So, I started going to the school, you believe or not I was bullied or rather call it ragged, two girls who were sharing the same desk with me forced me to do their class work before I could carry with mine. Of-course after a short duration I refused to budge under their pressure but it gave me enough confident that I was better than those girls.
After two years, in class seven we had to appear for a board examination and then proceed to high school. It was the result day; the result, most probably was due from either Patna or Ranchi. We all girls were waiting near the teacher’s room and approached to that same teacher who was there at the time of my admission, she too remembered me because she was still carrying that annoying stare, after taking my roll number when she returned her expression was changed, she once again asked my roll number for confirmation, no need to say that I passed that examination with unbelievable marks.
Until, today I remember her and her expression too, the way she looked at me on our very first encounter and of-course also on the last one. No, I am not holding any grudge against her as once she tried to insult me. May be it was she or that expression, yes that look of her once pinched me hard in my heart, myself then a ten years old very new to that environment but may be it was she who helped me to transform or re-discover myself.
Often I failed to stand up to a challenge but I can console myself that it was not the failure what mater, I never gave up without trying. However, most of the times people leave a task saying it is not worth trying, wrong, no task is worthless no mater how small it is.
Today, I do not know if same courage or fire is left in me or not, but there were many instances which came in my life and I am happy I have taken that challenges quietly and with a calculated risk and executed perfectly. All those are very proud moment for me, feeling proud is not related with arrogance, it is knowing ones limitation and power of execution. Why to hold a grudge when insulted; try to overcome the weakness that is only the fitting reply.
!!!Challenging the challenges, an achievement, fishing in calm water, child’s play, rather opt for fishing in troubled water and definitely try to come out with a prize catch.!!!
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