The street of poor and happiness

It was a night in the early 1990’s , When i had just started going to school , When i did not know What ‘poor’ and ‘happiness’ meant , When I had just begun to understand What ‘friendship’ and ‘love’ are.

We had come to this place 2 years ago , my dad had rented a 2bhk house and my school was a kilometer away from my home.Every morning was a serene & pleasant smile of a new day , I would wake up early in the morning to hear few religious songs (I guess my parents did it that way to make me to fear about ‘God’ , Which I realized a few years later) and a cup of hot tea.The Radio will be turned on just as soon as the waves of the Sun forcefully entered into the House , making the house, a beautiful photograph. I amazed radio very much at first, and even searched for people in and around it,to find the voices which came from radio , I wonder now Why I did not ask many questions about Radio to my parents then.I asked most of my questions only to myself, even in school, i did not ask questions. I will have breakfast in a hurry because i was always afraid that I will be severely punished and my parents will be penalized if I do not attend school on time.

I hated the oil that my mom applied on my head every morning before I started to school, She called it ‘coconut’ oil. The ‘Why’ I hated it is because , When i walk the distance to my school , the oil from my head will slowly come down to my face ,and the oil would make me to itch my head often.I don’t remember when i stopped bothering about it. I don’t remember What my mind thought when i walked to school. I never took anything from school to my home, not even the homework. I liked to play in the streets in the evenings after coming home. That was the everything i would have mostly thought then.

At School, I listened to What the teachers had to say. Then, We called everyone ‘teacher’ , with no special distinction to their gender. I was more afraid of the female teachers than the male teachers.Female teachers, I thought was ‘rude’ and ‘harsh’. I liked the classes under the trees than under the roof. I liked the fresh air and the opportunity to watch the world , to watch the other kids play , to rush to home in short time.Trees were nearer.There were questions of ‘Life’ at times when i walked back to home.I used to think – will i just hang as clouds in the sky after i die ? If so, Why am i not seeing people at the sky now ? I thought they were at a very high distance and were invisible.

Karthik was studying second class and I was studying third class. We will walk together to get back home in the evening.He was strong and little fat ,had a very white teeth and a charming face. He was my first friend. We played together in the evening after coming home. I felt bad and depressed every time i lost a game of any kind we played.Thats when i started comparing me with others.We only compare,Only when we lose .

I liked everything about Karthik,I liked his home , his parents, his Sister “Poorni’ Who was 2 years old , I never saw her cry and that changed my notion of “Babies and small kids cry often”. She never cried for anything. Poorni will always make me smile and her smile always made me happy.The things that used to keep me to walk fast to home are : Food at home , Poorni. I , Karthik , Poorni were friends.We played together every evening.

The particular night , I described in the opening of this thought , is What i remember as a pleasant and beautiful memory.It was a friday evening and we played for a long time that evening.The street that was separating our houses was just 2 meters wide, and about 30 meters in length. Thats where we spent most of our evenings. I would rank that street as number 1 ,If i have to rank the things that made me happy in Life.
We were playing that friday even after the sun was set, The street lights were working that season , So it was helpful to play even without sunlight. The Housewives met at the corners of the streets and exchanged words often.Few old men sat and watched us playing.We used to carry Poorni on our shoulders and run, she will laugh. Whoever carries her and runs will make her laugh more and louder. I and Karthik tried to make her laugh more. We measured the length of the street many times. Whoever walked on the streets did not yell or shout at us though we disturbed them.They just gave way for us to play this game. I think , everybody liked Poorni’s smile and everybody kept quiet to hear that loud laugh.

That was the last time, We played together.Karthik died on a sunday.I don’t remember when exactly he died.Was it on the sunday following that friday? Or was it few weeks after ?I don’t know.Why I don’t remember anything between that friday and the sunday he died?

I wish I never grew up , I wish I can ask Poorni who won on that friday and to hear that it was Karthik.

Saravanan P

It was in the year 1993 , I was 10 years and 3 months old. I didn’t know What my age was , All I knew was that, “I am in sixth class , books will be big and the lessons will be tough and I am away from home”. I was in Hostel.It was just a few kilometers away from home but I felt as if it was thousand kilometers away. I felt so because I did not know how to return to home even If i was allowed to go. I remember , I have begged to the parents of all other school kids to take me home when they came and took their children to their respective homes. I cried in darkness, several nights.Sometimes ‘darkness’ is your friend – It does not reveal your weaknesses.The one thing I was happy about being in the hostel was , I can play anytime I want.

First time in my life , I failed in my subjects,including maths.The reason was everything was in English.I feared English very much. ‘very much’ conveys only a least fraction of my fear.Students who studied in a regional language before coming to this school, had the same problem and fear.I remember that I was slapped in front of the whole class for asking what ‘Simplify’ and ‘Evaluate’ meant. I was redirected to a dictionary but all I needed was my mother’s lap to sleep and cry. I remember I worried every second of my life then, for failing in subjects, for making my parents ashamed.

Saravanan was also a regional language student like How i was. We were like flourishing plants planted in a drought land.There was no sign of rain. It was in one of those periods in the seventh class that I was very attentive for the first time in that school. No – they were not telling stories. They were distributing progress report cards. I heard the Headmaster talking and he called upon Saravanan as the first rank holder.696/700 was his marks. 6 centums.I was glad, jealous, inferior and happy.That evening , I spoke to him for a longer time than I used to.Our friendship began.

Saravanan will not join us for the week end games. Later, I came to know that he was sitting and reading something in that ‘jungle like’ hostel environment.Once ,I saw him coming to the hostel with a dictionary.He learned to use a dictionary by himself. He had learned many words by then.

I failed in my subjects and he scored first rank in all the exams.I had even lost interest in my studies and started failing in maths too. The algebra that my teachers were teaching was very complex and was incomprehensible.I slept more in Geometry classes.The most hated word was ‘theorem’. I never understood any of them.

Once in the evening, after our classes,when I and Saravanan were walking, looking up to the tall, bamboo like trees on either side of my hostel road , I asked him “What are parallel lines?”, He said , ” Parallel lines never touch each other and the distance between them is always the same”. I liked the explanation very much.It was simple , more importantly, I understood it and I knew I will never forget in my life. That was the very first time that my mind thought about something in that school.He became my friend.My teacher.

He helped me to learn the basics again – Maths, Physics, Chemistry, English and even History and Geography.I once asked him foolishly – Why don’t the ceiling fan give Oxygen or Nitrogen or any such gas?He said , ” No it doesn’t, think of it – It just displaces the air around”. “The purpose of education is to make men think”. He made me think, not my teachers.Asking questions to him was my favorite thing.His answers would always enlighten me. He was like a ‘Hero’ to me. I stopped failing in my exams.

Saravanan was a gem of a person , a thinker, a leader , a friend to everyone in that school. He explained things to fellow students in a simple way which the teachers could not do. He made friends in every class. The entire school knew him in a very short span of time. He started asking questions to every teacher – His doubts were unanswerable , For the first time in their life – Teachers prepared for their lectures – and still failed miserably in class when he stood up and asked a question.He spoke in English during school hours – nobody told him so – He learned logarithmic tables by himself – He learned Hindi by himself – He borrowed books from Library – The first one to do such a thing – Under his command , We even acted in an English drama – He changed the way we saw things.He was like a Sun , We were like Sunflowers. We always looked upto him.The ‘We’ in the last sentence includes the Head Master and the other lecturers.His patience is incomparable and his compassion is unmeasurable. He would explain the same thing or a same maths problem to 20 different students with no hesitation or regret.Sometimes, I think , I don’t even qualify to be his friend.

He changed everyone in the school. He gave them courage and hope.

To me, he gave my life back.