A Day in the Life of a Kathmandu Schoolboy
http://sthamba.blogspot.com
Under the night sky full of bright stars, a
silent boy is lost in thoughts. Sitting alone in a veranda after dinner is quite a joyous experience. In the meantime, a voice
from inside the house brings him back to reality.
“Prayash, come here.” “Coming mamu,” I say. I go in through the dark passage of our house to the bright corridor. I turn right and then right again to get into mamu’s room. Mamu says, “Your favorite program.” I forget about all the worldly things on my mind and become completely engrossed in the TV show. “Mamu,” I call her after the show is over. “Uh, ah…” is all I hear only to realize she is asleep. I turn the TV off, switch off the light and close the door.
Across the bright corridor in our room, I say “Dada, mamu fell asleep while the program was still on… haha” unfolding my blanket. I get no reply. I turn around to see my brother. He is asleep too. Daddy has not yet come home. Both my mother and my brother are sleeping leaving the smallest one in the house in charge. I am getting a little drowsy now but I can’t sleep waiting for daddy to arrive. I am a little afraid too, but that’s too shameful to admit. So I have to live with it. As these thoughts kept brewing in my head, I hear the tring-tring of the bell. Thank god, daddy’s home. As I open the door, “Are dada and mamu asleep?” daddy asks. “Yes, I am in charge,” I answer to see a faint smile on his face. A few minutes later, as I lay in my bed, I shout out “Daddy, would you switch off the lights and shut the door please?” before covering my head with the blanket.
It feels like it has only been a few minutes but I already hear my mamu’s piercing voice right in my ear, “Prayash, your milk.” I half open my eyes, throw off the blanket and clumsily walk to the wash-basin. Splash! Now I can open my eyes wide. Gargle! Now my teeth do not feel thick when I run my
tongue over them. I creep inside the blanket again and reach out for my milk. I lean against my pillow kept upright at the headboard. I notice my brother still sleeping soundly as I sip on my milk. “Before me at night and after me in the morning,” I murmur loud and clear enough for my brother to understand, like that is going to make any difference. To top it off, I shout “Dada, your milk is getting cold.” I feel mamu’s belief in me as she also yells from the kitchen, “Prem, wake up already. Your milk’s colder than a cat’s nose now.” I giggle and shout out, “Have you ever felt a cat’s nose mamu?” Mamu bursts out in laughter as well.
Dada and I are ready and waiting to eat our morning meal. Daddy is still serving
daal-bhat as the clock hits 8 am. Mamu’s hour long puja is not yet over. “Mamu, your rice is turning into a cat’s nose,” my brother says out load. As I am giggling, mamu arrives and takes a seat in her usual chair. Not even a minute into it, she puts some vegetable at the corner of my plate from her share. “Mamu, I hate ghiraula, why did you spill this nonsense all over my plate?” I complain reminding her of my distaste of sponge-gourd curry, as she ever needed a reminder. “Why keep bothering him to eat what he doesn’t want to,” daddy speaks in my favor to bring some delight to my poor ghiraula hating soul. “Today’s Tuesday, it’s our turn to wear a white shirt,” I say to my brother as he was about to pick a shirt out of the closet. He hands over mine to me and immediately I shout out, “Mamu, one of my shirt’s button is missing,” trying to explain the difficult situation I am in. She fixes up the button for me to find me happily running back to my room. Then I quickly change into the school’s uniform - navy blue trousers , white shirt, navy blue v-neck sleeveless sweater, white socks, black leather shoes, and a navy blue blazer, and transform myself into a handsome little school boy. “Bye, daddy! Bye mamu!,” we say. Mamu instantaneously replies, “Make sure you eat bread and butter and drink a glass of milk after school,” and we nod in unison. Prem dada opens the gate with that familiar cling noise as I am too short to reach the latch at the top of the black painted iron gate.
The thought of having to cross that dingy little half a minute long alleyway has been on my mind from the moment we left home. It is an everyday challenge for me to walk through that filthy, awful smelling alley. We cover our noses with our hands and walk as fast as possible trying not to step on any of the human, dog and god knows what else fecal matter. Another challenge will be waiting for me as soon as we storm out the alley. Two little Lhasa Apso looking dogs always bark ferociously from inside the gate of a big bungalow style house right after that much hated half minute walkathon. Once I had been chased by one of those little devils and I ran as fast as I could with my tail between my legs and stormed into Sravan’s house. Sravan is a good friend of mine. We have been studying together since kindergarten.
All my family knows him quite well and I am a familiar face in his home too. We quarrel often and don’t speak to each other for some time, but thankfully that does not last long. After the adventure through the alley and facing up to those menacing dogs, I am standing in front of Sravan’s house shouting his name. He never hears me the first time. My friends point out to me that I cannot shout. I am supposedly too soft spoken and so I try again to scream a little louder, “Sravaaaaan.” “Prayash, just a minute,” finally comes a reply from the window I am looking at. He comes out adjusting the strap of his school bag. “Let’s go,” he says but dada gives me an accusatory look of potentially running
him late for school. Thinking “Who asked him to wait for my friend?” we walk out to the main street that takes us to the school. The street is flooded with kids in navy blue and white clothes, and dada joins his friends and we walk with ours.
School is fun and it is sometimes boring too. Teachers come, teach and go away. A fifteen minute break after three forty-five minute long classes gives us a mental break to wander off from study without any authoritarian intervention. Rushing to bathrooms and running to the courtyard to play a game of cock-fight is quite a routine activity of the break.
Once when we were playing the same game, a broken piece of glass fell off the window of one of the classrooms and a kid had to be taken to the hospital. Cock-fight is a game where you stand on only one foot with the other foot held up by your hands behind your back. You protrude your arms from the side as if making it into a wing. Without letting go of the grip of the foot, two guys fight with each other trying to knock down the opponent or detach the opponent’s wing by flapping the so made wing. Two more classes and then we get half an hour tiffin break. We go out to some shops in the area because some of our friends bring money for lunch. Some of us including me have to carry lunch from home. Mamu does not allow me to take money. We have compromised that I will take biscuits to school because that is what I explained I will buy if I get the money. I had to lie because she thinks a lot of the food around school is not very hygienic.
The lie trapped me outright and I am stuck with taking biscuits. After the tiffin break, we have three more what feels like increasingly longer class periods. After a long tiresome day at school, it is very special to walk back home with a big group of friends to the bread and butter and a glass of milk waiting in the fridge.
Last edited: 15-Nov-10 07:32 PM
