First Day At School

The bus crawled to a stop , at the  crowded bus stop.

The other kids were impatient , having slung their bags on their shoulders half an hour ago , and were attempting to steer the ungainly bus through maddening Calcutta traffic jams.

 "Dada ekto left chepe. Daandike , daandike !" (take the left, no right , right!!)

 The driver sat grinning through his yellow paan stained teeth.

I was aghast . Last ten years of my life , I had commuted in the small mini-bus of a convent school . The bus driver was the King , and we his temporary subjects , till such time as we reached  school . Such dastardly lumpen  behaviour would have earned immediate eviction and everlasting shame .

The bus was still inching slowly , towards the gates , and the pupils , jumped off the footboard , one by one , sprinting away , like frightened gazelles. The last one was a Commerce girl ,  of XI , my classmate  from the neighbouring highrise 13B. Anjani Debnath. Most people are known by the shortened versions of their names, she was known by the shortened version of her surname -Debu. In fact , her family comprised of lot of Debus.

 Debu was the last to desert me . Hopping nimbly from the  footboard , she turned back and gave me a worried grin , all her steel braces glinting in the morning sun .

"Better be quick , or else Biswas gets mad ."

I hesitated on the still moving footboard , and the "khalasi " (cleaner) kindly encouraged " Laafiye podo, ekhane daand korte debe na ."( Jump off, they won't let us stop here)

I looked up . Debu had disappeared. I closed my eyes , took a deep breath , stepped into thin air , and "splosh " , landed into thick black muck of Calcutta's street.

The khalasi hissed -"Ishhh". Shaking his head in sympathy and disbelief , he slunk away from view as the bus rounded off the corner .

I looked up and read the name of my school . It was the same as my last school.St.Thomas'. It couldn't have been more different. I sighed.


The corridors were empty , the verandahs too . Classes hummed inside rabbit warren like numerous classes in the three floors of the ancient but sturdy building. I was the only student out cold. A fierce looking woman , clad in a sari , paced on the ground floor corridor , a permanent scowl on her face . Despite all the warning signs, I walked upto her , squelching black mud onto the pristine cement , heart -in-mouth , and squeaked -"Good morning ma'am!"

"Humph!" She nodded , and gave me once over , still scowling , as if I were an eminently swattable fly who had dared disturb her morning reverie. ( She was the principal, Mrs. Biswas , as I was to learn later ). I could almost hear her scream -"Off with her head!" Instead , she said , curtly -"You are late."

"Yes , ma'am , the traffic..." She interrupted me with an upraised palm and a look that could guillitone . I hung my head like Marie Antoinette.

She waited, with her hand raised  . I waited too, teeth clenched, for the blow to fall . Then it struck me.
"Sorry , ma'am ." The hand fell limp to the side, trifle disappointed.

She dismissed me with a wave , and continued her pacing.

I strode a few paces in the direction I had been waved onto , like a dry leaf caught in breeze. And was hopelessly lost . The boards on top of the classrooms , were of middle school, class VA , IV B.

Peals of laughter emanated from a classroom , instead of the usual staid and prim noises. I was nearing the rear door. Two girls in blue tunics sat reading comics , carefully hidden inside their english textbooks. I slowed. One of them looked up . Rest of the class dutifully guffawed at some joke , being told by the teacher , in front . She raised her eyebrows, questioning.

"Can you tell me where class XI Science is ?" I spoke in the loudest whisper I could muster.

She pointed behind her and then gestured climbing on stairs , while mouthing "First floor."

I proceeded ahead . Suddenly , a voice boomed up "You girl!"

I turned back . A dwarfish , bespectacled ,fat lady in brown organdie saree , stood in the middle of the corridor, beckoning at me , curling and uncurling her forefinger,nail painted bright red. One hand rested menacingly on the hip. She peered at me from top of her  half -moon spectacles . I was in for another inquisition , I thought. As I hastened to her , I noticed , the two comic readers , standing at their places , rolling their eyes , at the sight of me , their comics probably confiscated.

A half -smile played at the corner of the fat dwarf's lips , and I noticed she had laughter in her eyes too.

"New girl?" She asked straight away, as I walked up.

"Yes ma'am ."

"Science , XI ?" Goodness, this lady was clairvoyant, how on earth?

 Later , I learnt , the classes XI and XII did not wear tunics , and wore skirts as I was wearing . A dead giveaway. Science stream got new admissions in the first week of new session . Others came later. All the same , she was sharp . I was to be impressed more in coming years , by this pint sized lady with an out sized heart . I just didn't know it then.

"Upstairs , first classroom to the left." She gave a benevolent smile . "I am Mrs. Lahiri, your english teacher." She stuck out a chalk dusted hand . I hesitated . I had never shaken hands with a teacher before. All you do was bind your hands behind your back and courtesy , that was what was taught to us . Mrs. Lahiri broke all stereotypes.

"C'mon , I won't eat you ." She was grinning mischievously, now.

I gave a limp and clammy hand , which she shook with gusto.

"Now , off you go . And I would wash my feet If I were you . " She gestured to a washroom on the corner of the verandah, where the stairs started. Observant too.

She was about to re-enter a now humming -with-girly-gossip class , when she stopped and said , "Next time , ask directions from the teacher , not sneaky back-benchers ." She tossed her head towards the two girls , still standing , one  promptly rolled her eyes again , and other was holding a tongue that wanted to be stuck out , in full view of Mrs, Lahiri.  Mrs. L guffawed and skipped back happily into her class .

"So girls , where were we ?" She boomed.

 I tried , ineffectually , to cleanse my feet of three centuries old grime . In the absence of such tools as soap , towel etc, I gave up   and came out .My new bata sandals were now squelching blackish water all over the 200 year old floor of St. Thomas'.

Squelch , squelch . As I climbed stairs, I met another girl , attired similarly as me .She was pretty . Long eyelashes , and a snake like braid sashaying on the hips.The sandals were hip and upmarket . I wish I could hide my squelchy ones . They actually made hissing and sucking sounds at every step, however gingerly taken . She was kind enough not to notice.

We burst into a room full of oversized skirts, perfumes , and wide -eyed giggly , shrill , high -pitched feminine vocalisations . All seemed excited , and  were talking simultaneously . Peals of laughter could be heard a mile away. Class XI Science was teacher less, and in throes of  boundless merriment.

"Shh. Girls listeeeen." My pretty companion took the podium . In the fraction of a second, the class descended into complete silence .I have never seen a more effective crowd control. Impressed and googly -eyed , I hovered in the doorway .

Eyes swivelled to me . Another round of whispers threatened to break out. The pretty girl hastily spoke.

"This is a new girl . Her name is ..."She trailed off turning to me .

"Manju." I spoke almost in a whisper , realising she was the first person to have asked my name.

In an instant , I was surrounded by girls . Shaking hands , introducing themselves . It was overwhelming. I was literally dragged in . Someone had relieved me of my satchel , and now it lay on an empty desk , where I was asked to make myself home. Some one asked me where I had come from . I said "St. Thomas' ,Bihar ." I didn't want to mention city , town etc. and confuse the city bred girls.I am sure they never heard of the place , least of all expect it to exist.

A fat south-indian looking girl ,tossed her head behind and reported loudly to some one , "hey , Bihari , she belongs to your place ."

The crowd parted and my pretty escort walked , nay, floated across.

"Really ? My home town is Chapra .Yours?" I couldn't possibly tell her the name of the village I was born and brought up in . She wouldn't know , this Greek Goddess, so I lied and told the name of the next  big city , closest to us . She nodded , looking at me doubtfully.

Next half an hour , I came to know the name of the pretty Bihari , Mahua Chowdhary . A bengali to the core , her only fault was to occasionally slip into her childhood dialect, bhojpuri , hence the epithet.(With her legendary crowd managing skills, She would be  the Head girl for two consecutive years , a record of sorts. )

There were few girls who did not participate in my welcoming melee.

 One was a tall , pale looking girl , who sat in one of the back-benches, far from the madding crowd. She had wispy , pale ,brownish long hair , and a short strand that kept falling onto her pale long face . She smiled weakly, albeit kindly , at me , and went back to her book.

She reminded me of those pale laukis that grew in shade in my grandmothers' kitchen garden. Deprived of sun , but endowed with terrific genes , they would grow tremendously tall, but pale and fragile . Her name was Razia, and her arms , palms were covered in henna prints.

Veena. the tamilian , dusky and garrulous, wearing two long thick black braids of impossible hair, whispered loudly - "Razia's parents got her engaged , last week . Poor thing , she is just 15." Razia pretended not to hear.

 Then in loud voice , Veena informed me -"Manju, meet Razia , our maths whizkid." Razia looked up from her book , gave a frown to Veena , smiled at me , rolled her eyes at Veena again , and went back to her book , all in the span of few seconds, without having uttered a word.

Another girl was a fat , squat , bullish faced girl , who didn't smile at me . ( I was to know later , that she was one of the most helpful girls I had ever met . She rarely smiled though) Ankita Growar was brought up by her grandparents (like me ) ,  studied in one the most expensive boarding schools in the country (unlike me ) , learnt horse riding at the age of 5, was on first name basis with movie-stars' kids , and was some thing of a snob . Hence the preferred isolation . She was in the boarding here too , along with couple of other girls. Another thing that separated her from regular girls ,which I learnt early , was to never mention her parents , or ask any questions regarding them . Otherwise , she was fine .


The recess bell rang , and there was a stampede at the stairwell. Older girls, such as us , were tasked with keeping  decorum , which was an impossibility, with blue tunics , racing down to the garden, the ample lawn , and the verandah . Free birds after enforced classes.


The girls' clumped together . Commerce , Humanities , Bio , Maths . I found myself sitting at the edge of the verandah, foolishly smiling at all those chattering girls' , whose back was turned to me .
I had just become aware of my misty eyes , when I felt someone sit beside me . Smell of paratha-achar filled my nostrils, smell of home. Razia was holding her tiffin towards me -"Le lo." She said kindly , softly. I gratefully accepted a piece of my childhood , from her tiffin . From a stranger , in a strange city. Life was strange.

"My grandparents live in Begusarai , we go every summer to meet them ." She said matter -of -factly.
"Really". My eyes popped out . She was more of a Bihari , and no one knew.
She gave another of her serious sad smiles , and went about munching . I ate one and a half of her two parathas . She picked at my "sondesh " and said , "you know , this white mishti always reminds me of "peda"(another bihari delicacy). We both laughed , at our private joke.

Veena , turned at the sound of laughter , like candle to moth , grinning , "What did I miss , what did I miss ?"

Razia playfully smacked her , and smiled . All loved Veena.

Rest of the day passed in a daze of more gossip. No classes . According to Ankita the monitor , know-it-all, "they are still figuring out whom to put where ". By" whom ", she meant teachers . This irreverence for authority was new to me , but not un-desirable . It brought them down from the God -like pedestals , and made them more human , more like us.

When the bell rang, Razia was the first to glide out of the room , her lanky frame reaching the ground floor and the gate before the rest of us could even say goodbye.

The reason became apparent as I boarded my railway bus.

A bearded man , muscled , menacing,riding a bike , came to a stop near Razia. He spoke to her briefly and a shadow crossed her face . The bike roared away the moment Razia sat on the pillion. She clung to the seat , her loose shirt fluttering,appearing dangerously fragile like a yellow leaf in a storm .

Debu had boarded and was peering out of the window.

"That is Razia's fiance. She didn't tell you? Some distant cousin who forced her parents to get Razia to marry him . I thought you were friends . Both hindi -waalis you know . He works in the dockyard .Some goonda , so people say."

She kept  blabbering .

"I hope you don't share her tiffin again . She is a beef-eater, you know ."

I didn't look at Debu , the brahmin . I kept looking at that corner of fluttering shirt on a wispy , willowy , pale girl , who offered me a memory , in a battered aluminium tiffin box, that afternoon , when all backs were turned. I also thought of her dreams of Mathematics Honours and IIT. The bike had just disappeared round the bend.