Invariably, the last in the series of annual examinations would be the Geography paper which was abracadabra for most of us.
A recent study states that memories retain remarkable fidelity even as we age. Excited by this assurance, I recall my early student days, which were almost seven decades apart. We had a monotonous and hectic schedule during the academic year. So, summer vacations spread over a few months dashed hopes of a long, carefree vacation.
Invariably, the last in the series of annual examinations would be the Geography paper which was abracadabra for most of us. Almost everyone used to leave the examination hall about half an hour before the time. The boys would discuss their plans for the holiday in groups, even as the fat supervisor on the round shouted in a Stentorian voice, “Please leave the hall.”
There was no question of going to special classes or summer coaching institutes. While the affluent went to summer resorts in Ooty or Kodaikanal, other hostelers went back to their hometowns to reconnect with their parents. Some will assist their parents in family enterprises. The rest will spend the holidays at home playing cricket on the street or visiting relatives and family friends.
One summer, after my repeated requests, my parents finally allowed me to spend a month in our village near Thanjavur, where my grandparents lived. It was a great moment when the express train exited Tambaram station with me in the window seat. I was in cloud nine as if I was going on a trip around the world.
As the train picked up speed, I could happily watch the telegraph post and the railway track dance and fly to me. I was thrilled to see the lush green fields, gardens, flowing canals and dry water paths. The huts surrounded by pumpkin plants gleamed impressively from among the clusters of swaying coconut trees. For one who was only in the city, the view of the countryside was truly delightful.
There was a radical change in my routine in the village. My grandfather, who was a proponent of discipline, insisted that I get up with the lark and take a bath in the river with him. He ignored my sleep and protest. When we returned after taking a bath in the pleasant morning air, I felt refreshed. Grandfather taught me to pray and recite hymns, which are still alive in my memory.
I had to switch to cinnamon and cardamom flavored millet porridge for breakfast, missing my usual steamed coffee. A tour of the paddy fields with my grandfather brings me to interesting stories that now glorify rural life and cultivators. He made me understand that farming is the fabric of the rural community. I developed an attachment to the polite and helpful villagers.
I returned with a heavy heart. Back in school, my friends told me I looked fresh. Rural air and millet porridge had emphasized its virtues.
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