Wood & Civilization - II

Tall trees, venomous insects and dense flora were all that met the eye. Anyone who has never before visited 'Rupaidiah' and who approaches from the South, is likely to think that one is in Nepal, for the Nepali currency is already in flow in the markets and one could find a lot of Nepali dressed people all around.

The last Indian building which stands by the road before it runs into the other nation is the Forest Department Office, not far behind which lay the government quarters, where we lived. The place had its defects in comfort, coziness and modernity, but  there was something rustically beautiful about the surroundings. The quarter had a large courtyard which was flanked by all kinds of trees. A family of bats found its residence on a jackfruit tree in the corner of the courtyard and we always ensured that we stayed away from that corner. In the distance there were tall eucalyptus trees and our courtyard would be draped in dry leaves and gumnuts every evening.

 The compound had numerous logs of woods, seized from unlawful woodcutters and transporters, some of which had been lying there for so long that years of rainy season had dissolved all that was wood in them. It was amid the creeks and crevices of these piled logs , there lived the dangerous creatures, creatures which slithered and crawled and creeped. At such a place as this, it was mandatory for us to wear full trousers and shoes while playing outdoors. I didn't have any friends here, none whom I could play with, the school was quite far and school friends lived afar. The only person who was any near to my age in the compound was my brother. We would play every evening, we would fight every evening, we would swear not to play again with each other every evening and we would again play together the next evening. 

Such was the simplicity of life, which of course seemed tragic back then.

At school, in grade 1, I was introduced to a new subject called "Science" and for some reason which I am at a loss to explain clearly, I developed a deep penchant for it. Maybe, the book had riveting pictures and illustrations or maybe my interests were inherently inclined towards science; regardless the reason, science in some form or another, stood by me for a long time in my life. We had to complete our homework in the daylight since there was no electricity. And since there was no electricity, so no TV, and no  fridge. And no staying up late after dusk. We always ate fresh and didn't get a chance to ruin our eyes and minds with cartoon network. On one such eventful and interesting evening, in a discussion over tea, father and mother decided that I should be given a bicycle now. I had seen adults cycling; no doubt I was very much excited by idea of it, but it had never occurred to me that there could be something called a children's bicycle too. That evening, the four of us went to the nearest city and after a long process of selection and elimination I finally decided on my first bicycle. It was called "bazooka" and the front wheels had shock absorbers. The tyres had innumerable striations, and I did not comprehend their usefulness in the existence for a very long time. The right hand was for the front brake and the left one for the rear. It had two supports so I wasn't afraid of falling. The pedalling was to be done clockwise; my brother had always a hard time remembering it and he always pedalled anticlockwise when he got his first bicycle, but that may be also because he was much younger than me. I obviously made fun of him; little did I know then that he would learn a four wheeler at a much much younger age than me.

 For the first couple of days if I was not in school and not sleeping, I would just be driving my bicycle in courtyard in circles. It gave me such a tingle and thrill every time I pushed my legs against the pedals. But alas! the joy was not to stay long with me. After a couple of days or so, one of the supports broke off and the bicycle just stood at the disposition of one support. I was utterly upset and I cried and cried to get it repaired but father didn't have time to go to the city until next to next week so I just kept gazing at the spokes of the tyre and pressing the brakes and caressing it in all the little ways I could.

The next day onwards father offered me help in riding the bicycle. Since the right support was gone so I just had to prevent the bicycle from falling to the right side. Soon after some help, I realized that it was not hard to drive the bicycle in this condition. Whenever it would begin falling on the right side I had to stop pedalling and use my legs as supports. And so I continued, thus, for a week driving in anti-clockwise circles always turning leftwards. On occasional incidences of rightward fall when gravity would draw me towards the earth with all its might, I would experience intense fear, the fear of falling! I was profoundly unbalanced many a time, though I never formally fell off completely.

 It was now close to 3 weeks since I got my bicycle. And then as it happens, there comes a moment after all strength and industry of man, a miniscule moment of evaluation and judgement of all that one is capable of. After returning from school that day I pushed up the left support further up which had already been pushed slightly up due to the excess leftward pressure, and stood on my bicycle in the silent shade of the verandah which led to the courtyard. A strong summer loo was blowing outside. I pedalled carefully, as carefully as I could and the eucalyptus leaves swished in the wind and I pedalled faster and never was a day more happier in my life, for the joy of soaring begins only with the fear of falling !

I had learnt to ride.

Wood & Civilization

The great bells were ringing. In the year 1994, the world used to be a larger place. Each day almost invariably added something new to my experience. And there were always people whom I could look upto and there were always people to look after me. Days and nights had been an eternal stretch of insouciance until that particular day which was going to change my life forever.

The sun had taken its last yawn and the chirp of the birds had begun to fade. The tolling of the bells, having ceased after a while, had been replaced by a distant hum of the morning assembly. I stood watching that large gate, half ajar, with the sun shining through my misty eyes and the gentle March wind trying to soothe my anxious forehead. Never had been a step more difficult to take. It was my first day at school. Father still stood behind me and behind him was our old jeep. I had my school bag on my shoulders, my water bottle hanging round my neck, little blue half pants, shining new pair of black shoes and a little white shirt. At length, Ms. Roy came to take me away. Father exchanged a few words with her but I was too numb to hear any of it. And then finally she held my hands and lead me inside. I turned back to see him again for the last time, my cheeks were all wet by this time, he was waving a smiling goodbye to me.

The bell tong after each period was rather amusing, but it was also the only amusing thing that happened that day, for I having been accustomed to a life in Hindi found it impossible to comprehend the chic tongue of those Christian missionaries. Surprisingly, I worked out my way “per exemplum” (through example), by seeing the other children. When they would take out the copies from their bags, I would take out mine and when they would close it, I would close mine. When they held the pencil in their hands, I would hold mine and when they sharpened their pencils, I would sharpen mine. I particularly concentrated on a girl sitting in the next row who didn’t have brown cover on her books, like mine, so I could discern which book the others were taking out. The teacher paid particular attention to her and she participated and responded in the class, which made me believe that she would have been really smart. Later, however, on closer scrutiny I realized that the books she was taking out did not match  what other students took out. In fact, she was much in the same plight as me, the only difference was she was beautiful and candid.

The day ended with the mark of shrill sound of the bells once again. And I could never describe the ecstasy I felt that afternoon while rushing out to the gate. I ran so hard that I tumbled over, fell down and broke my bottle. Mommy had come to pick me and we returned on a Rickshaw while I described my little adventures to her. School was never my cup of tea, at-least during the first few months, I would be slapped by teachers for not understanding anything, my nose would be eternally flowing, often I would shit in my pants and become an object of mockery of the whole school. But I never felt bad about anything, because I was too stupid to feel bad. Every morning I would try to make some excuse for not going to school but mommy and papa would wake me up and get me ready. Mom would tie the laces of my left shoe and father would do the same for the right, and my brother would be watching all of us sometimes, if he would be awake, or sometimes he would come toddling out from inside the house with one of my books in his hands speaking in his little voice, that I was forgetting it, and then I would tell him that it was not the turn for that subject today. 

 On a singular day, during the recess, a strange incident occurred which would be with my memories for as long as time keeps ticking. A strong blizzard was blowing across the playground and I was perched on a wooden tree trunk that lay in the middle of the ground, grabbing the jam sandwich in one hand and the little blue tiffin box in the other. I was usually given “paratha” and “sabji” instead of bread for lunch, as mother regarded bread as junk food. But as it often turns out, one’s deprivations often determine one’s predilections. And so as I lay before that jam sandwich anticipating the glorious taste of jam with bread, little did I know of the fate that were to befall unto that piece of bread. Just as I was about to eat it, a huge eagle, with amazing celerity dived towards the ground and snatched away my prize. I was left rused, devoid of sentiments of any kind for a moment. A group of boys gathered around me. I remember someone from the group had shouted, “Why didn’t you put that brick on its wings?” The bell tonged and the recess was over. That was the only day I remember being hungry the whole day.

 For a long time I believed I could have avoided my loss that day, had I been a little more nimble in grabbing the brick from the ground and putting it on the mighty wings of that creature, until of course,  I grew up a little older to realize that not only was such a thing absolutely impossible but also how foolish had I been in believing such a theory for so long a period of time. I was in class 2 now and father had been transferred from the city to a small town on the border of Nepal. We found ourselves once again in the company of crickets, who would begin their diligent chirps with the the last ray of the sun and continue so until the first ray next morning. 

It were an ethereal world. Tall trees, venomous insects and dense flora were all that met the eye.