My fist day to school
The sound of first alarm from the living attic clock announced the time as 5 AM in the morning of March 2012, the day when I was to get admitted into a primary boarding school in the East. My mother woke up and lit the kerosene lamp, started fire at her earthen oven and then a series of cooking aroma of different flavored dishes filled the air mixed with the smell of ara being brewed in the kitchen outside. “The breakfast is ready,’ announced my mother”. “Sonam, wake up now’, and go get your face washed”. I dragged myself out of the bed and walked towards the water reservoir pool near the village temple. That’s the traditional open-air water tap for the whole village to drink, wash and take bath. There were no pipes and taps then and every village had their own drinking water supplies connected in their own traditional ways and means. I wore my best dress and put on my only pair of boots after the breakfast. My school bedding comprised of a hand stitched mattress, a hand stitched blanket, a hand stitched towel and a hand stitched pillow filled with hay starches which is as hard as a stone has been packed one week ago. The lunch for the day has been packed in a folded piece of cloth and put it in a plastic bag to maintain its temperature. A bottle of locally brewed wine and a bottle of curd has also been added into the back pack for lunch. My new wooden chest crafted carefully by my grandfather awaited outside with a knotted string swathed around it to enable me carry it. I bid farewell to my sweet home, my grandparents, my two sisters, my horses and cows, and off course my dear herder friend boktu (my dog). When we reached the next village, we were joined by many new friends who would be studying with me in the same school. We walked ahead while our mothers walked behind us gossiping about the village people who were not present in the team. After crossing the river connected with two full tree trunk laden bridge, we walked through the paddy fields, through another clustered village and then through the lemon grass pastures for hours until the glimpse of our school appeared from below the hill we were descending.
We were greeted by a stout looking short man who turned out to be our Head Master. He was sitting on a chair outside the school with few more other teachers.
Our information was recorded on a register and the admission procedure was completed in few minutes time. We were then taken to our hostel, which is located above the main building with warden’s quarter in between the girls and boy’s hostel. We were taken into a room and asked to put down our belongings. I placed my wooden chest in one corner along with my bedding. Every one did the same and then I realized, If I lose any of my hand woven and hand stitched clothing from my bedding, it would be difficult for me to find it back because every one is carrying the same. I also realized that my pillow is not as hard as a stone compared to some of my friends. About 15 of us would have to be twinged up in one room to sleep. In all the directions we would sleep in lines as per the flow of the room and the late comers to the school will have to sleep on the empty space in the middle of the room.
While we explored our new environment, our mothers still continued with their gossiping business basking in the sun on the ground outside our dormitory which has no beds in it.
If you need to visit toilet in the middle of the night, you would have to bribe your friend who is sleeping next to you by offering her something or to accompany her to the toilet when she demands in some other nights. There was no electricity connectivity then. If you have a torch, you are a rich girl or else you have to walk with a candle, that also, if you have one. Otherwise, you have to stretch out your hands to feel the obstacles and then first find out the door and then walk out. Ghost stories were very much alive in those days and to go out in the middle of a night would drain out almost all the energy that your tiny body would ever have...
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