When We were Children

The two storied old and dingy boys’ dormitory stood tall, primed to tumble any time. Despite its dilapidation, it was the safest place in the whole world. Away from ‘big boys’, a lot of ‘little ones’ cuddled up in their thin beddings, glad to be free at last! But the seniors used to tell us of the ghosts that frequented the locality at night. It was alleged to exist in the rooms too. So, the nature calls would be stalled for most of the nights. However, some of us would ‘let it go’ in the bed itself.

We were made to live our lives in fears from the so-called ‘big boys’. Big boys! Even the Headmaster was afraid of them. Smile was a rare occupation. The laughter of little boys was seldom heard. We used to go below the football ground to play. That was the only place where the children could play, laugh and smile freely.

Oftentimes the little boys were made to wash hundreds of plates and mugs after every meal. Water was scarce. Sometimes, we ended up walking to the nearest stream with their plates and mugs.

Bongkharang (Wheat) at breakfast. Bongkharang at lunch. Bongkharang at dinner. What would you expect? You shit Bongkharang, whole and undamaged, but smelly nonetheless. Toilets? Everywhere. Whole school campus was our toilet.

In the summer, the rain poured hard. The rain fell on the Bongkharang that we defecated among the thickets of berry plants. The little boys were seen plucking and eating the berries. It was reputedly said that there were lots and lots of worms in the berries. We cared less. We were hungry and it tasted good.

Father visited me sometimes. I met my father with pounding heart and ever smiling face. Along with joys, father brought cheese fried in butter, chili pickle garnished in cheese and garlic, tengma…and packed lunch. I missed my mother. When father came on a Sunday, he took me to the market. Sometimes, he bought me a new shirt. But I always ate a bowl of noodles and a plate of ‘momo’ (dumplings) every time father came. I went back to school when it was time for evening study.

Father having gone, the joy was short-lived. The big boys thronged around me like ants swarming around a tiny lump of sugar.

‘Heard your father came…’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘So…?’

‘Here…’ and chili pickle along with fried cheese and tengma had gone. If your father had given you money, even it would be theirs. They undressed you besides frisking every part of the bedding. You never had a chance of retaining your wealth.

The mid-term breaks were always welcomed by the little boys. We dreamed and even talked of meeting our mothers and fathers and how we would spend our days running after the cattle and playing ‘shing gari’. We talked of eating eggs and cheese every day. Who knows, even meat too.

On the way to our home, we met our teachers, one after the other.

(Bring a cock and you will pass), said the math teacher.

(bring eggs and…) the English teacher said.

(bring some vegetable and …) did the class teacher say.

(bring some wine/alcohol…), our Dzongkha teacher used to say.

We ya ya’d all along, feeling the weight of our academic performance nestling on some cocks.

One day, some of the little boys were summoned by the big boys to their ‘Room’. I was one of them. It was at ‘Gyeltshen House’ that time. We were made to stand in two lines facing each other.

‘Now slap each other’ was the order of the day.

We slapped each other as softly as possible until one of the big boys flared up like a raging bull.

‘Let me show!’ and he slapped us as hard as he possibly could and we fell down, scattered all over the floor.

‘Now slap each other like that!’

Amidst suppressed sobs, we slapped each other till the command to stop was bestowed by the big boys. Then we went sobbing into our beds with swollen lips and bleeding nose. We thought of our fathers and mothers. We missed home. We cried until until we fell asleep.

When classes began, we always talked and shouted until Madam shouted…’SHUT UP!!!’

‘Silence…now listen everybody’ she said. ‘Your annual examination starts on…’

Annual Examination!

‘Home, at last!’ used to be our only thought.

Explore posts in the same categories: Uncategorized