I vividly
remember the day when my younger one went to pre-school.
It was
five years ago. She was two. We had been preparing her mentally for the concept
of school – a place where there would be no mummy or papa, or even nanaji
(grandfather), but where she would still have a lot of fun. My elder one had
contributed to the process by telling about the fun she had with her teachers
and friends. She was somewhat convinced, but was still apprehensive.
The
school was the ground floor of a neighbouring building. The walls were
colourful and had a lot of cartoon characters – that surely was a good omen. The
teacher was friendly, and talked very sweetly. She did not use her pet name,
but called her Shaivi. This was a sign that she was being treated like a big
girl – a girl ready to go to school. But she had her doubts. How would I know
that it was time for me to pick her up from school? I explained to her that I had
a watch, and that I will be there to pick her up when the small needle points
at 12. But how will the small needle know that that it has to move to 12? What if
it jumped over 12? I told her that the needles in the watch always know. She kept
quiet, but I could tell that she was apprehensive.
Her
next question dealt with matters closer to her needs. What if she was hungry? I
told her that she should tell ma’am. “I am hungry now,” she declared.
The
friendly teacher came to my rescue. She invited her to have her meals with
another girl who was also eating. Nearby, some other boys and girls were scribbling
with crayons. This appeared to be more appealing to her than food, and she joined
that group over the next few seconds, I could see her tiny hands drawing what
surely was a masterpiece to her eyes.
The
teacher again approached me and asked me to come back three hours later. I took
her advice and left.
It was
not the first time that I was dropping a child to her first day at school, but
it definitely was the first time that I was leaving my younger child for
school. I had prepared myself for the moment, but it still felt strange. It was
as though I, and not my daughter, had crossed a milestone.
I was
there at the appointed time. My angel was playing with colours. When she saw
me, she continued colouring for a few more seconds till she was convinced that
her masterpiece was finished. She then looked at her teacher, who told her to
get her bag. In a minute, she was out, carrying her bag and tiffin box. The teacher
told me that she had finished her entire meal, and had identified most of the
letters of the alphabet, and had coloured and painted a lot. I asked whether
she had made any friends, but the answer was in negative.
Walking
back home, she demanded a toffee from the neighbourhood shop. I complied. I then
asked about her day, and she burst out in a flurry describing her teacher, and
the games she played, about the boy who was crying the entire time, about the
mischievous girls who just would not listen to the teacher, and about the teacher
who was sweet, but not at all like her grandmother. I asked whether she spoke
to other boys and girls, to which she replied in negative. The reason – “I go
to school to study, not to talk,” she said.
The
answer came as a humorous shock to me. In her entire life, ever since she learnt
to speak, I had never known to be quiet except when asleep.
In her
own mind, and in her own way, my daughter had learnt an important lesson – that
it was possible to be disciplined while enjoying to the fullest. Over the
years, she has shown many more examples of being committed to living life to
the fullest.
That
day was the first tiny step.
👌👌👍👍
ReplyDelete