Unearthing the Precious

Of late, I had been taking many trips down the memory lane. They were exhilarating and meaningful. Memories of growing up – amidst chaos, complex situations and unbelievable diversity- are still vivid and etched so deep in my memory.

 It is amazing how we can remember details of an event, when we focus recollecting it. In one of those journeys, I resurrected a precious piece of paper, which I had un-earthed a few years back…

Syam (alias Syam Kumar B.G- names were said with full initials, way back in 1983 yes!) was my first best friend. We were together always for any cultural (or non cultural) events. Group songs, solo songs, recitation, drama … you name it, we went together. Also, we had a common woe (at least for me)-  an elder sister, who was strict with our studies and marks) - The first question my sister threw at me, once an answer sheet was presented was “How much did Syam get.”  He used to say, he was grilled the same way (Our sisters became our best friends in life later).

I used to love standing next to Syam for no other reason than his small stature. I felt much taller than him, which gave me immeasurable satisfaction of having outgrown our age!   

This was in 1983, which means exactly 29 years ago. That makes me sound pretty old, but not old enough to let a precious memory slip. I was finishing my lower primary (4^th standard) in Chinmaya Vidyalaya School in Vazhuthacaud, Trivandrum. Time had come for friends to part as the school was not to receive approval for conducting higher grades. 

Thus came the time to part.  Syam gave me a note to say good bye. I was so touched. Did not know what exactly it meant to say good bye at the age of 9 or 10. It just meant no playing together, no ‘helping hands’ (a game where one had to run for help and hold hands with another in order  not to get out of the game), no climbing up the stairs and sliding down (sometimes it scraped the buttocks), no singing together etc… 

Little did I know, life was to reveal itself as one long drawn story of good byes of varying intensities…

I kept that note along with my collection of stones of different colors and texture. Those were my treasures and I used to think they were really worth millions. That was the hobby those days, to collect stones from broken bangles, chains etc.  This was a secret hobby, which went public only when I thought I was extraordinarily rich and that I should proclaim my loot to the outside world!  They were kept in the lower rack of my wall cupboard, which had to be protected against white ants during rainy days.

I still remember Syam wishing me good bye and walking back. The pain of my first parting with a bosom pal was felt that day, in which ever depth a child’s mind could travel. 

Fortunately for us, the school got the approval to continue with the higher grades. So we were back again, till the 7^th standard, and remained best of friends, still going for cultural events and bossed around by sisters ( which progressively increased with higher grades-)

We left  Chinmaya Vidyalaya  for High School. A group of us, left our primary school with fond memories, for different pastures.

But this note remained. Forgotten too, after many years.

A few years back, while clearing up my home and my old loots, I stumbled upon this note – which opened up a whole new memory chip right in front of my eyes… I went back in time, as if in a trance… remembered every detail of my schooling in Chinmaya – starting with my kindergarten… the day I came off my stammer and ran to my sister in the evening with such sense of pride after having pronounced ‘R’ properly...  She was elated and hugged and kissed me. The little brat had finally pronounced ‘R’ properly. It was always close to the voiceless dental fricative “th…”  Many, many more fond memories flashed through my mind’s eyes…

I took the note with me to Colombo to laminate. It had stayed in my wallet for about 3 years. It was torn, but yet, was clear. The memory of that day even clearer… so here it is… Unearthing the Precious.

I now know exactly how Tagore’s Kabuliwala had felt… carrying that torn piece of paper with him…I have cried reading that story a few years back. I still may. 

 I got in touch with Syam and told him about the discovery and resurrection of an antique piece of a memory. He was flabbergasted to hear that I still have a note that he wrote 29 years ago. He said, his son is in fourth standard now, exactly the same age when he had given this note to me.

 Time, sure had been on its wings… immaculately.