My First Day of School

Life is full of new events. This was one of the first.

The day I remember as my first day in kindergarten. New clothes, a few books I was supposed to finish in a year — and, apparently, tests.

Leaving home without Mumma

That morning, Mumma took some clothes out of the cupboard — a white shirt, blue trousers and a tie — and my new bag was kept right next to them. I understood the plan immediately. My mind got busy strategising: there had to be some way to be saved from going to that school.

But you know how my Mumma is. Super clever. She already knew I would come up with silly reasons not to go, and she was well prepared. Even with my eyes full of tears she dressed me, packed my tiffin box, and ignored my loudest crying. Nothing worked in my favour. She rushed to school, taking me along.

We went straight to the Principal’s office. Mumma filled in a form and handed it over. The Principal looked at it and rang a bell; a peon appeared, and was told to take me to my classroom. That was the end of my calm. I cried and begged Mumma to stay with me for the whole day. She agreed to walk me as far as the classroom — and pumped me up with the promise of lots of chocolate in the evening.

The classroom

I took a seat in the last row, facing a big blackboard. My energy disappeared within the first hour. I tried to run out and chase after Mumma, but she was nowhere to be found.

The class teacher walked in and looked at me. He seemed like an interesting fellow. And then the horrible part began: he asked me to stand up and introduce myself. I was nervous, shaking, avoiding eye contact with everyone. One of the kids cracked a joke — “From which jungle are you coming?” I stayed silent. Luckily, the teacher asked everyone to be kind to me. What a relief.

While he taught, my mind wandered. I was scared about how I would fit in. I was a shy kid, not a social one. I made a note to ask Mumma about it in the evening.

Lunch, alone

At lunch I sat by myself, tears starting again — “What have I gotten myself into?” Nobody came over. Then one boy looked at me with what I can only describe as pity and asked, “You’re new, aren’t you?” I nodded, trying not to cry. It felt like visiting a new planet.

I took myself on a tour of the school: a room full of messy books with a man having tea in it, and the bathroom — where I was too shy to go, because Mumma wasn’t there and I didn’t trust any of these people. What if they pulled my pants down?

On the bright side, I noticed I liked being around the girls in my class. That, I decided, could be a reason to come back every day.

Home time

When the bell rang I ran out, expecting Mumma to be waiting. It was my Tauji instead. So it had all been Mumma’s plan — no chocolates in the evening. At home I wanted milk, not food. The bottle was right there on the table next to me, but I still demanded someone hand it to me — pure frustration from the whole day. I’ve been dramatic since childhood.

You can imagine what this guy was like as a kid.

Some memories never fade — and you can’t make them on purpose.