My First Day At School

I must thank the examiner for this topic, because it presupposes that kids, whatever age, would be geniuses enough to remember their first day at school. Well, I for sure was one, because I still vividly remember everything as it happened that fateful day; and wish it had never happened. Apart from my razor-sharp memory, another factor that helped me remember my first day at school was my age. Actually, I thought I’d never share this, but, I was around 10 when I was admitted formally to a school. Not that I had not been educated though; the village I hailed from, was perhaps the biggest school of all times. In no time had I mastered the art of smoking hash and playing cards.. Oh, c’mon, not for stakes!! Heavens damn me, we played only for lives!! I mean the stakes would be life, not money.. but that, is another story.

So, when my poor father was left with only two options, he decided to admit me to a school. Well, the other was to admit me to a juvenile delinquent home. At first the thoughts of doing away with my responsibilities were too lucrative for him, yet Satan got a battering from his pure soul that day I guess. How people change!! I was pretty sure that he would dump me off in that prison cell; but, destiny had another crueler prison designed for me!! So off to school I was.

The school boasted of a not so bad building, with many rooms; and I was kind of late on my very first day, and could not attend those daily morning prayers, that eventually became the best part of my student life. Come on, am not talking about the praying part. It was in these sessions that we could do just about anything, and that too, right under the nose of the Principal.

The Principal, Lord rest his soul, was reputed to be a very strict and stern gentleman, much to my surprise, because all the years that I spent there he would always request me, never order or instruct. A real gem you know.. a rare gem though. And a rather crude one too, on hindsight. He was the first soul I met on my first day. He was busy doing god knows what (though he claimed that he was taking rounds, whatever that would mean)! So there was I, in short knickers and a shirt, with a notebook under my arm, supporting my pants with the other, lest they unceremoniously depart, making a mockery of me on very first day. He confronted me, yes, because it was his first day with me too, otherwise later he never thought of confrontation, bless him. He was quick to gauge my attitude, aptitude and all that stuff. I was packed off to a boring looking class, with boring looking kids; the only relief was the teacher who was really striking in her looks.

I was asked to introduce myself, which I adamantly refused. After all, how do u expect me to do what the others haven’t? So, the others took turns introducing themselves. When it was my turn to reciprocate, the dreaded knickers slipped down to my ankles, and the class roared into laughter. It was humiliating, really, very humiliating!! Not for me, hah! For them. Because when they saw the reason of my pants slipping down, they were rather aghast. Shocked too. Actually the 0.38 bore Colt that was in my pocket slipped out when my pants fell. Well, that is another sweet little story that we don’t have time here for. Suffice it to say, they all became good friends of mine in no time. In fact, in a split second after they saw the black beauty slip out of my pants.

The teacher though was a tougher nut to crack. I mean she would never be impressed with stuff that impressed other girls. She was rather old I guess, for me that is. Yet, that was another fort to be conquered, but dearest reader, lure me not into the whistling willows with cool breeze and a cooler stream bubbling by, with me and ahem!!

The rest of the teachers I met myself. It was simple. I just sauntered into the staff room and asked each his name. They  were all nice chaps; rather nosy because they kept staring at the Colt’s muzzle protruding from under my shirt. I inspected the Principal’s office too; it was very boring with lots of fat books dumped on shelves, some shields, trophies and that usual old stuff often associated with the offices of people called intellectuals(by god knows whom) and morons by people like us. I would have formed a really ill-opinion of his office, had it not been for the innocuous looking , brown-covered books, stashed away in a corner of his table drawer. They seemed so harmless; wrapped in brown, as if they housed many pages of boredom. But curiosity got the better of me and it was quite refreshing to see those books peppered with pictures of the female species. The discovery helped me to retain good grades for the small period I attended that school.

The Principal, a short, stocky, murky looking creature could have passed off as a countryside fisherman, had it not been for his coat and hat. But, as they say, appearances are always deceptive. No!! I mean to say that all his cladding and shodding still gave the impression of a fisherman albeit in stolen clothes! And, that he was not one for sure. That’s why I say that appearances can be deceptive. He was in fact a genius of sorts! An artist; a midget Picasso type. My honorable readers would question the veracity of my claim here. I have proof, dear reader!! Apart from the colorful books in his drawer, out came an envelope which contained pencil and charcoal sketches, so arduously and painstakingly done in his own lecherous, stubby, sweaty hands! Yes sir! But like most of the art-works, it was rather impossible to decipher what actually was being portrayed. To the common eye, it seemed like primitive females sans clothes, in various stages of some strenuous exercise. How I wished I had studied Freud instead of Literature, but, but.. that question can be put today, not at that time when it was my first day at school!

The library and the labs were the worst of the lot, as one could easily see talent being stifled and choked there! One could thank the Heavens for the toilet though; the real creative arena, which boasted of artworks by umpteen little Vincis, Dalis and Picassos, who put in fact their real counterparts to shame when it came to drawing portraits! Some geniuses even sent the Great Bard himself seeking cover with their witty rhymes. What depth of perception, what imagery, what rhyme scheme!! This was the place! The great nursery that afforded a whiff of air (although a bit stinking to the prudes here) to the stifled little souls!!

The entire building was then scanned before I was interrupted by another teacher who beseeched me to attend a class. I reluctantly complied; not to oblige, but in hopes of finding something more captivating. Ah, Dame Luck! I could call you Lame Duck for all practical purposes. It was another killingly boring class. Twenty minutes down and I decided I had had enough, and got up to leave. The teacher, who was no stranger to the metal in my pants, offered to finish the class right there, which I must say I deeply appreciated. We moved into the playing grounds, where I was to meet my future Little John. Soon enough, after a customary brawl, I could single him out as the one who had punched, kicked and wrestled the maximum number of kids single- handed. He and I became fast friends; friends for life. He even thought of marrying off his sister with me when we had come of age. I had rainbow dreams of his petite, cute and pretty sister being my better half all day long. But, the dreams soon fell to the ground with a thud when he learnt about my secret affair; with his sister, and a dozen other girls. But, why talk here of that? Huh?

By midday I had decided that I would not be attending school the day after; and perhaps the week after, and, maybe many years after. It was just not cool!! So, today dear examiner, I am forced to write this essay as I am a correspondence student. God help you if I don’t get decent marks.