In the early 30's, the world must have been more than a thousand times larger than it is today or so it seemed. That was when going to Gasparillo Government School, with or without my nephew or nieces, seemed such a far away place. Anyway, that was no fun.
I was about seven and had been going to the school for the past term or two, when one morning after an all night rain, I made it known to Ma that attending school was not my kind of thing.
This was my first school and each morning my nephew or niece ... they were all much older than I ... would come home to "pick-me- up".
Frankly, they did not like that. Neither did I. And so each morning there would be some hassle for me to get set for school and I would cry or try to "cook-up" some lame excuse to gain Ma's sympathy so that I could stay home.
I don't think it was the distance along the gravel paved road. There we had fun, sometimes and at other times I'd probably get roughed up by my niece or nephew.
I think I just did not want to stay away from home. I hated school, for this. It kept me away from home and into a discipline where I had to be in one place for a long time; and being told what to do rather than letting me do what I wanted to do.
I hated to be told to this or do that and then for someone to make a big fuss if what I did was not just what they asked me to do. Why did they not let me do just what I liked or wanted to do? Maybe they would have liked what I did, but no ... I like all other children had to be cramped in one room and "do as you are told" or feel the sting of the poui or guava whip or ruler.
"Dat ain't fair", I must have concived and thus the school is not where I wanted to be.
And so, this particular morning was no different. School for me was out. No more of this. In fact, I preferred to stay home and do "anything.... just anything".
Ma was very understanding. And that morning she seemed to understand, more than ever, as I begged to let me do anything, but go to school.
Ma conceded. I was free. No more school. No more hustling in the morning. Even my nieces were free. They could now go without me and run or walk as they liked.
But none were more pleased than I. Just think of it .... I would be home all day long, even though I would be alone. I could now do as I like and go into "make-belief" works with my fantasy where there would be no teacher to tell me what to do or when to do it.
The "make-believe" world, however, soon perished when Ma got all set in her long-sleeved jumper, bandaged head and hat and took up a water-filled goblet, a cutlass and hoe.
She had to go to the cane-field a few hundred yards away at the back of the house where weeds were practically covering the young cane shoots, following recent rains.
She beckoned me to follow her to the field and since I had promised to do anything, she reminded, I could as well help her.
Gosh! I thought. This would be fun. I must have acclaimed at the time since it seemed that I was off the hook for good. She must be very serious. This school thing is out.
It took but minutes for us to wend our way past the coconut and calabash tree and down the hill to the cane shoots that were barely visible.
Resting the goblet, cutlass and her chelum and a box of matches under an overgrown guava tree, Ma took me to a corner of the field, nearer our house, and showed me what I had to do.
Here the grass was not too tall. They looked like mere shoots and with the ground still rain soaked, she told me it would be the easiest task to "just pull out the grass."
Without a smile or second look, Ma left for another section of the field and I, heartened at this simple task instead of going to school, stooped down to get at the grass.
Without any fuss, the grass came up, root and all. And so I grabbed another set and yet another and in no time had about a foot or two cleared, but wait .... something was happening.
In no time, my hands felt inflamed. And look, there were tiny prickles jutting out of the palm of my hands. It was uncomfortable and I felt that I just couldn't hold anything again.
I stood up and tried to pick the prickles from the palm of my hand, but they would not come out. Instead it pained and I tried to get back to the guava tree, hoping that I would see Ma from there and tell her of this terrible thing.
But, hold it. My feet were stuck in the mud. This was bad but somehow I got it to move and there they were, loaded with loose mud from the field.
Hey, I thought, this isn't working out.
School was different and there were other kids, hundreds of them with whom I got to play at recess and lunch time. It was fun too, in coming home and best of all, this sort of a thing never happened to me at the school.
But I couldn't tell Ma. No. Not me.
Anyway I couldn't see her and so naturally, she couldn't see me or so I thought. "You know something," I must have resolved, "just go to school."
And that was when I ran off the field, with my mud laden feet and prickled hands, and dashed past our home towards school.
That day, however, I did not go to school. My bhawgi, spotted me as I ran past their home on the main road and took me to her home, where I was cleansed and put to bed.
Hey ... I learnt something. I had my first gardening experience and since then, I could barely remember wanting to stay away from school, except on one other occasion several years later, but that is another story.
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Harry S. Sharma