As a toddler, I had a heightened imagination. I and my sister had devised imaginary friends Channi and Babarica. When my younger sister was born, we created a new imaginary friend- Trifaula, just to keep up the symmetry in our real and imaginary worlds. I still have no clue where we got those names. At night when it was time to turn in and we still wanted to play, we were told, "Go to sleep or Dhopdhopi would come to get you." We had never really seen what this DhopDhopi looked like, but I imagined her to be a very old and fragile lady with a curved spine, supporting herself on a walking stick, with green shiny eyes and very shiny silver hair. Back in those days, we used to have a Bhahadur in our colony, who used to walk the street with his stick, hitting it on the ground with each step, to keep us alert during the night from thieves. I believed it was Dhopdhopi.
One evening, it rained heavily and the lights were out. We were getting cranky. Pro tip: The best way to keep small kids from creating havoc in the house is, by narrating an eerie story. It will keep them quiet for really a long time.
“Who’s knocking at the door at such an hour of the night?”
“No one, it’s the storm.”
“It’s very late at night. Foxes are howling in the fields of Ullapara, “Hukka-hua’.”
“ What is that sound? Is that the Ekka-gari on the streets?”
“No, it’s the thunder.”
“ The puppy is crying for a long time, I am unable to sleep”
“What’s that howling ?”
“ It’s the owls perching in the Oshottho.”
“The wind is making the door knocker rattle.”
“Is someone crying?”
“No, it’s the cat in the kitchen.”
"When we were kids, there had been cases of a fox taking kids away and tearing down its body." My father used to tell us stories of his village. The Hunuman and the fox and the cases of them coming at night and carrying away small kids. That kept us from lurking out at night while we were visiting the village. One of my greatest fear as a child was a pair of red eyes appearing out of thin air in the looming darkness of our backyard. And then the pointed nose and the hairy body and bushy tail of the fox.
My first interview, I remember, was for admission to a nursery class. I counted from 1-10 and recited the English alphabet. They asked me, "What more can you do?" I said I can enact a poem if you want me to. I performed "Teddy Bear". They gave me a bar of chocolate, which I remember bringing back home to share with my sister. "Tell me your parent’s name," I asked if I could tell what my father calls my mother, and they laughed. I thought, "Sheez, they are not going to take me."
I cleared it anyways. I wasn't very happy though. I had managed to escape the last two play schools in the past. But I was never interviewed there. This looked official. There was no chance of escape.
My first play school was 4 houses away from my house. There was this lady, tall with short hair who had a small play school inside her house. My mother sent me there. She promised to be there the whole time. It was a scam. She wasn't there the whole time as was promised. I threw all kinds of tantrums 5 minutes inside her house. Her house was beautiful though. A hell lot of toys. She handed me a Barbie doll.
This doll was beautiful and it didn't have a scribbled face like the one lying in my house. I had scribbled the face of my doll with the blue ballpoint pen that my father had brought from his office to sign on important looking sheets. I had scribbled on her face to make Bindi, blush, and Kajal because she had to be married. There was scribbling in her hands too for mehendi and nail polish. But she didn't look as beautiful as I thought she would before scribbling. I was so confused about what I should name her. so finally named my doll "The Girl with No Name".
My eyes twitched. If only I had that blue ballpoint pen right now, I could scribble this barbie's face. I weighed all options available to me. The deal was if I could stay in the class till the end, the doll would be mine. But the concept of bribery didn't excite me. I handed it back to her and resumed my crying. So she had to call my mother up and she carried me back home. I asked the lady before leaving if I could still have the doll. Well, I couldn't get her.
Second play school was relatively far. I had to take a rickshaw to reach it. My mother got me ready for school. This seemed bigger than the last one. The same thing happened here too. 5 minutes into the classroom, she handed me some books, and My eyes twitched again. I could scribble all the pages with the blue pen if I took it back home. We played ring-o-ring roses with other small kids. I was missing my mother again. The lady took me to the head's room there, she fed me a samosa to stop me from crying. She said she would send me back home after I am done eating. Sounded perfect to me.
After half an hour, my mother opens the door and finds me wriggling my way into the house. She was surprised at how I got home, I said I was grown up and I know how to get back home. I don't need schooling. I was living the life of an outlaw.
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