Nurungukal..2..contd..

    It was very heavy as I lifted the bag of a 6^th standard student. She was stooping while scurrying to the nearby school. Out of curiosity I requested her to open it and show me the contents. There were a dozen text books neatly wrapped in brown paper. Another set of note books much larger in size than what we used in our schooldays, a lunch box and water bottle made the bag bulging. With much strain she lifted it with her weak hands and adjusted to rest on her back. Now I knew why she was stooping.

     I made my memory chip to open and the display was quite different and interesting. With much less number of books, secured by a rubber band cut out of a punctured and abandoned  cycle tube, me with my neighbourhood friends ran up and down to our school freely, kicking what ever that came on our way, a pool of water, an empty coconut shell or a rotten mango, or lingering here and there to catch a dragonfly or to bring down a bunch of mangos by a sharp shoot. Our books were  wrapped in old news paper or old calender sheets. Some came with a cover showing the smiling faces of film stars. And my text books were that of my elders, never a new one  denying me to enjoy the  fragrance of a fresh print.

     She had a colourful umbrella neatly rolled up which fitted correctly into the side pocket of the bag. Mine was the one which my father was using for many years with long bend handle refusing to flung as the bamboo handle might have swollen in the middle due to absorption of moisture. To camouflage the grey colour of the old cloth we used to dip in water. The cloth too would have several patch work and looked like the coat of Mammed Kakka in the film Kandambecha coat. I used to hang it on my right shoulder folded and tied with a piece of jute twine as we covered the distance to the school in batches.

     I envy the neat and crisp uniform the children wear  now, some with a neck tie and shoes. I went on bare foot and my shorts rarely had all the buttons intact, instead we used sharp thorns of koovalam to pin.  We knew the exact time to start from home not from a clock but by  looking at the position of the sun light falling on the floor of the nadumuttam  of our nalukettu  house.

     I looked for a long time at the frail girl walking away from me briskly, swaying her hands right and left, often adjusting the bag and thought about the burden she is carrying  which I hope can ensure her a bright future.