It proves not to be easy to write about my school life at The Future Foundation School. I mulled over how to start about it, for several days, and nothing came to my mind. Not that I was thinking about it all the time, (unfortunately I have to worry about other pressing things at the moment!), but still it proves to be very difficult to start. Thus, I decided to make it very spontaneous. This isn't the first time, though, I lay recourse to spontaneity in my writing. I used to do it for a long time when I used to keep a diary, and also now when I write my blog. But then those are different, they are not meant to be read by people by people who knew me long time ago.
Now that I have written a paragraph, I already feel good about the momentum. Things pop up in my mind. Maybe a biography would be good? That's what a part of my brain suggests. That's simple, another part of my brain says: you were admitted to this school quite a while ago, when you were in class 2. And here I get a loud ping from the prefrontal cortex of my brain (oops, I do seem to have forgotten my biology lessons, but then I am not a professional biologist, so I needn't be ashamed! I just had to look up this term from Wikipedia, in case you are wondering). One of the earliest memories tell me that the first time I was sitting in the class, for some reason I decided to sit the other way round, so that I was facing the back of the class, rather than the front. Why? I haven't the faintest idea, that must have seemed right to my brain, but I am pretty sure that I must have been made fun of because of that! That's what kids do!
I have many more memories of that time, but then this space, or any space for that matter, is not enough. Some memories are too entwined with others, some memories are quite choked, and prejudice tells me not reveal others. Anyway, I have a very clear idea of what the school was: it was green, it was small, it was close. Not that any of these are necessarily good or bad, it is just that everything has its own advantages and disadvantages. So, there we were, all huddled up in the Assembly Hall at 7:50 am, and sang our Morning Prayers. We belonged to different school houses, and my house was 'Divine Mother'. I still remember the lovely rivalry we used to have with the house 'Sri Aurobindo': I guess school houses were created to achieve excellence via healthy competition. Most of the times, the house 'Sri Aurobindo' would win, whether be it in the Annual Sports, or in the Quiz Competitions. Well, it was Sri Aurobindo Ashram after all! I believe these houses are all called differently, after colors. There used to be House Captains in charge of managing the different houses, and if I grew up enough to be one of these people. I hope I did make my House proud!
I remember the first time and the last time I acted in a school play (they aren't identical; the last time was in a more philosophical play about the Ascent to Truth, a mighty complicated job, but not without peals of laughter, if you get my meaning!). The first time was in Class 2, when I had to play a ball-dance scene in either Cinderella or ... no, it indeed was Cinderella. Of course, I wasn't the main prince. That would have involved too much attention, and I was terribly shy back then. I think I was shy for a long, long time. Many of my teachers noticed that: it was pointed out in multiple occasions. I was shy of performing well, getting the attention. Of writing well. Not literature anyway, just writing with my hand. My language is sloppy, and my style too free-spirited. Except perhaps writing research articles. But thanks to all these feedback, slowly as I grew up, I was able to overcome this to some extent.
This brings me to the subject of my Teachers. I consider myself really lucky in that respect: I don't know how good a student I was, but most of the teachers were absolutely excellent. I can't really compare them with others, because I've never had other private teachers, or for that matter, I never managed to change schools. But then, even now that I look back as a grown-up, I feel that I couldn't really have done better. Now, must say something about my Teachers.
I remember that I was way too much taken with books and studies, and too little sports. That wasn't the best thing: I am still envious of my friends who, for example, learnt how to swim in their schools. But then, we never had a swimming pool in our school, so I shouldn't be complaining. What else? Well, there is so much: some things I did in my school have clung to me so much that sometimes I forget from where I got them. I still begin the paragraph by leaving a bit of a blank space in the first line (and if my prefrontal cortex serves me right, I was taught that in my third class in the English course), I still know how to use a Transferred Epithet. While I forget how to distinguish a canyon from a gorge, I know how 'Sisters Must Help Each Other'. In case you are left wondering what it actually, try Googling it. Try it, before reading on. I did try, and it did not give me anything meaningful. But I still remember this being taught in a Geography class as a clever way of remembering the Great Lakes in the proper order from west to east: Lake Superior, Michigan, Huron, Eyre and Ontario.
So there you go: while many memories may become vague, some memories will always cling to you. That's a part of growing up, a symbol of how much the environment that you grew up affected you, influenced you, made you what you are. I am certainly proud of that. Not that I always speak about it, but it is there, deep within me, something that has shaped me irreversibly in the way that I am.
Perhaps this is why I was having so much trouble to remember what to write: so many things to write about that it is hard to put them in words. And it didn't help that after I left school, I wasn't really in touch with the school. I know many of my friends who were in touch: but then I wasn't much in touch with many of my school friends either.
It is useless to wonder why it was that way. At the time I left my school, it was changing a lot. And I guess, because I wasn't a part of the change, I still remember the school before the change. At that point, I still remember agreeing with many of my friends that it was difficult to visit the school, because of the changes it was undergoing, and we were not a part of it. I never felt at home in the new school. But, at least, whatever be the reason, there is the part of me which still retains the memory of the school as it was: all preserved in my prefontal cortex, and to a lesser extent in the diaries.
Having said all that, lets remember that nothing about the change was meant in a bad way: any change is inevitable, whether desirable or not. If you are familiar with the Second Law of Thermodynamics, you must know that Entropy must increase. I realized it long back, now that it is almost 13 years since I left my school (and more well-versed in Physics than I was back then): I have nothing other than loving memories about it. Memories about a land, far far away, hidden in time, visited by fairies and apparitions, which does not exist any more, but only in memories of certain people... so the story starts!
Now that I have written a paragraph, I already feel good about the momentum. Things pop up in my mind. Maybe a biography would be good? That's what a part of my brain suggests. That's simple, another part of my brain says: you were admitted to this school quite a while ago, when you were in class 2. And here I get a loud ping from the prefrontal cortex of my brain (oops, I do seem to have forgotten my biology lessons, but then I am not a professional biologist, so I needn't be ashamed! I just had to look up this term from Wikipedia, in case you are wondering). One of the earliest memories tell me that the first time I was sitting in the class, for some reason I decided to sit the other way round, so that I was facing the back of the class, rather than the front. Why? I haven't the faintest idea, that must have seemed right to my brain, but I am pretty sure that I must have been made fun of because of that! That's what kids do!
I have many more memories of that time, but then this space, or any space for that matter, is not enough. Some memories are too entwined with others, some memories are quite choked, and prejudice tells me not reveal others. Anyway, I have a very clear idea of what the school was: it was green, it was small, it was close. Not that any of these are necessarily good or bad, it is just that everything has its own advantages and disadvantages. So, there we were, all huddled up in the Assembly Hall at 7:50 am, and sang our Morning Prayers. We belonged to different school houses, and my house was 'Divine Mother'. I still remember the lovely rivalry we used to have with the house 'Sri Aurobindo': I guess school houses were created to achieve excellence via healthy competition. Most of the times, the house 'Sri Aurobindo' would win, whether be it in the Annual Sports, or in the Quiz Competitions. Well, it was Sri Aurobindo Ashram after all! I believe these houses are all called differently, after colors. There used to be House Captains in charge of managing the different houses, and if I grew up enough to be one of these people. I hope I did make my House proud!
I remember the first time and the last time I acted in a school play (they aren't identical; the last time was in a more philosophical play about the Ascent to Truth, a mighty complicated job, but not without peals of laughter, if you get my meaning!). The first time was in Class 2, when I had to play a ball-dance scene in either Cinderella or ... no, it indeed was Cinderella. Of course, I wasn't the main prince. That would have involved too much attention, and I was terribly shy back then. I think I was shy for a long, long time. Many of my teachers noticed that: it was pointed out in multiple occasions. I was shy of performing well, getting the attention. Of writing well. Not literature anyway, just writing with my hand. My language is sloppy, and my style too free-spirited. Except perhaps writing research articles. But thanks to all these feedback, slowly as I grew up, I was able to overcome this to some extent.
This brings me to the subject of my Teachers. I consider myself really lucky in that respect: I don't know how good a student I was, but most of the teachers were absolutely excellent. I can't really compare them with others, because I've never had other private teachers, or for that matter, I never managed to change schools. But then, even now that I look back as a grown-up, I feel that I couldn't really have done better. Now, must say something about my Teachers.
I remember that I was way too much taken with books and studies, and too little sports. That wasn't the best thing: I am still envious of my friends who, for example, learnt how to swim in their schools. But then, we never had a swimming pool in our school, so I shouldn't be complaining. What else? Well, there is so much: some things I did in my school have clung to me so much that sometimes I forget from where I got them. I still begin the paragraph by leaving a bit of a blank space in the first line (and if my prefrontal cortex serves me right, I was taught that in my third class in the English course), I still know how to use a Transferred Epithet. While I forget how to distinguish a canyon from a gorge, I know how 'Sisters Must Help Each Other'. In case you are left wondering what it actually, try Googling it. Try it, before reading on. I did try, and it did not give me anything meaningful. But I still remember this being taught in a Geography class as a clever way of remembering the Great Lakes in the proper order from west to east: Lake Superior, Michigan, Huron, Eyre and Ontario.
So there you go: while many memories may become vague, some memories will always cling to you. That's a part of growing up, a symbol of how much the environment that you grew up affected you, influenced you, made you what you are. I am certainly proud of that. Not that I always speak about it, but it is there, deep within me, something that has shaped me irreversibly in the way that I am.
Perhaps this is why I was having so much trouble to remember what to write: so many things to write about that it is hard to put them in words. And it didn't help that after I left school, I wasn't really in touch with the school. I know many of my friends who were in touch: but then I wasn't much in touch with many of my school friends either.
It is useless to wonder why it was that way. At the time I left my school, it was changing a lot. And I guess, because I wasn't a part of the change, I still remember the school before the change. At that point, I still remember agreeing with many of my friends that it was difficult to visit the school, because of the changes it was undergoing, and we were not a part of it. I never felt at home in the new school. But, at least, whatever be the reason, there is the part of me which still retains the memory of the school as it was: all preserved in my prefontal cortex, and to a lesser extent in the diaries.
Having said all that, lets remember that nothing about the change was meant in a bad way: any change is inevitable, whether desirable or not. If you are familiar with the Second Law of Thermodynamics, you must know that Entropy must increase. I realized it long back, now that it is almost 13 years since I left my school (and more well-versed in Physics than I was back then): I have nothing other than loving memories about it. Memories about a land, far far away, hidden in time, visited by fairies and apparitions, which does not exist any more, but only in memories of certain people... so the story starts!
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