Healing

As a little girl, I’ve never been inclined to any sport; however, the only thing that excited me was the march past. Those days we had try-outs to participate in the march past. Fortunately, now these days children are encouraged to participate which is a good thing a way. Yet I feel the kids of today’s generation don’t take it seriously, and do not follow the decorum. I had observed on my daughter’s school sports day event where the children’s pants were falling on their buttocks showing off their colourful inner wear, and they were not in sync with the others. It was indeed an entertaining show.

This was in Mumbai the year was 1985, the month of January, it was the peak of winter. I know, for people up north might wonder, winter in Mumbai. Yes, winter mornings were always a delight with dew drops creating a pattern on the leaves, ask any Mumbaikar, they would agree with me for sure. I was super thrilled today, finally, after the try-out and those insane practices I was selected to be a part of the march past. I was in the ‘Blue House’. Since I was short, I was made to stand right in the front; almost leading the pack.

Growing up in a humble background was always a challenge. My parents couldn’t afford things at the drop of a hat though we were never deprived of the basics. In fact, we had made peace with whatever we had, but I wanted a new school uniform and shoes for the sports day. It was my special day, and I would not allow anything or anybody to ruin my day.

I got up early in the morning; I saw a bright blue bag on the table. My mother – my saviour, managed to get a blue skirt for me, the colour of the skirt was a bit darker, but I cared less. I ironed my uniform crisp. I almost spent thirty minutes ironing all the crease on the skirt. The previous day, I washed my white Bata canvas shoes and, in the morning, I applied the shoe whitener to give a brand-new look. The event was held in a stadium every year; however, this year was very special to me. In my mind I knew I was leading my team.

The stadium was filled with chatter and commotion. Parents, friends, relatives all were present. The event was about to begin. We were asked to gather in one place by our teacher. She took me by my arm and made me stand right in front. Two steps ahead of me was the house captain holding the house flag with pride. Everyone was at a stand at ease position. There was euphoria everywhere. ‘mic testing, hello mic testing.’ The head boy of our school was checking the mic, we waited with baited breath. The event was going to begin any moment. Suddenly, one girl from the last row called out to the teacher loudly and said, ‘Miss, the girl standing in the front has not worn the right uniform.’ I turned pale. My teacher came towards me; she looked at me from top to bottom. I felt I was going through an X-ray machine. She pulled me aside the same way that she had put me in the front. Without batting an eyelid, she asked me to leave the team right away.  I stood there looking completely helpless. I felt a strange pain in my heart and my eyes felt heavier. After that, I don’t have any memory of how I reached home, or if I stayed back to see the event.

So, sports days do open up those wounds, hope after writing, I am healed completely.