CAN BROKEN BISCUITS CURE BROKEN DREAMS? (Memoir series – Story 14)

A Journey of Longing

Oh, how I ache for my Mummy!

She’s not here because she’s very sick and needs special treatment at a hospital in a faraway place called Vellore. Daddy is also there, taking care of her.
 
And my world has turned upside down. I had to say goodbye to my school in Ernakulam and join a new school called MT Seminary in Kottayam.
 
School here is different from what I’m used to. The subjects and lessons are not the same, and it’s a bit hard for me. And I don’t get to go home in the evening because I am in the Boarding School. It’s a lonely and discouraging life.
 
I look forward to Sundays the most.
 
Today is a Sunday, and my heart is leaping with joy and anticipation. I’m on the first floor scanning the distant view of the gate, waiting for that magical moment when I catch the first glimpse of my cousins who come to visit me.
 
And then, like a burst of sunshine, Rajuchayan’s Jeep comes into view.
 
I hurry down the wooden steps to greet him. And it’s a joyous moment when he asks me with a caring smile – “Enna Ondedaa?” (which translates to a greeting similar to Whatsup?).
 
Last week he had taken me on a short spin around the ground in his Bullet motorcycle with its engine making thunderous echoes against my School’s walls.
 
Rajuchayan steps out of the Jeep. And we spend a few minutes talking. Then out comes the big tin.
 
Every week I get a tin like this one.  It’s filled to the brim with broken biscuits from Sweet House, the bakery run by Rajuchayan and Sunnychayan.
 
Since only the undamaged biscuits are sold to customers, it is standard practice in the Bakery to segregate the broken biscuits into tins.
 
This assorted bunch of biscuits is yummy. Who cares if they are broken?
 
I’d rather just have these biscuits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day than the food served in our mess hall.
 
I know a secret about the food served in the mess hall.
 
The meat served there is dog meat. Once a week, a few stray dogs roaming around are caught and cooked.
 
And the plastic mugs for serving buttermilk are used in the toilets after lunchtime.
 
This top secret was shared by a few of our seniors. So now my friend John and I don’t eat meat and avoid the buttermilk.

I miss Mummy’s tasty curries. How wonderful it would be if I could have even just a little bit of rice and curry cooked by her.

I even miss the bitter drink she makes for blood purification. And those yummy gingelly balls.

I feel totally deprived and unable to adjust to this new environment. And I don’t have many friends except on Sundays.

On Sundays, I am the most popular guy because I share my biscuits with every boy in my dormitory. Only the fancy cream ones are reserved for John and me.
 
Though I had promised my seniors that I wouldn’t tell anyone, I mention the dog’s meat and plastic mugs to Rajuchayan. But he laughs loudly and says that it is nonsense. So I try convincing Sunnychayan when he comes. But he too doesn’t take it seriously.

Why don’t they believe me?

I need every excuse I can get to flee from this place. All I want is to go back to my old school and my Mummy.
 
Then one day, Daddy comes to visit. I clutch his hand while he enquires about life in the new school.

I dare not loosen my grip as I cannot afford to let go of him. I am desperately wanting him to take me to Mummy.
 
He says Mummy is fine and that she has sent a letter for me. I strain to read the letter through the tears welling up in my smarting eyes.

Reading the letter, I can’t stop crying. Amidst the sobbing, I declare to Daddy that I am coming with him to Vellore. I plead that he takes me to my Mummy even if it is just for a day.
 
Sensing that I am adamant, he takes me to the School Principal. He wants to know why I wish to leave the school. So I blurt out about the dog meat and the buttermilk mugs.
 
The senior boys are summoned. They apologetically explain that they were just kidding. It was just a prank.
 
But I’m just not willing to let go of either my beliefs about the food or my father’s hand.
 
After great deliberation, Daddy and the Principal convince me to stay back. I am given the assurance that if I ever encounter a serious problem, I would be allowed to leave for good.
 
So I stand with my friend at the school gate, numb and still, as Daddy disappears into the distance. I feel defeated and let down. My friend’s hands seem more reliable than my Dad’s. 
 
At bedtime, I cry into my pillow silently until I fall into a tired slumber. Mummy’s letter is still clenched in my fist.