DOODLER ON THE ROOF – (Memoir series – Story 17)

How to be a perpetual nuisance

One more round, please. I beg Rajuchayan.

I love Rajuchayan’s Bullet motorcycle. The distinct thump of the engine reverberates with power, giving me a blood rush that I can’t get enough of.

It’s my last Sunday at MT Seminary School, Kottayam. And sadly, the final visit from my cousins Rajuchayan and Sunnychayan. Shifting to the Ernakulam school means I’ll miss them dearly, along with the precious tin of broken biscuits from their bakery, my weekly delight.

In just a couple of days, Daddy will arrive to take me back to my old school in Ernakulam. I am excited as I pack my bags. And I eagerly await his arrival.

Finally, Daddy arrives. After completing the necessary paperwork, we load my bags into the dicky of KLA320 – Daddy’s wonder car. I can see that Daddy has the stepney tyre ready to be rolled into action any time we have our usual tyre puncture on our trips.

I’m thrilled that Daddy has arranged for re-admission for me to my old school. Central School, here I come!

As we approach home, a sense of warmth envelops me, but it quickly fades as I step inside.

The house is in disarray and neglect. Mummy’s little garden has been reduced to dried stubs and anthills. Hardy weeds stubbornly emerge from the cracks in the stone pathway.

The rooms have collected dust, and wear a gloomy look as if silently protesting against Mummy’s absence.

Tomorrow, Daddy will drop me off at Sally Aunty’s house, where I’ll stay until Mummy comes back from the Hospital.

Everything has been happening so fast that I couldn’t ask Daddy enough questions about what to expect in this new place.

But as soon as I meet Sally Aunty, she welcomes me with motherly love and care, instantly making me feel comfortable. Her loving embrace soothes my worries and makes me feel at home.

Returning to my old school feels like stepping into a cherished dream.  The laughter of friends and familiar faces surround me. However, there’s no time to relax as the final exams are approaching.

One day, my class teacher calls me aside. She knows I had gone to Vellore to meet Mummy and lovingly asks how she is. Then comes the news I didn’t want to hear – I won’t be promoted to the 6^th grade.

I look at her like I get struck by lightning. So she explains that I studied different books in my previous school, and I won’t be able to perform satisfactorily in the exams here.

I feel like my world is crumbling. Why didn’t anyone warn me about this academic ambush?

The two main reasons why I wanted to come to Ernakulam were to be with Mummy and to be back with my friends in my school. But look where I stand now. Mummy is still in Vellore, and my friends are going to leave me behind in my class while they progress on to the next grade.

I struggle to let these realities sink into my head. Couldn’t I have just remained in my old school?

Thankfully, my teacher gives me a couple of minutes to regain my composure.  I must resolve that even when I fail in my exams, I will not let this setback defeat my courage.

Who needs the 6th grade when I can have a tribe of friends from both the 5th and 6th grades? Double the friendship, double the fun. How about that!

I become one of the tallest in my class and naturally gravitate to the back bench. And let me tell you, the back bench is the best place to be! From here, I have a helicopter view of the entire class, fewer disturbances from teachers, and more fun with my classmates.

Plus, my doodling skills improve. Now a whole lot of the back pages of my notebooks transform into canvases for caricatures of guitarists and drummers and the Woodstock logo (small bird perched on a guitar neck) and different adaptations of the peace logo.

Back home, I don’t have to worry about Mummy checking my books, so I let my imagination run wild on the pages. Caricaturing western music stars becomes my obsession, even if I don’t have any cassettes of that kind of music.

All my caricatures wear bell-bottom trousers and flowery shirts. And they boldly flaunt Woodstock logo amulets and lockets on their beaded necklaces.

The bass drum of the jazz drum set in my caricatures often has the Woodstock logo or some groovy names which we friends mutually agree are suitable for a band.

During breaks between classes, my classmates gather around and enjoy my caricature skills. And their encouragement motivates me even more. I’m loving every bit of this artistic journey!

Some of my classmates make paper airplanes and rockets or paper fortune tellers and go around the class revealing handwritten fortunes inside them.

But hey, I can’t waste a single page. My doodles are taking over, and I need all the space I can get.

It’s incredible how my self-taught imaginative doodling soars higher than any paper airplane. And I don’t need a fortune-telling game to afford me a glimpse into an imaginary future.

I’m already living in the unknown, and learning that each twist and turn leads me to unexpected destinations irrespective of what I hope for.

Oh, and you know what I’m secretly hoping for? That none of my teachers catch wind of my doodle empire. I can’t bear the thought of them inspecting my notebooks in detail and hitting the proverbial roof.