From School to School

“D.A.V Girls Senior Secondary School”, the sign read. Though the street landmarks had changed over the years, I knew this was the right place. I hesitated by the entrance gate, then slowly made my way inside. A cacophony of chattering girls, with bright white-and-grey ribbons and jasmine flowers in their hair, stopped their game of hopscotch midway to take a better look at me. I took in the familiar sights, and little by little, the memories started snaking their way inside my head. The gigantic old Banyan tree, under whose protective cover we'd “hang out” before the morning prayer. The once-detested gray-and-white salwar kameez uniforms, the dupatta of which served as a fan/handkerchief in the scorching summer heat. I quickly ducked as I spotted my SUPW* teacher, from whom I’d received far too many scoldings. As I walked through the courtyard, catching a waft of the “rotten eggs” smell from the Chemistry lab, the once-detested havan** room became visible. The voices, the laughter, math consternation, Chennai slang, all came rushing back.

I didn’t think I would ever be back to my old high school, but there I was. Clutching my purse tightly for comfort, I carefully made my way through the maze of students. I was a good student, but quite a troublemaker, so I wasn’t quite sure how my principal would react to seeing me.

An email had sparked my interest in Goonj’s School-to-School program. After reading the email, it struck me that after many years, I was actually in the same city as a high-school that I had attended. It seemed almost fortuitous: why not try and get the program started here?

I walked up outside my principal’s office, and mentioned to the attendant that I wanted to meet her. A faint flicker of recognition passed across her face; I was an ‘old student’, wasn’t I? She walked inside, and after a few words with the principal, she ushered me in.

LC, we used to call her. There was a time when her booming voice, the imposing manner, the well-oiled, long braid, the characteristic big glasses framing the dark, intelligent eyes, would send shivers down our spines. Would she reject my proposal outright?

I walked in, and smiled. She was a little more wrinkled, a little more grey, but otherwise she looked exactly the same. We chatted briefly about the past, and then I discussed the project idea with her and showed her some reading material on it. Meticulously, she scanned the information on every sheet. Looked at every photo of the villager children, read every caption. With no sign of emotion on her face, she looked up, and asked some questions. “How far is the village you propose to send the items to?” “How you would ensure that the items reach the right people?”

With as much conviction and confidence as I could muster, I told her that I would ensure that the material reached the right hands. (The collected items will be going to an amazing Model Village project, which I've profiled here.) It was strange, I had just finished delivering my first company sales presentation that morning, yet the convincing, the arguments to be made “to sell” this proposal were on different level here, and meant something more to me now.

She looked up and said solemnly, “Even if we can make a 10% difference to the lives of children, it’s worth it. Kids should understand that what they don’t need, they can give away to children just as themselves. In fact, since the village is so close by, after the project is implemented, we might even be able to make a school trip down there so the kids can see for themselves.”

And after all these years, I finally realized what I was here to learn. Under the stern demeanor, the cold stares and the eyes that could bore into you..under her aura of steel lay a wellspring of compassion.

******
I don’t know how change happens, but I know it starts small. It can start anywhere -- from your backyard, from your old high school. I'm not sure how the project will turn out, but I know it’s worth a try.

(If all goes well, the collection boxes will be at the school probably on April 11th , 13th and 15th. I might need some help with the sorting and packing of the collected items. If you’re in the area and would like to help out, drop me an email!)
*SUPW: I can’t even remember what it actually stands for, but it is nationally recognized as “Some Useful Period Wasted”. It is a class to imbibe important vocational skills (i.e. sewing) to girls. We actually had to make slips, blouses and -- don’t laugh -- underwear. I mean, you never know when you’ll be forced to sew your own underwear, right?

**The school’s acronym stand for Dayanand Anglo-Vedic school. The principles of the school are drawn from the Vedas. Every alternate Saturday we had a havan session. In the presence of a central fire, where a “chosen” student would be administering holy offerings into the fire, we had to recite the entire Bhagavad Gita. For those of you who were wondering, this is where I crafted my artful ‘sleep-while-sitting’ technique.