A Pupil’s Progress

A Pupil’s Progress

As a student of an elementary school in a hamlet  consisting of just  forty houses in a remote village in Tamilnadu,  me and my classmates, on orders from our teachers  used to walk  to the nearby villages  which were two to three miles away from my village  to bring lunch or to get post-cards or inland letters from the sub-post office  or to collect chocolate pockets from the village panchayat president’s house on the eve of independence day or the republic day . On a few occasions we had to deliver some bags of noon-meal items at our teachers’ homes. (Corn-flour, wheat granules of CARE programme).  At times we had to wade through knee deep waters and walk along the grassy bunds of green paddy fields. In case of rains we had to drench as umbrellas were a luxury for us then. A few streams are to be crossed on way and in the months of October and November the Jungle Rivers would be in spate.  Holding the hands of the passerby we had to cross those small rivers.

But to run these errands there would be a stiff competition among my school mates. Only the lucky ones would get a chance to explore the outside world. There would be a fight among us to cook the noon meal as maids and noon-meal organizers came much later. We have to collect fire wood for this purpose. Climbing trees or cutting the branches –nothing bored us and none bothered these.  No mishaps –no complaints. In fact the parents would tell the teachers invariably, “Peel off his skin leaving the eyes”.  Mostly a frightening look from our teacher was sufficient to control a truant boy.  After the lunch, in the afternoons we would take turns to cool our teachers with the help of palm leaf fans as my village had not seen the electricity.  The teachers were mostly from the southern districts and never our parents had questioned our teachers for assigning such works to us. All this happened when we were hardly eight to ten year old.  

Now after three decades I turn back and wonder what I lost as a child and what my child has gained today. He goes to his school by a bus and his teachers are not asking him to go elsewhere.  But is he safe in this concrete jungle and moving metals of men and motors?

 Not a single day passes without a report on a ‘killer bus’ or a ‘killer van’ driven by a ‘killer driver’ crushing a child. A TATA or an Ashok Leyland school bus metamorphoses into a new avatar all of a sudden. Either the bus is burnt or stoned and damaged beyond recognition. The driver, if he is lucky survives or otherwise succumbs.  Calls for the arrests of all concerned are made and yet another incident engulfs us.   These are not the signs of a mature society.

 School kids running behind moving buses with their loaded school bags, hanging on to the foot boards precariously and overcrowded buses are a common sight here.  Children packed like sardines and sitting dangerously on the sides of the driver seat in an auto is a regular feature for decades now. Nowhere in the world have you seen kids reading books seriously while they sit on the fuel tanks, as the father or mother riding a moped on a busy highway.  It is not an uncommon sight altogether to see a parent talking over his /her mobile while the kids are on the vehicle.

 Most of the accidents are due to rash driving and drunken driving.  The families with people of ‘drinking habit’ have to accept them and allow them to drink at homes as in western nations. Drinking is no more a social stigma and no need to hide this ‘great secret’ from our neighbours.  They may want to protect their kids from the vice but other citizens have to protect their lives. Family members must not allow them to ride on roads under the influence of alcohol. If possible law enforcers can seize such vehicles permanently. Road safety is not an individual’s preference: but a society’s responsibility.