Scar and heal

Tulsi looked as those little pink-socked feet jumped up and down, messing her creaseless bed. In other time, the rumpled sheets would make her cringe, but today decided to let go. Her daughter, Mahi was starting school in a week’s time, and she was raring to go. She smiled, infected by her child’s happiness. Mama, can we go to Smiggles? I need to buy a new pencil case, school bag, lunch box and water bottle. Smiggles had a pull, no child could resist. Known for its funky, trendy, colourful school supplies, it was a dream of every school going child to flaunt a Smiggle backpack or a smiggle pencil box. Tulsi avoided going there, even though her daughter’s eyes always traveled to that shop every time they went shopping. She bought time saying, once you start school, I will take you to Smiggles. Now she ran out of excuses. Leaving Tulsi at the entrance of Smiggles, Mahi bounded away to explore as if she had set foot on Disneyland for the first time. Mama, can I buy this? she said showing her a dazzling pink pop up pencil case. As she held up the pencil case, her head was filled with images of the past, she was engulfed by bitter memories.

An nine-year-old Tulsi couldn’t take her eyes off the beauty. It was pink, or was it red, it was a colour you get when you mix little pink and more red, whatever the colour was it was stunning. It was gleaming as the sun rays bathed the classroom with its luminous light. Everyone crowded around Sudha, who had pride dripping from every part of her body as she showed off her My precious, a pencil box, her father got her from Singapore. It had push buttons on the lid, one press and it opened up, displaying the mysterious inside with its pen and pencil slots, a tiny drawer to keep the eraser and even pop pencil sharpener. For Tulsi it was a magic box, it sent frissons of excitement through her whole body. No one in her class had such a pencil box, her’s of course was dull and drab. A steel box , totally lacklustre. Sudha was impudent, she didn’t allow any one to touch it, as if it would lose its magical quality. But Tulsi wanted to feel it, caress it, touch the buttons, smell the perfumed eraser. How was it even possible, a tiny sharpener lodged in that tiny compartment, she thought. She asked Sudha if she could have a turn, but she gave a mocking laugh and said, what makes you think I will give you a go of all the others? Tulsi felt a stab of pain. Nonetheless, she couldn’t take it off her mind. She was restless. Soon it was recess, when all the children went out into the playground. But she couldn’t hold herself back. It seemed an unseen force was drifting her towards the classroom. Tulsi could hear her heart pounding in her ears, she knew what she was doing was wrong, but she just wanted to have a close look and then she would put it right back at its place. As she was digging in Sudha’s bag, a group of girls sauntered into the classroom. Tulsi went pale and dropped the pencil case, all the contents spilling out, as did the truth that she was stealing Sudha’s pencil case. She wanted to explain but the girls started to scream, so shrill and loud , that all the teachers left their lunch and ran to class 3 classroom. Mrs Goswami, the class teacher, a soft fleshed woman who hardly raised her voice in class, was in state of shock. Big fat tears spilled out of Sudha’s eyes. Miss, she was stealing my pencil case, she said through her sniffles. Tulsi was not given a chance to speak. She was taken to the headmistress office and the stern, woody, bespectacled superior didn’t mince her words. At the end of school day, when her father came to collect her, the headmistress was waiting at the entrance to talk to him. Soon the news got legs and was all over the school. Tulsi could see the students’ acute gaze at her father as he listened patiently. She couldn’t see her father’s face, but she could feel his body was stiff. At that moment she wanted the ground to crack and swallow her up. The slight of her father was too much for to bear. They walked home in awkward silence. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. When they reached home, her father asked her to sit down by his side. I will give you a chance to explain yourself, he said, his demeanour calm, though Tulsi knew inside he was hurting. As tears streamed down her eyes, she told her father everything. She had no intention of stealing the pencil case, she just wanted to have a touch and feel. Her father replied, I believe you. I will talk to your teacher tomorrow but I am not sure whether she will believe you or not. It was impetuous on your part and this may cause you suffering, be prepared. Tulsi, the next few months in school will not be easy. Children can be cruel and mean at times. But I assure this is going to pass. Be brave. Her father was right. School for her was purgatory. She was a social pariah. Her friends shunned her. Stinging barbs and jeers wounded her, making her life miserable. She felt lonely and abandoned. She hated Mrs Goswami. She had simply moved on, and was blissfully ignoring what was happening behind her back. Could she not see how she was hurting? She could definitely take the matter under control, and drum in some sense into the children. Children had the tendency to listen to the teachers. Was it not her responsibility to take care of her mental well being?

Time is a witch. It has the power to nudge old incidents to the farthest corner of the mind, from where it can’t crawl its way out. After a few months, most students forgot about the episode, their attention drawn towards more juicer and interesting incidents, but not for Tulsi. The incident scarred her for life. If someone lost an eraser or pencil in class, she would get fidgety , were the accusatory fingers pointing at her again? She hesitated borrowing anything from anyone, and even if she did she would not be at peace until she returned it to the rightful owner. Was it possible to rewrite a chapter of your life, she often thought. As she grew older, the past stalked her like a shadow often whispering in her ears, never letting her forget the incident. She could never get over it.

As she saw her daughter’s joy, holding the pink pencil case, she decided it was time for her to heal. She had to bury the demons.

That night she logged on to Facebook and clicked on the school year group page, and poured her heart out.

Subject: stealing of pencil case

I should have done this years back, but better late than never. I don’t know if you remember but in class 3 I was caught what appeared to be stealing. As I was never given a chance to explain, I decided to seize it myself. I never had the intention of stealing the pencil case, true I was besotted with it, I wanted a few minutes to explore it. Yes, it was a folly on my part. I was a curious child, and I paid a high price for my curiosity. I was branded a thief. I was treated as an outcast. The painful memories lingered on, and haunted me like a ghost. But I have suffered enough, it is time for me to let go.

She took a deep breadth and unfollowed the group. As she went to bed, she felt lighter as if she had unloaded a huge weight from her chest.