The First Love


Her name was Geetanjali, and she was new to school as I was. As the days passed by I started getting attracted to her. Especially the way she presented herself in front of others; her mannerism impressed me. She was sweet, she was beautiful and an angel whom I could greatly fantasize to meet in my childish yet lovers' dreams.


I was new to the Contemporary School unlike her, so I had less friends in those beginning days. To my dismay, whenever I found her near to me in the classroom, I couldn’t really talk to her. It felt as if I lacked the righteous abilities to tell her that I had started liking her. I was a 13-year-old and so was she. Her birthday came two weeks before mine, therefore she was older to me in a way. This information about the birthday I found written on the class bulletin board and I felt this could be the topic of our interaction. About both of us sharing the same birthday month. 


One fine morning I had entered the class and found her sitting there alone. As I moved closer to the seat where she sat, I was asked a question. “What's up?”

 

To me, English was a decent language, spoken in aristocratic circles, and yes our friendship was attributed to be so; aristocratic in itself (at least in my fantasy world).


Meeting her appeared to be a royal experience where I could define myself as a Prince and she my Princess. 


Moreover, my command over the English language was decent, if anyone would ask my father or family. But in the league of my classmates, it was old fashioned given my loose-hand over vocabulary and pronunciation. It included speaking English in a Punjabi accent. While I grew up and did my primary schooling at a village school in Amritsar, Geetanjali had been born and brought up in one of New Delhi’s posh localities, above being a student at the Contemporary School since childhood.


“Hey, I am good,” was a reply I gave without hesitation, because in front of a girl, a boy must appear confident. I had once overheard this from some senior boys in our school.

 

“Oh!”, she uttered with a sweet smile that stayed in its glory throughout that moment. Soon other boys and girls started entering the classroom, and we lost each other’s attention. 


In the days to follow, I learnt the meaning of the expression "What's up?" and also, what needed to be its appropriate answer. You could elaborate on your immediate state of mind, or what you are up to. Such as the most common one, "Nothing much", or "I screwed the homework!! I am doomed!!", as I heard once. 


It was then when I said to myself, “Pull up your socks Gagan. To become a prince in a kingdom, you must adhere to its language and rituals.”


I had been an ardent reader of newspapers and stayed in sync with the news of the world. I developed that habit after my father advised me to do so, in order to gain fluency and better command over the language. Those directions had come a couple of years prior, when passing English tests had been an uphill task. So dad created his English tutorial classes for me to save me from drowning further. 


I very well remember the instance when I had my final-term examinations on the head. Dad was teaching me literature lessons and through the grammar part told me that the ‘Parts of speech’, and ‘Tenses’ ruled the language, and further added, “Dear Gagan, English is a very rich language. Now tell me the second form of Talk?” The class went on from the morning till afternoon, but I sought a break after that, which he readily allowed me too (thinking I was seriously in need of one).


Secretly, I left home to join my neighbourhood friends playing with water-filled balloons as the Holi festival was around the corner. I was late in returning home and the next day was my exam. On seeing me enter so late, my dad was frightened and put his anger wholly on me. “How come you cheat me and yourself, you ‘murakh’ (fool).” 


I studied the remaining part of the evening and scored 52 marks out of 150 in my final-term English test that year. Guess what, I had passed the 33% score mark and the marks were written in blue ink rather than the red ink that usually covered my scorecards. In the days to follow, dad started bringing newspaper cuttings for me, of ‘Know your English’, the weekly column in ‘The Hindu’, every Tuesday. 


I learnt somewhat, and forgot what I had learnt the next day but I was trying each day to get smarter. So that I could spellbind an audience with my words and dialectics. These were my childish as well as innocent dreams streaming into my mind every now and then.


It was my hard work that landed me in the Contemporary School. In my village, I attended the "Sweety Public School", and so the name of sweet boy was bestowed upon me by my teachers in the new school. I was delighted by it and not embarrassed at all. The Contemporary School had a great name amongst the city folks as it dated back to the 1850’s. Undoubtedly it stood as one the oldest schools of Delhi.

Neighbourhood schools could learn from the legacy of this institution. Urdu was taught alongside Hindi, and like many other schools, elementary education as well as senior secondary education was inculcated by experienced teachers, who would often set the question papers for competitive exams at the All India Level.


The cultural inheritance showed up in the building of the school, with the principals' desk studded with gemstone work and artful display of birds and nature, characteristic of the Mughal period designing. I would often stop by the principal's room, trying to peek through the glass door, and get a glance of the rich architecture. Once I got a chance to officially enter the principal’s room, to collect the award for an essay-writing competition held by our school's computer club. 


I was touched to see the enticing work in the room when I got the chance to view it with permission. In no time, I wanted to have my own supreme place, where I could rest and hear the gramophone, the ghazals of Jagjit Singh, and the poetry of Ghalib. I accepted the certificate and the trophy that celebrated my English writing. While leaving the room, after collecting the trophy from a staff member I thought to myself. “Wow, if working that little hard could get me a walk into that room, I promise to keep working on the same lines.”


I wrote in my diary on getting back home, "Through my slumber to my wakeful hours, if any voice I can hear, then it be naught other than of my Princess, with pearls and navratnas dazzling around her being. When her anklet bears the ‘chun-chun’ voice, and her wristlet tantalizes with a diamond bracelet." I was referring to Geetanjali, who seemed appropriate to be my princess for I was already looking at myself as a prince, after receiving the honour from the head of the school.


When we get recognized for something, we feel enriched and the moment is priceless. I was high in spirits, as if pride filled in me with its true essence. The very next day, I was to be applauded in the school assembly, for I had won a contest beating 100 odd students. All thanks to my father, who scolded me right in my tender years for my failures, and I remembered my English teacher who taught me consistently from class 2nd till class 7th. I could easily observe the light of her teachings in the songs of my glory. “Thank you Sona ma'am,” I uttered remembering her, when I got the news of certification distribution in the assembly. 


On entering the auditorium I was excited to step on the stage, as it would be my first time receiving any award in the Contemporary School.


Soon, I found my line, wherein we were supposed to sit on the carpet, the teachers took hold of their lines, and were accustomed to taking the morning attendance. Dr. Feroz Khan, our principal, stood on the podium holding the mike alone and no lectern appeared. I felt as if it wasn't the day, when I was to be called upon the stage. The news was read, the announcements made and it was clear that assembly was about to get over. 


I was sentimental that Geetanjali wouldn’t see me while I was to be patted for my good work as she was to remain absent for the next week. Since she was to go for her Badminton trials for the National team to Bangalore. But to everyone's surprise, there was another talk for the day. Two girls came without any announcement to the stage and asked our Sir to hand away a few certificates and prizes, other than the trophy that I already received in the Principal's room. I knew this was going to be my moment.


I was curious and my heart started beating faster. And whatever was wrapped in the cover, was destined to be my greatest gift ever. For these gifts, having won, make us cherish them, the occasions of our school life. It's so beautiful to think about them later in our lives.


“Dear students, as you know, in the current times, all of us must be Climate Warriors. That can be possible when we keep our surroundings clean and green, while efficiently utilising our resources. In the technology age, where energy consumption has increased, we should definitely consider ideas of sustainable development. Today, it's my privilege to announce the winning entries that I have myself gone through in the Essay Writing Competition organised by the Environment Club of our school. I first of all congratulate all of the participants, because they raised their opinions on the innovative ways to conserve our natural resources. Dear students, we should learn to be aware of our duties towards Mother Earth, so the future of our planet is a bright one.”


After the address by the Principal, the names of the winners were finally announced, beginning from the 3rd prize winner to mine, the 1st prize winner. I walked up to the stage, with the confidence of a smart young boy! As I received the prize, my eyes looked out for Geetanjali, but could not spot her among the hundreds of students assembled in the auditorium.  


Many of my friends were thoroughly amazed, while my close friends knew how I wished to enhance my writing. But Geetanjali didn't turn up to greet me, although she was present in the hall. I was upset, as I was waiting for her warm attention for so long. I questioned myself whether she cared about me or not? 


I felt that she did, so I myself went to her, to hear what she had got to say about it. On seeing me walk up to her, she congratulated me in her dignified manner, “Well done man! You must be super good at writing.” I thanked her, and we stayed silent looking around, shy enough to talk about anything more than that.


By the time 3-4 months passed Geetanjali had many friends, unlike me, but those who could speak to her on different topics and she was cordial to them. The boys who befriended her were mostly the ‘Fighter Club’ members, who would go about stealing tiffin boxes from school bags during morning assembly, and then fight over meagre issues. She appeared to like their company, I never understood why? Maybe, since they were known to her for years, whereas I was still a newcomer. 


One day after recess was over, she sat on her seat, and a few boys playing with the rubber ball, hit her intentionally on her chest. I was annoyed and droplets of tears emerged in astonishment and embarrassment from her eyes over what had just happened. She sounded in grief, and could speak not a word in response. Her girlfriends brought the situation in control, screaming back at the boys and gently whispering words of love and compassion to her. She looked at me, as I looked into her eyes, and within a few seconds, our meeting of eyes, shared grief and turned her back to the comfort zone. I was happy to see her smiling again, but was filled with anger at the boys who brought that pain to her.


Few days later, a friend of mine proposed to her, and to my surprise she accepted his proposal. The doors of affection hadn't closed, but that moment gave me a new awakening. I got to talk to her, through our eyes, because I realised that she meant a lot to me. 


Those days define my first love, and I don't know where she is today, but I hope and pray that she embodies the same sparkle in her smile that she had long ago. It's been 5 years since I have seen her, but I feel she's comfortable in her own world, enjoying the seasons that occur in nature, and beautifying them too with her nectar of love, the way she made me smile and love her.


Gagandeep Singh Vaid
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