I was scared, wildly doomed to the hilt. There was no other trick left in the school satchel rather than wet my pants on the cycle rickshaw when it pulls up in front of the house at 8am. There used to huge drama before going to school. I did succeed many times thwarting my parents, from attending school, but they won almost daily. The screaming used to start from 5am, resounding relentlessly till 8am. Finally, I used to accept my fate and face the 3rd class teacher. Loved her.

The Gulmohar and Parijatha tree lined path to the convent school building was my only solace. The chirpings, twittering and their smooth flight take off to the blue yonder pacified my cold-hot chills. Only fleeting though. Doobthe ko thinke ka sahara. How I wished to fly away to those unending emerald blue horizons!!

It used to be a loooong day till 3pm, endless eternity maybe. The attendance call was the first step of Hitler inspired torture proceedings. Veneslinga, Veneslinga? The teacher used to repeat patiently looking at me, I would return a blank look, dazed though. She used to come and knock me on my unsuspecting head, spurning stars early morning. ‘You nitwit, don’t even know your name? Next time I call you Veneslinga, say present Miss cheerfully”. I couldn’t in the world get it, why she used to call me that ET name, when my name is simple- Venu. Encounters of a third kind from Mars definitely. I began to respond gradually, accepting my fate once more. My name had taken a long voyage to Venus, I guess. Probably Venus Swirls name given to my recent book was the residue from those impressionable days.

Veneslinga, recite table 8, twenty times and come to me by tom. Wow. I could not even count my five fingers straight!! The super numerals used to compete with shiny stars in my little head!! Mr Biden, move aside, I have bigger problems here.

I used to skip the lunch box meals and keep my mouth dry without a sip, even the Hifi sparkling aqua sensor taps couldn’t tempt me. The line of teachers endlessly uttering incoherent words from various subjects was a buzz in my tiny stratosphere. All were cosmic supersonic sounds from Andromeda galaxy. Not one para or a single line syllable used to make sense. I couldn’t sleep in the night too, terrified of Marvel Goblins. I thought I would die soon, as my worried parents kept saying that I was a bony pale white boy, losing weight @ rate of an UFO speed.

Lullabies

How I longed to sing those sweet nursery rhymes while I was in LKG section.
Ringa Ringa Roses.
Pocket full of ‘thorny’ Doses.
Huhsa busha, me fall down into Narak and Paatal.

Baba Baba black sheep.
Have you any wool?
Yes, Sir, Yes Sir. One for my heartless Fool
Residing at my silly school

Johnny Johnny yes papa
Telling lies, no Papa.
Am telling truth – me Venu in UKG, not big 3. ‘chikka huduga Baba ree ’

The rhymes would resonate constantly in my curly haired dreamy head, moan- groan. The washroom was a great escape despite the public toilet familiarity. It was a pretty prep period for a future hotel / kitchen consultant, learning to push the boundaries…limitless cook chills… Ding dong bell, when does my home bell ring? Lil Venesu wants to go home.

Enter The Dragon – MOM

My observant mom was forever nudging me to configure what the geo political issues I was being trolled on. A little Barbie girl crush at the ripe age of five years? I used to blurt some nonsense, on the lines of hating my straight haired fair Miss or the bench mates pinching my scrawny bum. She landed in my class one fine morning soon after a major Rasputin rhapsody I created – refused to come out of the toilet before leaving for school, screaming that I had loose yet frosty Siberian motions.

I was hiding behind the last bench when I saw Mom. There was a commotion after ten minutes. I dared to peep out. What I saw was pure undiluted essential joy. Mom was screaming at all my teachers and it was a pure comedy show for my gladdened heart. Somehow my teachers were horrified. They had puzzled faces, dead pan. Serves them right, who used to regularly knock on my head. They used to repeat those taunting words.” You good for nothing boy, don’t even know the basics, you are in class 3, but behave as if you are in Kinder Garten!!

My mom dashed off straight to the head mistress office and opened a box of Pandora. She loudly demanded why her precious boy was sitting in class 3 instead of KG? The admission was given to UKG after I had finished my LGK. How dare they call her bony boy as Venesh Linga, when he has my Krishna name?

‘Zara Vrindavan chalke dekho, Shyam bansi bajate milenge’….

The HM fainted, her fragile table for support was of no use. I thought Mom bashed her sweet delicate head which was full of sponge.

I was so exuberant.

Rest is history as they say, I was always a first ranker. Got a double promotion after 2nd class, so the famous class 3 was a hop scotch and skip. Amen.

Venu Rao
22/03/24

Circa 2023,
Author at his nursery school.