FRIDAY, APRIL 26, 2024
N J Ravi Chander
It was in 1966, as a seven-year-old, that I had my first feel of a picnic. The school announced that we would make a trip to a familiar park on Bengaluru’s outskirts. So, with the adrenaline rush flowing, my younger sibling and classmate Prasanna Kumar and I dashed home after school, delighted at embarking on our maiden outdoor adventure. But, though we failed to get the elders’ nod - they were concerned about our safety - we luckily did not miss the bus!
On the picnic day, we trudged off to school, lugging our cargo of books as usual. A red-coloured bus greeted us near the school gates, and only then it dawned on us about the occasion. Soon the picnickers lined up in front of the red beauty. My brother and I, clad in uniform, appeared odd before the others, attired in their vacation outfits.
The teachers began the headcount - one, two, three - and started herding the pupils into the coach. As my brother and I had not coughed up the picnic fee, the teachers sidelined us. The bus soon filled up with the constant chatter of excited tiny tots, and there was a creepy feeling of being left behind. Our small size, however, came as a boon. “How can we abandon them,” remarked one. “Yes! We cannot reach their parents either”, retorted another. We finally got the green light and swept into the coach with the rest of the gang. As the driver took to the wheel and the vehicle moved, the tiny tots went bonkers!
Meanwhile, the parents who were unaware of our whereabouts learned through a neighbour - her son studied in the same school - that we were picnic bound. The parents, too, had not marked the date! But more importantly, their biggest concern was our safety.
When we debarked at the venue, we let our hair down by splashing our little legs in the pool, building sandcastles and scampering after butterflies. There was the simple joy of playing on the merry-go-round, see-saw, slide and the swing. We even mounted the back of the life-size animals’ sculptures and had a few tumbles. Finally, exhausted, we cooled our heels under a wide-armed, leafy pipal tree.
During the lunch hour, the kids munched on various goodies brought in by the school staff. The only sour note was when a classmate spilt water on my half-eaten food, and I had to discard it. Some kids with deep pockets splurged on fruits, cotton candies, juices and ice-creams hawked on the roadside. The fling ended when the sun began its descent, and the teachers coaxed us to get back for the return journey. Disappointed at the curtains coming down, we dragged ourselves into the vehicle with long faces and hit the road again.
When we got home, the rousing reception we received stumped us. It was the kind reserved for heroes returning from an adventure. The parents, who had grown restless during our absence, were glad to see us back again. Dad, who had displayed hesitancy in sending us on the trip, thrust a rupee coin - the tour fee - into my palm and implored me to hand it over to the class teacher. It made for a happy ending!
