PAPER BOATS

 PAPER BOATS

 

LT COL NOEL ELLIS

 

17/VII/2022

 

Rains have created puddles everywhere. Can a child miss a puddle? No. Grandparents, walking their toddlers keep shouting, “arrey bheeg jayi, ruk ja, jukaam lag jayi” …. Do children listen? No. We guys are overprotective. Actually, we want to do things that a child does. ‘What will people say if we jump into puddles’, holds us back?

 

Rain clouds were playing hide and seek with the sun, when a very beautiful site caught my attention. There were two paper boats. Boats would have floated from somewhere but as they say ‘sahil ko mil gaya kinara’; boats now rested on a little raised embankment of the rain water drain.

 

Imagine, boats were carrying flowers. I recalled the floating flower markets close to Dal Lake in Srinagar. What a site it used to be! Small ‘shikaras’, laden with flowers, tulips, lotus and what have you. Heart shaped oars. The ‘manjhi’ sitting on his haunches at one corner, slowly rowing his boat to show his wares. The site used to be captivating.

 

Children must have tried to keep those paper boats afloat, but then the paper-soaked water. How hard they would have tried; those boats sank and along with them sank the wares they were carrying. How disappointing for the children!

 

They went looking for more paper to make more boats. Parents helped them to fold paper, but after a ‘small journey’ they all would sink. Two boats reached our home and I drifted back to childhood.

 

It was in Kindergarten that we were taught to make ‘paper boats’ in the ‘crafts’ class. We would carefully fold paper, keeping it as symmetrical that our clumsy hands could keep them. The smile on our faces would burst when we finally opened the last fold from which a paper boat, with a triangular sail in the centre would emerge.

 

It must have rained the previous night. Completing homework in ‘candle light’ was common, as the first gust of wind would cut electricity off. Many times, we would hear a ‘big bang’. ‘Transformer gaya’, used to be said. It meant ‘three days’, till the transformer was either replaced or repaired. We used to be on candles or kerosene lamps. Mom would ensure that we did our homework.

 

Next day in school, the teacher asked for homework and we submitted it. As Ma’am was checking my notebook, she asked me, why didn’t I do it. I was confident that I had. Where is it? I said, it has gone on a boat. I got one solid ‘whack’ on my cheek and tears rolled down. What nonsense are you talking? I again meekly said, it’s on a boat Ms. One more tight slap and the punishment was to do that lesson five times.

 

I recalled what had happened. We were skipping along to school when we saw this huge puddle infront of the Cadets Mess. Could there be a better way to convert theory to practical? Paper was no dearth. Our school bags had notebooks. The first notebook that came in hand and the first page which opened was torn. Homework got torn too. A boat was made and left to float and along with it floated the homework.

 

On the way back from school, that little boat was still there in the puddle. By now the water had seeped in the soil. The boat had run aground. I dumped my satchel on the road and carefully stepped in the wet mud, not to retrieve my boat but to retrieve my homework. No one wanted to do homework five times over.

 

I slipped and fell in the mud. My uniform was a mess. Children laughed but I retrieved my boat. My body and uniform were smeared in mud. Blue shorts and white shirt looked khaki.  

 

Down I skipped back to school with my boat to show my teacher that look, here is my homework. With delicate hands she unfolded it, pulled my cheeks and apologised. I got toffees and extra homework was cancelled. I rushed back home. Satchel was where I had left it and reached home all smeared in mud. Even my hair had mud in it.

 

Mom knew that I must have muddled in a puddle. Before I could explain, ‘Whack-Whack’, I got two slaps. I wailed and whimpered, half crying, half speaking in a muffled voice trying to explain how the homework was ‘extricated’ from the puddle. Another whack for tearing a page and another one for mom would have to wash my uniform, besides a warning that ‘let Dad come and then see what happens’.

 

It was not my day. I had learnt my lessons and in the rainy season we carried an old notebook, just in case one had to make a paper boat. Did you guys do such things? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

 

JAI HIND

© NOEL ELLIS