My native village is in Tanjore District. How long my forefathers lived there is something I have no idea about. Which generation migrated to this place will always remain an unanswered question. It’s a very small village, almost a hamlet, with very few houses, but it boasts two very old temples.

My first visit to this distant land must have been when I was 3 years old. I don’t have many memories of this visit to such strange lands, except for two: one registered vaguely, and another reminded by a family photograph. There is an old and famous dam a little away from the village called ‘Karikalan Kallanai.’ Being very fond of me, my aunt must have taken me there. I vaguely remember her carrying me as we stood on the dam, watching the water flow by. My cousins lived in a nearby place called ‘Thiruvaiyaru,’ where five rivers meet, and which is known for Saint Thyagaraja, a famous musician. One of my cousin sisters was also fond of me, and from what I hear, always carried me around. There’s a photograph of me sitting in her lap.

And there, my memory of this visit ends.

The next visit must have been when I was 7 years old. This was the first train journey I recall. With great expectations, anticipation, eagerness, and thrill, my brother and I danced our way to the station. A few minutes after we were seated, a terrifying figure entered. Already tiny, both of us rolled ourselves into balls and hid in the crevices. It was our headmaster, traveling with us! Out of all the compartments and bays on the train, why did he have to choose ours? He was a terror at school. His constant refrain was, “I will break your knees!” We carefully protected our knees from any onslaught, shutting our mouths except when eating silently out of respect. Voices completely gone, we wasted what should have been an adventurous journey. “I am your uncle here, not the headmaster,” he told us with a stern face. But how could we rely on a domineering figure who always seemed to be in search of students' knees with a long cane? We didn’t take any chances.

My father was resourceful. Having decided that we would stay in this toilet-less place in a remote corner of Madras State, he knew we wouldn’t return in time for the annual exams. Why he did this, I never asked—and now I can’t. Cleverly, he took permission from this ‘uncle’ headmaster, who, in a rare moment of benevolence, agreed to hold special exams for us. If only he had promised, with even a hint of a smile, that he would stay away from our knees, we might have opened up to him, even if just a little. But that was not to be.

In all fairness, though, and with due respect, he was a wonderful teacher and an excellent headmaster who ran the school with aplomb.

Continued in 149. Good ETs, Bad Landing - Part 2