By Toki Blah
Let me first confess that this write up was inspired by something I picked up on the net and the recent function connected with the release of the book “Heritage Shillong”. The former was middle age reminiscing by some anonymous writer who made a brilliant comparison of his own childhood days to what is happening to kids of today. The second is the book referred to above which delved into the Shillong of yore. Both struck a sympathetic chord somewhere within me and the thought struck that perhaps there would be others of my age group who would love to be reminded what their own childhood and growing up in Shillong was like. Those were days we love to recall but unfortunately so surreal to the existing social environment of today. It does seem less and less people are prepared to listen to what we have to tell. What we have to tell might not be of help to any one; it might even be downright boring; it might be total tripe to some and irrelevant to most; but so what? Let’s tell it anyway. It’s the story of our generation !
This to all the kids (now balding grandparents) born between the 40’s and the 50’s and who survived the 80’s and the 90’s. At the time we were born, Child Mortality Rate was supposed to be quite high. Nothing like the excellent pre natal and post natal services of today, or at least that’s what we are told. So congrats for surviving and reaching the age you’re in today. We reached this ripe old age despite the fact that our mothers while pregnant never visited a gynaecologist, in fact most never heard of one. They simply listened to the advice of their elders. Wisdom passed on orally. The tradition of our society. Our mothers while carrying, devoured pork, beef, sweets, fried food, mawshun (chalk for its calcium), tungrymbai (fermented soya bean), dried fish and chewed their kwai and duma to their hearts’content. They walked their way to work and back to the kitchen where dinner waited to be cooked. They never tested themselves for diabetes; blood pressure or lipid tests for high cholesterol. They did OK and we were born OK.
Most of us were weaned on Kait Kaji (sweet Cherrapunjee bananas), Woodward’s gripe water or else the local “niangsohpet” concoction, bottled in receptacles of all shapes and sizes; fed on red rice gruel but managed to grow up with healthy bones and apparently with some grey matter to boot. In those days Shillong Syndicate Buses were a Shillong landmark, taking one to and from school or else one walked. Bus fare, given diligently by caring parents, could be converted into pocket money if one walked. So, many of us walked back from school. A ‘Fatso or a Mootu’ in school was then an exception rather than the rule it is today.
We consumed tons of butter, Mahari’s or Guidettis’s wrapped in scented translucent wrapping paper (Ah the fragrance, I can still smell it!)with white bread; tea with sugar, condensed milk and bread for sweet sandwiches; two helpings of red rice and fatty pork with every meal and yet still walked away with that perpetual lean and hungry look in our faces. Why? Because we were always playing outside, that’s why!
Then there were no video games, no cable TV with 99 channels to choose from, no video movies, no DVDs , no cell phones, no personal computers, no laptops , no internet , no face book, but we had fun and we had friends, lots of friends and we went outside to find them, to talk to them and to play with them. We called out to our friends or just simply walked up to their houses, knocked on the door, rang the bell or simply walked in. After all they were friends and what are friends for if not to entertain and be entertained?
We left home in the morning, ran to catch the bus or walked our way to school. Ran back home by three and played again till the sun went down. The only rule – we had to be back home by dusk. That was a universal rule applicable to everyone. No one could reach us all day long (there were no invasive mobiles then) but surprisingly we made it back home every night, safe and sound, menshohnoh and all that stuff notwithstanding
We drank water from the school tap and came out none the worse for it. Orchards of plums, peach, pears and oranges where there to be raided; the owners expected it and we obliged with gluttonous glee. We gobbled up unwashed stolen fruit, worms, grubs, dirt and all, and the worms apparently did not survive the ordeal.
Then there were the fights, the broken noses and knocked out teeth. We never squealed nor did anyone at home faint when the truant slunk back home with cuts, bruises and black eyes et al. Surprisingly one never heard of FIRs or lawsuits arising from such incidents. We got soaked in the rain and often limped back home with sprained ankles after being tripped on the football field. The mollycoddled, spoiled and pampered ‘Mama’s boy’ of today never existed then! No sire, there were no such aliens in our world. Accidents and fights were just part of boyhood and everyone lived with it.
An absurd practice today refuses to register in my mind. In those days the idea of parents bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. Strange as it may seem, they actually sided with the law! The silly ridiculous image of angry, doting parents with rolled up sleeves confronting the class teacher or the Principal, totally alien and unknown. Actually punishments in the classroom were secrets to be kept away from parents and guardians, for if known, the penalties were likely to be doubly repeated at home. Teacher and parents conspired together – because they loved us. None believed in nurturing spoiled pampered citizens.
Class periods for moral science was strictly enforced, irrespective of one’s creed or faith. The ethics of respect for elders; respect for the law; respect for justice; not to steal and not to covet were drummed into our psyche. We never forgot them at least most of us never did. Surprisingly we are still proud of what was imbibed into us, thankful to educationists who made us what we are.
No one ever considered suicide because of a scolding from a teacher or was child abuse ever thought of when a few spankings were delivered to remind one of the duties of coming to class with home work properly done. It was called teaching responsibility and it stuck. We played football, hockey and badminton and those who could not make it in the team learnt to sit on the sides and cheer. That’s team spirit and it never caused depression or loss of self esteem.
We would spend countless hours building ball-bearing go carts, ride them down a steep incline only to discover halfway – we had forgotten the bakes. A few scraped knees, torn pants and laughter at one’s own folly, and we learned to solve the problem. Only now do I realise the priceless lessons gleaned from those falls.
My generation has produced some of the best politicians, administrators, teachers and educationists of our times. At times there was failure along the way, lots of it to be sure. We learnt to take it in our stride. There were cases of success too and responsibilities that piled on with the years but we learned to cope with them all.
If you are one of those born between 1930 – 1970 CONGRATULATIONS. This is for you!