My school....my Nava Nalanda....today is my school's birthday.......my Nava Nalanda turns 42.....a grown up young man.....a school whom Mother Teresa said "a small school with a huge heart"..my school....and how I was, and even I am madly in love with it....
... and often I ponder nostalgically over the memoirs of a foggy wintry morning, decades ago, the particular of which I need not trouble myself to repeat. I am sure that everybody will hear the foot steps of a young boy walking gently inside the rooms of Nava Nalanda in a white shirt, grey pants and a surprisingly large red tie. memory has eclipsed the way he did behave that day. Amidst many happenings, during the decade old school days of biting pains and painful bits, of thrilling hearts and hurting thrills, the school had become his friend------the best friend...
This camaraderie had a long way to cover through the stories obscure, incidents misty, tales long forgotten. Nostalgic feelings are stirred to the brim as I stroll down the lanes of Southern Avenue. Lost are the days, lost are the old friends, the lost classes, the lost teachers, the pricking nail of the last benches, the lost branches of the old neem, azure sky through the window small. My heart still longs to join the tune of the inattentive boy of the tiresome history classes or pour over the geography maps or chat in the class while Lalitha ma'm saying in her South Indian accented broken Bengali "kota naai"...The annual results were of great thrills to me. The prizes that I won those days boosted me up. The punishments that I suffered for some trivial mischief, then considered to be a curse, now appear as dark colours in the contrasting pictures.I boast the way, all of us, the friends helped each other in our wells and woes. Misunderstandings and quarrels have vanished deep down the heart and an emotional blanket that cloaks it brightens only the warmth of love, endearment. I know not whether it was the high intellect of out mathematics teacher, the cool strategic progress of our Bengali and English teachers, the loving nature of our geography and history ma'ms, or the inquisitive mood of our science madam...that had bound me to the coherent bond with that yellow-red building down Southern Avenue.
Nava Nalanda to me is not a memory, but a feeling. I my dreams I can still hear the school bells ringing. The oath that was there, will be the polestar of my life. Now in a life of pain and pressure, of tension and competition, of fortune and despair...my finger often leaf through the pages of the old diary. Bereft of a loving school though I am, the memories will drive me a long way through the dark days of my life and ever inspire me to strive for betterment....after all we took oath each year...."Victory will be our aim... ... ... and confidence will be our identity"
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