When I was five years old, I was admitted to class I in the Mushuddi south govt. Primary school.
On one Monday I was taken to the school by my father. I carried a small bag on my shoulder. The bag contained three or four text books, a pencil-box, and a small tiffin-box. I carried also a water-bottle with a strap on my shoulder. When I entered the school compound at 7.45 a.m., I saw many students inside. Some were older than me, and some about my age. My father took me to the classroom and made me sit there. It was on the ground floor. The school bell rang at 8 a.m. My father then left. Now I was feeling too much lonely and sad. Tears rolled down from my eyes in fear and grief. I peeped outside through the window. But I could not see my father. Our class-teacher Mrs. Jones came. Then the noisy and crying students became silent. She called our names, one by one, and gave a toffee to each one of us. Then she told us a fantasy story. We felt consoled and glad. She wanted us to draw a sketch which we did. At 11 a.m. the bell again rang. My father came near the door of our classroom. Mrs. Jones handed me over to him.I understood that the school hour was over. I remember the day as a sweet memory.
On one Monday I was taken to the school by my father. I carried a small bag on my shoulder. The bag contained three or four text books, a pencil-box, and a small tiffin-box. I carried also a water-bottle with a strap on my shoulder. When I entered the school compound at 7.45 a.m., I saw many students inside. Some were older than me, and some about my age. My father took me to the classroom and made me sit there. It was on the ground floor. The school bell rang at 8 a.m. My father then left. Now I was feeling too much lonely and sad. Tears rolled down from my eyes in fear and grief. I peeped outside through the window. But I could not see my father. Our class-teacher Mrs. Jones came. Then the noisy and crying students became silent. She called our names, one by one, and gave a toffee to each one of us. Then she told us a fantasy story. We felt consoled and glad. She wanted us to draw a sketch which we did. At 11 a.m. the bell again rang. My father came near the door of our classroom. Mrs. Jones handed me over to him.I understood that the school hour was over. I remember the day as a sweet memory.
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