Subarna Pradhan, Gandhi Ashram School, Class 12
Soon it was time for violin practice: we were learning a new piece from Bach, a difficult piece, and I had only 20 minutes to reach school. I was very happy that day, and as I made my way through the hills to my school, hurrying along, I began to hum a melody that combined Bach with an old Lepcha folk song. Indu asked me: is it your composition? I just smiled at her. There were lots of wild flowers swaying by the wayside and dogs lazing in the sun. When I reached school, Father Paul took me to one corner, and gave me the news: my father had met with an accident while pushing a wheel barrow up the hill at a construction site near 13th mile and had to be taken to hospital for surgery. I looked up at the skies and wept.
My board exams began the day after I turned eighteen. A year had passed since I saw the wild peacock in the garden. My father was sitting out in the sun: he was still in the wheelchair, unable to walk. But he had his flute and was playing a tune that reminded me of my childhood. The vegetable garden nearby looked wild: no one had the time now to grow vegetables or take care of the flowers. My mother had taken up a job in a nearby flower nursery to bring in some money. The doctors had said that it would take my father another four months to be back on his feet. I had spent months preparing for my exams: sociology, political science, English literature, Nepali, Geography, and Maths, and had no time to do the regular housework or take care of my little sister, Meghna. The neighbours were kind enough to help: we would pick vegetables from their gardens, go to them when I needed an extra pen, use their cell phone when I wanted to ring someone. My younger sister, Nikita, was also taking her Board exams and studying hard. My mother always said: Concentrate on your studies. You don’t have to do any housework. I can manage. Often, we would peep out of the window nervously, and see her toil away at the break of dawn before she left for work. If we went near the kitchen or picked up a broom to sweep, she would shoo us away.
The day the exams ended, I noticed that the wild peacock had returned, and the very next day, on Buddha Purnima—the day of Buddha’s enlightenment—my father rose up from his chair and took his first step with the help of a cane.
My name is Subarna—which means—shining or lustrous. I have two sisters, Nikita who is a year older, and Meghna, who is only twelve years of age. Meghna is named after the clouds that surround us in Kalimpong. She is a mischievous young girl, very fond of climbing trees and picking wild fruits. My father worked as a mason in charge of laying bricks, and we have always been poor but happy. We don’t own the land on which our cottage stands. It is a small 2-room cottage, surrounded by a small garden, and an equally small field down below where we grow our vegetables. There is a mountain spring in the field below that provides water for our daily use. Outside the hut is a small shrine dedicated to the Mother Goddess: it is a shrine that belongs to my mother’s family, and she is now its priestess.
Nikita and I both went to Gandhi Ashram School till class 6 and then moved to another school, Saptashri in 10th mile. I remember that I was only five when Father McGuire lifted me up in his arms and asked me in Nepali: Do you want to pull strings? He had come that morning and, after talking to my parents in Nepali, decided that both Nikita and I were to attend Gandhi Ashram! I had no idea what was in store for me. We were both admitted to class 1. My sister and I would walk for an hour to get to school—from my village situated on top of a hill in 7th mile to the end of 5th mile where the school is located. At first my mother or our neighbours would walk me and Nikita to school. But when we were older—that is, seven years of age—we managed on our own. In fact, all we had to do was climb up the hill next to our cottage to the main road where we would join a stream of students walking down the mountain to Gandhi Ashram. We would sing as we walked, swinging our bags in the air. Those were the days. I loved to read books—stories, poetry, and soon developed a fondness for writing. Some of my essays have appeared in the Gandhi Ashram newsletter. As a violin player, I practiced very hard during the chamber music lessons offered during Colby College’s Jan Plan. Michael Sir encouraged me by saying that one day I would be an accomplished violinist if I kept practicing for the next five years! I think he was just being nice. As a student I have, on occasions, travelled to far away places in India to play at concerts. But every time I left Kalimpong, I would miss the clouds, the mountains, and the steep winding paths.
Now it is time for me to make the next step— to leave the hills for higher education. I have decided to get a degree in Social Work at Viswabharati—a university set up by the great Indian poet and Nobel laureate, Rabindranath Tagore. Situated in Santinikatan, an overnight journey from the train station in Siliguri, Viswabharati has a reputed programme in Social Work. I realize, from talking to others, that a degree in social work will help me to train as a professional community worker. I am particularly interested in working on counselling young people from the hill communities, many of whom drop out of school and start taking drugs due to poverty and lack of education. I would like to start by working for an NGO after I complete my degree. Working for an NGO will help me build a base in community outreach work, but eventually I want to work with village communities in my area in Kalimpong to set up after-school learning and recreation centers for young children and youth where they would receive counseling, find books and resources to further their education, make new friends who shared common interests in music, reading, mathematics, and in environmental studies.
Now I have to prepare myself to face another world-- to learn new things, meet new people, and travel to new places. But I will always carry the music in my heart and the wild peacock in my mind as I do.
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