A History Of Little Somethings

The ordinary became extraordinary for me, while what you would probably consider extraordinary was simply mundane. There were no doors and windows in my classroom, and we had tiles missing from the roof—which meant that there was no school if it rained.

Chemistry classes were conducted without any actual equipment, the highlight of our science classes being the time when a teacher pulled out a cracked, dusty test-tube and told us what it was in hushed reverent tones. It broke later that year, and became the subject of popular myths with the next set of students.

I was not only an outsider, but also the only person who spoke English as my primary (and sole) language. Thus, naturally, I was the outcast. Once, I was marked wrong for writing "He founded the association in 1933."

My teacher insisted that "founded" wasn't an actual word, and I should be ashamed of myself for thinking I could get away with it. She proceeded to explain that it was "find" and "found." "Founded" was simply made up. I didn't have the energy (or the proper regional vocabulary) to correct her.

She later taught a class on world geography, where she explained that the USSR was a road company in America. I was sent out of class for contradicting her.

I continued to spend most of my afternoons standing outside the mud and brick schoolhouse. Later, I started bringing a book or two to read while I was out there. Fortunately for me, the concept of sending a note to your parents didn’t exist.

I remember once reading up on Indian history, and frowning at the generalizations that leapt off every page. That was a version of history that stereotyped rural India as unimportant, and chose to turn a blind eye to tiny tragedies and personal experiences.