What’s a small moment from your past that you still think about years later?
The Little Aeroplane That Never Came Back
Memories, Mischief and an Unforgettable Lesson from Fifth Grade
Guru Sakshat Parabrahma — The Guru is indeed the Supreme Being.
I studied in the fifth grade at St. Albert’s School in Ernakulam. It was only for one year. After that, our home and my schooling moved to Kottayam.
It was a large boys-only school. Being away from the watchful eyes of my sisters and going to school all by myself gave me a wonderful sense of freedom. I felt like a little independent soul, ready to explore the world!
I hardly remember what I studied, how I studied or who taught me what. But the little mischiefs I got up to during that year? Those memories are still remarkably fresh!
The Ice Cream Temptation
Every day, outside the school gate, a small crowd of ice lolly sellers would gather with their box bicycles. Along with them came another attraction — colourful picture books featuring exciting heroes such as Mandrake the Magician, Detective Moosa, CID Vikram and Ambili Ammavan. These were the superheroes of our childhood!
Once lunch was over and our tiffin boxes were empty, most boys would rush towards the school gate to buy an ice lolly. Even when I had no money, I would happily join them, just to watch!
A ten-paise coin could buy a red, orange, yellow or green ice lolly. But the real champion was the white, flat, milk-and-vermicelli lolly, which cost twenty paise.
I would stand there under the scorching sun, watching those colourful treats disappear into eager little mouths, swallowing my own disappointment along with my saliva!
And I had absolutely no shame about standing there watching!
Every day, I received exactly twenty paise from home — ten paise for the journey to school and ten paise for the return trip. I don’t remember having any particularly generous friends who would offer to buy me one.
Quite often, my trembling little hand would search my shorts pocket and squeeze that precious ten-paise coin. The temptation was enormous. But the thought of having no money for the bus journey home would make me abandon the adventure at the last moment.
Then came a day I will never forget.
A classmate sitting beside me on the bench came running towards me, much to my surprise, holding a vermicelli ice lolly in each hand!
I was delighted. As I eagerly licked away at mine, he casually revealed the secret behind his sudden generosity.
“Hey, this is money I pinched from my mother’s savings box yesterday! Not just five or ten or twenty paise. I got fifty paise!”
I listened to his heroic account of the operation with wide-eyed admiration.
How easy it seemed!
Just like me, he never received enough money from home to buy ice lollies whenever he wanted. Apparently, these unhygienic treats were made using drain water, but that little detail did not seem to bother us much. We continued sucking away at those precious strands of vermicelli with even greater enthusiasm.
His successful experiment in the art of stealing set off a thousand little fireworks in my mind.
Suddenly, I remembered something.
In our kitchen, there was a green mustard jar with a black lid, kept on a shelf. I had often noticed my mother dropping coins into it and occasionally taking some out. Why on earth she had chosen a mustard jar as a savings bank was beyond my understanding!
That evening, when my mother was not around, I sneaked into the kitchen. Stretching myself as far as I could, I managed to bring down the jar.
I opened the lid and dipped my hand into the mustard seeds. To my great delight, there was a treasure hidden beneath them — plenty of coins!
I fished out three or four coins, mostly fifty-paise and one-rupee pieces.
My little banking operation was a grand success!
The following day, I treated myself to two ice lollies. My friend looked at me with a strange smile, as though he knew everything.
We exchanged knowing looks and continued enjoying our adventures with Mandrake and Detective Moosa.
The Price of an Ice Lolly
But every adventure has its price!
One afternoon, after school, I simply could not resist the temptation. I bought an ice lolly, enjoyed every bit of it and wiped my mouth before reaching the bus stop.
Then I reached into my pocket for the bus fare.
Nothing!
I searched the left pocket. Then the right one. I checked again.
Absolutely nothing!
Buses came and went. My sisters, who studied at St. Teresa’s, and my father, who worked at Maharaja’s College, usually travelled past that very bus stop. I kept looking out for them, hoping someone familiar would appear.
But I saw no one.
What was I going to do?
Time passed. The daylight slowly faded, and darkness began to settle around me.
Back home, my father had already become worried. He had set out in search of me.
And there he found me — standing helplessly in a corner of the bus stop, exhausted from crying and sobbing uncontrollably.
I can only imagine what must have gone through his mind when he finally found his little boy in that condition.
My ice lolly had certainly turned out to be an expensive treat!
An Unplanned Journey to Kakkanad
On another occasion, I managed to create a different kind of adventure.
One evening, while travelling home by bus, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the bus had reached its final stop.
Kakkanad!
Those were the days when Kakkanad had hardly seen any development. It was a far cry from the busy place we know today.
I had somehow travelled all the way to the last stop without realising it.
Once again, my father had to set out in search of his missing son.
I wonder what his state of mind must have been that evening!
Looking back, I cannot imagine how much patience my parents must have had.
As far as I remember, my little thefts from the mustard jar continued quite successfully until I completed the fifth grade.
Poor Amma! Did she really never discover what was happening? Or had she quietly chosen to pretend that she knew nothing?
I still don’t know!
A Gift from Sharjah
In the meantime, my uncle, my father’s younger brother, came home from Sharjah, probably during the Christmas holidays.
He lived far away in Thiruvalla. My father was a college lecturer and a rather serious person, but his younger brother was quite the opposite — always cheerful, smiling and full of life.
Whenever my uncle came home for a holiday, we children would look forward to visiting him, mainly because of the exciting gifts he usually brought!
On one such visit, he presented me with something truly special.
It was a beautiful plastic pen shaped like an aeroplane. It had a lovely combination of coffee-brown and pale yellow colours, complete with little wings.
An aeroplane in the palm of my hand!
I had never seen anything quite like it before. I fell in love with it instantly.
I could look at it for hours without getting bored. Holding it by its tail, I would run around the whole compound, making “sssh… ssshhh…” sounds like an aeroplane flying through the sky.
That little pen was not merely a writing instrument to me. It was my very own flying machine!
My Aeroplane Takes Off in the Classroom
After the holidays, I returned to St. Albert’s School, carrying my precious possession with great pride.
First thing in the morning, I showed it to all my friends. It was such a rare and wonderful thing that I could hardly contain my excitement.
My seat was on the front bench. The classroom door was immediately to my left when I looked ahead.
The first class was over, and we were waiting for the next teacher to arrive.
Suddenly, someone from the back of the classroom called out:
“Hari! Come on, show us how your Dubai aeroplane flies!”
What an opportunity to show off!
Would I ever miss such a chance?
I jumped up from my seat and began demonstrating the flying skills of my wonderful aeroplane. My hand moved through the air — left, right, up, down and round in circles — taking the little aircraft through all sorts of imaginary manoeuvres.
My classmates were thrilled. They burst into laughter, cheering and making all sorts of excited noises.
For a few glorious moments, I was the pilot of the most popular aircraft in the classroom!
But suddenly, everything came to an abrupt halt.
Our Social Studies teacher stormed into the classroom, looking furious. Before I could understand what was happening, he shouted at me, snatched the precious aeroplane pen from my hand and began examining it.
He turned it this way and that, looked at me with a stern and threatening expression, and then walked towards his desk.
My little aeroplane was now grounded!
The remaining class seemed to last an entire lifetime.
There it was, lying on the teacher’s desk, while I sat helplessly, longing to have it back in my hands and send it flying again.
I comforted myself with one simple thought:
Surely, he would return it when the class was over!
But life had a different plan.
As soon as the bell rang, the teacher picked up my beloved pen, slipped it into his pocket and walked straight out of the classroom.
Just like that!
I watched helplessly as my precious aeroplane disappeared into his pocket.
For a moment, I stood frozen, unable to believe what I had just witnessed.
Then the tears came.
A Little Loss That Lasted a Lifetime
My little heart was broken.
My friends tried to console me. Some of them even gathered enough courage to go near the teachers’ room and enquire about the pen, but they lost their nerve and returned without getting any answers.
Every day, we waited.
Perhaps the teacher would return it tomorrow.
Tomorrow became another tomorrow, and that tomorrow is still waiting to arrive!
The strange thing is that even today, whenever I see that particular combination of coffee-brown and pale yellow colours together, I immediately remember my uncle’s wonderful gift.
I remember its shape, its little wings and the excitement of making it fly around the house.
I also remember the sadness of watching it disappear into the teacher’s pocket.
One of my classmates later claimed that the teacher had taken the pen home and given it to his own son. I never found out whether that was true.
None of us had the courage to ask the teacher for it back.
And so, my little aeroplane never returned to its rightful pilot!
The Lesson Behind the Memory
Even after all these years, I firmly believe that what that teacher did was wrong, whatever his reason might have been.
A teacher’s position should never become a licence for stubbornness, arrogance or an exaggerated sense of authority.
A teacher must be able to step down from the high pedestal of the classroom and understand the world from a student’s point of view. Without that ability, how can anyone truly share knowledge, wisdom or even a little kindness with a child?
Perhaps the teacher thought it was just an ordinary plastic pen. Perhaps he considered my classroom demonstration an act of indiscipline that deserved punishment.
But to me, it was a precious gift from someone I loved. It was something that brought me immense happiness.
What may appear insignificant to an adult can mean the world to a child.
That December, the pain caused by a teacher’s thoughtless action left a mark that has survived all these decades.
It also taught me something about people and positions of authority.
When we rise to higher positions in life, we may not always be in a position to help those below us. That is understandable.
But at the very least, we should make sure that we do not hurt them.
If you cannot lift someone up, please don’t push them down.
For now, let that little aeroplane continue its journey through my memories.
Somewhere in the skies of my childhood, it is still flying!
And I am still waiting for its return.