It was during the month of July 1990 when I entered Sainik School Purulia (SSP), as a small boy of 11 years. Never did I (nor my parents) had expected that I would be able to withstand the rigours and complete my schooling in a Military School. I was always a shy guy with minimum friends, and my brush with other institutions before this was not too pleasurable one. At Bharat Scouts, someone had offered a Beedi to me, while I didn't quite like the teaching method at the Art school. So with all probablity, my Dad had expected me to be back at home within an year.
Schooling at Ramakrishna Missions and the likes had its own craze during those years. More so, when I have a father who himself had spent his school days away from home since he was a class IV kid, I had no other acceptable excuses to put forth. Mission schools didn't allow me an entry due to their high standards (one being, one had to prepare oneself for the curriculum of class VIII if one wanted a seat for class VI), but Sainik School somehow found a probable Defence Cadet within me. I have failed to figure out where did they go wrong even during their medical rounds after the interview as for so many years, I was grossly underweight, if not malnourished.
Joga (aka Joydeep) - my childhood friend also joined me at the infamous SSP. But he was supposed to report 3 days late. The initial list of items to be brought from home was an extensive one. Even the size of the trunk was specified to the second decimal! We both got them made and purchased all other stationaries, dresses, and sport kits (Hockey Stick, Soccer Spikes, Shoes). On the day of admission, I met Billi (aka Subhasish) at Adra railway station who also turned out to be a very good friend during my stay for seven long years. Every new joinee at SSP could be distinctly identitfed by the Hockey Stick and the Trunk.
After the initial formalities, I was alotted the roll number 2181 (which became my identity for the rest of my stay at SSP - Qaidi number 2181), Patel House, room no B2, under the supervision of Mr. PJ Mathai - the Hostel Superintendent. A typical room had 14 beds with wooden cupboards and beds separated by one foot space. I was lucky to get the window beside me. The boy next to me Budha (Budhaditya Das) was always busy reading novels.
Slowly, the room got occupied by 14 boys, and the House by 28 boys, B1 being the other room for freshers. Parents left me in a sad (rather confused) state of mind wondering how to stay so far away from parents who were allowed to meet their kids only once a month during the second Sunday! Tears didn't come out of my eyes, neither did I break down morally, but I was definitely sad and to certain extent afraid looking at the 'seniors' who were in a kind of mood to bully the kiddos. Parents left me at the house, and I kept staring at them till they were not visible to my eyes.
In the subsequent posts, I will narrate my experiences at the school - both the memorable ones and the unpleasurable ones. However, looking back, I personally feel every child should spend a substantial portion of life in a military environment. It helps the kid to be self dependent, to respect others irrespective of their social standings in their opinion and views, to live the life with bare minimum necessities, and above all, to live a life with dignity and willingness to do something good away from chasing materialistic pleasures.
