Mummy don’t cry

Samay cried copious tears on his first day at school. Now what’s so special about that? Don’t nursery schools resonate with the wails of toddlers on opening day? But Samay’s tears were special. And not just because I am his doting mother.
The little scamp was actually quite excited about school. He’d see his elder brother don a uniform and tote a satchel. He felt quite left out when the bus-load of kids would screech their bye-byes. So when we began preparing for Samay’s entry into nursery, he got caught up in the excitement, becoming extremely possessive of the paraphernalia — bag, tiffin, water bottle.
But I had gone through my elder son’s nursery experience and was wise to the fact that once the kid reaches the classroom, it’s mummy he wants. As I took Samay to school, I resigned myself to spending three hours for the next one week on an uncomfortably low toddler’s bench, as my son adjusted to school life.
I needn’t have bothered. The minute he reached the classroom, he didn’t throw a backward glance but headed straight for the teacher. If that was a blow to my esteem (all the other kids were loyally clutching their mother’s salwars), I consoled myself with the thought that it was the novelty of the place which made Samay forget mamma. Indeed, play-school was fun. Slides, scooters and a sand pit for starters. A music system blaring out nursery rhymes. Bob the Builder and Noddy smiling out of Cartoon Network on television. No telly restrictions here, unlike home.
Though it was evident that my support wasn’t needed, I hung around, chatting with the other mammas when they had time off from their wailing kids. I tried to make myself useful around tiffin time, but it really wasn’t necessary. Taking a cue from the older children, Samay had seated himself on a stool and was waiting patiently for the ‘‘didi’’ to open his lunch box. As I watched from the door, he fed himself with a tidiness never visible at home, shut the box, and got ready for whatever the class had to do next.
All too soon, it was time to go home. But as his classmates wiped their tears with grubby hands and began smiling at the prospect of home, Samay grew apprehensive. ‘‘No go home,’’ he categorically told me. Fats tear drops slid down his face as mamma quietly picked him up and walked down the stairs. When we reached the gate, he slipped from my grip. Though weighed down by bag and bottle, his vision blurred by the tears, the child navigated up the stairs and back to class.
Ultimately, I succeeded in dragging a kicking, howling kid back home. As we waited for the elevator, a neighbour clucked sympathetically, ‘‘First day in school is like that. He’ll grow to like it. Then he won’t miss home.’’