In case the title has conned you into believing that this
post is about making life altering crucial decisions – choosing the way to go
when presented with a fork in the road in the woods or the guiding force that
goes into making such choices, I’m sorry I would have to disappoint you because
this is rather an absolutely frivolous memory from my very own “sea of lived
experiences and memories”, belonging to a time that is about a decade in the past
and recently washed ashore, spilling into my waking thoughts.
Circa 2005
Nagpur
Though I knew a bit about Scouting and Guiding from my
previous school and camping out sounded like something of an adventure to me
and I was in awe of all those who were a part of it, I surely wasn’t expecting
to have my share of this particular adventure, until, of course, I joined my
school at Nagpur. Here, opting to be a part of Scouts and Guides was not an option;
everyone was a part of it by default!
And as luck would have it, I was also one of the students
who were selected to attend a testing camp, which was to be held in another
school, not very far away. I wonder how my parents agreed to it because it
involved – 1) staying away from home, though just for two days and (2) missing
classes and neither of these two were very appealing for them, so I’m guessing
they might have relented on my insistence.
I remember how, to our teachers’ displeasure, we were
allowed to miss some classes and complete our ‘log books’ – which was basically
copying chunks of the Scouts and Guides pocket book into our notebooks. We
would sit outside the classrooms, in the corridors, scribbling, so that way the
teachers would also know that we were not out in the playground squandering the
liberty that we were given. That’s not all, even after school hours, we would
meet at one of the team mates’ house and carry on scribbling madly, maybe
drawing strength and enthusiasm from this collective, mindless marking of
pages. Oh, and the log book had to be ‘beautified’ too. Back in those days,
that translated into us ‘shading’ the pages with crayons post writing, ‘designing’
each page differently. It was only later that I realised how I had gone a
little overboard with the ‘shading’ and ‘designing’ process and was scared to
submit my log book even to our group leader.
The D-Day, rather the D-Evening arrived. The ‘team’ which
had to represent our school in the ‘alien territory’ assembled for the ‘mission
briefing’ in the familiar premises of our school. We were to be accompanied by
a teacher, the group leader. With our bags packed for every possible situation
that could occur, we set out for the camp.
**************************************************
We arrived at the camp the same evening. It was a journey of
just about an hour. Our group leader found out about the accommodation allotted
to us and directed the scouts and the guides to their respective rooms. She was
to stay with us. [We envied the luck of our scout team mates as they would get
to live unrestrained, unsupervised. But as they’ll later recount, their block
had some issues with electricity, so they got to have their own set of
(mis)adventures!]
For the next two days, a strange classroom was to be our
home. We were given the schedule of all the tests that were to happen next day.
The whole experiencing of living in the ‘camp’ was one big test! I don’t know
about the rest of them, but when I heard that anyone of us could be picked to
lead the ‘B.P. 6’ morning exercise, I was totally unsettled.
Despite the strange surroundings, I slept like a log, only
to be woken up at what seemed to me the middle of the night. At 4:30 am! A
fellow guide (I’m going to call her K), woke us all up. As annoyed as I was, I
knew I couldn’t afford to go back to sleep. We donned our uniforms and set out
of our block. There was still no trace of the Sun in the sky but to my
amazement there were other people who were up and about! The only thing that
made the situation a little more bearable was the ‘morning’ tea.
The first activity of the day, the much dreaded exercise
session didn’t begin till 6 am, so we just sat there, taking in the fresh air.
Later, the drill was endured constantly praying and muttering ‘please not me,
please don’t pick me’ under my breath, while all the participants of the camp
stood in a circle and the camp director picked scouts and guides at random to
lead the exercise. For once, the odds remained in my favour and I came out of
this activity unscathed.
Then began the other, actual tests – written, oral, practical
– in that order. I remember tying the same kind of knot in a similar manner
thrice before the examiner found it satisfactory, to get the signature on my
tiny report card, which was necessary after having completed a particular test.
Also, the log books were to be submitted to the camp
director. There were rumours that she tore/ returned the ones she didn’t feel
were up to the mark. I was scared that my ‘beautified’ log book might meet the
same end.
That evening, the camp threw a curveball that none of us
expected. A ‘cultural night’. Performances were to be done by the participants.
And it was competitive. Groups from other schools seemed to be well prepared
for it but we had no clue that something like this would happen. But K, our
human alarm clock, had a solution to this too. She knew a folk song; she
choreographed it for us then and there. We were painfully under rehearsed, uncoordinated
and without proper ‘costumes’. It was embarrassing! But for the lack of an
alternative, this was our entry for the night.
It was our turn; we hesitantly went on with our performance.
A few minutes into it and to everybody’s surprise, the camp director rose from
her seat and joined us! The lull gave way to loud cheering! This was the best
turn of events we could have asked for! We were thrilled, absolutely delighted.
And no points for guessing the winners of the cultural night!
As deliriously happy that we were and all praise for K for
devising the plan at the eleventh hour. We (including our group leader) still
asked her not to wake us up at 4:30 am again!
Next day was to be the concluding day of the camp, which
started with ‘Sarva Dharma Prarthna’ and I remember zoning out for a good part
of it. Prizes and certificates were also distributed. And I don’t remember much
else happening on that day, except that we did not leave until evening. I’m not
sure if I remember this correctly but I think one of the guides from our group
left without informing the group leader because she lived nearby. That caused
some frenzy, but we were later able to confirm that she had reached home.
Oh! And I got back my log book – saabut – in one piece and I even got an ‘A’ in it!
Now all I was looking forward was to reach home soon, which
for some reasons I don’t remember, didn’t happen any sooner. But we managed to
get into the last jam packed city bus to home, maybe the last test of our
patience and endurance. And that was it.
Mischief managed.
