Rewards of a forbidden picnic

It was in the sixties, as a young boy, that I had my first feel of a picnic. Our teacher announced a trip to a familiar park on Bengaluru’s outskirts. My younger sibling and classmate Prasanna Kumar and I dashed home after school, delighted at the thought of embarking on our maiden outdoor adventure. But first, it was mandatory to get the nod of parents, besides contributing the picnic fee. Unfortunately, our dreams lay shattered when the family elders refused permission to let us go, citing safety concerns.

Advertisement

Luck, however, smiled on us. As seldom happens, the elders had a curious case of brain fade, and the trip got erased from their memory. So, on D-day, we trudged off to school, lugging our cargo of books as usual. A red bus stood near the school gates, and there were many eager beavers around it.

As the school bell rang, the picnickers lined up in front of the red beauty. My brother and I, clad in uniform and school bag slung on our shoulders, appeared odd before the others attired in casuals.

The teachers began the headcount and started herding the pupils into the bus. As my brother and I fell short of meeting the requirements, the teachers sidelined us. The bus soon filled up with the constant chatter of excited tiny tots. Just when we thought we would be left behind, our puny size proved to be a blessing. “How can we abandon the little darlings?” remarked one. “Yes, we cannot reach their parents either,” retorted another.

We finally got the teachers’ nod and swept into the bus with the rest of the gang. As the driver took to the wheel and the bus moved, a loud cheer went up.

Meanwhile, our parents were in the dark about our jaunt until my mother stumbled upon the news through a neighbour whose son studied in the same school.

When we deboarded at the venue, we were like kids in a chocolate factory. We played games, splashed our little legs in the pool, built sandcastles and scampered after butterflies. Exhausted, we cooled our heels under a wide-armed, leafy pipal tree.

As lunch hour arrived, the kids gorged on a variety of goodies on offer. Unfortunately, even as I tucked into my lunch, a naughty classmate dampened my enthusiasm by pouring water over my half-eaten food. The fun ended when the sun began its descent, and the teachers coaxed us to get back for the return journey. Disappointed at the curtains coming down on our sojourn, we dragged ourselves into the vehicle with long faces.

When we got home, a rousing reception awaited us. It was the kind reserved for heroes returning from a dangerous adventure. The parents, concerned about our safety, were elated to see us back again. Dad, who had displayed hesitancy all along, made amends by thrusting a rupee coin, representing the tour fee, into my palm. It made for a happy ending!