I miss Welham. Welham. Where you could be free and walk around wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Where you were free. Open. Where you didn’t worry. Worry about how you looked. About what you were wearing. Where people didn’t bully you or discriminate on the basis of looks or money. Or on any basis at all. Where all that mattered was what you were, who you were. Where everyone was crazy, everyone was herself. Where you actually took part in things, explored your interests. Welham, where co curriculars were a hobby, something you enjoyed and not something that had to be done. That school, which made you who you were, made you find yourself.
I know all of you, the woodies, bullies, flies, hoopoes and orioles, I know you all hate this school. So did I. I cursed it while I was there. I hated it. It suffocated me. It felt like jail. But it’s when you lose something that you realise its worth. When I was there, all I could think about was leaving the school. Now that I’ve left, all I want is to come back, to be a Woodie again, to be Satkund or Kundu. To be crazy and free. To laugh. To be retarded. To be weird. To be myself. To not care about how I look or what I’m wearing. Clothes never mattered. Everyone wore the same.
Welham was where your matron was a matron, someone to look after you and your poor blistered feet. The one who would pity you and allow you half an hour more of sleep every morning. The ones who took every headache in the mornings. Every little cut. The ones who stayed up at nights, waiting for their wards to sleep.
Where house mistresses were the parents, the supervisors. The ones who made you love your house and instilled in you a fire to win, to make your house proud, to make your house superior. It was the place where teachers understood children, where they practiced discipline, yet made us so much more comfortable.
It was the place that taught me the value of money. The value of food. The value of friends. Of people. The place where I made my friends for life. Where you lived in a family. Where you used to go “home” after an outing.
Where you valued your parents. Meeting your parents was the most exciting thing that could happen. After, of course, the coming of any human of the opposite gender. Where you learnt the value of home, of your parents.
It was suffocating. It was boring. It was restricting. Yet, isn’t that what made us come up with more modes of recreation, more ways of entertaining ourselves? Isn’t that what made us bond and live as a family. The reason why we knew everything about each other, right from each others undergarments to family histories to holidays to deep, dark secrets. Isn’t that why we talked so much? Why we had so much fun? Why we used to go running at night, playing ringa ringa roses to ringa ringa ringa? Isn’t that why we were so much more creative, so much more productive?
Welham made me who I am. And I think I like me. I see people around me now. And I dread at the thought of what I would have been had I not gone to that school. I would not have had the right to proudly say, “I’m from Welham.” To proudly assert myself as a Welhamite.
It is this school, the BIG mistake of my life, that I miss this school. That I miss the woodies.
The woodies. :)
The best part of school. The most missed part of school. The part that made school tolerable and enjoyable while I was there. I miss gauree and her conversion of everyone and everything into a “loser” or gay. Pragya’s twisted existence, in the literal sense and her “maarongi” when we made fun of her for being Louie the machhar. Srishti and her obsession with perfumes and crude humour. Milari’s general wildness and her lectures, corrupting our eager, innocent minds. Medha, with her general grace and amazing voice. The all rounder. The stud. Yet the inventor of the “medha dance.” Kriti with her daily, or should I say, nightly milkman joke, which no one ever got bored with, even after hearing it every night in aiiis. The responsible one. Tejaswi, the quiet, silent one, content with herself. Chandrika. Chandrika. The bitch, yet the child. The crazy one, with retarded ideas and hyper actions. Chandrika, totally defined by her name. With her and and curly hair which lost erasers in them. Yuthika, with her ready dimpled smile and her crushes on ALL guys, no matter how visually appealing they might be. Tanvi. The mad one. The motherly one. The grandmotherly one. The crazy one. The one who acted like a lesbian, all in jest, and did crochet all day long, with her slow, nice smile . The ganwar one from Aligarh, where no boys existed. She was best friends with the vice president of India. Srishti. The quiet one, who remained content with herself and the books. Quiet and sweet. A constant presence. Shivika. “ae mera dil” was her favourite song and she sang it and danced to it whenever she could. Tomboy turned girl, she was the basketball freak, the worshipper of Mr. Vaichhani. Seher. The craziest of all. Thinking of the retard-ness of woodies, seher is the first one to come to her mind. With her ganwar imitation of anything said by anyone. Her horniness and obsession with sexy boys. Yet one of the nicest, sweetest people in the dorm. Snehal. Sway girl. The nerd of the dorm, the one who had a horrible sense of humour, yet was adorably funny in her attempts. The one who didn’t bathe for 21 days during exams. The one who’d go to iit. Last, shreyasi. Her obsession with straight hair and her housewife routines, where I was always her beaten about and dumb kid. Her catwalking and acting in the dorm, with her slutty trials and failures. Her fail at crushing on any REAL, existent guy and her constant love with movie and tv stars. Yet her sensitive self, which cried at any small insult or rude word.
These were the woodies. Each with their own, particular characteristics. Each one totally different. I can’t express here how they actually were. They were people worth knowing, people worth living with. They were my family. They were my friends. Friends that I know will last for life.
This is Welham for me. My home. That place that I would always remember. The peaceful drum room and piano room, which I felt were mine. The beauty of the school. The peace. The silence. Welham was my haven. The happiest place in the world. Leaving it was the biggest mistake f my life. Yet Welham doesn’t deserve regret, it deserves nostalgia and memories, memories of happiness. I love Welham, and forever will I be a Welhamite.
