Bygone days

Like all school children, the first thing I did when I got the school calendar on the reopening day was to look for the list of holidays. I carefully looked at the list to see on what days Diwali and Pongal fell. If it was just before the weekend, I was overjoyed. Having festivals on a Sunday was a huge disappointment, as it was to see August 15, October 2nd or January 26 coming in the weekend.
During school, everything was marked and compartmentalised. Come June, excitement was in the air – new friends, new books, new uniforms, new lunch boxes and of course, new teachers (I  prayed fervently that I had a new maths teacher, every year). As November approached, exams and mid-term tests brought grief and December saw the peak of anxiety. Even New Year was depressing, since in a couple of days, it would be time to get back to school, where marks awaited me. I became a devotee overnight. Muttering prayers, heeding parents’ advice, being the good sister for my brothers, I was a transformed kid. All these were to please the Gods and get better marks.
But by April, the unrelenting negotiator and transformer in me withdrew, as I knew what my final exam results would be like. Post April, as expected, summer holidays arrived like a fresh breeze; school, exams and teachers were all forgotten things for the next two months at least. That cycle ended almost 10 years ago.
In college, too, a new regimen had begun. Life seemed to revolve around the two semesters that divided exams and lessons. April and November were the milestones then, since they demarcated two parts of the year. But, it hardly became a habit because it lasted only for three years.
Now, it no longer matters which month it is. January means the same as June or November, except for the difference in the weather. There is no one to keep an eye on my progress and achievement, except my boss. Working in a newspaper has deprived me of leave on festivals and national holidays, much to the amusement of my friends and relatives. Each year passes by in lightning speed and it is only on my birthday that I realise a year has gone by.
As a kid, I wanted to grow up so badly, dying to break free from school and studies. Taking up a job seemed attractive; who cared for pocket-money. I wanted my money; money that I earned. Now, I have my money, but  those lines and compartments that segregated my life are  gone. I am actually out in the open, on a highway where sign posts and milestones indicate a lot of things I don’t comprehend. Here, it seems, you don’t even get a return ticket.