Every school day was like an action movie waiting to happen. My sister, cousin, and I formed the holy trinity of chaos, embarking on a mission to catch the school bus to reach Good Shepherd Convent. Our family’s golden rule was to stick together for the daily commute, which made it feel more like a school bus gang.

To reach the bus stop, we had to trek nearly a kilometer down a desolate mud path. No houses around, just us and our trusty backpacks. And, to add a touch of danger, there was a colossal open well on the way, and our parents had specifically warned us NEVER to glance its way.

My cousin and I would follow my sister’s footsteps, sometimes even swapping bags and pencil boxes. And to top it all off, we both would try to save a whole five paise by getting off one bus stop early, just to indulge in some mouthwatering bakery treats. We even gave the Chetpet bus stop a new name – “Biscuit Veedu”.

Now, here’s where the excitement really kicks in.

Our talent for accumulating oddities knew no bounds – dung beetles, vibrant seeds, and an enigmatic mesh-like object that oddly mimicked a water bottle cover. Whether it was during our adventurous journey to the bus stop or our return trip, our collection grew.

My dear aunt, bless her heart, was a fan of our quirky hobby and would encourage us to bring her one mesh cover in full. So, we’d carefully pick up one, each time we could spot it, and slowly totter back home as if it were made of glass, bursting with excitement. The only hiccup was that, by the time we arrived home, our treasured mesh thingi had transformed into a powdery mess.

One fine day, we presented our “treasure” to my aunt in full hoping we would be rewarded. What followed was like a scene from a horror film. She let out a scream that could rival a tornado siren. We stood frozen, thinking we were in for a royal scolding. But instead, she informed us that our precious mesh wasn’t a bottle cover – it was a DISCARDED SNAKE SKIN! Can you imagine our horror? We had been gallivanting with snake skins in our backpacks. Naturally, we cried enough to fill that “never-look” well.

As the years passed, the dynamics of our family evolved. Our once-epic 13-member joint family gradually eroded, and my sister and I found ourselves on a different path. With the changing times, the route to school became more accessible, and the desolate mud path transformed into a bustling street. It took us less than a minute to reach the bus stop just behind our home, a far cry from the kilometer-long trek of our earlier escapades.

It’s a funny thing, childhood innocence. It allows you to gallivant with snake skins, mistake well-intentioned caution for mischief, and turn ordinary bus stops into “Biscuit Veedu.”

Our journey through life might have changed, but the core of who we are, and the warmth of those early days, never truly shed away. It became the foundation for our strength to navigate the twists and turns of life’s journey, reminding us that, no matter how different our path may become, the spirit of our childhood adventures lives on, forever etched in our hearts and skins.