Puppy Love

We all were young at one time or the other. Looking back, many things transpired at our tender age, some we remember, while others we wish to forget and a few that lingers on in our mind after donkey’s years. Today, we may shrug it off and brush it aside as irrelevant, but at that moment in time, those were gigantic issues that needed to be addressed or more correctly in my case, too chicken to face reality for fear of a negative answer or a response that would end my dreams and thoughts. I was twelve then, in Class 4B of the fourth standard. The school I attended was known as Methodist English High School, MEHS for short, and arguably the best place of learning for our young minds in Yangon (Rangoon), situated on Sule Pagoda Road, in the heart of the city. It’s a mixed school where girls and boys mingled together up till their matriculation or General Certificate of Education ‘O’ Level examinations. The pass rate was number one in Myanmar (Burma) and the envy of many an educational establishment. The Principal was Scottish (she) and teachers were a mixed lot of Burmese, Indians, Anglo-Indians and Anglo-Burmese, but all very professional in their jobs and much revered and respected.

Our class was assigned to the then new wing of the school. The ground and first floors were designated to fourth standard classrooms, a total of four, A, B, C and D. The third and fourth floors were Chemistry laboratories meant for senior classes. We know this as we share the common stairway. Girls would play with their own groups and boys would do likewise. This is by no means an order of the day, but it just worked out that way. In classes, the desks were in rows of twos and boys would sit together and girls would share seats among themselves. Mixed seating we may have, but rather rare. Her name was Tina Khin, of the same age and wears a white blouse with a maroon coloured skirt, the school uniform. Boys don an all white outfit, again a prescribed school uniform. At that age, sex does not come into play. I felt at peace just by admiring her beauty, speech and sharing a few jokes would ring a few bells for me. Trying to kiss her on the cheek or holding her hand does not come into the picture, all rather clean with no hidden overtures or agendas. In a scale of one to ten, I think acknowledgement of my clean affection would score a high mark. Not that she said anything or gave me any signs of response to make me feel better. She got a sister who was also a teacher and one of the two most beautiful and desirable teachers in our school. Both of them were singles, but I was not yet that matured to take notice of them. The apple of my eye was for Tina Khin alone. Reflecting back, like in Buddhism, I suppose one can term it as (528) type of love. The type of love for your brothers and sisters pure, clean and clear as a mountain stream.

At the age of twelve, I was chubby and a bit on the plumb side, not a figure that was slim, tall or of a handsome young lad, in short not a noteworthy young boy at all. Tina was the opposite: slim, a wee bit a shade not too fair, but beautiful all the same, composed, matured, not too long loose black hair sometime tied at the back and her wonderful smile that stamped ultimate an aura of beauty onto my young mind. I was not too bright nor in the top echelon of my class. Tina was also not in that bracket either, but in some subjects she did outshined me. I looked forward to seeing her each day and watching her smile, laugh and play made my coming to school every bit worthwhile. I had my own friends, Stanley San Shein, Alan Bo, Teddy Saing, Pyee Pyee Thike, Bryan Sein Tun, Edmund Aung Than just to name a few, and many, many more.  Some were studious pupils while most were average like myself. The thing was I liked Tina and dared on no one to confine my thoughts. Those were the days, liking or falling for a girl was not done and be joked upon and laughed at, that ruffled my feathers.  On weekends, I would borrow a Humber bicycle from a friend and cycle to her road in pursuit hoping to catch a glimpse. I lived in First Thompson Avenue, Botataung District and Tina resides in a top (forth) floor apartment on the 51st Street, middle block (I think). Riding a bicycle, a journey from our road to hers was just a matter of few minutes. I would venture during weekend early evenings on my borrowed bicycle to her street with positive expectations. Spying a fleeting sight of her playing on the veranda high above was like striking the lottery, sad part was she never did glance down once onto the street below while I cycled. I would not divulge my weekend failed exploits to her in school, being chicken. Looking back now it was simply a case of no guts in me, I was that brave. I heard that her sister teacher gave tuition classes in her 3rd floor apartment, but we were not that well off to afford such a curriculum, nor do I needed it, either.

I was in 4B and Tina was in 4C: lunch breaks were truly heaven, appreciating and spying with my eyes on her and content to seeing her happy. Final examinations came and went: we both passed and were promoted on to 5B. Our new classroom was in the main building near the right stairwell on the first floor. The classroom structure was somewhat different from our previously fourth standard class formation. 5B was smaller and the seating was arranged in rows of long desks. Each long desk seats four pupils. Alan Bo sat on the outer right most and I was next, beside me was Pyone Cho Myint, a slim dark cheerful girl, and next to her sat Tina Khin, outer left most. I think she got some Karan blood in her, thus her slight sharp prominent features of an Anglo. I don’t really know if this is so or otherwise, as I dared not ask her. Too shy I suppose. We were in the upper most front left row and closest to the onslaught of teacher’s rulers and knuckles.  Being boys, Alan and myself caught their brunt outbursts to drill knowledge into us, but the girls seemed to have out maneuvered better than us. For me, the onslaught and pain was all worthwhile, as I sat one girl away from Tina. One day, Tina, let me borrow her magnetic ball bearing for a few days which she kept in her compass box, it was satisfaction beyond belief. Another time, she let me use her plastic eraser, mine was a simple rubber affair. The plastic eraser does less damage to our exercise books, and left a smooth clean surface to rewrite again on. These small actions may have seen to be trivial, but it meant a world to me and energized my hollow heart. Fifth standard was the transformation period from pencils to fountain pens. Ballpoint roller pens were totally forbidden, for fear of spoiling our pencil handwritings, but mine was already down hill, well before the transformation. Ha Ha.

I think I ought to make a small mention about my family. I was born from a union of U Shwe Tha, my father and Daw Yin Sein, my mother. My father was from Mogok and mother hailed from Bhamo. I have two other blood relations, both elder sisters who also attended MEHS, but regretfully not that close since, up to later in life too. My father died in West Germany (then) from throat Cancer, due over smoking like a chimney. Younger of the elder sisters and myself, were raised by my father’s younger brother, an uncle, and his younger sister, our only aunt, in Rangoon, while parents were posted abroad. Father died as a Charge de Affairs - a young, dashing and aspiring Third Secretary, Head of Mission for Burma to West Germany. Mother, Daw Yin Sein, a widow, only joined the Foreign Office when father passed away. My mother does not own a big house with a large compound in the classy part of town, but do live in a middle class area of Botataung District. The only income she got was her salary and at times from the interest of loans she made on short-term basis in her office. She reached the position of Chief of Chancery, COC in short, and supported all her three children making sure they all attended the best school our town could offer. She was still of marrying age when father died, but decided to dedicate all her focus and resources to raising her siblings, so that they may secure respectable jobs with positions later on in life. My widowed mother believed in good solid grounding and looking back her foresight did yield dividends, God rest her soul. Our humble apartment was a ground floor unit with a small sitting room and a one sizeable bedroom, where the family share the sleeping quarters in the castle of our own beds. The bathroom and kitchen were so tiny that dining was done on a small table squeezed by the wall of the bedroom window, overlooking an air vent with no view. As entertainment, we owned a small Sony transistor radio, whereas we can hear records being played loudly by our right hand side neighbour. The record of the day was ‘Lipstick On Your Collar’ by Connie Francis. The apartment in front across the avenue lived a medical doctor also was a lecturer in a medical college with her beautiful and much desired medical student daughter. Around Christmas time, we could see eligible young men in their large open top Chevrolets, Bel-Airs and Buicks etc. etc. calling upon the princess while we attended school per kind favour of a family friend’s automobile, living in the Pazundaung area. It’s more economical than school busses. Such were our predicament.

Long summer breaks were not so pleasant for me either. After the water festival, it was usually a trip back to my hometown of Mogok by air or train, river steamer and car. Once there, report cards were presented to our uncle for his scrutiny. Passing the yearly examinations were not sufficient, position in the class was a factor also. Mine was always average, thus it usually meant next year mathematics calculations to be exercised, to be ready for the promoted class. Every evening, sometime morning also was meant for advance study for the next year. My sisters love their stay as they grew up there and had friends. As for me, except for being born there, there was nothing to shout about. Early mornings were meant for accompanying my youngest uncle (brother of my father) to the market and carrying a large shopping cane basket while he walked upright in front. I galloped from behind to catch his pace. Afternoons were spent in a precious stones polishing house, pouring green tea for who ever comes in with a smile and to learn the gems trade which hold no interest to me. To this day, if I were shown a piece of rock, precious stone or a piece of glass, they would be all the same to me. Such was the interest, my calling was definitely not in the gems trade to be sure. Bath meant taking a cold shower from a tap outside in the yard as upstairs bathroom was meant for ladies. The water from the tap was freezing cold which oozes from a mountain spring not that far away, and with a light breeze blowing, it’s even colder. My uncle said it was good for the soul. His maybe, for sure not mine.

I would try to spend my time on the ground floor where the whole unit was rented out as a teashop. To me, they made good conversations and helped me pass my time away. Should my uncle find me there or my sisters reported to him, things were not so pleasant, which I rather not elaborate. The place really did not click for me. It’s also a rather religious town where most of the folks would go up the hill to the monastery for their weekly dose of meditation on each Sabbath day. At the age of twelve/thirteen, religion was not a priority on my mind and to a certain extent to this very day.

By early June, a telegram would arrive to inform us the school commencing date. This was a happy moment for myself as at last we can return back home to Rangoon (Yangon). I did not see eye to eye with my sisters. If they see East, I saw West, if they wish North, I preferred South. Must be our age difference. Back in Rangoon, I could play with my mates from the surrounding apartments and talk in the evenings on the street up till bedtime. We would play marbles, spin tops or fly kites depending on the season, and the month. My younger years were without worries. Eat, sleep, play, study and go to school. As long as I get my pocket money and do my regular homework, all was quiet on the western front. At school, they give us a jelly of cod liver oil and hot milk free of charge. We did not think much of it then. We also had a dispensary with a doctor and a kind nurse, both of them were lovely ladies, that was nice. The teachers were ever watchful of our health and the medical chest was full of medicines. In short, school was most enjoyable. Our school had two sessions, mornings and afternoons. The morning session was meant for fifth standards and upwards while both afternoon and morning sessions catered from kindergarten to fourth standards.

By August, my widowed mother transfer order came, and she was to be posted to  The Burmese Embassy in London. My mother arranged for my school leaving certificate and all necessary papers to rejoin a London school. I did say my goodbye to Tina, but only generally. I still did not have the guts to say out loud to her that I liked her. My manly brave act, at it’s worst. We sailed onboard the Bibby Line’s m.v. Warwickshire, a passenger cargo ship, bound for Tilbury, a Thames estuary dock, close to London. After port calls here and there, the voyage was around thirty days, enjoyable though.

Come to think of it, the affection and admiration I had for Tina was pure and clean, with no sexual inclinations what so ever to be sure. Her voice was music to my ears. All her actions were beautiful dances in my eyes. There is a saying that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. To me, Tina was one hundred and one per cent beautiful and she could do no wrong. Today, my expectations to deem it love is much more different and on another plane. The criteria and parameters were not as pure as when I was twelve or thirteen years of age, that is for certain. I never met her since on heard of her. The last word on Tina was two years later when her teacher sister (Daw Khin Khin Thein) and her friend dropped by our house in London. Mother hosted a dinner that evening for them. After London, they aim to fly out for The United States. I did raise a question to her sister teacher, ‘Where is Tina these days?’ The beautiful teacher replied ‘Oh, she already immigrated to the States’. That was the last word on her. Sad really.

I am well over sixty now, so Tina must be the same today, that is if she is still alive. She must be a grandmother with sons and daughters with a string of grand children which regretfully I am not blessed with. I would very much like to give Tina a belated present. I would like to say thank you for my growing up years in the fourth and fifth standards of 4B and 5B, and making it memorable up to this day to this humble nobody. She made my school days enjoyable and I did look forward to go to school because of her. By the token of my appreciation, I hope she will accept my gift of this short story, dedicated to her. Should some parts may be lacking or a few things may not be too exact, please forgive me in advance for my recollection is a bit jagged these days. After all, it’s been over fifty odd years ago. Today, I am happily married with a wonderful wife and son nearly forty years old, a good man at that. Tina must be the same. I am old and graying but the thoughts of her, still fresh and lingered at the back of my mind. Call it puppy love or what ever you may deem it fit. But for Tina to be anchored in my gray matter, she must have been somebody special and she still is in the echelons of my fading memory. I do not have the 1960/61 issue of our annual schoolbook ‘The Swaying Palms’, so that I can look back at the old group photographs and renascence. It’s all a bit vague these days.

P.S.

Luck would have it that I had the good fortune of meeting Pyone Cho Myint about forty six years ago in 1968, when she accompanied her father U Hla Myint, then the Port Chairman, who came onboard our m.v. Htan Taw Ywa welcoming party. I wonder where she is now? The ship belongs to our national shipping line, The Burma Five Star Line, BFSL for short. She remembered me on sight onboard our ship’s inauguration by my name Mervyn Shwe Tha and I also remembered her name too. We did exchange a short pleasantry, after all her father was the Port Chairman, one of the VVIP guest of honour. Our Captain was Donald Khin Maung (Donald Macintosh), an old MEHS pupil, another alumni. Her father comments to me was a one liner, ‘Don’t you even think about it’. Those days, her head was shaven, as she just left the nunnery. If you do happen to see Pyee Pyee, Bryan or Teddy, please convey my best to them.

Cheers!