School Tales - The Lunchtime Chronicles
The following article is a lighthearted recollection of amusing tales from my school days. I’m only around 10 years older than I was when most of these memories were made — so from an older person’s perspective, it might feel like a little kid saying, “Back when I was younger…” But for me, a lot has changed between being a 10–12 year old middle-schooler and now, as a 22 year old adult. So I look back — and I reminisce.
PRELOGUE
There are two things to ponder about before reading the article.
The world feels much bigger when you're a child. Maybe it’s because we’re shorter, or because our minds are still fresh — unshaped and curious. The same space that once felt vast and mysterious can seem just a few steps wide when revisited as an adult. An amusement park that once seemed endless and exhausting now feels easily walkable — you’ve certainly covered far more distance since. There’s the perception of time to take into account too. The half hour classes in school that would seem like it would never end, to being able to somehow tolerate three hour lectures in university, to now when a simple nap lets me swiftly time travel into the future effortlessly.
For the second thing to ponder about, here’s a poem (written by me too):
Where Did The People Go?
Children - everyone had complex personalities - unique and bright.
The adult? A factory output.
Every single person drew, read, wrote, danced, sang and ran. Many at times not even good at it (supposedly), but at least they did.
Now it feels like chasing personalities, "Oh you do this? That's so cool!," they said so emptily, not remembering the time when we all did.
Originally written: June 7, 2023.
Sometimes I’ve had a feeling that personalities started disappearing by the time we come around to high school. Towards the end of middle school the goal begins "Do well in this exam so you can get into a good high school," and then "Do well in your final school exam so you can get into a good university," and then "Do well in your university so you can find a good job," and then "Do well in your job and earn some money so you can settle and find a life partner” and so on, until the very essence of people may be lost in the multiple layers, roles and duties of your life. I'm not rejecting this way of life entirely, and not saying we ought to be hippie like. It's just the question of what is it that we really value, or should value, and where is it that we otherwise start losing ourselves, bit by bit. In school, we grow up surrounded by so many people—classmates, acquaintances, entire batches of familiar faces. But as we grow older, the number of people we regularly interact with narrows, and those who could be part of your “clan,” so to speak, become fewer. Making friends in adulthood is truly a challenge. There are national identities, cultural shifts, and economic cycles shaping this reality too—but before I spiral down that rabbit hole, the relevant idea to this article, is the nostalgia of youthful jest and reminiscing the times where our mind was more free.
SCHOOL TALES – THE LUNCHTIME CHRONICLES
Here is some context for people who grew up in different kinds of school systems. In my Indian private school, the lunch break was a short but lively pause in the school day, usually around 30 minutes long. Students are not allowed to leave the school premises, and most bring packed lunches from home. During the break we scatter around into the shared playground—a large rectangular field of sand or grass—to find a place to eat and where we would gather in groups, play games, or simply walk around and chat. At the end of the break we assemble into our class lines to head back to the classrooms. Our school had 1000+ students from kindergarten all the way to high-school all in the same premises. The school was where I grew up for 14 years of my life.
Ah, the playground at lunchtime — a site of clans, battles, and tales. Youthful jests, now immortalized in the mind.
For When I Was Ousted
Around 6th grade, I was ousted from the position of clan leader — on the claims that I was hot-headed, probably due to one incident where I argued. For a while, I spent time away from the group. But I had two older friends — one of them a former nemesis — who stuck by me.
Eventually, the one who ousted me saw my calm, passive resolution in another scenario and realized I wasn’t the source of the fighting. He apologized, and slowly, we all merged back again.
For the Formation of the Clan
By 9th grade, only two major clans — ahem, lunch groups — remained. One of them was the one I’d helped form back in 5th–6th grade. It all began with just four of us — nerdy outcasts. We’d bring magnets and collect iron from the soil. For what greater purpose? No clue. I still have a box of those iron filaments somewhere (I think). Our harvest mining adventures continued until our PT teacher stopped us. Why they were so protective of a bunch of iron filaments in the soil, I’ll never understand.
Eventually, we proposed a merger with another group — mutually acquainted friends. We weren’t close initially, mostly knew each other through our older sisters who were in the same grade. We’d been to each other’s birthday parties. Over time, we became close and formed a larger group.
Securing a good lunch spot was a mark of dominance. For a long while, we sat on the basketball court asphalt — until we became a victim to our knees by around around 8th or 9th grade. Then we migrated to the shaded stepped seating area, which we somehow managed to retain as our turf through the years.
When we started out, one of our early conquests was attempting to claim the center of the basketball court — freshly cemented, with a bright orange circle painted in the middle. It was already occupied by a group of seniors. But of course, that didn’t stop us from trying.
So began our forced occupation.
The seniors didn’t budge. Thankfully, they weren’t violent, they sat there next to us practicing ahimsa, and trying to talk over us loudly. Eventually, we relented and left. Thus ended our tale of conquest — an ambitious campaign that never quite took off.
As the group grew, I found myself growing distant from those who had been there since the beginning. I didn’t think much of it then, but looking back, I wish I’d maintained those friendships. That’s a life lesson too.
Oh — I just remembered the area behind the building (now replaced by a newly constructed block). That place held a trove of tales too. Similar stories, same spirit.
The Feasting
Good food, gobbled in seconds by classmates like hungry seagulls — especially paneer. Experienced victims would request their parents for extra portions to be packed and guard their share with their lives. Others? They’d sneak off to eat in peace.
When I Was Infatuated
I remember walking with a friend to the far end of the playground — a space that felt like an alien world back then — just to show each other which girl we had a crush on, and to try to discreetly spot them.
Innovation of Pastimes
The lunch hour — thirty minutes, to be precise — was always a ripe and bustling period of time. The goal: finish food fast so we could go play sports.
There were games like Vampire (technically, should’ve been Dracula) where one person chased the others, tagging them to join the hunt. The last one standing won.
For some reason, we also had a version called Amoebic Dysentery. You got "infected" and spread it to others. Another version had one person marked as "out," and others had to tag them to take on the status. Whoever held the status when the bell rang won.
Strategy was key. Start too early, and you’d tire yourself out. Start too late, and you might miss the bell (manual back then — often off by tens of seconds so we couldn’t predict it with our wristwatches). Holding the status meant endurance, agility, and escape skills. Naturally, the action was concentrated in the final five minutes.
As we got older — and lazier through the grades — these games faded. By 9th grade, we barely played anymore.
There were many more tales. Some mine. Many others'. Some I only witnessed. There were clans, rebellions, alliances, mergers, acquisitions. Migrant and nomadic groups. Even companies, comic houses, patents, copyrights — and lawyers. When friends joined, there was camaraderie. When they left, it marked shifting tides. I’m not sure how much of it inherently came from within us, and how much was inspired by books, shows, or movies. Maybe most of it. Where else would a bunch of DNA strands have learnt all of that?
The following images are some highlights from my entrepreneurial endeavors in 5th grade, and to regulate competition we drafted a “School Company Council” legislation too.
Our school placed a strong emphasis on discipline, often cracking down on anything that could remotely be constituted as a toy. This forced us to innovate—to find ways to kill time, starve off boredom, and be creative with whatever we had. In the image above titled “Newsletter #1,” you’ll spot the badge briefcase — a hollow cardboard replica of our school badge. It was my stealthy little invention, designed to sneak pieces of paper to play with. This was us as 10 year old kids, and we would go around testing it on teachers, “Ma’am do you notice anything unusual?” They never caught on — the cardboard case blended right in. We were thrilled by our success and ingenuity.
Sometimes, I wish I’d been more fluid — a lunchtime nomad, sitting with different people, chatting with girls too. But back then, nervousness and shyness got the better of me. I had a group of girl (space) friends in 3rd grade, but, weak-minded, I caved to social pressure where other boys teased me for hanging around girls. If only I’d maintained that friendship with my kindergarten best friend too—at least through the lunch breaks. In 3rd grade, we were placed in different sections, and somehow, I just lost contact. The sections were small in size, but each felt like a different world altogether. Even something as simple as walking over to pass a message felt like venturing into alien territory. It’s strange how such small distances could feel so vast back then. Another life lesson.
Interestingly, it took years for our lunchtime groups to consolidate, shaped by ever-shifting friendship dynamics. Whenever a new kid joined the school, our clans would compete—each trying to impress and recruit them into their clan. In kindergarten, teachers guided us in lines to our spots. From 1st grade, we were left to ourselves. Disorder. Then slow order. Then disorder again. But gradually, order formed. Drama, politics, evolving history — all in one tiny rectangular playground. It feels miniature now as an adult who has travelled much greater distances, but back then, it was the entire world, to the child just learning to explore.
I can't say yet whether today's generation of kids—growing up with easy access to phones and digital worlds—will have stories as vivid or intense. Will they build memories that turn into warm nostalgia, even if those memories are shaped by things we can't relate to? Or will early exposure to the vastness of the internet leave them dulled to the smaller wonders? Time will tell.
The image on the left is of the school playground I grew up with — a plain sandpit that baked under the sun and turned into our battlefield, construction site, and stage for imagination. The one on the right shows the same ground today, renovated with a dedicated football field and a grassy turf.
A playground of sand (To my school—why couldn’t you afford grass when we were growing up?)—a sandbox of all our childhood adventures.
