Lessons Beyond Books

The bullock cart ride through the fields!

The excitement began on an ordinary weekday when Hina Madam, our middle wing coordinator, walked into the classroom with a purposeful smile. Her clipboard and cheerful demeanour were enough to spark curiosity among us.

“Class VIII-D,” she announced, her voice ringing clearly over our murmurs, “I have a piece of news that I think will brighten your week. This Saturday, we are going on a school trip to a farm on the outskirts of Chandigarh!”

The room erupted in cheers, and the chatter of excited voices filled the air. A farm trip meant freedom from textbooks and the routine grind of school.

Hina Madam raised her hand for silence and continued, “Permission slips will be distributed now, and they must be signed by your parents and returned by tomorrow. Attendance is compulsory.”

The buzz of excitement followed us for days. There were animated discussions about what to pack—snacks, tiffins, water bottles—and which friends to sit with on the bus. For some, however, the news brought disappointment. Ishita’s parents had prior commitments, and she sulked for the rest of the week. Rajat dramatically wailed about not being allowed to bring his entire stash of chips, much to our amusement.

When Saturday finally arrived, the school ground was alive with chatter at 6:30 a.m. Four bright yellow buses stood ready, and students dressed in house T-shirts, track pants, and white sports shoes buzzed with excitement. Bags were stuffed with snacks, sweets, and homemade treats, despite the fact that lunch was scheduled at the farm.

As the buses roared to life, our teachers—Mrs. Kapoor, Mr. Sharma, and Hina Madam—did their best to maintain order. But the energy inside was unstoppable. Songs from the latest movies echoed through the bus, and groups jostled to save seats for their friends. The ride had just begun.

II

The bus ride was a whirlwind of laughter and songs. My friends and I saved seats near the window, shooing away the boys who tried to claim them. The urban scenery—buildings, bustling markets, and honking cars—gradually gave way to the countryside. Fields stretched endlessly, dotted with grazing cattle and small mud houses.

“Don’t stick your hands or heads out of the window!” Mrs. Kapoor warned, her voice stern. The boys, as expected, ignored her, prompting her to plant herself in the middle of their group for the rest of the ride.

By 8:45 a.m., we reached the farm. It was breathtaking. A large clearing with sweet-smelling grass greeted us, surrounded by lush green fields. Several colourful tents stood neatly arranged in rows, and behind them was a whitewashed concrete house with a small medical room and washrooms.

The teachers assigned us to groups of ten per tent. Each tent was covered in soft blue mattresses and kept spotless. “Shoes off before entering!” Hina Madam reminded us as we placed our belongings inside.

Once we settled, we assembled in the centre of the field, where rows of dari mats had been laid out for breakfast. Plates made from leaves were handed to us, and the meal of channa-puri and lassi tasted divine. The freshness of the lassi was unmatched, its coolness a refreshing start to the day.

III

After breakfast, we were led to the vegetable farm and orchard. At first, we couldn’t see much beyond the tents, but as we walked behind the concrete house, the vast expanse of greenery unfolded. Rows of carrots, cauliflowers, radishes, and pumpkins stretched endlessly. To one side stood the fruit orchard, with banana, guava, and kinnow trees swaying gently in the breeze.

“This is where your food comes from—not the supermarket,” Mr. Sharma explained. We moved among the rows, marvelling at the fresh produce. The air smelled of earth and greenery, and it was humbling to see the effort behind the food we often took for granted.

Not everyone shared our enthusiasm. Ishaan muttered about his shoes getting muddy, while Riya complained about the long walk. The rest of us ignored them, choosing instead to savour the experience.

A surprise awaited us as we returned to the camp area. The tinkling of bells drew our attention, and we stepped out of our tents to see a line of bullock carts. The oxen, with their brightly painted horns and garlands, looked regal.

Boys were assigned separate carts and so were the girls. We climbed in, clutching the wooden sides for support. The bumpy ride through the fields was exhilarating. The rhythmic jingling of bells mixed with our laughter as we admired the golden mustard fields and grazing cows.

The cart ride ended at a village entrance lined with green and blue homes, some with thatched roofs and others concrete. Elders relaxed on charpoys, sipping tea, while children played with spinning tops and marbles.

We were led through the village, where women worked on intricate phulkari embroidery on elevated porches. Some sang Punjabi melodies as they stitched, their voices blending beautifully with the rural ambiance.

Our group visited the potter’s hut, where I had the chance to try my hand at shaping clay. The cool, wet clay slipped through my fingers as I struggled to create something resembling a pot. Meanwhile, others watched the kiln and asked questions about the process.

Thirsty from the walk, some of us drank water from earthen pots kept in the shade. The cool, mineral-rich water was refreshing, and I silently pitied those who opted for their plastic water bottles instead.

An elder pointed to a massive neem tree near the gurudwara. “We used to study under that tree,” he said, his voice filled with nostalgia. The simplicity of his words struck a chord, and I found myself imagining a classroom without walls.

IV

By the time we returned to the camp, our stomachs growled with hunger. Lunch was served in a shaded area near the tents, and the spread was a feast. Freshly cooked cauliflower and potatoes, palak-paneer, rice, and tandoor rotis were accompanied by curd and salad straight from the vegetable garden. The flavours were unmatched, and we ate until we could eat no more.

After lunch, we rested in our tents. The cool interiors and soft mattresses offered much-needed respite. Some of us dozed off, while others whispered about the morning’s adventures.

At 4:30 p.m., the field came alive with shouts and cheers as the camp games began. Teams competed in tug of war, dodgeball, and relay races. The girls’ team pulled off a surprise win in tug of war, much to the boys’ dismay.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, we packed our belongings and loaded into the buses. The ride home was quieter, the energy replaced by contentment. Some of us reflected on the day, while others rested their heads against the windows, lulled by the motion of the bus.

When we reached the school, Hina Madam handed each group a small cloth bag. Inside were fresh kinnows and guavas from the orchard, a sweet reminder of our day on the farm.

That night, as I lay in bed, I thought about everything we had seen and learned—the hard work behind every meal, the beauty of rural life, and the joy of connecting with nature. It was more than just a school trip; it was a lesson I would carry with me forever.