KO SU PUTNICI, A KO INDIJANCI

 
Direktorka škole je nameštala frizuru savijenu u punđu i gledala se u ogledalo. Vežbala je različite poze strogoće, kao i svakog radnog dana, želeći da izgleda autoritativno, ako treba – i neumoljivo. Pripremala se za uobičajenu šetnju dugim školskim hodnicima u vreme nastave. Uvek bi inače zastajkivala ispred svih vrata i osluškivala i profesore i đake, proveravajući da li se nastava drži po strogo utvrđenom planu i programu.
 
        Ispred kabineta za matematiku odzvanjao je glas predavača, koji je očigledno preglasno objašnjavao neki zadatak, jasno se čulo čak i škripanje krede po tabli. U učionici u kojoj se predavala geografija iskusna nastavnica je vrlo razgovetno pričala o zemljama Azije i o Indiji. Kabinet muzičkog je ipak bio najglasniji. Sviralo se na klaviru, prepoznala je čak i svoju omiljenu Betovenovu kompoziciju.
 
        Direktorka se zadovoljno nasmešila i krenula dalje. Posebno ju je interesovalo kako protiče čas likovnog obrazovanja. Iz same učionice nije dopirao nikakav zvuk. Dobro, pa nije tu čas muzičkog, samoj sebi je objašnjavala, odmakavši nekoliko koraka u pravcu učionice za učenje stranih jezika. Ipak, oprezno se vratila nazad, da još jednom oslušne, prislonivši uvo na vrata, ne mareći što tako može da pokvari frizuru. Ništa se nije čulo, nijedan dečji glas, a ni glas mlade nastavnice likovnog. Ima li uopšte nekog unutra? Kako je moguće da je do nje dopro čak i zvuk krede profesora matematike, a ovde – mrtva tišina?! Moralo bi da se oglasi barem jedno dete od tridesetak njih u razredu.
 
        Prolazili su minuti, koji su njoj izgledali predugi. Frizuru je potpuno pokvarila prislanjajući uvo čas na jedna, čas na druga vrata. Ovde nešto nije u redu – sa sigurnošću je zaključila i naglo otvorila vrata učionice.
 
        Prvi pogled ju je potpuno zbunio. Gotovo oduzeo. Sve đačke glave su ležale na klupama, sve oči su bile zatvorene. Izgledalo je kao da svi do jednog – spavaju! Nije, u stvari, izgledalo, već su svi stvarno spavali, ni naglo otvaranje vrata nepopustljive direktorke nije ih pomerilo. Spavala je i nastavnica, i to izgleda dubokim snom.
 
        Direktorka je bila van sebe! Nije da ponekad nije bilo manjih propusta u školskom redu, ali da na bilo kom času sva deca spavaju, uključujući i predavača – e to se do sada nikada nije dogodilo!
 
        Probudila je mladu ženu.
 
 – Koleginice, hoćete li da mi objasnite o čemu je ovde reč?
 – Pa danas nam je zadatak da naslikamo putovanje.
        Direktorka je još jednom bacila pogled na razred, ali su sva deca i dalje gotovo nepomično spavala.
 – Zar vi ovo zovete slikanjem?
        – Rekla sam učenicima da je najbolje da svoje putovanje najpre zamisle u mašti, da se prepuste snovima i fantazijama, pa da na drugom času to i naslikaju. I da svako sliku pokloni svom najboljem prijatelju.
 – Šta da rade? – s nevericom je direktorka pogledala nastavnicu.
        – Putovanje je mašta i san, vizija, sposobnost da sebi nešto živo predstavimo, zar ne razumete?
                                                                           *  *  *
        Moje prvo putovanje bilo je iz porodilišta u Višegradskoj ulici u Beogradu do iznajmljenog stana u Marinkovoj bari. Tog putovanja se ne sećam. Ne sećam se ni putovanja od Marinkove bare do Cvijićeve ulice. Kad sam malčice porastao, isto toliko sam postao svestan i svojih prvih putovanja, koja, naravno, nisu bila do nekih udaljenih gradova ili mesta, već po okolini. To govorim iz sadašnje perspektive odraslog čoveka, ali u tom uzrastu bila su to maltene hodočašća: otkrivanje novog kraja, drugog dela grada, poseta rodbini ili kumovima... Putovanje tramvajem, trolejbusom ili autobusom po gradu otkrivalo mi je sasvim drugi svet.
– Mama, šta je ovo?
– Crkva, sine.
– Šta je to crkva?
– Tu se moli.
– Tu živi Bog?
– On živi svuda! On je u svakom gradu, ulici i kući.
        Tako je mislila moja majka. Nikada ga inače nisam video kod nas u stanu! U to sam bio siguran, jer je naš stan imao samo jednu sobu, pa nije imao gde da se sakrije.
– Mama, mama, a šta je ovo?
– To je Narodna skupština.
– A ko tu živi?
        Moja majka je samo odmahnula rukom i pokazala mi, na drugoj strani ulice, zgradu u kojoj je davno radila, kad se doselila u glavni grad.
        U tim ranim putešestvijima sticao sam svoje prve drugare. Uglavnom su to bila deca maminih i tatinih prijatelja. Razmenjivali smo iskustva: kakvi su nam učitelji, ko je stroži – mama ili tata, da li volimo punjene paprike (koje je na sto upravo stavljala nečija majka), u koliko sati moramo u krevet i da li nas vikendom puštaju da ostanemo duže budni. Ta razmena kratkog životnog iskustva mnogo mi je značila u razumevanju sopstvenog života i ličnih navika. Jedan drugar mi se tako žalio da ga otac tuče, nekad i bez razloga, čak mi je pokazivao i modrice na nozi. Ćerka majčine koleginice je imala klavir. Umela je da odsvira samo nekoliko pesama, ali sam ih ja svejedno prvi put čuo. Kod novog drugara, koji je živeo na drugoj strani sveta – u naselju na brdu koje zvalo po labudu ili petlu, nisam bio baš siguran – igrali smo se električnim vozom, koji je on dobio od svog oca koji je radio na drugoj planeti – u državi koja se zvala Nemačka. Voz se sam kretao precizno po metalnim šinama i svetleo.
        Prvo putovanje na more kojeg se sećam bilo je vozom, koji je takođe svetleo, i to ne samo u stvarnosti, već i u mojim dečjim očima. Polazio je s beogradske železničke stanice u večernjim satima. Bio sam nezamislivo uzbuđen. Piletinu i paradajz smo počeli da jedemo već na stanici Zemun (samo pet minuta posle polaska).
       Potom se sećam broda koji nas je prebacio na neko ostrvo. More i plaže su me zadivili, ali ono što mi se posebno urezalo u pamćenje je plava kosa jedne devojčice. Zavideo sam joj na tome što, kad god je od svojih roditelja tražila sladoled – dobila bi ga! Ja se nisam usuđivao ni da pitam, jer mi je majka utuvila u glavu da je ledeni slatkiš na plaži skup i da za njega nemamo novaca. Svaki dan smo se viđali na istoj plaži, ona sa sladoledom, ja sa sendvičem sa salamom i paradajzom. Imala je šlauf (gumeni pojas oko struka) jer nije znala da pliva. Stid me je preplavljivao i dugo se nisam usuđivao da joj se obratim. Kad sam najzad skupio hrabrost (koju sam valjda čuvao od rođenja), upitao sam je:
– Hoćeš li da te naučim da plivaš?
– Neću! A gde si ti naučio da plivaš?
– Na Savi.
– Lažeš!
– Ne lažem!
– Lažeš! Ti nisi iz Zagreba, a Sava je u Zagrebu.
– Nije, u Beogradu je!
        Tako smo moja drugarica s plaže i ja naučili da Sava ima gradove, a ne gradovi Savu! Posle mi je davala da gricnem njen sladoled, a ja sam joj nudio paradajz i sendvič sa salamom. Nije htela. Tog leta ipak nije naučila da pliva.
                                                                             *  *  *
        Otkrivanje sveta mi je životna sudbina jer su putovanja moja profesija. Putovao sam autobusom, brodom, avionom, skoro svim prevoznim sredstvima koje je čovek izmislio. Jedino prevozno sredstvo koje čovek nije izumeo, a dobili smo ga rođenjem – jeste naša mašta! Ona pokreće radoznalost, a radoznalost, odnosno znatiželja prethodi svakom pravom putovanju. Šta me očekuje tamo daleko? koji ljudi žive u tim krajevima? kakva im je hrana? I tako u nizu – od klime, navika, običaja i jezika do zgrada, spomenika i muzeja... I ono, možda najvažnije: koga li ću upoznati na svom sledećem putovanju i šta ću sve čuti i saznati? Uvek se osećam kao Kolumbo koji je, tražeći Indiju, otkrio – Ameriku!
         Voleo bih da svako dete ima na umu, to jest da zapamti da svaki novi deo sveta, svako novo mesto čuva baš za njega svoja iznenađenja, sakrivena od svih dostupnih informacija, javnih glasila, knjiga, časopisa i interneta. Čuva ih čak i od same dečje mašte! Zato stalno tragajte, gledajte, otkrivajte, razmišljajte... Putovanje bez iznenađenja nije istinsko putovanje.
                                                                            * * *  
        Ovde ću da napomenem da je ona nastavnica likovnog – pre nego što su utonula u san i, naravno, pre naglog ulaska direktorke s punđom, to jest čim ih je zamolila da maštom dočaraju svoje putovanje, da ga izmisle, pre svega toga dakle – ispričala deci priču o Kolumbu.
        – Deco, svi znate priču o Kolumbu, koju ću ja malo izmeniti. Zamislite situaciju u kojoj se Kolumbo prvi put susreo s domorocima u Americi, nazivajući ih Indijancima jer je mislio da je zapravo doplovio do Indije. Pokušao je da im saopšti da ih je, eto, on otkrio, a da on dolazi iz civilizovanog sveta zvanog Evropa. Indijanci su ga prekinuli rečima: Ali, da ste sačekali samo još koju godinu, možda bismo mi VAS otkrili tražeći Indiju, pa biste danas VI bili Indijanci!
        Kada putujete u nepoznate krajeve, nemojte zaboraviti da se ne upoznajete samo vi s njima, već i oni s vama! Vi ste njima podjednako nepoznati i isto toliko zanimljivi. Tako, kada budete slikali svoje putovanje – naslikajte i sebe, najbolje što možete.   
                                                                         * * *  
        Na ležaljci pored bazena ispred jednog modernog hotela na obalama tropskog mora, ležala je ne više mlada gospođa, zatvorenih očiju, sa slušalicama na ušima. Kad bi s vremena na vreme otvorila oči i pridigla se, pred njom se pružao nezaboravan pogled na more, kao s razglednice. Ono što je bilo čudno je to da je gospođa svoju muziku, pomalo neobičnu za taj ambijent, slušala toliko glasno (bez obzira na slušalice) da su gosti hotela koji su bili na ležaljkama pored nje mogli neometano da uživaju u slavnim muzičkim numerama – ako im je takav bio muzički ukus. Bolji poznavaoci muzike mogli su prepoznati kompozicije čuvenog Betovena. Gospođa je, uz to, iz svoje torbe za plažu povremeno vadila blok s praznim listovima, te grafitnom olovkom nešto usredsređeno crtala.
– Gospođo! Gospođo! – pokušavao je da joj se obrati čovek u poslovnom odelu.
– Molim! – konačno se trgla.
– Dobar dan! Ja sam direktor ovog hotela.
       – Vi govorite… – gospođa je bila skoro zabezeknuta da joj se neko u toj dalekoj zemlji obraća njenim maternjim jezikom.
– Naravno. Vi ste bili direktorka moje škole.
        Dok je nekada stroga direktorka škole iznenađeno gledala u njega (na putovanjima je iznenađenje poželjno, gotovo obavezno, već smo rekli), gospodin u odelu je nastavio da priča.
       – Znate, prošlo je mnogo godina. Mislio sam da mi se pričinjava da ovde, na drugom kontinentu, srećem direktorku svoje bivše škole! U početku sam bio u blagoj neverici, ali kad ste sinoć namestili punđu, više nisam imao nikakvih nedoumica.
 – O, hvala! Izvinite, ali ja se vas ne sećam! Zar me pamtite samo po punđi?
        – Nikad nisam zaboravio kako ste nam upali na čas likovnog, a mi svi pozaspali na klupama maštajući o putovanjima koje je trebalo da naslikamo.
  – Nastavnica likovnog vam je bila razredna?
  – Jeste. Nikad je nisam zaboravio.
        Te večeri je sadašnji direktor jednog hotela u dalekoj zemlji pozvao na večeru nekadašnju direktorku svoje osnovne škole. Direktorka je imala savršeno nameštenu punđu. Dugo su razgovarali o minulim vremenima. On je njoj pričao o svojim brojnim putovanjima i o zemljama koje je obišao, ne izostavljajući da najviše pamti putovanja od Cvijićeve ulice u Beogradu do Labudovog ili Petlovog brda, ali i svoje prvo putovanje na more, kad je upoznao devojčicu plave kose sa sladoledom i saznao da reku koja se zove Sava nema samo njegov rodni grad. Ona je njemu pokazivala svoje slike, odnosno crteže koje je napravila na plaži. Uglavnom su to bili portreti lokalnih ljudi – Indijaca koji se smeju. Te večeri je njen bivši učenik video (valjda prvi put) i njen osmeh.
       – Ni u snu ne bih pomislila da će na obalama Indijskog okeana, gde sam se obrela nizom srećnih i neočekivanih okolnosti, neko mene da prepozna! A kakvi su životni putevi vas doveli ovamo? 
       – Svet nema granica, direktorka, to sam naučio još u školi, maštajući o tome da ga jednog dana upoznam. Srećom, nisam zalutao kao Kolumbo! A znate li nešto o nastavnici likovnog?
       – Trebalo je da, posle mog odlaska u penziju, ona bude direktorka naše škole. Međutim, nju to nije interesovalo. Sve što je želela bilo je da svaku novu generaciju dece nauči da sanjare. Vidim i da je uspela.
        Ko je ovde koga otkrio? Direktorka nekadašnjeg đaka svoje škole, ili on nju? 
        Sigurno vam je već postalo jasno da uopšte nije važno ko je putnik, a ko Indijanac.
        Sanjarite, pa otputujte! I naslikajte svoje putovanje!
        Srećan put!

 

WHO ARE THE TRAVELERS AND WHO THE INDIANS? (By: Miroslav Radaković, author of the book The Scent of Colors and The World is the Same )

 

The school principal was fixing her hair in a bun and looking at herself in the mirror. She rehearsed various poses of sternness, as she did every working day, wanting to appear authoritative, if necessary – and implacable. She was preparing for the usual walk through the long school corridors during class time. She would always stop in front of every door and listen to both the teachers and the students, checking whether classes are being held according to a strictly defined curriculum.

The voice of the teacher rang out in front of the math class. He was obviously explaining an assignment at full volume and even the screeching of chalk on the blackboard could be heard clearly. In the classroom where geography was taught, the experienced teacher spoke very eloquently about Asian countries and about India. The music room was the loudest of all. The piano was playing and she recognized her favorite Beethoven composition.

The principal smiled with satisfaction and moved on. She was particularly interested in the art class. However, there was no sound coming from the classroom. Well, perhaps the music class wasn’t taking place here, she told herself, taking a few steps in the direction of the foreign language classroom. Still, she warily paced back to listen once more, putting her ear to the door, not caring that she might ruin her hair-do. She heard nothing, not a single child’s voice, not even the voice of the young art teacher. Was there anyone inside at all? How is it possible that even the sound of the math teacher’s chalk could reach her, and yet here there was dead silence?! At least one child of the thirty in the class would have to speak up sooner or later.

Minutes passed, a time period that seemed overlong. She completely messed up her hair by putting her ear to one door, then to the other. Something was wrong here, she concluded with certainty and opened the classroom door swiftly.

            The scene before her completely confused her, almost taking her breath away. All the students were asleep, with their heads on the benches. It looked like every single one of them was fast asleep! In fact, it didn’t just seem like it, they truly were all asleep, and not even the sudden opening of the door by the implacable headmistress awoke them. The teacher was also sleeping, and it also looks like a deep slumber.

            The principal was beside herself! It’s not that sometimes there weren’t minor lapses in the school schedule, but all the children sleeping, including the teacher, in any given class - that has never happened before!

            She woke up the young woman.

“Miss, could you explain what’s happening here?”

“Well, today it is our task to illustrate a journey.”

            The principal glanced at the class once more but all the children were almost absolutely still, dead to the world.

      “Do you call this painting?”

            “I told the students that it’s best to imagine a journey first, to indulge in reveries and fantasies, and then to depict the trip in the next lesson. After that, they can give the drawing to their best friend.”

      “To do what?” the principal looked at the teacher in disbelief.

            “Traveling is imagination and a dream, a vision, the ability to imagine something alive, don’t you understand?”

                                                                           *  *  *

 

            My first trip was from the maternity hospital in Višegradska Street in Belgrade to a rented apartment in the Marinkova Bara part of town. I don’t remember that trip. I don’t even remember the journey from there to another street, Cvijićeva. When I grew up a little, I became equally aware of my other trips, which, of course, were not to some distant cities or places, but to the surrounding areas. I say this from the current perspective of an adult, but at that age they were almost mental pilgrimages: discovering a new area, another part of the city, and visiting relatives or godparents. Traveling by tram, trolleybus or bus through the city revealed a completely different world to me.

      “Мa, what’s this?”

“A church, son.”

“What’s a church?”

“Where people pray.”

“God lives there?”

“He lives everywhere! He is in every city, street and home.”

            That’s what my mother thought but I have never seen him in our apartment! I was sure of that, because our apartment had only one room, so he had nowhere to hide.

“Ma, Ma, what’s this?”

“That’s the National Assembly.”

“Who lives there?”

My mother just waved her hand and showed me the building on the other side of the street where she had worked a long time ago, when she moved to the capital.

It was in those early travels that I made my first friends. They were mostly the children of my parents’ friends. We exchanged experiences: what our teachers were like, who was stricter – our mom or dad, whether we liked stuffed peppers (which someone’s mother had just put on the table), what time we had to go to bed and whether they let us stay up longer on weekends. That give-and-take of a short life experience meant a lot to me in understanding my own life and personal habits. A friend complained to me that his father beat him, sometimes for no reason, and he even showed me bruises on his leg. The daughter of my mother’s colleague had a piano. She could only play a few songs, but I nevertheless heard them for the first time. With a new friend, who lived on the other side of the world - in a suburb on a hill that was named after a swan or a rooster, I wasn’t really sure - I played with an electric train, which he got from his father who worked on another planet, in a country that was called Germany. The train moved all on its own on the metal rails and lit up.

The first trip to the sea that I remember was by train, which was also lit up: not only in reality, but also in my eyes of a child. It left from Belgrade railway station in the evening. I was indescribably excited. In fact, we started eating our meal of chicken and tomatoes already at the Zemun station (only five minutes after departure).

            Further, I remember the ship that took us to an island. The sea and the beaches amazed me, but what particularly stuck in my memory was the blonde hair of a girl. I envied her because whenever she asked her parents for ice cream, she would get it! I didn’t even dare to ask, because my mother had drilled into my head that ice candy on the beach is expensive and that we didn’t have money for that kind of thing. Every day we saw each other on the same beach, she with her ice cream, and I with my salami sandwich and tomatoes. She had a flotation device (a rubber ring around her waist) because she couldn’t swim. I was overcome with shyness and for a long time I didn’t dare to speak to her. When I finally gathered the courage (which I guess I’ve been saving up since birth), I asked her:

“Do you want me to teach you how to swim?”

“No! Where did you learn how to swim?”

“On the Sava River.”

“You’re lying!”

“I am not!”

“You are too! You’re not from Zagreb, and the Sava River is Zagreb’s.”

“No it’s not, it’s in Belgrade!”

             Which was how my friend from the beach and I learned that the Sava River runs through cities and doesn’t belong to any city! Afterwards, she let me have a bite of her ice cream, and I offered her a tomato and my salami sandwich. She didn’t want it. On the other hand, she didn’t learn to swim that summer.

 

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Discovering the world is my life’s destiny because traveling is my profession. I have traveled by bus, ship, plane, and almost every means of transportation invented by man. The only means of transportation that man did not invent, and which we were given at birth, is our imagination! It generates curiosity, and curiosity precedes any real journey. What awaits me far away? What kinds of people live in those parts? What is their food like? And other questions as well – about the climate, habits, customs and language to buildings, monuments and museums. And then, perhaps the most important thing: whom will I meet on my next trip and what will I hear and learn? I always feel like Columbus who, seeking India, discovered America!

I would like every child to keep in mind, that is, to remember that every new part of the world, every new place keeps its surprises just for him or her, veiled from all available information, public media, books, magazines and the Internet. It guards them even from children’s imagination! So keep searching, looking, discovering, and thinking. A journey without surprises is not a true journey.

 

                                                                            * * *  

 

I will mention here that before they fell asleep and, of course, before the sudden entrance of the bunned principal, the art teacher told the children the story of Columbus, that is, as soon as she asked them to imagine their journey, to invent it, before all that.

            “Children, you all know the story of Columbus, which I will alter a little. Imagine the situation in which Columbus first encountered the natives in America, calling them Indians because he thought he had actually reached India. He tried to tell them that he had discovered them and that he came from a civilized world called Europe. The Indians interrupted him by saying: ‘But if you had waited just a few more years, maybe we would have discovered YOU by looking for India, so YOU would be the Indians today!’ ”

When you travel to unknown places, don’t forget that not only do you get to know the locals, but they get to appreciate you too! You are equally unknown to them and just as interesting. So, when you make a drawing of your trip, make a picture of yourself, as best you can. 

 

                                                                         * * *  

 

On a lounger by the pool in front of a state-of-the-art hotel on the shores of a tropical sea lay a lady no longer young, with her eyes closed and headphones on her ears. When she opened her eyes from time to time and looked up, an unforgettable view of the sea spread out in front of her, as if something from a postcard. What was odd was that the lady was listening to music, which was somewhat unusual for that environment, and furthermore, so loudly (regardless of the headphones) that the hotel guests who were on the deckchairs next to her could also partake of the famous notes - if such was their musical taste. Connoisseurs of music could recognize the compositions of the famous Beethoven. In addition, the lady would occasionally take out a pad from her beach bag and sketch something with a graphite pencil.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” a man in a business suit was vying for her attention.

“Yes!” she finally lifted her head.

“Hello! I’m the manager of this hotel.”

            “You speak…” the lady was almost dumbfounded that someone in that distant country was speaking to her in her native language.

“Of course. You were the principal of the school I went to.”

            While the once rigorous principal looked at him in surprise (on trips, surprise is desirable, almost mandatory, as we’ve already said), the gentleman in the suit continued talking.

            “You know, it’s been many years. I thought I was imagining it that here, on another continent, I’d meet the principal of my former school! At first I was in a bit of disbelief, but when I saw your hair bun last night, I no longer had any doubts.”

            “Оh, thank you so much! So sorry, but I don’t seem to remember you! Is it possible you remember me only because of my hair?”

            “I never forgot how you burst into our art class as we all slept on the benches dreaming about the trips we were supposed to draw.”

      “The art teacher was your classroom teacher?”

      “Yes. I’ve never forgotten her.”

That evening, the manager of a hotel in a far away country invited the former principal of his elementary school to dinner. The principal wore a perfectly styled bun. They talked for a long time about past times. He told her about his numerous trips and about the countries he had visited, not forgetting to mention that the trip he remembered the best was that from Cvijićeva Street in Belgrade to Swan or Petlovo Hill, but also his first trip to the sea, when he met a blonde girl who ate ice cream and learned that the river called Sava did not possess only his hometown. She showed him the sketches she had made on the beach. They were mostly portraits of local people - smiling Indians. That evening, her former student also saw (probably for the first time) her smile.

            “I would never have dreamed that someone would recognize me on the shores of the Indian Ocean, where I found myself due fortunate and unexpected circumstances! But what life events have brought you here?”

            “The world has no boundaries, my principal, I learned that back in school, fantasizing about chancing on that same world one day. Luckily I didn’t get lost like Columbus! And do you know anything about the art teacher?”

            “After my retirement, she was appointed as the principal of our school. However, she was not interested in all that. All she wanted was to teach each new generation of children to fantasize. I can see that she has succeeded.”

            Who discovered whom here? Did the principal discover her former pupil, or did he uncover her?

            It must have become clear to you by now that it matters not at all who is the traveler and who the Indian.

            Daydream, fantasize, and then travel! And make a drawing of your trip!

            Bon voyage!