The Bell Rang, and Life Began: Tiffin Breaks of Our School Days

Tiffin intervals in school were not just time for a break from class and refueling energy by munching. In fact, it was the best time in the entire day at school. Not merely for refreshment, but in so many other ways.

In my school, there was a five-minute refreshment break after two periods, followed by another two periods before breaking for tiffin. Starting our classes at 8, we relished the break at 11. As quiet and reserved a guy I was, I never joined the roar of excitement when the bell rang—though I was as excited as any other mate in my class.

Weren’t we in a hurry to finish our tiffin? We did not want to compromise on the time left to engage in our favourite recreational activities.

Multiple matches with no winners

There were numerous creases for batting, with the burflower tree (kadam) stem being the wickets. A single brick or stone would make the wicket at the bowling crease. A single bat was exchanged with the change in strike, with a stick being the extension for the non-striker.

There used to be five to six matches going on simultaneously under corresponding burflower trees. Classes four to six or seven would play there. Balls would often go behind the wicketkeeper to hit somebody passing by, or sometimes smash a car window. A perfectly timed shot could hit a fielder from another ongoing match or someone engaged in a completely different activity on the same ground.

These matches rarely got results within the available twenty-five minutes, even when playing three overs a side. Quarrels and settlements consumed time. Sometimes, asking passersby to find and throw the ball back also ate up precious minutes when a straight shot landed the ball over the fence.

So, the team winning the toss would opt to bat every single time. ‘Hindi’ or ‘English’ and ‘Printed’ or ‘Plain’ were the calls captains made during the toss. Toffee and candy wrappers substituted the coin.

Football with no goal

Football was a universal game during breaks. From children in standard one to those in standard ten, everyone would run after a single ball. One kick—or even one touch—was the goal for the younger ones, because there were no goalposts anyway.

For the older ones, the goal was to kick it as high as possible. Children ran across the school field, often cutting through live cricket pitches. If someone held the ball with their hands—usually seniors attempting a punt kick—others would label them ‘ladies’.

Separate ground for girls and boys

Talking about ladies, there was a separate ground. Initially, there were no divisions. It was only when teachers found students engaging in love affairs that we were separated—around class seven or eight.

Before that, girls generally stood in groups and gossiped, sat in circles, and played antakshari. Boys played games across both grounds. Once separated, girls were encouraged to play physical games as well.

Different engagements for different groups

Different groups had different engagements, depending on age, personality, and preferences. When we were small, we ran around playing lukka-chuppi or chor-police. Cricket was constant. During lunch periods, we practiced high catches.

The captain of our class cricket team—my best friend—focused on training skills: bowling sessions, catching practice, and direct hits. And then there was the game we called Chutney.

Chutney was a game where two teams struggled to hit members of the opposing team with a ball. We played it with a tennis ball, sometimes even with a hard plastic one. The game required strategy, teamwork, agility, and quick switches between defense and offense.

I remember once a boy being surrounded in a corner with no escape from our team’s offense. He was spared only when his face turned distinctly red. Personal issues were sometimes settled through the game.

Being a good boy, I never faced those attacks. However, I once accidentally hit a boy who wasn’t playing and wasn’t even from our class. Fortunately, he didn’t create any fuss.

Playing cool, sharing knowledge

Too grown up to play? Standing by the fence and chatting was considered cool. Topics ranged from scientific facts to the latest technology, from war on RAW to the new girl in the first row.

Without a TV, newspapers, or books beyond curriculum texts, these conversations became my ultimate Wikipedia.

Oh—and when we were much younger, waving at military convoys was a matter of pride.

Lunch time at school was serious business. It re-energised our spirits. We shared our tiffins. It allowed interaction with students from different classes and sections.

Some bullies dented the confidence of a few students. At the same time, some found time to settle scores during breaks.

I wonder now—how boring school would have been without tiffin breaks. How dull would I have been?

So tell me—what was your favourite thing about lunch breaks?

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