schoolchildren

The school was glistening with the image of mirages. The sun was shining. The wind was soft and pleasant. The birds were chirping. Footsteps pattered on the gravel. Not unlike the sounds of marching drills in the evening. And very different from them as well. These were sharp, staccato sounds like the other ones, sure. These were disjointed, not all as one unit, unlike the other ones. The air tasted of maple and fir. Transplants to this area. Lining the streets with the one storied buildings, remnants of colonial rule. Afternoon tea, with samosas and sandwiches, also remained from that time. As did subehdaars and batmans. The latter were superheroes of a sort. The backbone of the army. Officers that were the personal butlers of those in command. The mentality of those times remained too. This place might have cell phones, but it was stuck between a hundred and a couple hundred years in the past. The darker the skin color, the worse you were treated. As evidenced by the behavior of the school-children making their way to the cottage-like brick building. Religion was tolerated, respected, followed. Yet also not. It was selective. There was the evening beer for most of the senior officers. The soldiers, well, they were incredibly religious. They even disliked the criteria for beard length set by the army. In their perspective, the longer the better. Not this English beard. It seemed to go against their religion.

The children walked in a straight line. More rebellious than they would be in school, but less than kids that studied elsewhere. Besides, they were accustomed to rules. Their homes were stricter than most others. Certain times for lunch, breakfast, and dinner. You had to be there fifteen minutes early.

The bell rang. The assembly began. First came the national anthem. Then students in immaculate uniforms came up one by one to announce the respective achievements of their societies or sports teams. The principal stood by, always in a tie, and a coat, no matter the weather. Nodding his head solemnly. He took his job very seriously. He took himself much too seriously.

The bell rang. The students headed to their classes.

In a van trudging along a few miles away were people sitting nervously. Waiting. It was always this way. Even if you had the surety off the righteous, you were nervous right before. And they did have the surety. At least, some of them did. Most of them were clutching beads and murmuring prayers, softly, under their breaths. Their mullah had sent them on this mission. They believed in him. This was necessary. It was unlikely they would come out alive. But it would send shockwaves throughout the world. And they were strong. They believed. They had to do it. It was necessary.

The sun shone brightly, beautifully. The children played soccer underneath it. Others played cricket a few yards away. The two sports had equal numbers of fans. In this country, the latter should have more participants. Yet, maybe in this place, they were more westernized. Loud cheers, laughter, and clapping rang through the air. The boys smiled.

Danish Aamir