Short Story
On
the day Srijan joined the residential school, a 14-year old boy was arrested
from his neighbourhood for raping a 6-year old girl. Srijan’s parents decided to put him in a
residential school when he reached class 9 so that he could devote his entire
time to studying and thus prepare himself for the medical course that would in
due course of time enable him to fulfil his ambition to become a
cardiologist. In a world where people
were becoming increasingly heartless cardiologists would be in great demand, his
parents thought.
Srijan
was not so clear about his life’s purpose and its relationship with the world’s
hearts. But he knew clearly that his
parents wouldn’t do anything without clear purposes. So he accepted New India Public School with
his whole heart.
A
few days in the school made Srijan wonder whether his parents had made a
mistake. He was sitting on one of the
steps leading down to the playgrounds pondering about what some of his
companions in the hostel did to him. Dinner was over and most students were engaged
in some indoor game or watching the TV or reading in the library. The playgrounds remained desolate.
“Do
you think you’re a hero here?” Mohit had asked him just a couple of days after
his admission. “Just came the other day
and he thinks he has become a hero,” he turned to his friends before turning
again to Srijan. “Stop composing poems
and stop buttering the teachers.” Mohit
looked menacing.
Srijan
had already learnt that in the New India lingo “buttering” meant ‘flattery’. Flattery with the explicit purpose of getting
certain favours. Srijan was not trying
to flatter anyone when he indulged in composing poems during free time. He showed the poems to some of his teachers
because he enjoyed their pat on his back.
What’s wrong if someone finds my poems good? Srijan wondered why his companions were offended
by a simple thing like this.
The
problem started when Mohit pulled out Srijan’s vest from the hook and wiped his
shoes with it before throwing it on Srijan’s bed.
“How
dare you do such a thing?” asked Srijan.
“How
dare you go around singing paeans to the teachers?” asked Mohit. “Don’t think the teachers can save you from
us.” He wagged his index finger on
Srijan’s face. “We are the dons
here. The teachers are afraid of us.”
“Hey,
Srijan, what are you doing here?” It was
Mr Patnaik, one of his teachers.
Srijan
did not want to tell his teachers about his problem. “Never complain about any student,” one of
the senior students had advised him. “Complaining
is taken as treachery in the hostel. If
you have a problem with anyone you have only one of the two options: fight or
flight. Complaining to teachers is worse
than suicide.”
“The
poem you showed me today was superb,” Mr Patnaik said. Srijan’s poem which he had shown Mr Patnaik was
about stars and their twinkling light which made the night sky look like a
blanket studded with silver spangles. “Do
you know that we live in a universe filled with dark matter and dark energy?”
Srijan
nodded his head. “I read about it
somewhere,” he said.
“The
stars are a good symbol,” said Mr Patnaik.
“And your poem has some deep meaning.”
Srijan
did not understand it really. He had not
thought of such a meaning when he composed the poem. His teacher began to explain that meaning. Srijan listened intently. He was lost in the teacher’s words. Then he began to speak. Without realising
what he was doing Srijan narrated to his teacher the reason that brought him to
the lonely steps of the playgrounds.
“So,
have you chosen to flee?” asked Mr Patnaik after listening to Srijan. “Is that why you are sitting here alone, in
this darkness?”
Srijan
wasn’t sure whether he was choosing flight.
He didn’t want to.
“Maybe,
it’s not flight,” said Mr Patnaik. “Maybe,
you’re choosing to live a life that doesn’t draw much attention to
yourself. You know you can write poems
without drawing the attention of certain people?”
Srijan’s
eyes widened. He understood what his
teacher was trying to say. No wonder
the stars choose to stay far away, thought Srijan.
xxx
Another
story of mine set in New India Public School six years ago: Twinkle,
Twinkle Little Star
Quite inspiring for a loner kid battling to stay away from the abuse ! Nice read !
ReplyDeleteAny intelligent kid in a residential school (any intelligent person in society) faces this problem!
DeleteAs usual , a brilliant story.Please keep them coming.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your support that's becoming quite regular :)
Deletebrilliantly relatable
ReplyDeleteI know, Chinmoy, you can relate to it easily.
Deletenice story
ReplyDeleteI always wish you said something more :)
Deletea very inspiring read.. i too was lost in these words...:)
ReplyDeleteWords have life :) They eat you.
DeleteWriting poetry or doing anything to differentiate oneself, or leading to unintentional differentiation is a no no in any group. Being outside of the vaunted middle-third is a danger in and of itself. I see your story in that perspective.
ReplyDeleteKeep your outsider stuff inside yourself, be it poetry writing or being exceptional in science, math, geography whatever ...
RE
Yes, Raghuram, keeping the outsider-in-you inside is the secret to success in a world which insists on pushing up the biggest chunk in the septic tank!
DeletePoetry is the adolescent's way. Let him get through and he will become a cardiologist! But who wants him to get through?
A tale that is metaphorical of the times.
ReplyDeleteUma, I never write anything that I don't believe in.
Deletean inspiring post.. very well written.
ReplyDeleteThanks, friend.
Deletethe teacher advised the kid well- after all, he was composing poems because he wanted to.. it doesn't (shouldn't) matter to him if someone praised or derided him
ReplyDeleteThat's just one aspect. A residential school is a mini society. It teaches all the lessons of life!
DeleteWhat a choice - hide your light under a bushel or face the consequences of jealous bullying from other kids. Many parents seek to protect their young from this kind of abuse and bullying by home schooling. If that isn't an option we pay through our noses to ensure the numbers per class are low - a max of 30 and the teacher-student ratio is reasonable and that teachers are present during short and long breaks supervising playgrounds or, there are many extra-curricular activities and each student has to take up at least one so that each student shines in his or her own way. Can parents of students who cannot afford such schools - the majority - get together to brain storm and come up with alternatives? At least supervision during breaks?
ReplyDeleteYou may have read William Golding's 'Lord of the Flies'. Golding shows how cruel children can be to each other. Cruelty is an integral part of humanity, implies Golding. Put the children anywhere without adult supervision and watch their behaviour. It will be worse than adults!
DeleteBut that's how children grow up, isn't it? Some unsupervised times are also necessary in that growth-process.
A nice inspirational story.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Rupert
Deleteeverytime ,when I am late , commenting on your posts ..I get to see so many interpretations of your work !! while i was willing to draw some conclusions to the read , i prefer not to after I read so many views along with the post ...
ReplyDeleteIt was a nice read .. for the first time .. no conclusions ...
Late or not, it's always nice to have you with your view.
Deletethere was a time when growing up when I found it difficult to stay true who I was .. tired to be someone else for a while .. failed miserably but then just like your last line .. got back to being myself .. lost many friends on the way but I found a couple of genuine ones .. It was tough then but it's even more tough for the kids of this generation ...
ReplyDeleteIndeed, Sangeeta, the present generation finds it tougher... and the challenge will be greater as time goes by! Too many distractions... Yet one has to find his/her way. Thanks for sharing your thought.
DeleteMany of the young boys and girls face this. It is very common. Thanks for sharing your simple yet effective Short Story :)
ReplyDeleteMost welcome.
DeleteMy school did not allow me to look into the words of the story. Only poet Khattar flashed across my mind then and soon the google crome lost this website. I chose to read it today.
ReplyDelete"No wonder the stars choose to stay far away, thought Srijan." Marvellous words. I needed these words. Thanks.