A High School Chronicle - Enchanting Memoirs

By Sadaf Fayyaz

The first day at high school starts when I went to appear in an entrance test.

By just looking at on outdated building in Lahore Cantonment, I initially

declined the idea of joining an armed forces high school, since the vicinity

and campus seemed quite moist, hot and damp. I had a plan to join Kinnaird

College, but soon my mother informed me...” Sadaf! The building is quite

old, but they have constructed a new mini campus for High school

students, which I believe is not going to be that hot, and secondly,

Kinnaird building is even older than this one, why do you want to

study there?”. The logic was so accurate, I had to succumb. She took a

deep sigh of relief. The folks seemed happy after relinquish.

Somehow, after clearing the entrance test, I was alarmed by my family that

the Principal was a very strict administrator, “You better cut your long

nails, and think of managing your locks”. My brother scared me.

Anyhow, classes commenced somewhere in August 1998. I joined after three

days (was waiting for tailor to stitch my uniform…). The first day was pretty

boring and suffocating for me. The class teacher, instead of welcoming a

neophyte to his royal court, raised his eye-brow and asked coldly, ”Why

have you joined so late?” I told him that I was waiting for my uniform to

get stitched. He looked sternly at me and resumed his mathematics lesson.

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That very moment, I got a very fair idea that he would be criticizing me

throughout the session, which later turned out to be a true acumen

afterwards.

Usually the first mathematics lessons used to be very mind-numbing and

“Aspirin-oriented”. Most of the associates were sick of his coaching and

delivering strategies. His paranoid attitude added fuel to the fire, turning

almost eighty percent of the students turning against him. After

mathematics classes, there would be basic linguistic lessons, computer

studies and physics sessions. Linguistics has always been very enthralling for

me. As a child, I used to marvel learning all the top-notch languages.

Though, I have managed to learn only four languages. Some of the

instructors were really bravura and proficient. They had their own style of

coaching. I never got irked during language sessions. I really enjoyed those

splendid sessions.

Things remained unbothered for about a month or two. The same routine

classes and home work as well. Some associates started exhibiting their

unique qualities and attributes. I always wondered to see their exceptional

skills and expertise. Our class teacher always tried to act as a rescue

individual and unexplained mobilizer. Skills mentioned here do not pertain

to technical skills, but some highly inter-personal skills like, (how to propose

a girl, how to approach her/his best friend to get close to her, how to spy

some affairs going on, how to get into interrogations, how to put allegations,

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etc.) I classify such traits as skills because very few people specialize in

these.

Things started getting chirpy, and at the same time, a bit political. At times I

used to think if I was studying at Harvard or Princeton, because usually such

elevated politics reign in business schools. The level of investigation was

somewhat more intelligent than CSI series. The strategy involved questioning

about a particular person, and getting a “360 degree feedback” process.

The litigations and defense were even thornier.

I kept enjoying my life at high school for the first academic year. Always

been a book-worm and inclined towards studies, rumors and tricky talks

seemed superficial to me. The Indian schools milieu was a lot diverse from

the one being there. I found little focus of natives on learning and education.

The spotlight used to be some hot affairs, allegations and likes. The

discussion and question answer sessions were fanatical limelight for me.

Days kept passing by, and Mid-term examinations approached. I was a bit

uncomfortable with some of the instructors. The marking was internal which

made me even scarier. Exams started during Ramadan, and continued for a

week. I found them fairly hard because after having studied at Indian

schools, the education system and question paper type were utterly alien for

me. I expected a very horrific end result and complained to my mom, ”What

kind of questions are these that we are asked to write long big notes, and

filling answer sheets to get marks, can’t we be asked to write some short,

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meaningful and precise answers?”…. she replied with a sigh,”You need to

adjust now,” and left the room.

Some of us were just interested in clearing papers, so that their admissions

could proceed to board. I found it even a breathtaking stratagem, as doing

little for the prototype exams and preserving energy for the final ones. Most

of us managed to do well.

We had been planning a trip to Head Marala or Head Khanki for a long time.

Officially after dreary mid-terms, we went for an electrifying trip. We started

very early and reached college on time. Almost girls brought their make-over

kits and food items. We decided one day earlier what item to bring. I decided

to bring chocolates since I didn’t know any cooking or baking at that time.

Others brought home-made cakes, cookies, chips and cold drinks. Some of

the instructors accompanied us. All the day along, we kept singing new

Bollywood arrivals and humming legendary pop tunes.

There is a certain catastrophe that happened one week before the trip. I was

informed by a couple of friends that some person of a class has developed

likeliness for me. I chuckled and never believed it, as I was pretty intellectual

kind, and artistic-minded. But when I came to believe the rumors were true, I

started getting annoyed. “Is that true, whatever you are saying?” I

asked one of my friends. “Yes”, she said. “Hmmm, I think he needs to go

to a qualified eye-specialist and psychiatrist”, I muttered these words,

thank God, she didn’t hear them. That really ruined my aesthetic sense and

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utopia. Though I have always been respected by my course fellows, siblings

and cousins as a cerebral woman, I despised it very much. I think a woman

has her own set of talent, skill and brain power, just praising her for some

worldly aspects really makes me sick.

The trip went amazing, with funny and goofy activities, which I would

mention of. We planned to take Jhoolas (swings). A friend of mine was a bit

healthy, the swing owners seemed a bit reluctant to offer her swings, but

were convinced afterwards. I planned to take a see-saw ride, but dropped

the idea. We had food together. The curry was served in jumbo sized steel

Tabaqs (containers). A teacher pointed towards a healthy friend of mine, “I

guess, you don’t need a plate, you can eat in this big Tabaq.” She felt

a bit awful, but didn’t say anything.

We started back at around 6 pm. All were a bit drowsy and tired but still in

high spirits. Something bitter happened again, some girls complained about

the bus conductor staring wildly at them. I straightaway went to him and

asked him,”Chacha! What is the problem? These are college girls, not

film stars or celebrities, why don’t you change your seat and listen

to some nice songs? I hope you would enjoy them.” He silently moved

to the front seats and never looked back after that.

Unfortunately the CSI series started again in the return trip. That was

something out of my business, so never bothered about it. We reached home

very tired and exhausted. Snowy missed me a lot, as he didn’t see me for

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the entire day, barked a lot at me and expressed his deep annoyance. “He

hasn’t eaten anything, why don’t you give him some food”, mom

said. Though I was exhausted, I gave him some biscuits and little meat,

played with him and went to sleep early.

The other day, very few out of us were able to attend the college. Normal

studies instigated again, and we started waiting for the final terms now. Days

went passing by and our welcome-cum-farewell lunch came. The function

was meagerly enjoyable since the weather had changed and became a bit

hot by the time. Secondly, the college authorities didn’t allow much liberty of

speech and skits, we weren’t able to do that well. I remember we prepared a

funny song on Principal’s son “Papa Kehte Hain bada kaam karega,

Beta hamara badnaam karega”, it was condemned a lot and most of the

teachers walked out in a fury. I remember a fat boy even cracking joke me

on the function day, “Hey, I am first time seeing you without glasses,

can you see without them, because you have not come to the

college even a single day without them?” I had to explain it to him that

it was not all difficult for me to see fat people even without glasses. He

walked away quietly. I shouldn’t have jeered him so badly, I felt bad

afterwards. “Useless to cry over spilt milk….”

Final terms came and some very tough study days too. Papers usually

started around 3 pm and ended at 6pm. We had summer vacations after

papers and result came around middle of July. We moved to Islamabad after

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my high school. My father was given a new assignment and we all got very

busy in our lives.

I still love those exquisite and exotic moments of my life. Those moments

would never come back, but still nostalgia rules.

The writer is a freelance worker and has been working as a blogger

and weblog writer as well. She loves writing on social, academic,
and cultural issues. She currently holds a degree in business
administration and computer sciences. Writing has always been a
passion for her.