THE SCHOOL

Short Story School – THE SCHOOL

Some were brilliant bordering on genius. Others, genius bordering on madness.

Almost all had spent a decade and three years together. But most were still unknown to each other.

They dressed the same way; double-knot ties (two crests blue and two black, strictly slanting from right to left), crisp ironed shirts, blue skirts which were measured by scales, one inch here and there and a week-long detention. Navy blue blazers which shone in sunlight. Navy blue knee-length socks (Six-pairs each. The Great School was strictly anti perspiration odour. ).

When all stood together, nothing but a huge mass of blue appeared to the eye.

Strangely, the Great School stressed on “individuality.” The “blueness” however, overshadowed it every single time.

 

The last assembly-

The chilly December winds made it impossible to work for a normal man. But they were no normal students. The outgoing batch of The School still worked relentlessly inside the wooden-floored, grey-walled auditorium. Today was the last day of this session. Today was the last day they would face the audience, address them as the senior most girls. But most importantly, today was the last day they would be standing together as a “class.” After today, they would spend rest of their lives, meeting each other unexpectedly, brushing accidently, reading about each others’ achievements, a random engagement/marriage invitation here and there, and, as time moved on to higher degrees, obituary columns would remind them of someone who was once their classmate.

Emotions are prohibited inside the premises of The School.

Compassion is stressed upon though.

One can be compassionate with the beggars on street but one cannot shed tears on leaving this great institute. One can only raise one’s head, carry the heavy baggage of The Schools’ principles, and move on with life with an aim to “make this earth a better place to live.”

Fair enough. When one was being entrusted with such a magnanimous task, can they be expected to be weakened by trivialities of life?

This batch knew it well.

Everyone moved around in perfect silence. Doing the work assigned to them. A strange pallor of sobriety and solemnity covered their faces. If you looked carefully you could’ve seen the 150 year old walls of The School swelling with pride on the careful aloofness seen on the faces of these outgoing students.

At exactly 8:30 a whistle blew somewhere outside.

Nervous glances were exchanged.

The audience would be there in sometime.

Was everything in place?

Last minute checking ensued. Everything was in place. For thirteen years they had done it. Why wouldn’t they be able to do this for this one last time?

One last time.

Suddenly the feeling seeped through them as they stood staring at each other.

As a ritual, the last assembly is not guided by any teacher. They could stand anywhere they liked, speak anything they wanted; last time afterall.

This sudden freedom impaired their senses for a moment. They could execute orders beautifully, but freedom was unknown territory.

They stood blinking at each other.

The more daring ones started positioning themselves strategically on stage. The others jumped out of their stupor. In quick silence lines were made. Immaculate. Impeccable.

Head held high they stood; ready to take on the audience. Confidence is a highly boasted virtue of The School.

The audience started pouring in. In perfect lines of twos. Blue caterpillars, wriggling and taking their places in the auditorium.

Some looked bored. This was what they saw at the end of every year. Some looked eager to witness the parting words of the wise seniors. In a rare act of indiscipline, some even waved to their friends on stage.

The old-teacher looked at the batch of 40 girls standing today on the stage. She had seen all of them in their growing-up years.

With some guilt, she looked fondly at some of her favourites. Human feeling of having “favourites” was looked down upon in The School. The manner to deal with all was one. Discipline was adored. Indiscipline was frowned. You could pride yourself for the disciplined ones, but you couldn’t call them ‘favourites.’ You had to work unstoppable, till all turned into the ideal student, fit to be called a product of this school.

No matter what it took. In 150 years, the Great School had seen many a savage turning into civilized beings.

Her eyes looked at them. Everything was perfect. Their faces shone with the confidence instilled in them over the years, not a single stray hair fell on their foreheads, none of them fidgeted, it was almost as if they were frozen in time.

But strangely, instead of the young and bubbly faces which are a feature so common in young girls, she only saw a mask of perfection and austerity. Thirteen years in The School had taken its toll on them.

She nodded. In approval or disappointment, who knows?

She remembered the puffy-eyed ones who studied all night, with their flashlights, even after the lights of the common room went out. The ones who toiled each day on the games fields, and returned back to classes, tired but eager to keep up with their grades. The artists who could perfectly replicate the masterpieces, some who had their own famous masterpieces adorning the galleries of The School. The writers, with their dreamy eyes, who would spend hours in isolated spaces to come up with the perfect lines.

Yes. This was a perfect set of students.

With great effort she tried to shrug the memories of the bitter rivalries which is a culture of The School. This batch too, was plagued by these rivalries. Some, she acknowledged painfully, would continue even after school.

Some, she knew, would win great laurels; keep up the name of the institute.

But most of them, she shuddered, would keep coming back, trying to redeem their lost glory in the dust of the school.

Their faces would tear her apart then, but what could she do?

Some would never return back. Reasons could be varied. Out of hatred, indifference, paucity of time, fear of nostalgia and what not.

She sat down finally to listen to them. She had done this many times. She could do it one more time. But what amazed her was the fact that she wasn’t still used to it. She would still get a stray tear when she heard them, sometimes while sitting in her study she would remember random faces and wished they were still around her, she still got disappointed by the ones who never came back. Surely, her students knew the skills of moving-on more than her.

The auditorium was now filled with more than five-hundred students and a hundred teachers now. All eyes on stage.

The Principal was yet to arrive.

At this time of perfect silence their whole thirteen years shuttled in the minds of the forty students on stage. How else would you explain why the Sports Enthusiast  kept staring at the Sports Flag she had carried so proudly for the last two years? Why the Nervous Maths Lover stole quick glances at the maths teacher? Why the School Rebel caressed the school badge pinned to her blazer as if it was a live thing? Why The Leader looked at her rival and had a surge of envy seeing many bright smiles from the students’ section being passed on to her?

There were others too. Some too good at maintaining the careful aloofness The School taught them. But there comes a time when even the biggest of glaciers melt.

With the entry of Principal the last assembly began.

Students walked up, with an intention of speaking out their hearts.

But The School waited in anticipation of the “greatest words” which would be uttered today. Those great words would go down in the history of the school and the speaker of those words would be remembered forever. And would be written on the “Wall of honour.” The speaker, would be thus, immortal in the campus.

This was their last competition against each other. To gain a place in the coveted wall. The School has the ability to turn even the most weakest of moments into competition, a fearful tournament.

Carefully drafted words with opulent phrases executed with masterful expressions were thus, thruster on the audience, which listened in rapt attention.

However, somewhere in the middle of it all, the emotions which were carefully wiped off in the last thirteen years, recurred.

Someone let out a sob. Just the way she had done while entering the premises of The School as a toddler. Nobody scowled. Strange.

More tears followed. The masks started wearing out. The audience sat with stiff faces, and watched as miracles happened.

Rivals shook hands, enemies hung on to each other, loners mingled with others, students known for being ‘to the point’ talked at length about their feelings on leaving.

Many of the scenes of this day would still hang around in the air of this great institution.
Many fears of ‘going out’ would still lurk in the corridors as each year a fresh lot arrived to be turned from individuals into a mass of “blueness”.

Just like this batch they would love and hate this “blueness”. All their school life they would try to get rid of this unwanted collective identity. But when the time finally came, they would clutch on to it tightly, just to give it away with great remorse. Sadly, some would still try to hold on to it, these would be the ones who would go back again and again, to search for memories long lost in the sands of time and the layers of dust in the albums kept in the library.

This was the place they had grown up in. This was the place which they had hated and loved at the same time. This was the place where they had been secure. This was the place which had given them an identity – a collective one although. Some would fly out and soar in greater heights once freed from this common trap, but some would never learn to flap their wings. They would long to get back this collective identity, with all its flaws they would still long to embrace it. For that’s what they don’t teach in The School – to get rid of memories.
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(Inspired from “The Class” by Erich Segal.)