Libre Magazine

Winters were pure and long in those days; no wonder they still stick to my memory very warmly. It was the beginning of 1986; there wasn’t much of a hustle bustle even though we were moving to a newer and bigger house. Maybe, because we were to the house (in fact a servant quarter) where we had lived for the past five years. It was a very small one room house with a very close knitted life.

Six people living in one room and a veranda was getting too much; and by February 1986 the plans were made to move to a new house in the New Civil Lines near Punjab House in Rawalpindi. Since I had passed my primary (fifth standard) exams, therefore I had to get admission in a new school as well. I was neither really sad about leaving my current school nor was I excited about joining the new one; because the whole concept of school was a cumbersome feeling for me. I never liked or even approved the idea of schools.

The closest school to the place where we shifted was Federal Government High School, Marir Hassan; or Marir University as it was called in the streets, given its long history of accepting enrollment of street vagabonds, and even producing its own share of the lot. The school was close and it was cheap; everything fitted in. I would just have to walk for about 10 minutes; and I never mind walking. I joined the school a few weeks after the session had begun.

I don’t exactly remember my first day in school but I do remember the feeling. Kamran, a.k.a Kami was the brightest student in 6th C, the monitor of the class and of course sat in the prime seat at the right corner of the middle row. His uniform was the cleanest and his school bag the neatest and even worst than that, he spoke another language called English. I knew I wasn’t going to give a flying damn about him.

Zafar and Ijaz were both first cousins; they must be good students as well because they sat in the second row on the far left. Now that I think back about what I was thinking then, I must be a good face reader. Zafar seemed to be a nice bloke, straight forward, who would mind his own business and focus more on studies. Ijaz was on the reverse side; his eyes would tell he was intelligent of the wicked kind. Zafar was there to study for Ijaz as well, so Ijaz focused more on extra-class activities. There was space available on their bench and they were generous enough to offer me the place; I accepted the offer.

F.G. High School Marir Hassan stands at the shoulder of Mayo Road that starts off from Kachehri Chowk and merges into Murree Road at Marir Chowk. The school is situated just before the Marir Hassan bus stop. In 1986, it was a pale old building with grim looking windows that gave it a haunting look. A few years back, the building was reconstructed and today it has a fresher haunting look to it.

The students of the school came from different social classes; the poor, the less poor, the lower middle class and some even from the middle and upper middle class. There were a few exceptions though; I remember one guy who was a class senior to me, always thronged by some very loyal mates. His uniform just didn’t look like a uniform, though it was the same color, it was brighter and better than ours; he had long hair and would never be reprimanded by the PT Master for that. What made him even more aloof was that he never bought anything from the school canteen, I never saw him eating a 5 paisa toffee or 25 paisa chewing gum; he just wouldn’t eat anything at recess, a car would come pick him up and he would go home for 45 minutes of midday break. Even though I never wanted to be friends with him, we did actually end up being pals. His uncle is a very well known politician and a former member of the Punjab National Assembly.

6th C was considered to be a below standard class, with the exception of a few front-rowers who were considered to be the brains. At the times of admission, they put me in this class and I kept wondering for the first couple of weeks as to what gave the teachers the idea that I belonged there. Whatever the idea was, they were certainly right. I wasn’t much interested in studying anyways.

Nabi Ahmad; that guy was completely the opposite of his sweet name. He sat in the last row and was the worst possible distraction for any student or teacher. I knew he was the kind of guy I would get along well with. I wasn’t a bad guy, I was a mere rebel. The thought of doing something out of the way just to please a teacher or to impress fellow students disgusted me.
I am not claiming that it was my original idea, but I can’t recall either as to where did I get this idea from; but my theme has always been to pay attention to what the teacher is saying and that’s it; you will pass your exams. And if you add a bit of your own brain to what you listen, you will pass with good grades. Just before the summer break; the internal exams took place and I came second in my class, just after Kami. The teachers noted my existence and so did the front-rowers; but I was too busy playing cricket with the so-called trash of the class.

To be continued. …