The Rogue Students

As I begin writing, I realize (as you will too, with time) that I could easily write a book instead of a letter, but that not being a feasible option at the moment, a letter will suffice. If you could turn back time and visit the past at some point in 1994, you would see two five year old boys in a school yard. One of them was wearing a cap to cover his shaved head. The other took it off and tossed it away. This caused the cap wearer to get into a tussle with the cap tosser. Pinned to the ground, the former made the latter apologize by saying “Sorry bolo” followed by “Ainda karo gay?” Upon getting up however, and going a safe distance away, the cap tosser said defiantly: “Karoonga!” That defiant little boy was your father and the child seething with anger was your godfather.

I keep hearing opposites attract each other. That’s not true unless you are a pole of a magnet, in which case I can only offer my sympathies. Your father and I soon became close friends, and a good thing too. After almost two decades since the tossing of my cap, I can’t even dream of winning against him in a bout of arm wrestling alone, not to mention pinning him down if he annoys me. What contributed the most to our friendship was the unusually high number of things we had in common. We were both the skinniest, shortest kids in class, ensuring that we stood behind each other in every height-wise class queue. For a while we sported the same hairstyle too. These factors contributed to us even looking rather similar, although I’m not sure who is it a compliment for, me or your father.

It wasn’t just our appearances that matched, our behavior and activities were also in complete harmony. For the entire duration of our time in elementary school we were, without the slightest doubt, the naughtiest kids in our class. Constantly running around, wreaking havoc, bothering our classmates and frustrating the teachers. Your godfather used to be tied to his chair with his necktie, because the teachers found no better way to control his excursions around class. Your father spent a significant part of his school time standing outside class as punishment (I would give my notes to your grandmother later on so your father could complete what he missed). I used to join him sooner or later, due to an unspoken understanding between us which compelled whoever remained in class to secure a “go stand outside the class” punishment just so we could be together. Of course we had no intention whatsoever to simply “stand” outside the class, we were away from the scrutiny of the teacher’s eyes and we used to make the most of it. The game worked for a while before the teachers realized that it was a far better idea to simply send us to a different classroom under the control of a different teacher, if we were to be punished. This was a measure which was considered highly draconian by your father and I, even more than the times when a certain teacher used to “imprison” kids under her class table as punishment. Some of our friends maintained that she used to kick the “prisoner” too, but I wouldn’t know. I was personally too intimidated by her to ever get on her wrong side. Speaking of punishments, I remember the times during sixth grade when the girls and boys were segregated. The most horrible punishment was being sentenced to serve a term of 40 minutes in the dreaded “6E” which was an all-girls class. I was very careful to avoid being convicted.

We were in school a long time ago, there would hardly be anyone there now who was there at our time. But some years ago my niece was in the same school. She reports that the games teacher is still Ma’am Sara (hopefully a bit mellow now that she has progressed fourteen years further down the road of life). And she still remembers Ismail Khan and Zain-Ul-Abideen. I wasn’t surprised, your father and godfather were notorious enough. The caretaker maids, the teachers, the guards, the principal and all the students who were ever a part of Prep C, 1-C, 2-B, 3-A, 4-D, 5-C and 6-B from 1994-2000 are hardly ever going to be able to erase us from their memories.

Not too long ago, I came into contact with an old class fellow from my school days. He inquired about the health and wellbeing of your father and amiably reminded me that we used to bully him. I want you to know that he was speaking the truth. We did bully the poor guy (who was ironically much taller than either of us). And while I feel sorry for what he had to go through during all those years, I think we would do it again if given another chance. There will always be someone who will be bullying and there will always be someone being bullied; your father and I just got the better deal by choosing to be the former. At least when we look back on our school days, we have memories that make us laugh and affectionately remember all the times we spent together being outrageous. In the long run, I believe it helped our personalities too. I never let anyone “rag” me when I joined university, I was far too self confident. As for your father, there’s nobody on the entire earth who can subdue him (let’s exclude your grandfather) against his will. He still remains as defiant as he was when I first met him decades ago, and while he doesn’t say it, his personality quite clearly displays “karoonga” all over it whenever the situation arises.

But I want you to know, there is always a limit to everything. There’s good. There’s a grey area. And then there’s bad. It doesn’t hurt to cross the line from good to grey every now and then, especially when you don’t know any better. Your father and godfather spent their entire childhood in the grey region. But we crossed the line from grey to bad a number of times too. I would sincerely advise you to watch out for that. This however is something you will only learn with age so in the meantime, enjoy the grey area.

Looking back on those times, I really hope you continue the legacy of your father. I’m trying to imagine the look on his face when he is called to your school for a parent-teacher meeting and is told: “Mr Sadozai, we really need to discuss your son…” I wonder if your father will be able to restrain the chuckle that I am enjoying as I write these words.

Little man I know I droned on for a while there, but I wanted to give you an idea of how and why your father and godfather have been so close for almost twenty years (hopefully more than thirty, by the time you read and are able to understand these words). If I ever wrote an autobiography, the longest chapter from my childhood would be the one on your father. We have had family terms for three generations now (you starting the fourth one), with our respective grandmothers knowing their grandsons’ best friend (my grandmother was really pleased when I told her about your birth). I practically spent my entire childhood either with my cousins or with your father. Sometimes I reminisce about the times I spent enjoying the delicious brownies your grandmother used to make (among other things) when I would come over. I still remember playing Nintendo with your father for hours at end. I still remember playing cricket in that amazingly long driveway. Some of the biggest events in our lives happened simultaneously or quite close to one another. Our respective fathers bought the Daewoo Racer quite close to each other, same for the phones with speaker function which were a novelty in Pakistan back in the day. I remember your father having a young cousin called Abdullah and me having a cousin’s young son named Abdullah. When your uncle was born and your father had a brother (which I lacked), your grandmother inquired from my mother if I had asked for a brother as well. In hindsight, I see why I didn’t ask for one – I had your father. Here is a fact: The first birthday I remember memorizing was your father’s, not my own sisters’.  Interestingly, soon after you were born, I was blessed with a nephew who is also your namesake, so perhaps the tradition still lives.

I always keep my word. Earlier I promised not to write a book and by the look of things, I am close to breaking it so I will end this letter now with best wishes for your future. May you turn out to be a great blessing for yourself, your parents, your family and your religion.