(Continued from here)
Students of Shrimati Amrita Jamwal Memorial Public School
milled around the yet-to-open gates to the assembly hall, waiting for the
morning bell to ring in its shrill, perturbing note and kick start the
proceedings of another boring Tuesday morning.
It was a particularly grey morning, and the unevenly grouped
mass of students wound their navy blue winter uniforms closer to their
shivering bodies, insulating themselves to their best ability from the
unforgiving cold. A few nervous latecomers were sneaking their way into the waiting
crowd, hoping against hope that none of the staff and faculty members had taken
note of their clandestine movements. Dark clouds hung threateningly over their
heads and their mouths formed thick smoke when they spoke to each other
feverishly, sharing the latest gossip, reading out news items from mobile
phones and laughing over trivialities. The few teachers who had braved the long
walk from their in-campus homes to the school assembly hall were still rubbing
their eyes and covering their yawns reverently, in equal annoyance of the
biting cold as the children.
It was, in a nutshell, very easy to overlook that all of
them were, in fact, in a shared 20th century simulation.
And yet, it was absolutely true. The affluent parent
community of the Dharavi suburb had an obsessive fixation with the late 20th
century sensibilities of erstwhile ‘Indian’ schooling system, especially in
those areas where it involved immaculate uniforms to be worn by their young
ones, with spick and span bow ties for the pre-primary crop and impressive navy
blue neckties for the older lot. Girls were made to wear knee-length skirts
with utmost finesse, and the ‘gentlemen’ were expected to adorn deep blue
trousers without a hint of a crease. And so, with just the right amount of
virtual personalization and tweaking (not to mention countless trips back to
1999), the simulation of a luxurious antiquity was perfected.
A sprawling campus was spawned, complete with an
Olympic-size swimming pool (a generous borrowing from the early 21st
century), a sports arena and teachers well versed in Hindi, Chinese, Japanese
and even (the almost extinct) English. Laws and shrubs were impeccably
imitated, artsy fountains and showpieces were painstakingly erected; a cutting-edge
activity centre, a continuously updating Library of the World, and a few
spacious lecture halls just to add a pinch of old-worldliness were architected.
With the installation of the latest Globally-Recognised Syllabus (GRS), a
selective range of 20th century rules and regulations, and
all-subject reference books, the Shrimati Amrita Jamwal Public School had come
into virtual conception.
The fact that it contrasted so obliquely with the
‘uncultured’ 22nd Century education system only made fruitful the
concerned parents’ idea to have (literally) looked backward in time for
inspiration. For the umpteenth time, the adage ‘old is gold’ found itself
re-iterated and testified, much to the obvious glee of the Dharavi parents.
And so, with the shrill note of the morning bell, began
another day at SAJMP School. The students started filling into the spacious
hall through the automatically opened gates, monitored by the prefects and
staff members. There was the customary hustle and bustle and shoving around,
before everyone settled down in their designated spots on the iron benches,
still yapping away at their neighbours, bantering to no end. A tall, gaunt
gentleman in his 50s manned the stage microphone (complete with 20th
century fixtures and appearance), whom the students admiringly addressed simply
as ‘Guruji’.
Guruji was, apart from being a zillion lines of code and
programming, a revered pedagogue and educationist. His image was, as the
independently run school magazine reported (in eccentrically outdated English),
that of a ‘hard-ass’. He wore a creaseless black suit to school every day, and
sported a deceptively deadpan expression all day long. He taught the subjects
Physics and Hindi to all classes except the pre-primary block.
His voice, amplified and booming on the microphone, put all
the hasty conversations to an abrupt rest.
“छात्रों, कृपया अपनी बातों
को विराम दीजिये,
और आज के
कार्यक्रम पर गौर
कीजिये।”
All the students, from standard 1st to 12th
let out a collective, prolonged sigh. Whenever Guruji announced that a ‘कार्यक्रम’ was to follow, it meant
an additional 45 minutes of extended assembly, comprising a guest lecture, a
play or a performance (or all of them). Some of the audacious pupils decided to
switch on their invisible music attachments, which would play their favourite ‘Shastriya-dubstep’
numbers whilst their neighbours would hear not a beat. If caught, they were
sure to be suspended; but the kids knew that the winter chill had everyone, including
the usually vigilant teachers in a lethargic mood, and a surprise check was
highly unlikely.
Guruji, trying not to take into account the lack of
enthusiasm of the students, continued in his unfaltering Hindi, “आज, जैसा
कि आप में
से कुछ लोग
जानते होंगे, इस
विद्यालय से सम्बंधित
एक बहुत एहेम
वर्षगाँठ है। कौन-कौन यह
जानता है की
आज किस उपलक्ष
में हम यह
कार्यक्रम कर रहे
हैं? अपने हाँथ
उठाएँ।”
Apprehensively, a few front-sitters (usually the most
sycophantic and nerdy lot) raised their hands, bent unsurely at the elbows.
Guruji scanned the measly group, then picked one of the best performing
students from his class, Aarti, to answer his question.
Aarti, an 11th standard, chubby, introverted girl
stood up, awkward and fidgety. She stumbled with her spoken Hindi, even though
her written language was impeccably refined.
“सुप्रभात,
गुरूजी। आज श्रीमती
अमृता जमवाल, जिन
के नाम पर
हमारे विद्यालय का
नाम पड़ा है,
उनका जन्मदिन है।”
Guruji said with an uncharacteristic smile, “बिल्कुल सही कहा,
आरती! बैठ जाओ।”
Then, addressing the whole audience, he continued, “छात्रों, आज
हमारे देश की
परम-सिद्ध वैज्ञानिक,
श्रीमती अमृता जमवाल का
110वाँ जन्मदिन है। इस आयोजन का प्रारंभ करने के लिए हमारे बीच खुद श्रीमती अमृता जमवाल मौजूद हैं। “
The children’s derisive sighs and impatient jabber died out
almost instantaneously. The students who knew that their neighbors were plugged
into music informed them of the announcement in hushed voices.
Guruji smiled the slightest of smiles, satisfied at the
students’ surprise and silence. The mood, as he had hoped, was set.
(Read Chapter 3)
