Chapter 2: Rules of the Game

(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 20^th century simulation.

And yet, it was absolutely true. The affluent parent community of the Dharavi suburb had an obsessive fixation with the late 20^th 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 21^st 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 20^th 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’ 22^nd 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 20^th 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 1^st to 12^th 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 11^th 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)