There’s a certain fascism which comes with being an army kid. You’re raised to believe that in some ways you’re better than your counterparts in the real world. The fact that you end up living in different cities, changing schools every couple of years is celebrated by saying that it helps you making more sociable and confident. That the rigid discipline you see in that limited world around you stays with you forever. That the (upper) middle class living makes us respect hard earned money all the more. That somehow we’re more nationalistic (or dare I say) patriotic because we’ve seen the sacrifices of our parents and those around us, up close and personal. That you can take the brat out of the fauj but you can’t take the fauj out of the brat. Of course I’ve heard a lot of very compelling counter arguments to most of these points. The biggest of them being that by being raised under the chatra chhaya of the fauj, we tend to be overprotected (I might go as far as saying- distanced) from the realities of the real world. My own school was one such safe haven. Nestled in the majestic mountains of Himachal Pradesh, bordering a sleepy little village called Dagshai and sharing its name and ethos with its counterpart in Peshawar- The Army Public School. The school was a great equalizer. While the uniform was the binding factor, your father’s rank didn’t decide your place in the pecking order. You had your own battles to fight. And the universe was limited between the steel webbed boundaries of the school. Even as kids we were all sharp enough to understand the nuances of our father’s job. We knew the name of the enemy. And we all knew enough history to formulate a basic ideology in those formative years. But at no point do we ever think that our father’s job (or its fallout) will ever follow us home. Or school. But for those 132 kids in Peshawar it did. I couldnt help but think of what if it had been us. And then it hit me. Why was I thinking of this as a student of The Army Public School? Just because our schools shared a name or a similar upper management? Just because we happen to be fauji kids? Because of the ideology maybe? My heart goes out not for these reasons. But because I too was a child once. And I miss that safety. And my eyes are watery because those 132 kids believed that they were safe too. Whatever the beliefs, whatever the background, whatever the sins of our fathers may be…no child should suffer the inhumane injustice carried out in Peshawar. No child should see his teacher torched to death or his best friends body riddled with bullets. No child should ever have nightmares, only to wake up and question issues above his own maturity. Our schools are temples. The only ones that matter.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 08:35:42 +0000
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