Hate and Democracy

Today I celebrate democracy. The right to choose.  The privilege to make a decision. The freedom to express myself. The responsibility that comes as a result to meet the challenges with a brave heart along the way. I recognize the need to allow other’s the space to breathe and the importance of a dialogue to come to some mutual understanding. I choose democracy not just for myself but for others as well.

I am quite tired of living in a culture that is run by hate. We hate the government for taking away our right to sleep peacefully at night. We hate the fact that our lives hold not much worth today than ever before. We hate the terrorists for constantly interrupting our educational programmes. We detest the CNG prices going up. Oh the annoyance that sets in when there is no gas to light our ovens and no electricity to follow the news. The news aggravates us further with stories that give us no hope and solutions. We need our ID cards to buy sugar!

This hatred has overcome our ability to think positively or believe in the possibilities that are plentiful. We spend hours cursing our unfortunate lives. We shake our heads in hopelessness the minute the power is shut-off. I have even heard people wish death for the poor chap who sits following orders to shut-off the power from 2pm to 4pm!

It frightens me to see this anger that can actually destroy our capacity to make logic and accept realities. We must take a minute to analyse our thoughts. We will be shocked to discover that they are filled with animosity.

“If you are overwhelmed with problems, take some time out to reflect and distance yourself from your pain. It’s not easy, but persistence with it will pay off. (Anonymous)

We must take a moment to realize the damage that we transfer to our children every day. This negative energy does get transmitted to our children. They are our future. But we forget their role and relevance in the long run. We feel no problem in stating our hopelessness or sharing our desires to shoot the damn losers running our country. I honestly feel that we must protect our children from this hatred. We don’t want them to grow up in this pitiful environment that resonates spite and revenge.

I remember accompanying my parents to a gathering of their friends. I was about 14 years old and was a silent observer. The discussion that alarmed me was on our Father of the Nation, Mohammad Ali Jinnah. There was a section of people who found no charm in him and considered him to be a complete failure. I was a student and Jinnah was a historical legend to me. He was a National Hero in our Pakistan Studies. I was quite angered by their casual remarks. The hatred with which they expressed their views was shameful. I thought to myself, they find him to be a failure, I wonder how achieved they feel in their own lives. 

The ability to derive the best from a situation or concentrate on the positives of a Human, are skills that need to be inculcated in our children. The ability to see the glass as half full and not half empty.

“We do not inherit the world from our parents, we borrow it from our children!” (Anonymous)

Today we forget our surroundings. We don’t feel the need to reserve our comments. We vomit our emotions anywhere, becoming completely oblivious of how others might perceive our state of well-being. Anger has destroyed our competence to differentiate between petty and grave issues. We have forgotten the lesson to choose our battles. The venom has penetrated our senses to the point that we fail to look beyond the obvious.

We desire for a democratic set up, but fail to reform ourselves to manage it well. Our plan of action at not having electricity or water is mostly uprooting the electrical poles or burning effigies. We incite the more vulnerable groups to go on rampage igniting the hatred further. We can’t bear to listen to the other side of the argument. And blindly follow trends. Any questions from our children that require reason or logical explanation anger us and we label them as ill-mannered and over inquisitive. We aren’t prepared to take to the Witness Stand and face the facts.

Democracy demands patience. It is a complete processing unit. The view or opinion enters the system. It goes through the procedure of digestion where various other opinions are added on to soften the edges and make it easier to absorb. The positives are separated from the negatives which are eventually disposed off from the machinery. What remains are the effects of a civil and peaceful dialogue that is a reflection of the various flavours of a common concern.

We are a nation who has been subjected to so many political upsets that the sound democratic programme just could not be followed through. As an educationist today, I strongly feel that ‘Democracy’ should be introduced as a core subject in Pakistan. Our children need to absorb its principles fully to be able to handle it when blessed with its power in all entirety. ‘Effective Communication Skills’ must also be introduced as a subject at an early stage so that the young minds can be moulded to encourage an even better democratic set-up.

In a democratic state, individuals are free to view their opinions, but a culture of hatred almost never allows those views to bring any rewards.

Nevertheless, once we are ready to acknowledge our own shortcomings, we do have hope to resolve our issues. Let’s try to prepare ourselves for an Effective Democracy with a little more focus and insight.

“All our problems, all our disputes, all our disagreements can be resolved quickly to mutual satisfaction if we address the question.” (Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto Shaheed)

The PTI Train……..

“I promise you a grain of sand

Just one to help you understand

how well it keeps the dune in place

a mere speck upon this land!”

“I promise you a trace of the sea

Just one that helps you turn the key

And marvel at the waves that go

The heights they claim within their flow!”

“I promise you traces of dew

Just few that lead you to your clue

of thirsty blades that look in pain

and quench their thirst with dots of  rain!”

“I promise you a spark of light

Just one to brighten up your sight

That holds your heart  on sighting far

The beauty of a shooting star!”

The winds of change are on their way

I am compelled to have my say

The time has come to say good-bye

To ones who fail to justify!

Their glorious name, their fame to shame

Ancestral wealth that buys them health

Their words that never meet their deeds

Their false concerns, their hollow greed!

The hidden deals that sold our dreams

To power groups that drowned our screams

The selfish games that made their day

And left us all to die and pay!

I will not wait another day

To let them lead my fate their way

I am awake and see the norm

Democracy’s a mighty storm!

At first the dust just filled the sky

With outlines and just sketches weak

But as the vision came in sight

The picture wasn’t all so bleak!

He came aboard a little space

He had no spine to give him shape

He only had his fearless bow

And shot his arrows high and low!

“I don’t hide my face when I see you stare

The winds can blow as hard and as fierce

These strands of time that outline my face

Give way to honesty’s shine and shimmer!”

“I don’t close my eyes when the first rays fall

The glare may spill some water like a tear

I rise above to welcome each morning

Eyes depicting the soul’s purity and spirit!”

“My hands are not to cover my face at all

They reach out to help you stand safe and tall

I embrace you knowing your fears and your needs

An open book, no closets for me no mysteries!”

“Smiles blossom on my face, colours of the truth

The curves all go right up to the ears

And they don’t twitch at horrific confessions

Heart a spacious room with no walls or edges!”

“I promise you a fragment of my dream

Just a clip to help you join the stream

A thriving country, at the very next station

The PTI dreams of a self-reliant nation!’

Around the World in Dar-ul-Buteen

I landed on Arab soil at the age of 13. The Dubai culture was quite different from what it is today. With a lot more job opportunities, better prospects for securing your future and policies that emerged it as a welfare state.

My father had arrived in Dubai on deputation as the Project Manager representing PIA, to lend his expertise in the Engineering Department in the launch of the National Airline of Dubai. We were accommodated in an apartment in Deira, in a thriving and busy locality. Dar-ul-Buteen building holds many memories of those golden growing years.

The first few days were incredible. I could walk alone to the neighbourhood grocery and buy chocolates and delicious snacks and this pretty much educated me about the shiny currency. We were still on the summer break and it was impossible to spend the entire day inside the apartment. Coming from Pakistan, anybody could relate to the initial suffocation and sound deficiency!

“Why don’t you go down and play in the building quadrangle? Make some friends.” The solution was sensible and so I and my brothers went down every evening to play table tennis and watch the children roller blade and display their skate boarding skills. I looked around for any familiar faces. Familiar language? Dresses? Anything that would help me identify with myself.

I was given the freedom to choose my friends but none of them had anything in common with me. They looked different, dressed up in a manner that I could never imagine dressing up myself and while some accompanied their  families to the church every Sunday, others carried the aroma of Sandalwood and Pooja sweets. 

How could I play with them? I was a Muslim. I had only been taught about my religion and could only showcase my morals and values. They obviously would differ on them. It stopped me from approaching any one. That’s when I realized that my education had not at all prepared me for this cultural shock.

I often returned home bored carrying the stress about the conflict in my mind. That’s when the first Diwali came. We were in the elevator and my parents were busy discussing the menu for an upcoming party that we had planned over the weekend. The elevator stopped at the 3^rd floor. The Kapoor family walked in, all dressed in glittery ghagras. Their daughter Ekta was my age and I often saw her chatting with her friends in the building car park area. “It’s a wonderful occasion to dress up! Wishing you and your Mrs. a very happy Diwali!” My father extended his hand for a shake which was reciprocated with the same warmth and enthusiasm. I watched quietly. I wondered if he had felt the compulsion to do that or did he really find no harm in the interaction.

“I know Ekta,” I revealed to my parents, wanting to judge their stance on the burning issue. “She looks like a nice girl. The father is working for a Multi-National company.” My father was telling my mum. “That’s the same company as Mr. Masood right?” asked my mum. The Masood family was one of the few Pakistani families in the building. “Yes, that’s right. They have two daughters as well. Shama you should visit them sometimes.” The event eased the rigidity of the mind a bit and I was relieved with the thought of atleast being able to say hello.

Halloween was celebrated and children would walk up to our door asking for candies or chocolates. The festivals were many and reflected the true spirit of sharing and happiness.

Fluffy was an adorable white Drawing Room dog that roamed around the building with his 7 year old master! He was a Srilankan boy who was often seem on his skateboard, zooming around the corners. He had a sweet looking older sister whose smile was hard to dissolve. She was younger than me but her polite and friendly manner attracted me to speak to her. She was fun-loving and quite a tomboy. I admired her for the confidence and amongst all the children and communities in that building, I found her the most charming.

“The children of Dar-ul-Buteen are going to put up a programme next week for the tenants just for fun,” my mother informed me. “Are you participating as well?” she asked me. I told her I’ll speak to the children and then decide. I ran to my Srilankan friend who was thrilled with the news. “I know! We can enact Madonna!” I screamed with excitement. “But we’ll have to dress up differently,” was my immediate response. “What do you mean?” she asked me surprised. “Well, you can depict her bad girl image, you know like what she was wearing in her “Like a virgin” video. That was her look before “True Blue” came. I can showcase the more covered look.” I had said this with all innocence and honesty believing that it was the most convenient arrangement. “Why would you want me to look bad?” she responded with anger. “Because I can’t wear those clothes myself. You wear skirts and sleeveless shirts. So, what’s the problem?” The argument was becoming louder. “The problem is that I don’t want to carry that image either. Why do you think it would be okay with my parents?” I was too confused and left the argument in a sour mood.

There was less time and I couldn’t afford to delay the decision. So, to come to some compromise, I decided to go to her apartment. The door was opened by her brother. “Akka, it’s your friend.” She invited me in. The living room had a lively look and her grandpa sat on the rocking chair wearing his traditional dress. He smiled at me and just then her mum emerged from the kitchen with grandpa’s lunch tray. She greeted me loudly and happily and placed the tray carefully on his lap. She adjusted his blanket lovingly and called for the dad to come and meet me. Her dada was a tall and funny man. He cracked jokes that made us all laugh for hours. They treated me like a special guest and offered me sweets that I accepted with a little thought. “Don’t worry Shama. These aren’t made from pork or use of any alcohol. We understand.”

I ate them immediately a little ashamed at having my thoughts being read. She came from a real family. A family that believed in the goodness of people and was aware of their traditions and beliefs. The programme was celebrated with great enthusiasm and was called, “Around the World in Dar-ul-Buteen”! It was a celebration of the various communities that resided in that building and the process was eye opening.

These were just small examples depicting just how limited the thought process remains till we engage it in trying to broaden our horizons on matters of human diversity and existence. I was able to spend time with my friends in homes that carried the statues of Jesus, Buddha or Ram. I learnt that it was important to respect other religions to receive the same understanding in return. My family allowed me to gather all these experiences to be able to frame a better opinion.

Communication helped me erase preconceived notions about other communities and cultures around the world. It opened my eyes to the significant changes that need to be introduced within our Educational Programmes to create more tolerance and awareness amongst our children. Patriotism need not be a by-product of hatred and differences.

 It’s important to inculcate the need to acknowledge what is different with the same fire and passion that recognizes what remains similar and holds the key to our peaceful co-existence.

And on that note, I’d like to wish all my Christian friends a Very Merry Christmas!

The Winning Ticket

The Dubai Shopping Festival brought with it the opportunity to win a Lexus car everyday! I remember the cars parked outside petrol stations purchasing their lucky tickets. Since the ticket itself was quite expensive, often friends or colleagues at work would contribute to the cost hoping to share the win! 

The belief was strong. Intuitions were adamant upon a victory. And all the while, I would wonder, what lead people to play this gamble, with the precious money that they would never otherwise spend on anything else.

I was at school and the biggest optimist declared in the staff room, “ I’ve got about 400 now. Who else would like to contribute?” She looked at me. “ What about you Shama? Come on, give it a try. Imagine when they announce our winning ticket number!” And everyone laughed. 

I didn’t have the least bit of winning sensation. “Why do you feel that your ticket will be the lucky one?” I asked out of curiosity. “If you ask me, I will win it because it’s about time we started building our own house. I don’t want to go back to India and live in a rented house. What’s the point of being here so many years and return empty handed?”

She looked at the next contributor who acknowledged her thoughts. “Very true. For me, I have no plans to go back to Pakistan. My husband and myself have applied for Canadian Immigration. It’s quite an expensive venture. I would definitely fly away with that money!” There was more laughter. 

The Arabic teacher sat on the other end of the room enjoying the dry fruit. “What silly plans! If I have that kind of money, I will disappear!” The staff turned towards her, applauding her sense of humour. 

“Thank god we don’t have her name in this ticket!” exclaimed the young lady with a pretty smile. “This money holds promises of a secure and happy future for me. It will be nice to start life with some comfort. Getting married here, is quite expensive. Do you know the cost of a banquet hall alone is such a ridiculous price?” Her eyes were wide open in amazement.

“Why do you worry? With the money we WILL WIN, you can have a grand wedding with a long honey moon in Europe!” The old lady from Kenya added on! The recess was about to get over. I looked at the dark complexioned woman whom everyone had a lot of respect for. “Ms. K, What would you do with so much money?” I wanted to investigate her thoughts as she had married children and apparently had wrapped up most of her pertinent responsibilities. Why did she want to win a lottery?

“It’s strange to you that I wish to win this amount. But really, I feel I deserve some comfort at the end of my journey. I can’t even remember, when I got old. The years just slipped through worrying about the education of my children and the need to always have a job. Now, I would like to enjoy a Moroccan bath and have a house with a big pool in the backyard! Live my life like a First Lady!”

Quite a lot of dreams had been invested in those 400 dirhams. I thought to myself, if I contribute to this rosy picture, how would I get to celebrate the sweep?

My mind could not picture much. I was afraid to own that kind of money. It would trigger the mind to shift focus from what is real to something that does not exist. It would dissolve the ability to appreciate the smaller things in life. It’s intoxicating presence in life would allude me from the circle of real friends. I would disappear in a big villa and just lose the compulsion of ending a fight with my husband, with no where to hide in a two bedroom apartment. The treasure of enjoying the simple outings in long drives would get replaced by formalities of a five star hotel. 

The bell rang and the recess was over.

No! I was the queen of my land and was just not ready to give away my kingdom for such a small price.

We buy lottery tickets thinking that they hold the very spirit of our dreams and joys. We believe, we have not yet encountered our greatest achievements or met with our much deserved luck. We look forward to tomorrow oblivious of the opportunities that surround us today. 

The winning ticket does not come as a serial number. It requires a sound functioning of our five senses. Success is truly defined as the ability to acknowledge the present in all its grandeur. 

  

It's a man's world

When I was growing up, the concept of men and women having equal rights was often a topic of debate in my mind. By nature, I was quite compromising and hated getting into conflicts. Therefore, many times, even after identifying the injustice, I ignored the matter, escaping the long arguments.

Despite the presence of progressive minds in the house, I always seemed to meet up with some dead end. I could do mostly everything, but always sensed my parents reservations when it came to making individual decisions. Anything that placed me outside their comfort zone, created panic and re-evaluation of set expectations. And though I followed the rule book with honesty, there were moments that angered me and I started to develop a rebel inside of me.

I remember, when it came to going to college, I had a deep love to join Kinnaird in Pakistan. The lush green lawns, an ambience of learning and growing together with friends. I had heard wondrous stories about it and the idea of being independent was pre-dominant at that age. It was obvious that I would have to live in the hostel as I was with my parents in Dubai. When I floated the thought in the air, my parents told me, “We have no problem sending you but living in a hostel is out of the question. Girls aren’t safe alone Shama. They get caught up in problems. There are so many other stories that you haven’t heard that we know of. We can’t close our eyes to the reality. We trust you, but not this world.”

I would carry the sad story to my friends and most would join me having received a similar response at home. “It’s a man’s world!” one of my friend’s exclaimed annoyingly. “ They can do everything, while we have to plead and present our case to the jury first.” Another one blurted out, “My brother gets to make all the decisions. His studies are more important. While I have to manage with whatever’s available in the neighbourhood! It’s not fair!”

The phrase, “It’s a man’s world,” lingered in my mind as the years went by. I got married and was blessed with three sons. And the world had not changed much. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I am always concerned about my daughter. Daughters are quite a responsibility.” Or, “ You will know, when you’ll have a daughter of your own. I fail to understand where this world is going to. There is no safety or peace of mind left.”

And the more people stressed on the need to take care of their daughters, the more it made me think.

It’s quite evident from experience and wisdom of observation that “it is a man’s world”. Whether she’ll go to school or not, will be decided by the capacity of the bread-winner, the father. Would the crowd at the park or cinema understand the need to silence their remarks? The men in the bus, will make her so uncomfortable with their stares. And what if the prospective husband dislikes the idea of a working woman? She can do whatever she likes, once she gets married. Therefore, shifting the burden of decisions to the next man in command.

Ofcourse these events aren’t always as brash or literal as I express them to be. But, at the very core, lies the reality of a society that has its entire focus on the role of a woman. Her character is judged by her dressing up, her loud manners reflect her bold ideas and thinking for herself makes her undoubtedly selfish. And who comes to all of these conclusions?

The situation is not that simple. If we study history, whether of the Sub-Continent, Europe or even England, we realize that in every scenario, the woman was a picture of plea. She was deprived of her basic rights and was not allowed to think for herself. Since long, she has been fighting for the recognition of her presence and acknowledgement of her abilities.

And so the woman decided to build herself a fort. She made the walls out of stone and nobody could see inside. The world became invisible to her. The man was also facing a period of change. He was becoming more civilized and religion too became a strong factor in helping him distinguish between false practices and unjust beliefs. The mind was opening up to the idea of a woman sharing equal responsibility with him. It was a slow transition and had its flaws. Yet the table was set up for negotiation.

Now the woman, who had been subjected to so much humiliation could not trust that handshake that simply. She now refused to be just ‘anybody’. The fire that had been burning her soul so cruelly pushed her to prove her existence. In her fight to let down the man, she started to cling to the idea that unless she was out and about, the man would always have the opportunity to tie her down and take away her identity. In all reality, she did sacrifice many emotions to hold her head high and win herself a name. But is it necessary to make this process such an ordeal? What is it, that needs to be changed to create a balance in this situation?

I would think, that as a society, we need to shift our focus from the woman to the man. We should stop worrying about our daughters and seriously begin to evaluate our sons. Are we sending across the right messages? Do we practice discrimination at home? Is there an equality of power in our homes for our sons to witness? 

When I look at my life, I don’t just visualize it as a calendar of events. Each and every moment spend was a spark of energy transferred to my existence. I speak the truth, because it was the norm of my house. I trust easily, because I believe in the goodness of people. I love unconditionally, as that’s how I valued relationships. I accept people with their differences because that’s how we co-existed in our homes. Our sons need to imbibe these qualities at home. They need to witness such equalities to practice them as a way of life. These are powers that contribute to the existence of a fair and tolerant world.

If it is a man’s world, then what are we waiting for? A good man, will make a better world. I keep that in mind when I look at my sons. I desire for them to grow up to become men who can shoulder responsibilities. Men who would enjoy the comfort of having life partners who could stand up tall with them in the hour of need without having to sacrifice the emotions of being mothers, daughters, sisters or wives.

A woman balances ugliness with beauty, vulgarity with sobriety, harshness with kindness, revenge with forgiveness and tears with laughter. Anything, that is incomplete appears ugly and unattractive. A woman completes a man. 

Faith………

I dreamt and saw last night

An angel dressed in white

And though it was so dark

His vision came alive!

Its beauty filled my eyes

And I got breathless too

And then my heart revived

And I said a word or two!

I asked him why he’d come

And that what was his name

I had a thousand questions

Each one just meant the same!

He looked at me with love

And tenderly embraced

I couldn’t help feel safe

He told his name as ‘faith’!

I looked up in amazement

As if not understood

And asked again the angel

Who bore a simple look!

His eyes twinkling with joy

And a smile across his face

He put his hand in mine

And said again its ‘faith’!

The name it seemed familiar

And I asked what it meant

At this he sat beside me

And this is how he went…

I am a lover’s dream

His ends and all his means

And those who hold me dear

Have all the world it seems!

To love me is to trust me

Without it I am lost

And those who lose my meaning

Are to pay a heavy cost!

I have been made for comfort

With the softness of the dew

And those to whom I’m sent

Are sadly just a few!

I am a friend to hope

As light as a floating feather

No one could really reach the top

If we were not together!

And so you see I am but ‘faith’

Something that’s rare today

But if you reach me in your heart

You’ll surely find your way!

I got confused and disagreed

The world today was filled with greed

The power games, the little gains

Defined our very precious needs!

Bombing people, killing them

Finding ways to spread the rage

Building trust at such a time

Appeared to me as quite a waste!

He raised his hand to cut my line

‘You make no time, and that’s a crime

You wait for whom? A star, a sign?

You plead and cry at a dead man’s shrine!

Tell me which ‘faith’ tells you to kill

I’ve not yet read a script that ill

Make note of what is going on

And then decide what’s right from wrong!

Let one’s who know me close at hand

Inspire you to understand

The need to break these walls so high

And find a way to see the sky!

Let go of fears for unknown land

A landscape which is merely sand

Do not hold on to customs dark

Give me a chance to make a start!

I looked at it with deep set eyes

And asked where I could find it

And all it said was “in the heart”

In which you have confided!

                              

    So when you fall or hurt and break
Don’t put your life to waste

There is a cause that waits for you

that needs your trust and faith!

Acknowledging our Shortcomings

There are two distinct memories of my school life that opened my eyes to the presence of a strong conscience within as well as what achievements can come through with voicing positive expectations.

The first recall dates back to the year 1980 in Lahore. I was then in Year 3. I remember our home had a big garden with lots of red and yellow roses. Living in the same neighbourhood was a friend of mine who also happened to be my classmate. Our friendship in school was unknown till we started to spend time at each other’s house over weekends. She was quite soft spoken and was a pampered child at home.

Slowly our friendship extended to the classroom and we were often together during the recess. I was quite challenging when it came to carrying lunch from home. Often, I disliked eating in school and carried my lunch back much to the disappointment of my mother who happened to make a lot of effort to pack my lunch.

One day, I was sitting in the playground with my friend and she opened up her meal pack. It contained a yummy kebab sandwich which appeared enormously attractive for its aroma. I asked her if I could have a bite and she agreed to make a complete swap for my omelette. We really seemed to enjoy each other’s meals and the day was a happy one. I came home with an empty lunch box which won me special applause by my mum. Her broad smile made me come to the decision of keeping the secret.

And so, every day, we exchanged our lunch packs and she carried that delicious kebab sandwich for me while I would share my biscuits, omelette or fries with her. For a few days, the change felt good. But soon, I started to feel her disagreement over the swap. Now when you are 8, you want what you want! So, despite her unwilling exchange, I had started to enjoy the sandwich as my basic right. I questioned her about it, if she would bring an apple instead! The friendship was becoming a little sour and deep down, I knew it was going to end suddenly.

There was a special awards ceremony that happened at the end of the year and all students who would score a 100% mark, were awarded a certificate of recognition in that subject or area. We were waiting for our teacher to announce the names, and when she nominated my name for ‘Science’, I could not wait to rush home and let my parents know. But the greater thrill was to carry that paper of excellence and get it signed by the Principal herself. It was a rare occasion to visit her office and when it was for such a grand moment, the feel was just incredible.

I carried my paper with such pride and climbed the stairs to her office which was on the first floor of the building. I turned to the door which was open. My eyes fell upon the familiar face of a mother. She was not happy and happened to be complaining about her daughter being harassed about her lunch. I froze and guilt marked my face. They both turned towards me at the same time. I couldn’t open my mouth and stood there like a statue.

“Come in my dear,” the Principal said softly. She happened to feel my embarrassment and asked the mother to give her a minute. “What do you have in your hand?” she asked me politely. I entered her office a little unsure and without saying a word, handed her my Science paper. She looked at it and said, “Well done! Leave it with me and I’ll sign it later. Thank you.” I was glad the conversation was short. I practically escaped the crime scene feeling every bit the criminal. There was still a half day to complete before going home. Would the Principal call my mum and complain? What will I say to my ma for telling such lies? And how bad will she feel about my dislike for the lunch she gave me every day. I could have just asked her for a kebab sandwich instead of the omelette. 

The lessons went on but these questions crowded my mind. The bell rang for home time and we travelled in a line to the gate.

Normally, teachers would be on duty to monitor the chaos. But as I wandered towards the gate, I saw the Principal standing right at the corner of the bend bidding all students farewell. I knew she would call me and scold me about my bossiness. My face flushed with anxiousness as I approached her. Every student was enjoying her unexpected presence on the field and greeted her with smiles. The dreaded moment arrived and I came face to face with her. She looked at me and smiled. “Good afternoon Ms. X”, the words shivered through my mouth. She nodded and gave me a look that completely shook my conscience. Clearly, she had not expected a 100% scorer to be a bully. My inner voice condemned my actions over the past few days and it was too heavy a price to pay for just a kebab sandwich I thought to myself. 

She never made any calls home and the matter vanished in the air from the very next day. I changed my recess pals and decided to control my bossy behaviour. Every child has a burning conscience that can easily be moulded with just a meaningful look without using much words.

To think that temptation would allude me after that was indeed a false thought. I was 16 and my mid-term exams were close. At that point of time, I was the centre of attraction with my friends who claimed that I was very funny and my popularity had elated me to a whole new level.

It was an Islamic Studies paper and my preparation was quite poor. I had been busy writing poems and making a slam book! And so, my confidence was shattered when the paper was placed in front of me with many questions that I just couldn’t follow. I looked around and found everybody scribbling answers running against time. I stared at the questions and slowly a desperation started to creep in. I turned to look at my friend who inquired through her eyes, “Why aren’t you writing?” I gave her a blank look that made her understand my status on the exam. She looked at me and motioned to exchange the question paper. I felt panicked. Would that be possible? I looked at the teachers who sat at the front of the room busy in a hushed conversation.

I wrote on my paper, “Just give me the answer for Q2 and 3.” I thought it would be less criminal to carry just the intention to pass the exam. She wrote the answers on her question paper and just when we thought it was possible, we held our papers out to each other. The interaction created a little noise and the Islamic teacher looked at us.

My world came crashing down. The teacher approached me. “Give me the paper.” I handed her the question paper with the answers written on it. My face was as red as a tomato. Tears were running like a stream and I couldn’t raise my head. She just stood next to me gazing at me a little shocked. “ I never expected this from you Shama!” 

The words slit open my heart and I began sobbing. It felt horrible to fail their expectations. I had never indulged in any negative activities before and my teachers held a good opinion about me. I had ruined that viewpoint. I happened to have a special corner in her heart and she asked me, “Did you not prepare for the exam?” I nodded unable to speak. She looked at my friend with accusing eyes that put her to shame as well. “I was just helping her because she said she found the paper hard.” Our papers were cancelled and we had to meet the humiliation of being caught cheating. My conscience led me to apologize to the teachers who placed an arm around me and said, “We all make mistakes. It should just never happen again.”

I made up my mind that day. I would rather fail, then ever adhere to an immoral or unlawful act. And I stuck to that principle while attempting my Economics Exam many years later! What is failure in an exam? It is simply being ‘unable’ to succeed the first time.

Both these experiences made me realize my shortcomings. My inclination to give in to temptation. But I’m glad to have faced these ordeals as they also opened my eyes to the positive perceptions that others held for me. It was good to learn about my weaknesses as they helped me identify with my strengths with a much greater force and acknowledgement.

Children make mistakes all the time. But their inner voice is always active and living. As adults, we can really turn that mistake into an opportunity to voice our positive expectations and help them realize their ability to make wiser and intelligent decisions.