Part I: Broken Communities:

The year was 1984-85.

I was in my final year of school, one of the most prestigious in my beloved Delhi. Preparations were in full swing for the upcoming board exams. Everything was going smoothly for a Dilli Boy like me, when suddenly a big tree fell, and my city was subjected to one of the fiercest pogroms seen since the partition riots. The cataclysm was of Biblical proportions- there were waves and waves of violence, drawing an unprecedented toll of human life, property and shredding the very concept of human rights to pieces. Normal social life, as we know it, came to an abrupt halt.

It was only after a hiatus of several weeks, that classes resumed .

I was a favorite of several teachers, due to my diligence towards studies, and getting consistently good grades. Besides, I was quite popular within my peers- although at that time racial abuse against Sikhs wearing ‘patkas‘ was relentless, and could be very cruel at times. Often, it was coated in sugar or humor.

I also came back to school after about a fortnight, with a lot of fear and anxiety and trepidation in my heart. I was scared at the reaction my new look- with shorn hair- will draw from everyone. Well, the reaction was on expected lines- while there was an overwhelming sense of relief at my well being, and having returned ‘alive’- amongst the teachers, and peers, there was an occasional barb, which hit where it hurt most.

As is the wont, things settled in the groove by December- 84- the Orwellian year.

Of all my teachers, the one who taught us English was a picture of maximum poise and grace. She was beautiful in a traditional way- peach skin, big Kohl lined eyes, tall, lithe. She always wore somber, cotton sarees, which suited her to the hilt. English being my favorite subject, and having topped the class on several occasions, I was one of the students on whom she focused her attention the most. And I, I was bowled over by her in more ways than one. For as she explained the intricacies of a poem , or something interesting, I, sitting eagerly on the front bench was transported to another, more beautiful world. In front of her, I displayed my best manners and behavior, wishing her as many times as we crossed each other. And the icing on the cake was her being the attendant teacher of my school bus, which means I got to travel with her for another half an hour after school time.

So one day, when she told the class in the middle of January 1985, that she was proceeding on long leave or maybe even quitting for her upcoming marriage, I was heartbroken. Standing beside her was a heavily wrinkled, old gentleman, well dressed- in a tweed coat, tie and trousers, and perfectly polished black shoes. She introduced him as the caretaker English teacher , who would take us through the upcoming boards- which were just a few weeks away.

That afternoon, I took my seat by the window of the school bus, sulking, and in silence. But still, slyly, from a corner of my eyes, I saw her walking towards the bus from a distance, with the grace of a gazelle. As she came closer, our eyes met momentarily. I realized, and maybe even she realized, that her favorite student loved her in a subtle way. That was to be our last meeting. Though there have been many love stories for me before, and many after that, this one truly stands out…..

Part II: Broken Heart

Next day onwards, our new ‘old’ English Sir, who was to teach us for maybe just a few days, and that too for revision, became the butt of intense wrath and ridicule of almost the entire class. Disregarding his age, profile and background, most of the boys, including me, heartbroken, and missing our old ‘new’ teacher started pestering Sir, making it difficult for him to conduct his class in a proper manner. Each day the situation deteriorated- there was hooting, whistling, throwing of chalks, walking out- the usual stuff. But Sir, with his vast experience, handled it all with amazing patience, till it was the last day, and we were to close for pre-boards.

That day, with moist eyes, clearly visible under his thick spectacles, he addressed us in his deep voice:

” Young friends, don’t think that I was not aware of what you all were up to; in my younger days as a teacher, and later principal it would have taken me no time to set you right; But over the years, as I have matured, and gained experience, I have realized that Life is No Sugar– it teaches one all the lessons, in fact it is the best teacher; Today, you are young and restless, and unaware of the ways of the world; But when you go out into the world, the true world, you will realize what I am teaching you today, my final lesson- Life is No Sugar; and that day, friends, you will remember me”.

Part III: Broken Dreams:

37 years have passed in a jiffy.

I am now in my 54th year. Insha- Allah, Madam must be happily married, with kids and a loving husband. But this is not what has crossed my mind over the years, as I have discovered people, experienced the world, situations. Life, I have assessed, has been generally good to me. But definitely, as Sir used to say, It is No Sugar!!!! Certainly Not!!!! It offers many different tastes and flavors to cherish- some sweet, some not so sweet, and others outright bitter. Some flavors one can change, or rather sweeten with one’s efforts, but alas! there are others, where our endeavor falls flat. Is it a failed strategy, or destiny or an unknown mystery- one can never fathom. But there is one thing for sure- people, and their actions have a major role to play in this circle of events.

Despite being a fairly good student in school, with particular interest in History and English, I opted for Science, as was the wont those days for ‘Intelligent’ students. Again, despite securing admission into two premier Engineering Institutes, I decided to pursue Physics from India’s leading College, followed by Post Graduation in Physics from one of India’s premier Universities. After I failed to secure admission in any Management Institute of repute, I opted for the next best option – a respectable job in PSUs. I had the vision, and confidence, or rather overconfidence to bring about a change in the state of affairs. At that point in time, I had a very high opinion of my educational background, and caliber to perform, which I was sure would catapult me to top echelons of the corporate hierarchy much faster than my peers, as had been the case till now. But slowly, as I move onto the 32nd year of my corporate journey, I realize that I am actually the self proclaimed hare who is destined to lose the race .

I agree with you Sir!!!! Life is No Sugar!!!!