As my car turned to enter the college, I saw half a dozen school buses parked outside the main gate. A swarm of school children were getting off the buses and forming lines that resembled a chaotic polonaise rather than an orderly queue, rather than storming the college premises.
Ah, it’s that time of the year again when our otherwise serene campus turns into a training ground for future soldiers, or so it seems. Twice a year, the college turns into a makeshift training ground for the division-level Independence Day and Republic Day celebrations. And twice a year, the weather in North India seems to get the memo to make things as uncomfortable as possible.
In January, the children train on frost-covered ground, looking like little soldiers in an epic battle against hypothermia. By the end of the day, the whole campus is filled with sniffles, sneezes and coughs, and some children show off their newly acquired ability to chatter their teeth.
Then comes August, when the sun turns the college playground into a giant pressure cooker. The kids look like overripe tomatoes after a day of rehearsals under the blazing sun – sweaty, red-faced, and about to burst. As they march around, you can almost hear their little feet begging for mercy and air conditioning.
And let’s not forget the heroic teaching staff. Armed only with their vocal cords, they try to maintain some semblance of order among a hundred sugar-soaked, hyperactive children. They end up practically whispering orders, their voices reduced to mere croaks.
Today, however, was a very different day of practice than usual. After the speakers had exhausted their playlist of patriotic anthems to which the children had danced with military precision, it was finally time for recess. And lo and behold! Within moments, those tiny soldiers transformed into an unstoppable force of nature, sweeping through the college like a swarm of locusts.
The canteen was full to the last seat. Their shrill chatter echoed through the corridors. Not even the gardens were safe from their boisterous invasion.
Small bodies were everywhere – climbing trees, hanging from branches and, most conspicuously, swarming from the lone guava tree to rob it of its seasonal fruits. The scene was reminiscent of the legendary attack on Ashok Vatika by the Vaanar Sena and every corner of the college bore witness to their playful chaos. Eventually, one of the teachers left his class to bring some method to their madness.
When the day’s rehearsals were over, the children boarded their buses one by one and headed back to their schools. I expected to see tired faces and exhausted bodies and was pleasantly surprised. Despite the oppressive heat and humidity, not a single child showed any signs of fatigue or frustration. Instead, their faces beamed with a mixture of pride and patriotism. As they finished the day, some could be heard quietly humming the patriotic tunes they had just practiced, while others proudly boasted about having visited a college campus at such a young age.
I suppose it is the spirit of patriotism combined with the innocence of childhood that makes all the hard work worthwhile.
(The author is an associate professor at SD College, Ambala.)
