Spice of Life: Patriotic colour and child-like innocence
Twice a year, my college is transformed into a makeshift drill ground for the I-Day and R-Day celebrations, and thus becomes home for youthful exuberance
As my car took the U-turn to reach college, I was greeted by the sight of half a dozen school buses parked outside the main gate. A swarm of schoolchildren was emerging from the buses, forming lines that was a chaotic conga line more than an orderly queue, as they prepared to invade the college grounds.
Ah, it’s that time of year again when our usually tranquil campus turns into a training ground for future soldiers, or so it seems. Twice a year, the college gets transformed into a makeshift drill 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 kids are out there practising on frost-covered grounds, looking like tiny soldiers in an epic battle against hypothermia. By the end of the day, the whole campus resounds with sniffles, sneezes and coughs, with some kids showing off their newly acquired skill of chattering teeth.
Then comes August, when the sun turns the college playground into a giant pressure cooker. The children, after a day of rehearsing under the sweltering sun, end up looking like overripe tomatoes— sweaty, red-faced, and ready to burst. As they march around, you can almost hear their little feet begging for mercy and some 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-fuelled, hyperactive children. By the end of it, they’re practically whispering commands, their voices reduced to mere croaks.
Today, however, was unlike any other practice day. After the loudspeakers had exhausted their playlist of patriotic anthems, to which the kids had been dancing with military precision, it was finally break time. Lo and behold! In mere moments, these tiny soldiers morphed into an unstoppable force of nature, sweeping through the college like a swarm of locusts.
The canteen was occupied to the last seat. The corridors echoed with their high-pitched chatter. Not even the gardens were safe from their exuberant invasion.
Small bodies were everywhere— climbing trees, hanging from branches, and, most notably, swarming the lone guava tree to rob it of the seasonal fruit. The scene was reminiscent of the legendary Vaanar Sena’s assault on Ashok Vatika, with every corner of the college bearing witness to their playful havoc. Finally, one of the teachers left his class to bring some method to their madness.
Once the day’s rehearsals wrapped up, the children, one by one, climbed onto their buses and headed back to their schools. Expecting to see weary faces and worn-out bodies, I was pleasantly surprised. Despite the stifling heat and humidity, not a single child showed signs of fatigue or frustration. Instead, their faces shone with a mix of pride and patriotism. As they called it a day, some could be heard softly humming the patriotic tunes they had just practised, while others proudly boasted about having visited a college campus at such a young age.
I suppose it’s the spirit of patriotism, combined with the innocence of childhood, that makes all the hard work worthwhile.
sonrok15@gmail.com
(The writer is an associate professor at SD College, Ambala.)