The Farewell

The classroom had been converted into a nostalgic party room. The tables and chairs were conveniently set aside against the colourfull walls. The books and pens were replaced with plates and spoons. The teachers stood back and smiled at their kids. It must’ve been a proud sight. They had spent countless hours with them. They knew that it was their “contribution” to society.

All of them huddled into one inseparable family.The blackboard was now converted into a mere background. They put on a big smile for the camera while cutting the cake. The good looking smiling faces were in the front. The class clown decided to stuff his classmate’s mouth with the cake, much to the joy of the rest of the group.

Two indifferent and arrogant kids were standing at the back, leaning against the board, searching for a reason to feel happy and trying hard to look normal. It was difficult to dig down the magazine of feelings and pull out an appropriate mask to wear. It was not easy to say that 10 years of schooling had taken us too far away from having an independent opinion about the world. Now that all were too confused and lost, the only alternative was to smile and accept a shiny well-laid path to “success.”

The bunch of kids who were a year away from a similar fate were the ones hosting the farewell party. A familiar face requested the two idiots to come to the front in vain. The juggernaut was then led to the open stage where more things were about to happen. Humorous plays, a Bharatanatyam performance, a poem about the outgoing batch of pupils and other ingredients of entertainment were put across in an organised way. The female individuals of all age groups made sure that they were in their best outfits/appearances.

There were smiles all around. The whole place was drowning in unfounded gratitude. The seemingly unstoppable era of entertainment was destined to end in a peak.The two bastards who decorated the last row threw their backs on the ground and watched the countless stars. It was their ultimate source of excitement.

Swift orders from the top rung made sure that these two buggers fell back in line again. Bollywood music and dance was the essential spice of the evening. It was now “perfect”. Rasgulla, ice-cream, tasty north- Indian dishes were finished in a hurry. It was 10.30 pm. The kids had to reach home. It was all over. For the two bastards it was just the beginning.

The final journey back home was the only meaningful one. Attempts to unravel the meaning of all the journeys we had made to this place in one final journey were not made. In fact it was not advisable. The conversations were brimming with memories. It had to be extended and pulled as hard as possible to extract a fine farewell conversation. The souvenirs had to be treasured. The photos framed and hung in an elegant showcase. Yes, the purpose of it all had to be erased, stamped and buried.

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