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Friday, December 16, 2005

Summer of '95

BOOM! BANG!!! CRASH!!...the sounds I hear during my nap and are obviously disturbing. I search for the source. Where are they coming from? From the inside??...Oh please no! I search a bit more. Yes they’re coming from the inside but yet the source remains outside. Oh now I get it! Someone’s beating the hell out of me! I wake up (duh!). It’s the principal’s son. The tall dark guy dressed like some mulla…oh wait a minute…HE IS A FUCKING MULLA!!. He’s landing punches all over my body. I almost threw up…had lunch a while ago. During all this time I could hardly comprehend the situation. I didn’t really know what was going on but whatever it was, it didn’t feel good. All I could feel were his fists and him saying something like “BLAHBLAHBLAH!!”. He shoved me to the corner of the room. Everybody was suddenly up. I was all battered, standing at the corner, shocked like anything and oh…I was crying. He pushed and shoved…I was down again on the floor in no time. The mullas outside the room suddenly saw me and were surprised to see the face of the victim. They knew I was the best they had in Science, English and all. They knew I was the one who taught them their own subjects. They knew they couldn’t mess with me. But this guy was the principal’s son. I got up on my feet and walked towards the kitchen where I washed my face and hands with soap…oh wait!...WE HAD NO FUCKING SOAP ON THE PREMESIS! They said “kalma parh ker haath dho sab saaf hojaey ga”. So I wash my face the holy way and regain my senses. I hear someone say “ye sonay ke time baatein ker raha tha is liay pita hai”. I thought, WTF!!?!. True, my brothers walk and talk during sleep. They fart and jump and dance but not me. I wake up in almost the same position every morning…or afternoon. Obviously that son of a…..THE…..principal didn’t know that. All he knew was that his fucking extremist maulvi ears could never be wrong.

What is this place?? Welcome to Al-Khair School. They had things like A-Levels, O-Levels written on their main gates but all I did there for 6 months was read the Quran everyday from 8 am to 5 pm with a few hundred boys as the mullas kept beating the hell out of us from time to time. We had a rough carpet to sit on and were not allowed to rest our bums on it. There was a specific position we had to be in all day. They called it “seedha ho ker baithna”. The left foot takes the weight of your right butt cheek, which makes the other one “float” in the air automatically. The other leg curls up and the thigh touches your chest which rests on it. Wish I could explain more clearly. We had to keep moving back and forth while reciting the Holy book. At 2 pm we got our only break which was for the afternoon prayers, lunch and a little nap. And at 3, we’re up again…reading the same lines again and again until its 5 pm. This was the summer of 95…definitely not the best days of my life. I don’t understand why these fucking extremist retarded ass mullas are allowed to run such institutes in bugalows where they ruin innocent lives and churn out still more extremists. They all need serious counseling.

Those 6 months made a major impact on the course of future events. I was never a bad student at NHS. Mostly in the top 5. Don’t know why my dad thought I would like to become a hafiz and leave everything else. This came out of nowhere. My life was shattered. I had to leave all my friends for that fucked up madrassa. They didn’t teach me one word of science, math or any other subject for that matter. We studied some Arabic and crammed a LOT of Arabic. They did hire a few teachers for Science, Maths and English but they were pathetic as expected. I was 10 years old at that time. I helped them teach the other poor kids. OK! I’m being modest. I had memorized the 30th “sipara”. But that was about it. They never let me go beyond that point. Because they kept changing our mulla teacher who made me start from scratch every time. It was sickening. I was called “kafir” just because I used a spoon & fork to eat my spaghetti. “HAATH SE KHAA!” was the order. I was lucky to be beaten up by the principal’s son because there was another poor retard in my so called class who wasn’t very bright. And apparently the 500 pound principal literally jumped on him several times because he didn’t memorize his “sabaq”. That beating by the princpy’s son saved me from further torture. My dad realized his mistake and I made my (famous) comeback to NHS. Where it dawned upon me that I had my half-yearlies in less than a month’s time. Staying out of practice for so long had its consequences. I hardly could understand anything in the Math class and was never able to make a full recovery after missing the first 6 months. The results never really improved. I wanted to be a fighter pilot. But that was never going to happen with my basics in math extremely weak. I lost all my confidence. It took me years to regain my balance. But my dream was still shattered. I was never again good enough at math to become a fighter pilot. I flunked and flunked and flunked math….year after year. Going to the next class just because of my impressive scores in other subjects. I flunked my first and second year math papers in intermediate. It cost me almost 2 years of my academic life. I decided to kiss engineering goodbye and that’s how ended up in CBM & guess what, I flunked College Algebra in the first semester...the horror continues. This is how I ended up hating mullas and ninjas. Call me kafir or whatever…I don’t give a rat’s ass.

6 comments:

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