Pari will take the test and by the weekend, we will have the results”, said Priyanjali, glowing in the bliss of morning sunshine. It was February and the Sharmas had just moved to Dehradun from Shimla. As she said this, her face lit up just like her eyes did whenever she dreamt of her child studying in the best convent school. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Mrs. Sharma. But mind you, Crestmore Convent is the best school of our city. Even kids of the millionaires cannot step in, if they lack the intellect to be a part of this glorious institution. So, don’t lose hope if Pari fails to qualify.” Said, Mrs. Karol, with a tone of superiority. Priyanjali was unharmed by the arrogant opinion of Mrs. Karol. She knew that her daughter was supremely smart and could easily ace the entrance exam of Crestmore.
Pari was a little girl, only twelve years old. Always inquisitive and charming, she was the superstar of her school back in Shimla. She emerged victorious in all the things that she attempted to do and therefore was popular among teachers and her peers. However, the day she entered the premises of the majestic Crestmore, her heart sank and self-doubt seeped in. As she looked around, she could only spot pretty girls in their blue tunics. All of them, confident and chirpy. In whatever they did, Pari could capture inherent grace, as if they were all above her and definitely, more than her. She took the entrance and walked back to her mother who sat waiting in the garden of the school, surrounded with cages that held captive, gorgeous birds. Priyanjali had been waiting there since 9 in the morning. As she looked at Pari, her eyes gleamed with excitement, expecting an affirmative response on how her test went. Pari was too intimidated by the glory of every element of Crestmore, too stunned to answer her mother. “I am not very certain if I’ll get in. I gave my best, though” said Pari with her face deprived of energy.
A couple of days later, the mother-daughter duo was back at the school, squeezing in through the crowd of parents looking at the notice board where the results were pasted. Pari was terrified and almost assertive of not finding her name on the list. So much so, that she began looking at the list from the bottom. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t spot it. But there it was. 11th on the list. Pari Sharma, it read. While Pari felt only relief, Priyanjali jumped with joy and kissed her girl. “I am going to make you Rajma Chawal for lunch today. I am so proud of you, my sweetie”. But Pari wasn’t proud, not even happy. She was scared, very scared of being a part of Crestmore Convent.
On the first day of her school, Priyanjali dressed her girl like a doll. She combed her hair in two tiny plaits and kissed her a goodbye at the bus stop. It was 6:30 in the morning and most of the little girls were dozing off by the windows, in the bus. Pari looked for a vacant window seat and luckily found one. With every student climbing in, her eyes filled with hope, eagerly waiting for someone to sit next to her. However, all of them royally passed by her seat, without even lending a glance. For the ones who noticed, they were barely intrigued. Each time that happened, Pari’s little heart broke and she felt an urge to jump out of the bus and run back home, where her mother would be waiting with a warm hug. In a crowd of so many like her, she felt terribly alone while walking into her new class. Always taught to sit on the first bench, Pari sat waiting to meet people who would soon become a part of her world. She saw the class filling up slowly and the girls greeting each other with hugs and giggles. They noticed Pari and how innocently she looked at all of them. While some cared to ask her name, the others exchanged glances filled with indifference. During lunch, all the girls scattered to their usual spots. Some gathered on a bench in the class, some under the shade of trees and some on the stairs of the gigantic ground of the school. Nobody even looked at her while she kept gazing at all of them leaving in groups. She quietly slid her tiffin box out of her bag and with teary eyes, ate her Aloo Paratha, all by herself. “I am packing my special Aloo Paratha with lime pickle. Your friends will love it and would want to eat with you every day”, Priyanjali had said, packing Pari’s lunch, earlier in the morning. Tears rolled down her cheeks, recalling how thrilled her mother was. On the way back home, she again sat on the same bus seat, all by herself. Looking out of the window, she fell asleep and was woken up by the conductor when her stop came. Pari burst into tears, the moment she saw her mother. She ran towards her, throwing her arms around Priyanjali. “Why? What happened, Pari? How was your day?” “I don’t like it. I was alone all through the day. Nobody even spoke to me. Not even the teachers.” Priyanjali smiled, “Because, it was your first day. Have patience. You will make friends with time.”
Months passed, Pari’s situation only grew worse at school. Almost on all days she sat alone in the bus and spent her time looking out of the window, at first listening to the fun conversations around her and later she would fall asleep. In the classroom, now not only she was alone but her classmates, each day found a new reason to make fun of her. Once, for the Christmas Party at school, Priyanjali spent an hour in the morning, dressing Pari in an extravagant outfit, made of fur. “Look how all the girls are going to flock around you today!”, she had said. But the story remained the same. “Looks like it’s snowing in Dehradun.” said those girls mocking Pari.
Pari couldn’t comprehend the reason behind their hostility and maybe there existed none. Maybe the girls were only relishing the fun derived out of laughing at the new girl in class. Pari cried each day. Her grades fell drastically. From the topper of her class, she had now stooped down to being an average student. She no more had the courage to raise her hand for asking a doubt or responding in class. Whenever she did, her classmates would slyly look at one another and exchange giggles. Pari lost her confidence and her personality. She feared at the thought of being noticed in class. Sitting in a corner, she hoped nobody even looked at her. Her heart burned and all she wanted was to disappear.
Priyanjali made attempts to call her classmates and urge them to include Pari in their groups. They would all agree on the phone but the very next day, gathered around her to only laugh off the conversation with Priyanjali. That little heart of Pari broke piece by piece, every single day.
The little girl realized that no outfit would help her make friends. She understood that no matter whatever delicacy her mother packed in her tiffin, there would be no magic done. She found herself a spot then; her own spot for those painful lunches. If it were in her control, Pari would have cancelled lunch breaks, for they made her feel the loneliest. She would rather want to starve than garner courage to walk out of the class and eat alone. That is how much she dreaded every recess. Because she couldn’t, every day she took her lunch box and walked to the 9th row of stairs, shaded by an old mango tree, in the playground. The ground was huge and nobody would notice her. She took the soggy parathas out of the box and ate them, weeping. With every bite, she thought of her mother, the love with which she made those parathas, hoping that someday, some girl would accompany her baby for lunch. With every bite, she reminded herself that after a couple of hours, she’ll run back to her mother, again, away from the hostility of those ‘elite’ classmates. With food in one hand, Pari would wipe her tears off from the other and convince herself that everything will be better in the evening when she’d be in the arms of her mother, having a laugh. She would then get up, dust off her blue tunic and slowly walk back towards her class.
