The year was 1992. The classrooms were dusty with their entrances hidden at the ends of dark, gloomy corridors in the dilapidated structures of the S.P. Higher Secondary School in Srinagar.
Kashmir had gone militant. Rebellion was pouring out, where it was due and where it was not; irrespective. Defiance of authority was in fashion that season. Anarchy was the law. For the fashion conscious young in school and college, this new style often manifested in defiance of (and frequently disrespect towards) all teachers and teaching institutions. The boys could come to class or to examinations armed, either with a weapon or with the possibility of pointing one later. Lecturers could get shouted at, and worse. Someone might desire a personal advantage; someone else might do it just because it was fun. Teachers, as an institution (and as individuals, by large) behaved like all other institutions and individuals in choosing to look the other way; wisdom favored discretion, rather than valor. The (otherwise sacred) spirit of rebellion among youth had cut loose of any constraints of direction.
Most classes were never held. Often, the lecturer would not show up. No one bothered to ask why. One assumed it had to do with the "haalaat" being "kharaab" (the times being bad). Maybe his haalaat were really kharaab that day. Maybe he was apprehensive his haalaat could turn kharaab in the hands of his class! Maybe he had just lost his drive to go thru the motions of holding class. The class wouldnt miss him much anyway. Even if he had turned up, few would have shown up in his bare classroom. Yes, many classrooms were indeed bare of furniture or held just remnants (I once took an annual exam in a bare room. The next day was better; they had desks; no chairs though!).
Among all this chaos, in a barely furnished damp classroom at the end of the same dark gloomy corridor, Ghulam Hassan would hold his English Literature class. Whatever desks were present in that hall would be occupied, as one might expect in normal times. However, the rest of the room would be packed as well; taken up by students standing to listen to the lecture. Some would be sitting on the window sills; others would be standing outside the large ground floor windows trying to listen in.
That year, the class had three different sections, each with its own lecturer. The overcrowding just described was due to all enrolled showing up in Ghulam Hassans class, while ignoring their assigned lectures.
Such a crowd and such absolute silence. Such times and such respect for authority. An amazing display of commanding respect, based in my opinion, on the sheer force of personality and individual ability.
As i write, the year is 2007. May the Ghulam Hassans please stand up.
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