Joe Bloggs

The school is about 5km from the town. A large gateway, which I couldn't remember from when I was there, announced the boundary of the school. Just inside were a replica of a Gnat fighter aircraft and a tank. Those weren't there in my day, though the school used to be reserved for the sons of personnel of the Punjab branch of the Indian armed forces. The dining area was called the 'mess' and the school store was the 'quartermaster's office'. We drove up to the main entrance of the school, where a solitary turbaned Sikh security guard got out of his chair. Things didn't look too good. There was a general atmosphere of unkept grounds and buildings that had seen better days. Twenty-two years ago much of the place was a construction site that exuded the promise of the future. My driver explained to the guard why we were there and that I wanted to see the principal of the school. He gave us directions to the principal's house on the far side of the school grounds. Before driving over I had a look inside the main entrance and saw an amphitheatre-type facility. That also wasn't there when I was there, but again it seemed past its prime. Around the facility were faded painted quotations about the value of education, as uttered by among others Rousseau and Homer. There wasn't a pupil or a teacher in sight. The guard said most of the teachers were in town at the wedding of one of their colleagues, and many of the pupils were on a school trip. Hopefully not a hunting expedition.

As we drove to the principal's house we saw a group of boys playing cricket. None was wearing any sort of uniform. My driver stopped to ask one of them to confirm the location of the principal's house. There was great excitement after one of them looked in the back and saw the yellow hair and ill-looking pale skin of a foreigner. I waved at them and they shrieked with glee.

We arrived at the gate of the principal and my driver chatted to the gateman, who cast a wary glance at me and went inside the house. A couple of minutes later I was invited to go inside. The reception was less than rousing. With his short stature and cut and open hair the new principal was clearly not a Punjabi. With the faintest of smiles he gestured me over to an armchair. I said I was sorry to have come unannounced but the phone number I found on the Internet didn't work, and then explained that I was a teacher there 22 years ago. Ah. It had been a long dream of mine to come back. Yes. I was so happy that finally the opportunity had come. Silence.

Something was clearly wrong, and I had a stab at what. Though he was evidently reserved and conservative by nature in any case, I sensed he was very worried that I would be comparing the school now to how it was back then. Of course I was, and was unimpressed so far. We had a chat for about 20 minutes though it was me who did most of the talking. He looked a bit worried when I said I did an Internet search of the school while looking for the number. He probably guessed that I uncovered those articles. I said that I was thinking of sticking around for a couple of days so I could see the life of the school. I would stay at a nearby hotel (here I was fishing for an invitation to stay in the large guest house next to his house, but it wasn't forthcoming).

I asked him how the school was coming on. "Well", was the unelaborated reply. It was now a normal private school, open to boys and girls, both boarders and day-schoolers, with no reserved places for military-related families, and no subsidy from the military or anyone else. Numbers are 'growing' but the school, at 250 kids, was at only 25% of intended capacity. That would be reached in a few years' time. Not what the papers, and my eyes, told me, I thought.