Read Part 1 - here
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Majid’s parents watched their thirteen-year-old son distractedly eat his breakfast. He was quietly mouthing some words as though trying to remember something and kept glancing at a sheet he clutched in his hand that looked crumpled beyond repair.
This was probably one of those rare times that Majid’s parents saw him look almost enthusiastic and thus didn’t venture to break this nearly happy happenstance by questioning him or even talking to him.
Unlike most kids his age, Majid was notoriously indifferent to his surroundings, including his family, school and teachers.
His passive nature wasn’t the cause for concern, for some children are often known to be reticent, even callous, but Majid had developed a recalcitrant streak that often made matters unmanageable.
He wasn’t always like this, but for the past couple years he had begun displaying an odd behaviour that often escalated from being unusually quiet to fractious fits of unruly disobedience.
His parents initially ignored it as a growing act of filial defiance, but an assortment of disturbing complaints from schools and neighbours soon began mounting.
He had smashed a window in his classroom last month and just a fortnight before had flung his notebook at a teacher who reprimanded him for not submitting homework on time.
Majid’s behaviour had taken a riotous hue and that was when his parents finally succumbed to the idea of counselling and thus began Majid’s weekly therapy sessions.
That these sessions were any help was still a puzzle to his parents but his erratic behaviour had made it difficult for them to communicate with their only child and added to an invisible strain that had begun manifesting itself in an invisible cobweb miring the small family.
Constantly exhausted with the crippling fear of a fresh complaint of some new perverse incident in connection with Majid had worn them down.
The span of silences in the Wasim household grew longer each day and an imperceptible sinkhole of disturbing tensions and pressure began invading their family space.
The only time that Majid looked like an almost cheerful thirteen-year-old was when he was in the company of his friend Tejan; which is why Majid Wasim’s parents often welcomed Tejan’s presence in their house regularly allowing, even encouraging sleepovers.
Majid frequented Tejan’s house as well and that was probably the only time when the stressful anxiety that pulled itself taut in Wasim family relaxed.
They felt guilty of leaning on Tejan as a crutch to alleviate the ever-growing tensions in their life wrought on by their only son and thus found themselves slowly becoming acquainted with Tejan’s parents.
Mrs and Mr Sinhal were a billboard of a perfect marriage, an image they probably cultivated carefully owing to the fact that Mr Sinhal was a well-recognized diplomat in foreign affairs. His outstanding reputation accorded him much respect in that area.
He wasn’t around much, the nature of his important post expecting him to travel for reasons most varied and usually confidential but that he was duteous, gracious and a dignitary of national importance was among a few reasons why he was remarkably popular, not least because he was always a part of every local event of importance and affiliated to various charity organizations.
His name in conjunction with most events and organizations was something of a public relations image developed by his wife.
Like him, she was actively involved as an important member of the community, lending her services to causes connected to education and child upliftment.
She helped found many charity organizations functioning in and around the town and currently resided as the chair for parents association.
Mrs Sinhal was a scion of similar politically charged families and her father served as a mayor of this town a few decades previous.
Their entire aspect was developed in a way so as to exude an aura of the exclusively cultured that demanded respect without being pompous.
Tejan being brought up in an environment so meticulously designed to be perfect and privileged was groomed to fit the design.
An above average student with well-honed etiquettes he was bound for good things but for the fact that his friend was Majid and they were inseparable.
It was with a lighthearted anticipation of a relatively free and uneventful Sunday that Majid’s father put on a fresh mask of deliberate happiness and finally broke the silence that morning at the breakfast table.
‘During my times we called them “master of ceremony”’, he smiled looking at his son.
On getting no reply he continued ‘Must be rather exhausting being a part of the entire function, making announcements and the like’ and he manufactured another affected smile that even to his wife might have looked like a put on, but it brought out a reply.
‘No, I’m just doing the first half, the second half of the annual function will be taken over by some senior. And anyway there isn’t much in the way of announcements on my part.’ Majid replied with a contemptible smirk.
‘Ah, but it must be fun practising for it I bet’ another pathetic attempt at eliciting conversation.
‘It’s alright’ Majid’s voice was dry and verging on harsh when his phone suddenly buzzed and relieved the burgeoning tension.
‘Tejan and his mom are here to pick me. I’ll be at his house tonight after practice’ Majid spoke distantly, looking nowhere in particular and left.
His parents saw him get in the car not knowing it would be the last time.
‘What time should I come to pick you up?’ Nehar asked the children in the backseat, looking at Tejan in particular in the rearview mirror.
‘Anytime after four, mom’ Tejan wasn’t really looking at her, busy showing Majid a new game on his phone.
‘Alright, four it is.’
It was an odd feeling, dropping her son at school on a Sunday.
There wasn’t much activity on the school grounds except some student participants including her son and his friend, a few teachers whom she cordially greeted and momentarily toyed with the idea of catching up with principal Savik but immediately thought otherwise and left.
There was a long list of things that had to be done and Nehar had not the time nor the inclination to make conversations with a boring old man who had nothing to talk of except depleting sports funds and his dislike for mobile phone usage by students in classrooms.
‘Our school’s progress report has been stellar this year. You cannot believe the price hike on certain grocery items these days.’ She mimicked principal Savik’s vernacular accent and inwardly guffawed at his simplistic style of talking.
‘Ah, groceries..that reminds me’ she chuckled softly.
Fifteen minutes past four Nehar Sinhal found Tejan sitting alone in his classroom.
The school was all but deserted save the watchman at the entry gates.
‘Let’s go, darling. Where’s your friend?’ Nehar asked looking outside the classroom.
‘He’s not coming. He messaged me that he left with his parents’ Tejan looked dejected.
‘Oh good, we have you all to ourself today’ his mother spoke with cajoling smile, but Tejan didn’t look up.
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