A special swansong to the tunes of pure emotions

MY ENTIRE PROFESSIONAL LIFE SEEMED TO HAVE CONDENSED INTO A HALL, THANKS TO THE PURE-HEARTED PARTICIPATION FROM THOSE IN ATTENDANCE

The stage of our school was majestically bedecked to mark a grand celebration. This wasn’t the first time I was sitting on a stately couch meant for dignitaries nevertheless I was nervous like never and overcautious to check my formal gestures lest my inner edginess should get into public sphere.

The announcement of my name by the chief compère sent ripples of excitement among the audience, awaiting my address. Amid the applause, my fidgeting hands rechecked the list in the flap-pocket, feeling the accentuated heartbeats beneath the garlands weighing down my neck. Standing at the podium, my gaze swept rapidly around, scanning the audience of all ages, including my family and friends, who had gathered to observe my retirement day.

My entire professional life seemed to have condensed into a hall, thanks to the pure-hearted participation from those in attendance. Many of them had already taken turns at the microphone to express their genuine feelings about me, ranging from anecdotes to heartwarming poetry to amusing sher-o-shayari on peculiarities of my fundamental traits. A few subordinates even tapped the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a satirical jab at my well-known gung-ho approach to getting work done in the stipulated time.

With my clumsy hands, I fished out the list consisting of names of all those who deserved my sincerest gratitude for standing by me through thick and thin. On top of the list shone the names of my parents who’d sacrificed their basic needs to ensure quality education to their eldest child with the hope that he would help the family rise from poverty.

Eventually, an emotionally stirring moment came requiring me to spell the contribution of my late wife whose name literally stuck on my lips, converting the longstanding lump in my throat into a downpour of tears, belying my commanding disposition; same was the case with my three children in the front row.

However, my new abbreviation for the term GPF, usually attributed to General Provident Fund, lightened up the emotional heaviness in the air. I pointed at my peers and announced that they were indeed my GPF or Gift of Priceless Friends, who would never let me run bankrupt. A self-written verse with which I concluded the speech drew cheers and claps:

Har kisi ko apne aaghosh mein leta hai, yeh waqt hai bada balwaan,

Jissne meri bhi ‘jawaani’ budhi karr di, aur ‘budhaapa’ karr diya jawaan!

(Time takes everything in its powerful fold so is my youth, now my old age is taking a ‘young’ lead).

Just as I was about to sit in the car to leave, the emotional clerk of our school held my hand, urging me not to leave. Silence for half a minute and he let out the secret of how I’d helped him financially.

Bidding adieu, I announced on purpose in my signature sonorous voice that their retired headmaster, now with a new word ‘ex’ prefixed to his designation, would visit his old peers frequently. A theatrical declaration coated with formalism from my side led to reluctant and unbelieving smiles on the faces of the staff, quite understandably.