Measured doses of Nostalgia

Walking the streets of Doha is a nostalgic ride back in time for me. Some things have changed drastically but other places have remained exactly as they were ten years ago. Take for example, my old barber. The man is still here, looks just the same despite the greying of his temples and still does amazing work. I walked into his shop and all he had to do was look up at the mirror across from the entrance, he turned around and gave me a wide smile instantly recognising me as Ameen's son, the one that left for Canada.

It was a pleasure talking to him, reminiscing about how I would always want the channel changed to cartoons, especially Tom and Jerry despite the fact that three people in the shop were eagerly watching bengali TV. He asked if I would like the same today too, I replied that Tom and Jerry wasn't on tv these days. he gave me this smug, all knowing smile and fished in his cassete collection to find a dusty Tom and Jerry video. We watched the episode when Tom and Jerry were in France, and Jerry attempts to raid a medieval themed dinner party, much to chagrin of Tom, who is a old-style musketeer/guard that tries to stop Jerry, but only ends up causing more destruction. Classic episode, much like the barber. I got my haircut, the only difference this time was that I got a shave too and of course that I had to pay. If ever in Doha, do visit Sadaf Salon on Shara-e-Khaleej.

I can only guess what my alma mater, the horribly named Ideal Indian School (I can't imagine it by any other name though) looks like these days. No doubt many of the teachers have moved on and of course the kids that roamed the corridors in my days are long gone, even my friend Saheeb who spent two years each in grade eight and nine; despite all the changes in people, I'm sure the field looks the same, and the water cooler that used to nourish us all is as cold as ever and the Headmaster's office chockfull as ever of miscreants like me. Those were beautiful days, but sadly all my school fellows have left Doha. I envision running into one or two on my walks in the city, what would we say to each other? And would I consider the ones I saw as my saviors in this 'unknown' city, or would I look upon them as the ones who got left behind?

Back in Grade 8 I think, we had a math teacher named Mr. Anees. Besides also being the head teacher, he was the most feared of all teachers. His hair colour would change as the seasons would- in Doha, about four times a year. He had a voice that could silence the whole boy's wing assembly in one word, BOYS!

One day, Saheeb and I were busy playing hangman in the third row of the class, Anees sir saw us snickering and called us up to the blackboard. He put up two trignometry problems and asked us to solve them in front of the class. The two of us knew that neither of us could solve it, even if the problems had looked similiar which they didn't, what with Sin and Cos in the equations. Anees sir waited, five minutes... ten minutes, neither of us chalked the board. He asked us if we had done our homework, we said no. He just looked at us, that cold glare that could seriously scare the most macho in our class, probably Saheeb.

Then, without any warning, any indication at all, he backhanded us both. Each of us were gifted one hand straight to the cheek. When I recovered from the whiplash, I immediately looked at Saheeb's eyes which were filled with tears just like mine. The man had made us cry with one slap, that too a backhand. We walked to our seats and waited the period out. No one in the class mentioned the incident cuz they all loved hangman too. But that day I changed my habits, started doing my homework everyday. I ran into Anees sir a few years back while out shopping with my dad in Toronto. He was visiting Canada on his vacations. As we said goodbye, I shook his hand and thanked him for all he had done for me. I could see that it made him feel uneasy, but it was the closing of a chapter of my life, perhaps six years too late.