The first few weeks in any new school or workplace are critical in establishing bonds and alliances that will serve to make or break. In I Was Inducted Into A Gang I alluded to the Triumvirate, and the friendship we formed indeed served to make us.

He was broad-shouldered as I said, darker in complexion, with big round brown eyes and had full lips.

The very first friend was Shahi, a tall willowy character, lean and long-fingered (and toed, now that I think back on it), that had the face of eternal youth – alabaster skin, a straight nose and perfect pearly whites. We got on because he mirrored me: likeable, smartly attired, not super clever but enough to get by, bold in spirit, and chatty. Also his surname was Choudhury, an aristocratic title bestowed upon the Bengalis during British colonial rule. His family were well-to-do sort of people and well respected in their community. Shahi was also the only son in his family of 4 sisters. All of this meant that expectations were high for him, and he was reared to rise to their lofty heights. The guy never got into trouble, stayed within the  boundaries and was always reminding me of the consequences of my eccentricities. I gleaned all of this in period 1, we just clicked and really hit it off. It was break time, and Shahi took me to meet his good friend whom he had grown up with in the neighbourhood. And so very quickly I was introduced to Mijanur, the second of the trio, and he was my polar opposite. Short, dumpy, plump and ample. A gunner, teacher’s pet (by active participation), and highly emotional; his tears were always making an appearance. Mijanur was a soft character. Softly spoken and liked to be correct and could never do any wrong. He would be the first to lessons, and as bad as that was that he was always sat at the front row, centre seat no doubt, was always sat upright with a straight spine, in the centre seat of the front row. Me and Shahi were the third-row-from-the-back type. Eugh, it is a wonder how I even became friends with Mijanur. Anyway, we were actually the main course. The final character is sort of an addendum to our trio: Rahi. He was rough. A cheeky happy guy who got on well with most if not all the cool kids. but he had a natural mean streak in him. That very first lesson I had with him on my very first day, I could sense the reservation. He viewed me with slight contempt. As if my presence was a threat to his street cred. He was passively aggressive; wouldn’t sit next me at breaktimes or lunch, wouldn’t engage in conversation directly with me, would walk past and deliberately jut his already broad shoulder out to barge me and then sweetly apologise for not seeing me, would laud over me the fact that his Qur’an recitation was exemplary. Just petty school yard crap but that can accumulate into hatred over years. His effect was amplified when another student had joined our ranks mid-year. He was older than us but had to start from year 1 for the Islamic studies classes. He was confident, articulate and wasn’t afraid of anyone. He had an odd shape to his face, where his lips didn’t quite meet properly when he chewed or smiled or spoke and so things kept escaping. It wasn’t a deformity or disability, I’m sure of it. He was tall and unafraid and would stand up to any kid even if he did get battered. He just took the lead form Rahi and adopted the same ill demeanour toward me. Teenagers, honestly, are little shits. So why did I make good friends with Rahi then? A better question you may ask is how did this happen? To be honest, I had no choice, it was Shahi. They were good friends because they lived 2 lanes away from one another and Shahi preferred the slightly more masculine personality Rahi had. In fairness so did I, he was broad shouldered as I said, and was darker in complexion, with big round brown eyes and full lips. He had a powerful grip with his hands and I know he had biceps because cos he would always subconsciously flex them in class when he looked down at his work through long curly lashes, as I would watch him and eherm, sorry, wait, where was I going with this, erm I can’t rememb- Oh yes! I had to tolerate Rahi being a prick towards me because he would hang around with Shahi, and well, me and Shahi were inseparable. In fact, myself, Shahi and Mijanur were everywhere together and anyone that tried to add or subtract to it was in for it.

Our trio served us well. Mijanur was the book-wise clever clogs and knew answers to questions that none of us did; Shahi was the well-respected face of the group, with a sharp wit that I always deferred to when even my own charms failed (occasionally), and somehow I was dubbed the ‘silver tongue’ of the group – more on that later. I know I keep harping on about forgetting to hand in homework, but I really did do all my work as I was meant to . I just kept misplacing things. How else would I have been able to navigate the treacherous years of schooling and Uni to become a doctor if I wasn’t on top of it? I was probably one of the top students in my cohort. Of course I wouldn’t brag too much about this considering the academic calibre of my cohort. By the way, the teaching day was split into halves; morning was devoted to Islamic studies and the afternoon comprised 3 lessons, one each on the absolute basics of the Core curriculum subjects, which back in 1998, was English, Maths and Science (as a single subject). We did P.E every Friday pm after Jumu’ah (Friday congregational prayers at after noon) which wasn’t so much P.E as we all went to the park opposite the school and kicked a football about. I usually just went home early. Oh yeah, I managed to convince the faculty to let us go home early Friday afternoons. Unprecedented. I wouldn’t have been given such licence if the faculty didn’t think I had promise. English was naturally my forte, and I was regularly asked to “give the others a chance now”, by the teacher. I always had an opinion on the current text we were reading in Literature, and on one occasion I questioned my teachers pronunciation. “Sir, perhaps I have it mistaken, and as always, I humbly accept your correction and teaching, but I do believe I heard it in conversation to be pronounced ‘fu-teeg’. Sir”, I proffered with my characteristic grace and humility. “No, it is not said like that here in this book. You remember we read Romeo and Juliet? Yes? Well then which family did Romeo belong to you recall? Yes, that is right. The Montagues. Mon-ta-gyoo”, said the teacher. “So, just like Montague, the word is fa-ti-gyoo”. Shahi’s hand actually reached out and closed my mouth for me for it was hanging, nay, flapping in utter disbelief. I got home and told the story to my sister Shez, who was in fits. Shez studied English Literature at Uni and is the most articulate and creative (in both linguistics and Art) of us siblings and in fact anyone raised in the WC1 and WC2 postcodes. She severely questioned the calibre of teaching at Madrassa.

Yeah, true, 9 times out of 10 my charms yielded a successful outcome, but still, to be used so shamelessly like that!

Which brings me back to the point I was making about the basic KS3 teaching I received. Literature textbooks were photocopies of said books, recycled photocopies. The KS3 Science textbooks were the CGP revision books. And maths…well the teacher had those little workbooks that you used in primary school, with the squares. He used that as his material and wrote everything out on a wipe-board and we copied whatever he scribed. I never ever got maths and to this day still struggle. Numbers are dispassionate, they deal in absolutes and do not allow room for the kind of creativity that English/Literature affords. Science was my next good subject, and we had a very charismatic teacher. He took an especial liking to our Trio; light-heartedly, he always poked Mijanur’s ample folds and flicked my medium length black wavy hair. I was never afraid to meet his humour with my own banter and he liked that. I was also naturally curious about science and did reading ahead of class the previous day, and that kind of attitude endeared me to him. Shahi of course was the same. The teachers however, were not actually employed as proper teachers. True they all received instruction in education, but the maths and Science teachers were retired, and only taught at our Madrassa as a favour to Big Man. The English teacher was banned from teaching anywhere else I think. I don’t recall the particulars, it was all very hush hush. What is more, these 3 were tasked with teaching the entire school. All form years. In fact, our classes comprised a mixture of pupils from all the Years. Honestly some lessons were utter chaos because the teachers had to keep flitting between different Key Stage curricula. I now know why numbers are my enemy; at age 35 I was tested and screened for neurodiversity and turns out all these years I was battling with dyscalculia (difficulty performing arithmetic) and dyspraxia (difficulty performing coordinated movements). Explains why I repeatedly failed maths tests, and, was a clumsy child, couldn’t swim more than 10m on a front-stroke or butterfly, couldn’t ride a bike without trainer wheels, and cannot drive a manual car. But I can do calisthenics, yoga, and gymnastics????? Oh, and apparently individuals that have empathic careers, such as doctors, are often correlated with dyspraxia. I digress. So together, we pooled our resources and Mijanur helped us in maths lessons, I would carry the fort in English, and Shahi would help me out in the Islamic studies subjects. Strength in numbers! With this favour amongst the faculty, came a price; social suicide. Being labelled teacher’s pet wasn’t nice. Everyone has experienced that envy of the pretty one who always got attention from boys/girls, or the clever one that never got in trouble, or the sport’s captain/prefect that enjoyed the life of a celebrity. Having embodied all the aforementioned traits, life was actually tough for me. KIDDING! No seriously, I was just an average boy, but, with personality and wit. And even though they despised me for it, they would in turn rely on me for it! “Come on Jubeyr, please ask him, they always listen to you, and they never get annoyed at the things that you come out with”, chanted the Year 7s on Friday just after the sermon concluded and we all assembled in the great hall for Big Man’s daily address. Big Man was our Headmaster, and I will introduce this guy to you in due course, for his section in the story of my life requires a post entirely of its own. Yeah, true, 9 times out of 10, my charms yielded a successful outcome, but still, to be used so shamelessly like that! Teenagers, honestly.

The Pragaymatic Muslim

• High School Chronicles (8)
• His-story (14)
• Pluralism (1)
• Prelude (2)
• Revelation (2)
• Turning point (1)

1. 

   Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…

2. 

   Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.

3. 

   Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…

4. 

   I like reading these!

5. 

   […] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…