This morning was unlike any other. Our little son, fresh out of his pre-school cocoon, stepped into a new school for Grade One.
His uniform was slightly big—something he could grow into over the next couple of years. His new tie and ID card hung almost to his knees, like a medal of honour. It looked funny—but charming in a way only childhood can be.
His mother fussed over the final touches: straightening his collar, brushing off imaginary dust from his shoulders, and dotting a kajal tika on his forehead—her way of shielding him from the world’s unseen eyes.
His schoolbag, almost half his weight, was stuffed with new books, untouched notebooks and a water bottle. It made him wobble a bit, but he refused help. Carrying it himself felt like a serious job.
Just before walking out, he paused, looked back, and gave us a big, brave smile. No tears. Just shiny shoes, a giant bag, and a head full of dreams.
