It’s a sad story from my school days – early school days, in fact. I was 5 or 6 years old, and I don’t remember many of the things that happened back then. But this one I remember so vividly that I still feel a crushing sorrow as I recollect this story. For us, Saturday was a holiday. But there were Saturdays when we had to go to school, and though we were generally upset, there was one thing we were happy about going to school on a Saturday – we were allowed to wear “colour dress” as opposed to the regular school uniform on other days (except you birthday, of course).

There was this guy in our class who, on a Saturday, came wearing a remarkable outfit. I can almost remember his name, but I think it best not to mention it because it does not matter any more than my name which you may not know or your name which I do not know. He was not a great friend of mine or anything, and I had nothing against him either. But yes, his outfit was indeed remarkable, because I can still see it in my memories with all its colours flashing, and the pride on his face as others admired it.

Then came another Saturday, and came this boy in the same clothing. As you may have guessed, nobody really appreciated it this time, because they had all seen it before. And since we all noticed it so well the previous week, we knew he was wearing the same clothes. Of course, it was okay to do so as none of us were the Royal family that we could throw out clothes after using once. But then, in the following weeks, whenever we had to go to school on a Saturday, this guy would be there, dressed in the same garb. I don’t know why he did that, because I was not old or sensible enough to ask myself that question then. But now when I think of it, perhaps that was all his parents could afford. But even at that age, I felt bad seeing him being sneered at for no mistake of his. Perhaps he knew it but did not have much of a choice, for he continued to come to school the same way as long as I can remember, and may be after some time children stopped laughing at him because they got bored.

I don’t know what happened to him, or where his is now. I wish he’s happy and well-to-do. Even if I did not count him among my good friends then, through his suffering he taught me two lessons. First, if you have only one set of clothes to wear, better that they do not stand out. There may have been others in our class who did the same thing as him, but nobody knew because nobody noticed what they wore, in the first place. If you plan on being remarkable and getting people’s attention (I don’t know what can make it worthwhile), make sure you can continue to impress them lest you have their attention for all the wrong reason.

Second, and probably more important, don’t really care what people think or say about you. Even if they laugh at  you, for how long can they continue to do that? My father tells me often, that what people think about you is only a flitting moment in the endless thread of thoughts that is their mind. Someone who said a good or bad thing about us may not have thought about it ever again. Why harp on a compliment or a taunt that does not exist any more? His thought ceased to exist the moment his mind moved on, and his words died out as soon as its sound dispersed in the air. All that lingers is the pride or pain in our hearts!