Lend Me Your Ears

The Indian flag flying over the courtyard at JM Higher Secondary School. Check out the pictures from the school's Republic Day celebration and read the post that follows.

At ease: students holding the 'parade rest' position while they follow the Republic Day ceremony.

The 'guest of honor' raising the Indian flag.

Speaking at a Republic Day event in India has never been on my ‘bucket list’. But if it had been, I would have been able to check it off today.

I found myself Wednesday morning suddenly and quite unexpectedly giving a patriotic pep talk to about 100 JM students, most of whom probably understood very little of my rambling, two-minute oration since it was in English.

JM and all other schools in India had the day off Wednesday to celebrate Republic Day, the national holiday in India that commemorates the signing of the Indian Constitution in 1950. All the state capitals hold big celebrations, and the national capital Delhi conducts a massive parade of all the armed forces down the Raj Path—that city’s version of the Champs Élysses. Likewise, there are more modest gatherings at schools and public buildings across the country. Such was the intimate ceremony at JM Higher Secondary Jenna and I attended.

We arrived not knowing what to expect. The headmistress the day before had told us attendance was voluntary. When we asked if we could come to the Republic Day ceremony anyway, she gave us a look that said, “Why would you want to?” but then said, “If you like.”

A smattering of teachers showed up and maybe 100 students, most of whom were members of the Indian Scouts—a co-ed version of the American Boy Scouts—dressed in their blue and purple uniforms, boys with cloth berets and girls with sharp two-piece suits belted tightly at the waist.

We stood around the courtyard with the other staff members while more students slowly trickled onto the campus. At 9:30, the Scout leader—a young teacher who I had seen around campus but whose name I did not know—called the assembly to order. He called over the other teachers, and gave swift, clipped instructions in Malayalam for the students to line up in front of the flagpole.

He walked over to me and took my arm. He said in a low voice, “You are a guest of honor here. Would you please help hoist the flag?”

A simple enough procedure, I thought. I had done it plenty of times as a Boy Scout myself when I was younger. The Scout leader guided me to the flagpole, where I lined up next to him and a few other staff members in front of the ordered lines of students. They all came rigidly to attention when the Scout leader barked a sudden command.

“Attention!”

The students straightened their backs and thrust their arms down to their sides, their fingers pointing to the ground. A look of grave seriousness overcame their faces, their lips pressed together, their brows furrowed.

“Prayer!” the Scout leader commanded. A group of five girl scouts, huddled in a semi-circle at the front of the assemblage, sang quickly through the school’s prayer, the same one that is sung at the start of every school day.

“At ease!” the Scout leader ordered after the prayer. The students collectively put their hands behind their backs and parted one leg to create the position of military parade rest.

The Scout leader spoke a few guttural words in Malayalam. Some students nodded and all followed him with their eyes. A few boys at the back peered momentarily up at the bright golden sky overhead.

I heard the Scout leader mutter the words, “English teacher-ah..." in the midst of his speech, which drew my attention. I saw him flick his head in my direction, then he glanced down at his palm, which had my name written on it in black ink. “English teacher-ah…Kyle,” he said. My name came out sounding like: “Kii-eel.”

The Scout leader glanced at me, nodded affirmatively and began to undo the rope at the bottom of the flagpole. A group of students had already connected the flag to the hoisting rope, so all I had to do was grasp the rope and pull the slack end so the flag was pulled to the top. As it rose, the Indian tri-color unfolded to reveal the bluish circle of the spinning wheel, the symbol for India’s Independence struggle.

I remembered my Scoutmaster’s instructions from when I was a boy, “Slow going up, fast coming down.” I made the effort to raise this foreign flag with all the deliberateness I could muster with 100 pairs of eyes staring at my back.

When it reached the top, the Scout leader tied the rope off. Then he patted me on the shoulder, “You must say a few words.”

No I mustn’t, I thought. But at the same time, I felt refusing to speak at a patriotic rally when I was the ‘guest of honor’ would be like turning down tea at a British manor. Possible, just very rude.

I cleared my throat. I looked out at the small congregation of students, still at ease in their orderly lines. I began uncertainly.

“You all know me. I’m Kyle…the Spoken English teacher. Some of you know my wife Jenna,” I motioned to Jenna who was standing off to the side, in a vain attempt to get her to join me. She smartly demurred.

“Um…we are very happy to be here and to share this special day with you,” I said, trying to keep my sentences simple and short. “This is an important day. This is a holiday. I hope you enjoy your holiday. And think about all the people in India who have come before you. Think of all the history about this day. Think about what made this country what it is. I feel very lucky to be here, and we are very happy to be a part of this. Thank you for letting me put up your flag on this special day.”

Not exactly the Gettysburg Address but not bad for being off-the-cuff either. I nodded to the Scout leader that I was finished.

“Now: clap!” he commanded, and the students broke out into a rhythmic series of claps that pierced the quiet windy morning. Clap! Clap! Clap-clap-clap! Clap! Clap! Clap-clap-clap!

Another teacher sang a traditional Hindi song and the event ended with the students and teachers together singing the Indian national anthem Jaya Hind.

As they sang, the flag I had helped raise flapped soundlessly in the breeze, its orange, white and green bars unfurling over the sight of Kerala palm trees. I peered up at it and mentally edited my 'bucket list'.