Chole bature hain(Saaqib Bashir Sheikh) "Chole bature hain?" ("Do you have chole bature?") he asked at several roadside stalls selling tea, biryani, and other snacks. I wondered to myself if chole bature really existed at these places, or if he was just asking so they’d say no, and we wouldn't end up eating anything.

But I’m not actually writing about chole bature. That day, I learned some of the most beautiful lessons and felt energized like never before. It was such a memorable day that I felt compelled to write about it.

I was accompanied by Mr. Tariq Teeli, a staff member from our school. We were on our way to participate in an event at Girls Higher Secondary School Nawakadal, Srinagar. I assumed it was just a practice session, so I prepared accordingly. I had already gone through one audition before this.

Mr. Tariq lives in a place called Wakhilbalan or Ogjibalan. I'm not even sure if it exists on the map. It’s a small village near Nowgam Kuthar, Anantnag. Our school is also situated in Nowgam. He took a sumo from Nowgam and asked me to wait on the road at Khundru, my beautiful village that I’m so proud of. It was lightly raining, and my mom insisted I take an umbrella.

"No, it’ll just be a burden. The weather will clear up soon," I said.

Mr. Tariq stopped the sumo, and I got in. As we reached Anantnag, it started raining heavily. He looked around for another sumo to take us to Srinagar. We found one, but the front and middle seats were already occupied, leaving only the back seats available. Tariq preferred a front or middle seat. In another sumo, a woman occupied the middle seat with her three young sons. Tariq requested her to adjust, and we managed to share the middle seat with her and the children. They were among the naughtiest kids I’ve ever seen. One of them was a small baby who was still breastfeeding. He wasn’t talking or walking yet, so he stayed in his mother’s lap. The other two were in lower kindergarten or something like that. I’m not sure because I skipped those grades. I went straight from KG to first grade. Anyway, they were kids.

Sometimes they’d climb onto Tariq’s legs, and sometimes mine. They were constantly talking, and so was the baby, who, although he couldn’t speak, would shout for no reason and make weird noises. One of the older kids was especially mischievous, constantly zipping and unzipping his jacket. His mother scolded him to stop, as did Tariq, the other passengers, and even I, but he ignored us all.

“He’s Mushtaq sir’s brother,” his mother said to him, pointing to Tariq.

“Yeah, and he’s my teacher. Don’t act up in front of him,” I added.

“Whoever he is, I don’t fear anyone,” the kid replied.

Sometimes he would annoy the driver or the man in the front seat who was busy on his phone. When the driver had had enough, he asked the mother to control her son.

Tariq eventually grabbed the boy’s arms, gently restraining him. Soon, the kid fell asleep in Tariq’s lap.

We reached Dal Gate, Srinagar, where the driver dropped off all the passengers since they aren't allowed to enter the city. It was pouring in Srinagar, and we had no umbrella. Tariq looked around, but there was nothing available. We decided to walk to our destination. As we got completely drenched, Tariq suggested, “Let’s buy an umbrella.” However, we couldn’t find anyone selling one. We walked a long distance as the rain continued to pour. Eventually, Tariq had no choice but to look for a vehicle. He stopped an electric rickshaw and asked the young driver to take us to Nawakadal Higher Secondary School.

“I need 100 rupees,” the driver said.

“Could you take a little less?” Tariq asked.

“No.”

“Alright, take us there,” Tariq agreed.
The journey in the electric rickshaw was quite an adventure. We laughed a lot, especially because it didn’t have any shock absorbers, making it feel like it might collapse every time we hit a pothole. The driver was in such a hurry that we often thought our ride was about to end abruptly. Whenever someone crossed in front of us, I didn’t worry about them, I worried about us. A collision would definitely flip the rickshaw over. Somehow, though, we made it to our destination. We sat down and waited for the program to start.

It was there that I discovered it wasn’t just a practice session. We were in for a new round of trials. Students from different higher secondary schools had come to participate. Those who had been in the anchoring trials earlier were now competing in the welcome speech trials. It didn’t seem fair; everyone was there to compete, and I had come prepared for practice, only to find the situation was entirely different. People started gathering one by one.

I met a teacher I had encountered a few days earlier—a lively and funny woman, the kind you rarely meet.

"Janu, how are you?" she asked as she walked in.

"This is the boy I was talking about," she said to the other teachers who were already there.

The chief guest was the Director of the School Education Department, Kashmir. They were waiting for him. Once he arrived, the program began. It turned out these trials were to select students for the UT-level Teacher’s Day program on September 5th at SKICC Srinagar. My audition was for the welcome speech, and we all gave our speeches. I delivered mine well, and as I stepped off the stage, everyone congratulated me.

The welcome speech participants had finished, but the program continued. A teacher I had never met before approached me and said, “Come with me.” She led me outside the auditorium.

"Are you comfortable with me?" she asked.

"Yes, ma’am."

"You spoke amazingly. You’re the winner in my eyes. If I were selecting, I would choose you. 'Main chahti hoon aap hi select ho' (I want you to get selected). Just work on a few things..." She shared many positive remarks and motivated me a great deal.

As the program concluded, the Director of School Education, Kashmir, took the podium and announced that everyone had performed well, so he would decide the selection through a lucky draw. He said we’d be informed of the results later. I didn’t like his decision; it didn’t seem fair. I felt like they didn’t want a student from a village school to be selected. The rest of the students were from Srinagar, and I had a feeling the lucky draw would favour them.

After the program, we were outside the auditorium when the funny teacher approached me again, joined by the other teacher who had spoken to me earlier.

"Don’t be disappointed," the funny teacher said. "Your future is very bright, and you spoke the best. This is just a small thing."

"You have other wonderful opportunities ahead," the other teacher added.

"Yes, 'ye mahfilain aap ke liye nahi hai. Aap kisi badi cheez ke liye bane ho' (You’re not meant for these events; you’re meant for something bigger). This is nothing. Focus on that and prepare for something big," the funny teacher continued.

"Aaa, 'cxai kya namastay chuya karun' (Do you have to do the namaste)? You aren't meant for that," the other teacher added. "And those who judged you today, I tell you, one day you’ll be in their place."

As our conversation ended, Mr. Tariq and I started walking towards the exit. Suddenly, someone called from behind, "Saaqib!"

“Yes, ma’am?” I responded. It was a beautiful teacher I had met earlier at GHSS Kothibagh. She had even saved my contact number when we talked there. She had shared many valuable things with me back then as well.

"I’m fine, ma’am," I replied.

"You spoke wonderfully. Don’t be disappointed. You’ll do amazing things in the future," she said, sharing more encouraging words. She turned to Mr. Tariq and said, "You’re blessed to have Saaqib. He is a gem."

Their words filled me with energy and inspired me to strive for greatness. Teachers are truly blessings; nothing can replace them. Their words still echo in my ears.

By then, we were hungry, and Mr. Tariq looked around and found a shop just outside the higher secondary school.

"Chole bature hain?" ("Do you have chole bature?") he asked.

“No,” they replied.

"Let’s try another place," Tariq said.

We boarded another electric rickshaw, which was again full of fun. At one point, we even had to get out because it got stuck in a pothole. Eventually, we reached another location. Tariq approached a stall and asked again, "Chole bature hain?"

“No,” the vendor replied.

We boarded yet another rickshaw to reach a sumo stand. When we arrived, Tariq asked at another stall, "Chole bature hain?"

“No,” they replied.

I couldn’t help but wonder why, if he was so hungry, he didn’t just eat something else. I didn’t even know what chole bature were; maybe we call it something different. I started to think Tariq was trying to save money by asking for something that didn’t exist.

We finally reached Anantnag and went to a shop where Tariq asked again, "Chole bature hain?"

“No,” they said.

I laughed. By now, I expected Tariq to suggest we eat at Achabal, which is two kilometers away from my village. We tried one more stall, and this time, when Tariq asked, "Chole bature hain?" the answer was, “Yes.”

I laughed even more. Tariq was caught—he had no choice now. We sat down and ate chole bature, though I only ate a little because I wasn’t feeling well. Tariq even asked for more chole. Finally, I saw what chole bature were. Later, we headed home, and I arrived just after the Maghrib prayers.

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