The Uniform

The wind is howling as the students file in through the open gates, hustling and bustling down the corridors. Friends greet each other with a hug or a playful punch. Scared newcomers pass through the gates, looking around nervously. Senior students stand tall, proudly surveying the surroundings like predatory eagles on the lookout for prey.

Soon, the bell rings and everybody runs...except for one boy. My boy. I hug him and he feels so tiny in my arms; I cradle him like the cherished child he is. Then he pulls away and I feel his absence like a cold wind. I want to wrap myself around him...to hold onto him and protect him.

Though excited with his new backpack, shoes, and uniform, my little boy is still afraid of the unknown. Just before going inside, he looks back and waves at me. In his new grey shorts and blue shirt, he looks so fresh. And so very young.

As he turns to go, he steps on a small pebble and stumbles. Instinctively, my hands shoot out in an attempt to steady him. He catches himself and stands straight. Without turning back, he walks in to join the teacher who is waiting patiently to assist the newly-joined children like him.

As I watch him walk into the new school on his first day, with his head held high despite the butterflies in his stomach, I struggle to control my tears as I wave goodbye.

* * *

As I stand at the airport terminal today, waiting for him to emerge, I remember that day from the past so vividly. Then, I spot him and wave frantically. I can see him searching the crowd for me. on sighting me, he smiles broadly, his eyes clear and reflecting his smile.

He strides towards me, a backpack hanging off his shoulder. Those shoulders are broad and strong, highlighted by his camouflage uniform. I can see his youth in his sprightly gait. Within seconds, he reaches me and scoops me up in a bear hug.

It’s my turn to feel small in his arms now. The world melts away as my boy holds tight to my frail, aging body. This time around, I do not hold back my tears. Feeling his shirt become damp, he pulls back to wipe my eyes and laughs at his sentimental mom.

I admire the decorations adorning the front of his shirt. He has come a long way from that first day at school, eventually trading in one uniform for another and following in the footsteps of his deceased father.

My chest swells in pride, knowing that I am the widow and mother of Officers in the Indian Army.