At The School Gate

Opening
We humans are different moods which capture the same things differently , and that is the beauty of life.

Source :- (https://www.icp.org/browse/archive/objects/children-in-school-walking-with-a-traditional-japanese-gate-in-the-background)

At The School Gate

Lately, I’ve started to feel that we humans are just different moods walking through the same world. The road stays the same, the buildings stand where they always stood, and the same people wait at the same corners every evening. But depending on the day, everything feels different. On a bad day, even a tree looks annoying, as if it’s standing there just to irritate you. On a better day, the same tree suddenly feels poetic, like it holds a meaning you almost understand.

Maybe that is the beauty of life and nature, that nothing outside really changes, but our moods keep repainting the same scenes again and again.

Today, on my way back, the same school gate managed to look interesting for a change.

The scooter stood just in front of the school gate. An aunty leaned beside it, resting her weight on the seat. Autorickshaws lined the right side, and a few motorbikes cluttered the left. The road looked exactly as it always did.

Every day I pass this way. The same gate, the same vehicles, the same waiting crowd. Usually I don’t even notice it. It is just another stop or scene on the way back to the hostel.

I had spent the afternoon chasing a stubborn bug that refused to get fixed. I only noticed the time when the internet was cut off at 4:30 PM. By then, everyone else had already left. I packed my laptop and started the familiar walk back.

Motorbikes and cars rumbled past me, along with a few KSRTC and APSRTC buses. Birds were returning to their nests far above, just like me.

When I reached the school gate, the same scene suddenly felt alive.

The autorickshaw drivers tapped on their phones. Some watched YouTube reels that caught the attention of curious children, others chatted on calls, and a few shouted to passing pedestrians. Inside a couple of autorickshaws, children sat with notebooks open on their knees, pencils moving while they waited. The aunty by the scooter adjusted her saree and kept glancing toward the gate.

People stood in small clusters,some chatting, some scrolling on their phones, a few slumped in exhaustion. A father held his little son close as the boy wriggled, trying to run toward the gate.

Then the bell rang.

Children burst out of the gate like a small wave. The father lifted his son and pointed toward the crowd. The aunty straightened herself. As the children found their parents, the parents hoisted their backpacks.

Laughter filled the road. Some children jumped down and ran ahead. The father set his son on the ground, and he ran to join his sister. Parents straightened their clothes, grabbed bags, and exchanged quick goodbyes. The aunty lifted her son, settled him onto the scooter seat, and asked how his day was. Autorickshaw drivers restarted their engines and called out to new passengers. The children inside them packed their bags. Birds circled once more before disappearing behind the school roof with the fading sun.

I walked back to the hostel.

Somehow, the world didn’t feel so hectic after all.