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The New School

It was the summer of 1969. Haha. No it was the summer of 2014.
The sun was scorching hot. Intense heat waves were being transmitted from the east. Power breakouts were taking their toll on the masses. The sound of generators was spreading noise pollution making it impossible to nap in the afternoons. The circumstances in Lahore were testing the patience of the common masses. It was a ridiculous summer, nothing like the summer of ’69, full of fun and frolick.
Mona had started her job as assistant librarian at one of the noblest institute’s of Pakistan-The New School abbreviated TNS. The school had a massive building. Blue, orange and grey were the primary colours of the building. It had an international baccalaureate system. A project based learning school where the comprehension of the students was tested and provided them with an understanding of the practical world. It was an institute which was high in demand. All the parents wanted to enroll their children here.
Started in 2007, TNS had achieved a spectacular reputation and had become highly competitive. Where once they were seeking to build their student body now they had the power to either accept a student or vice versa.
The library had been built on three floors. It was a huge project. The topmost floor was meant for the Middle Years Programme, the second floor for the Primary Years and the first floor for the Early Years. The library was going to start functioning from September 2014.
Mona was responsible for the Early Years Program. She worked relentlessly in the unbearable heat to establish the catalogue system of the library. Once all the books were entered into the catalogue, Mona moved on to do the décor. She searched for ideas on Pinterest and other websites on how to furnish and adorn the floor such that it would interest the children. Creative ideas such as building a vocabulary wall, stringing quotes by dr seuss and other authors, setting up a world map, and hanging book covers and paper flags from the roof all came in a flux. She executed the ideas working hard to achieve perfection.
She then established the E-library adding all types of games, documentaries and recipes for small children. She worked long hours and with resilience. The library was established with in no time. The heads came to see the work done and appreciated it.
However, there is dirty politics everywhere. The colleagues who were once friends started getting jealous of the ideas being put forward by Mona. Mona was bipolar. However she struggled hard to overcome her problem. When finally she had settled in well the game began. People began to hide her efforts and misguide her with the result that she was terminated. Mona was a bright girl. However, successive firings had left her far behind in the race against time. Whilst in other cases her depression ate her up, in this case she was genuinely working hard. She was enjoying her work and she stayed away from all sorts of politics and bad things.
She had just picked up pace when she was asked to leave. Mona was upset and shattered. Each time she climbed one step, people threw her back 10 steps.
Mona was a straightforward girl. She did not know how to lie or be diplomatic. She was honest and a workaholic. She did not even demand a figure of salary. She accepted whatever they gave her. She was just hungry for knowledge and appreciation. She just wanted to receive some sort of recognition for the efforts she had put in. People were stealing her ideas and passing them off as their own. It was after being terminated that she realized, the game that had been played with her.
But Mona did not let the perpetrators of crime get away that easily. She continued to email her heads till she got justice. She understood the fact that without raising her voice against injustice, she will be used as a doormat over and over again. She wanted justice and she wanted those who hurt her to be punished.
Moral: Always ask for justice. There are people who will try to bring your morale down. Don’t let them win. Be strong and fight for your right.

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