chapter 9

Your son is amongst those 2.5 percent of the world's population who have an IQ of more than 150. With this level of intelligence, whatever he does may be extraordinary, but not unexpected. Salar had been at the International School for only a week when Sikandar Usman and his wife had been called over by the school administration. The school psychologist had informed them about Salar's various IQ tests in which his performance and score had amazed his teachers and also the psychologist. He was the only child in the school with such a high IQ and very soon he became the focus of everyone's attention.

During his meeting with Mr and Mrs Usman, the psychologist got another opportunity to dig out more information about Salar's childhood. He had been studying Salar's case with much interest which was personal rather than professional-it was the first time he had come across such an IQ level.

Sikandar Usman remembered well that when Salar was just two years old, he was remarkably fluent in his speech, unlike other boys of his age, and very often he came up with things that left him and his wife wondering.

One day he was speaking to his brother on the phone while watching TV, and Salar was playing nearby. After the call ended, Sikandar saw Salar pick up the phone and say, 'Hello, Uncle, this is Salar.'

Sikandar watched him as he happily chatted away. 'I am well. How are you?" Sikandar thought he was play-acting. The next sentence made him sit up. "Baba is right here, watching TV. No, he did not call-I called you."

'Salar, who are you talking to?" asked Sikandar.

"Uncle Shahnawaz,' he replied. Sikandar took the phone from him. He thought Salar may have dialed at random or else pressed the redial button.

'Salar has dialed the number, I'm sorry,' he apologized to his brother.

'How could he do that? Isn't he too young?" His brother was surprised. He probably pressed the redial button accidentally. Sikandar switched off the phone and put it back in place.

Salar, who was quietly listening to this conversation, went and picked up the phone again-Sikandar looked at him as he expertly dialed Shahnawaz's number, just as an adult would. He was shocked he did. not expect a two-year-old to do this, He reached out to disconnect the call.

"Salar, do you know Shahnawaz's number?" he asked.

"Yes,' came the calm reply.

"What is it?"

Salar rattled it off. Sikandar stared at him he did not think Salar knew how to count, let alone remember a string of digits. 'Who taught you this number?"

'I learnt it myself."

"How?"

You just dialed it." Salar looked at him.

'Do you know how to count?"

Ves.

"How far can you count?"

"Till a hundred.'

Show me how."

Like a machine, Salar counted from one to one hundred, in one breath. Sikandar could feel knots in his stomach. "I am going to dial a number now, and when I disconnect you call the same number,' he said. 'OK.' Salar was enjoying this game. Sikandar dialed a number then switched off the phone. Salar immediately took the receiver and dialed the same number as confidently as his father had. Sikandar's head was spinning. Salar could remember any numbers that he dialed, and could then dial them accurately. He had a photographic memory. Sikandar called his wife. 'I haven't taught him numbers," she said. Yesterday 1 just said out the numbers one to hundred. But I did get him some books a few days ago.'

Sikandar asked Salar to count to a hundred-this he did while his mother watched in amazement. Convinced that the child was far ahead in intelligence for his age, they enrolled him in school much earlier than they had his siblings. He excelled in school.

This child needs your special attention, because compared to children of average intelligence, such children have a more sensitive and complicated nature. If he has a good upbringing, he will be an asset to your family indeed to the country. Sikandar Usman and his wife listened with pride to the psychologist who was a foreigner. They began to give Salar preferential treatment at home: he became the most beloved and favorite child and they were very proud of his achievements.

At school, he was promoted to the next class after just one term, and then again at the end of the term he was promoted yet again. Sikandar was perturbed-he did not want Salar to be sitting for his O levels and A levels at the age of eight and ten. Considering the speed of his progress, this seemed quite likely.

I would like you to let my son spend a full year in class before he is promoted to the next level. I do not want him to race through his academic career in school at this abnormal speed. You can increase his subjects and activities, but let him progress normally towards promotion."

So, Salar was not moved up mid-term; his talents and energy were channeled into sports and other extra-curricular activities. Chess, tennis, golf and music interested him the most, and he took an active part in whatever happened in school-if he did not participate in something it was only because he did not find it challenging enough.

Javeria, give me Professor Imtinan's notes, will you?" Imama asked Javeria who was studying. Javeria handed her a notebook which she began to leaf through it. Javeria continued with her reading, but suddenly turned to Imama, as if she had remembered something.

Why have you stopped taking notes during lectures?" Imama looked up. 'I would if I could understand them."

What do you mean? You don't understand Prof. Imtinan's lectures?"

Javeria was surprised. "He's such a good teacher.'

Did I say he wasn't? It's just that...' Imama trailed off, distracted. She

turned back to the notebook. Javeria looked at her closely. Aren't you getting absent-minded lately? Are you disturbed about something?" She put away her book; her tone was caring.

"Disturbed? Imama muttered. 'No...'

"You have dark circles under your eyes. Last night-I think it was three o'clock-when I woke up, you had not yet slept.'

"I was studying.' Imama replied defensively.

"No, you weren't. Your book was in front of you but your thoughts were somewhere else. Is there a problem?"

What problem could there be?"

"Then why have you become so quiet?" Javeria ignored Imama's attempts to stall the conversation.

Now, why should I be at a loss for words? Imama tried to smile. I'm

talkative as ever."

"It's not just me, but others too have noticed that you have been disturbed, Javeria said seriously.

"It's nothing-just the usual tension because of studies."

I don't believe you. After all we're all together you cannot be any more tense than us. Javeria shook her head. Imama sighed she was getting fed up with this.

"Is everything all right at home?"

Yes, absolutely fine.'

Have you quarreled with Asjad?"

Why would I quarrel with him?" Imama responded in the same tone. But there can still be differences and...' Imama cut her off in mid-sentence.

When I am telling you that there's no problem, why can't you believe me? In all these years, what have I not shared with you or what do you not know about me? Then why are you questioning me as if I were a criminal? Imama was losing her temper.

Javeria was confused. Of course, I believe you. I thought you were holding back because I might worry. That's all." Javeria, somewhat contrite, got up and went back to her table and resumed reading her book. After some time she yawned and turned. towards Imama. She was sitting up, her back to the wall and notebook

in hand, but her eyes were fixed on the wall in front.