Fear

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Thirty two pairs of curious eyes followed me as I walked across the classroom on my first day of school. It was the middle of the term and I was taking the place of a teacher who had resigned. “Good morning, how are you feeling today?” I asked. The children seemed to be puzzled. Nevertheless, they answered “Fine ma’am, thank you.” I could see that they were exchanging glances, their eyes communicating in a language I could not fathom. Were they up to some trouble?

Since it was the first day I wasn't too keen on beginning a lesson. First, I needed to get to know them and make them feel comfortable. So with a smile, I started asking their names and things they liked. The tension in the air was palpable. Some of the kids didn't even look at me in the eye. Did they have trouble accepting me as their new teacher?

Things continued this way for a few more days though we were well into our Math lessons. I didn't give up hope. Then one day the unexpected happened.

“Akanksha!” I called out to a girl in my class.

“Yyyes ma’am…..ma’am I am sorry. Please ma’am. I will learn up.” She was trembling, her words reflecting some hidden fear.

“But what are you sorry for?” It was my turn to be confused.

She looked down without answering when a boy spoke up “Please don’t use that stick ma’am.”

I followed the boy’s gaze and saw a cane on the windowsill. I picked it up and threw it in the bin. “We don’t need this.” I smiled.

Suddenly the clouds of fear parted and I saw sunny faces. I was sure that the rest of the term would be full of fun and learning.





Linking to 
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Brave

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Her heart swelled with pride as she watched her daughter picking vegetables from their small but well-kept garden. She thought of the little one as the greatest blessing in her life, her sole companion. They lived in a very small house amidst the lush greenery of a small village in the Western Ghats, but even with the limited resources, they lived a life of happiness and endless love.

She ran a small tailoring unit where she sat for hours together, cutting up cloth and making garments along with two other women she had employed. She grew vegetables, kept a few hens and taught neighbouring children in the evenings. Her daughter too pitched in to help though she was all but twelve.

It had been brave of her to stick to her decision of keeping her baby knowing that the journey of an unwed mother was going to be an arduous one. Her parents had cajoled, threatened and finally disowned her to save themselves from embarrassment and public disgrace. Her boyfriend had asked her to be practical. But she knew she was a fighter who would never give up. Not even if it meant the end of her education, luxurious life and the comfort of loving relationships.

She never regretted her choice. In fact she was even more determined to build a new life from scratch with her daughter. Her mind never once wavered even upon being tortured by wagging tongues. She fought her way through life like a brave warrior, without doubts, never turning back.

As her girl came in with a basket full of freshly picked greens, they shared a hug and headed to the kitchen. There was work to be done.

Linking to 
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The World Within My Blanket

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“Shhhhhh…..give me your hand and haul yourself into my world quietly. It is a tender, delicate world in here, under the cosy comfort of my blanket. It is a magical world that you will soon find is too good to be true. I love making new friends, and I’m glad tonight it is you. Come into my world beneath the warm folds of my star studded blanket. A world I have created just to invite friends over and share my fascinating tales. I love telling stories. Be my guest tonight and allow yourself to be enchanted by the beauty of my world.

I am like any ordinary 10 year old girl you can imagine. I live with my parents and little brother in a wonderful house by the brook.  My parents think I’m a kid but I think I’m quite grown up; at least enough to understand all that happens around me. Under the starry blanket, the sky of my world, I live a happy life with a loving family and many friends.

My parents, you know are the best in the world. My classmate Liz says they look beautiful and warm. My brother and I mean the world to them. Both of them are doctors, the kind who speak to people about their problems and try to fix them. I thought only God could do that, from above the twinkling stars. Don’t you think that’s a cool thing to do? No matter how busy they are, they spend a lot of time with us. A lot. We often go on picnics, to the movies, the circus and once in a year we go by plane to a faraway place. We play together, have fun, invite my friends over, cuddle up and read books, go fishing and do so many things together.

My dad and mom I think are the best of friends. Sometimes I feel they are in love! Like the older kids in my school. They hold hands and talk a lot. But what makes my friends jealous is that they never yell at each other or go mad at me. I can tell them my fears and even share some secrets. They listen. They would do anything to keep me happy, I’m sure. Dear friend in my blanket, don’t you think they’re awesome? Hold my hand and tell me you’d love to have a family as great as mine. I really hope you do."

---------------------------

Outside, I hear the click of a door. I poke my head out. Dad is home. I strain my ears to catch the tiniest of whispers. But I don’t have to. The familiar yells, clattering of china, a few sobs, menacing threats and a flow of words I had been asked never to mouth, pulled me out of my blanket sewn with stars. The world outside my world was so different. Which one is real? I don’t want to know. I disappear into the reassuring warmth of my blanket and pull it tightly around me. It is such a beautiful world in here.

Image courtesy: Google

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge.

Linking to : http://www.writetribe.com/write-tribe-pro-blogger-challenge/

The Special Gift

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The joy of holding gifts unwrapped

faded soon and left me trapped

in a cluttered cage of useless things

I’d fly away from had I wings.

Toys and treats, cards and games

Books and stuff with confusing names.

Parental love made the list endless;

what I truly wanted none did guess.

Did you ask me for a clue

before concluding you knew

what would truly give me joy?

No, it’s not the market’s latest toy.

Next time you wonder what to gift

I hope your attitude sees a shift,

it is clearly your time that I need,

please do pay this wish some heed.

Hold my hand, let’s have some fun

as we play and picnic in the sun,

tell me stories, join me in a race;

say you love me in better ways.

I’ll grow out of all things money can buy,

pleasures of possession will soon turn dry.

But the time you shared I’ll always cherish

like our mutual love that will never perish.

This post was written as part of the Ultimate blog challenge and the Write Tribe Pro Blogger Challenge
http://writetribe.com/write-tribe-pro-blogger-challenge/

Life Lesson

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The smiles I found

on faces around

That glint in the eye

like a star in the sky

The whys, the whens

The hows and the thens……

The voices crystal clear

Unspoilt by fear

The rise after a fall

like it was nothing at all

The dainty hand

dotted by sand……

Taught me how to live-

to love, laugh and forgive.

Image courtesy: Google

                                     

P.S- Working as a teacher has been one of the most enriching experiences in my life. To all my children who have taught me a lesson or two.

I am participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge

The "good girl" illusion

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My dear granddaughter,

As I write this, the house is in total silence; you are definitely up to some mischief. You have not bothered to slip into the pink frock mummy has given you. Your focus is on the unscrewed door knob which you are struggling to fix with a screw driver, ignoring pretty Barbie. I silently pray that in the years to come, you stay the same, doing what you love without getting trapped in the illusion of being a “good girl”.

I have talked to you about good manners, good habits and good behaviour. But I warn you, the “good girl” image that society will doggedly police you to attain, is a dangerous one. I hope you never end up being one, for it is a black hole that will suck out your dreams, vision and self-worth. You don’t believe me? I talk from experience, because till a few years back I was that good girl, chiseling out from myself my ambitions, ideals, likes and dislikes to smooth myself to fit into society’s definition of a “good girl”.

I know you’re confused. Let me explain. In my childhood, in order to be “good” I had to be subservient, suppress my loud laughter, take dance lessons in spite of my liking for sports, clean my brother’s room while he played cricket, among many other things. As a teenager, I had to learn to cook and embroider though I was not interested, take up arts in college though I dreamt of becoming a mathematician and eat only after the menfolk had eaten, no matter how hungry I was. When I adhered to all these expectations, I became a “good girl” and I thought I was happy.

When I was in college I got my first love note and once, a man stalked me passing lewd comments. But because I was a good girl, kept quiet, changed my wardrobe instead and wore winter clothes in scorching summer as I was told that women who wore skirts and sleeveless tops “asked” for rape. When a stranger came to see me with his family to seek me in marriage, I agreed without talking to him or worrying about my education that would remain incomplete. The elders in the family were pleased, they called me a “good daughter” and I thought I was happy.

Marriage too was about adjustments (to say the least) and they inevitably had to be from my side. I juggled multiple roles and was taken for granted by my husband, in-laws and even my own children. Soon I forgot my tastes in food, clothes, movies, hobbies and everything else. I blindly practiced customs and rituals, knowing too well that they had lost their relevance. I hardly met up with my friends and when I did, I wondered with guilt if my family was running smoothly in my absence. When I lost myself in devotion towards my family I was called a “good daughter-in-law” and I thought I was happy.

Now when I look back at the life I've lived, I see only unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams and a totally different me. It pains me to think that I was just a puppet, in the hands of my parents, husband, in-laws and society. I danced to their rhythm, because a disobedient puppet with a mind of its own is a considered dysfunctional and would be discarded. I wanted to be loved, appreciated and belong. So I danced when the strings tugged at me.

When I realized my folly it was too late. So here I am, a “good grandmother”, writing to set you free from the strings society will bind you with. Remember that “good girl” is a mirage, a trap, a mere tag you get in exchange for your life.

Set yourself free,
Granny

This post was written as part of the Ultimate blog challenge and Indispire 

Define good girls... Everybody has an opinion about a good girl...so whats yours? #GoodGirls

In the lap of nature

Taken on one of our trips

Being amidst nature in my opinion, is the most soothing, refreshing and energising experiences one can have, second only to the warmth of a mother’s lap. Born and brought up in a place where we were engulfed by swaying coconut palms, ponds studded with wild scented lilies in the purple-green background of  water hyacinths and vast open fields blanketed by wild grass and touch-me- not that would fill up during rains, creating a playground for frogs, crickets and snakes, this lap of nature rightfully belonged to me too. I would spend hours playing in the grass, feeding cows, petting them, collecting seeds, stones and just about anything that fancied me. It was the green patch in front of our house that I ran to when I did something mischievous and my irritated mother chased me.

Image courtesy:Google

Every inch of our modest garden nurtured something green- no, not manicured lawns and the yellow -green Duranta hedges (they are too business-like and formal), but wild flowers, climbers, hibiscus, jasmine a few vegetables and other plants that we mercilessly dismiss as “weeds”. My uncle and I would collect lotuses and lilies and arrange them in a jug of water to be able to adore their beauty even indoors, just as people would now click photographs and set it as their desktop backgrounds and screen savers. Study time always meant going to the balcony or terrace (unless it was too sunny or heavily pouring) with a steaming cup of tea and snacks and reading at leisure till twilight, when most of the light was gradually gobbled up by the approaching night.

Image courtesy: Google

The gentle breeze laden with freshness, the endlessly falling dry leaves, the whispering leaves, the bright green blades of grass studded with dew drops that shone with a brilliance comparable to diamonds, the golden sunshine illuminating all the minuscule particles in its path into a glittering dance, the humming bees, the flapping birds calling out to one another, the butterflies and dragonflies in their graceful dance; they all seemed to be claiming their share of nature, their mother’s lap to be a part of her. There is no end to these memories just like the infinite horizon.

Image courtesy: Google

Things are a lot different now with apartments, homes and building complexes dotting the view from my terrace and balcony. Fewer trees and gardens, courtyards sealed with concrete, rarity of birds and bees have become so common that we are all easily getting used to it. This makes a park or a small green patch all the more precious. During free time, I just rush to the nearby park, sit on one of the benches and absorb all the beauty I see around hoping to fully charge my batteries. I read books, dream and even write some of my blog posts sitting there. I am determined to spend a lot of time in the diminishing pieces of nature’s lap before it is too late. So dear whoever you are, grab every chance to sleep and play on her lap and even better, make one for yourself.

Share a Tiffin

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With just a day left for the Blog to Feed a Child campaign to end, I thought of writing one more post to do my tiny bit in eliminating classroom hunger. The number of young stomachs that go hungry in India is huge and classroom hunger is one of the reasons behind students dropping out of schools. Want of money for meals drives children away from school, to work as labourers, mechanics, cleaners and cooks.

If the RTE and all other campaigns towards ensuring better and equal opportunities in education for all children of India are to bear fruit, elimination of classroom hunger is a must. The government already has a mid-day meal programme running and several NGOs notably the Akshaya Patra foundation are doing a great job in this regard. But the number of mouths to be fed far exceeds the output of these community kitchens and there have been serious flaws in the execution of the mid-day meal programme of the government.

So it is time to share responsibility with the government and do our bit as voluntary groups, corporates, NGOs social workers or just as a citizen who cares. Here is a suggestion for what we can do as individuals at a more personal level than donating for the cause.

Sharing Your Tiffin

The basic idea is to encourage children to volunteer to carry extra tiffin box to share with a needy class/school mate. Share a tiffin programme can be of use especially in private schools which enrol students from underprivileged backgrounds through the RTE act. Very often being a minority in private schools, these children face ridicule and isolation by teachers and students that makes them drop out. Added to this the problems of poverty and hunger makes them flee from the intellectual demands of academics. Due to the small number of such children in these schools, there is hardly any NGO that supplies them food.

Nutritional and social inclusion of children can be made possible if sharing a tiffin box is encouraged. It involves other children of the school (along with their parents) volunteering to take up responsibility of sharing a meal (nutritional food) with one class mate from a less privileged background for a certain period of time. Given the diversity of eating habits, number of kids admitted through RTE and their needs, the programme can be implemented differently in different contexts. The whole idea is to bring together kids, socially and emotionally over a tiffin box.

    I am going to #BlogToFeedAChild with Akshaya Patra and BlogAdda.

Rightfully yours

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Dear children of my cursed womb

I beg of you from my newly dug tomb,

to see how senseless was this fight

among tender hands that once held tight.

Those endless days of joy and laughter

veiled so well what was to come after,

that I prided in the perfectness

of the happy family I would witness.

 But age and ailment suddenly pranced

and wore me out as they advanced,

snapping the threads of brotherhood

I’d woven you with since childhood.

When you sought a fancied treasure

my grief and rue knew no measure.

This life of numbers that you lead

can never count the tear drops I still bleed.

When you surrounded me on my bed

I saw hungry vultures wanting me dead.

To the pain and grief I was ready to succumb

when I saw no love in your eyes so numb.

You abruptly had ample time at hand

to sever a precious piece of land.

With great passion you contemplated,

discussed, debated till you felt elated.

“The house for me, the shop and jewels for her.

The other one deserves not a single acre.”

The echoes of your heartless words

will haunt me even in other worlds.

I have only one thing to say

To the bits of my womb gone astray,

By claiming what you thought was rightfully yours

You have lost pure love that was truly yours.

Bored? That’s great!

Image courtesy: Tumblr

I often come across people who seem to be eternally stuck to the assorted gadgets in their prized possession. It really amuses me, how they apportion their time between laptops, tablets, smart phones and so many other gizmos. I fear that a lame joke that someone cracked may actually be true- that we live in an age where phones are getting smarter and people, idiotic.

Why is it that a few seconds of doing nothing makes us feel work-less, worthless and less important than people with ears plugged and fingers in perpetual swiping motion? Even a few minutes of boredom has become so intolerable in this age of the fast and furious where even food has to be “fast”. Next time you are in a public space, just look around you and you will find people torturing themselves by over-stimulating their senses. It’s true. They just don’t realize it. If a shopping mall has free Wi-Fi, even lovers would prefer texting each other while holding hands! That’s the rule. Free Wi-Fi HAS to be used.

Children seem to be as busy as professionals. Wake up, go for sports practice, go to school, come back, quickly snack, go for tuitions, come back and do homework, play, study, watch T.V/browse the internet/play video games, have dinner, sleep. On weekends, add a music/dance/swimming/karate class to the above list. I dread that day when parents may have to take an appointment with their child (after rescheduling theirs) to just hold hands and take a stroll in the park together.

I can’t help thinking about my childhood days when there was so much time at hand that boredom was something that I encountered every day. Being the only child of my parents didn't make matters very easy. I was always faced with the challenge of entertaining myself and coming up with new things to do. Since I was spared of the idiot box (Doordarshan was more depressing than boredom) and the smartest of gadgets, I found myself painting, writing, making my own songs(parodies), making use of waste materials in the house to create new things, cooking up new games and stories and finding my own methods of engaging myself in a productive activity. Things that I made and did, though far from perfect, were at least original and left me satisfied and proud.

 I can’t suppress my laughter when I think of the seriousness with which I hosted imaginary cookery shows, conducted parent teacher meetings, taught maths and English to teddy bears, dolls and sometimes even my mother. My cousins and I even scripted and enacted plays on our cot that served as our stage shrouded by my mother’s sari. I kept a secret diary, had imaginary friends, made my own code language, conducted tuition classes (yes, I earned my pocket money) for kids younger than me and did so many other interesting things on my own. I even made my own brick house (without cement) with a thatched roof in our terrace. You can imagine how bored I would have been to carry nearly hundred bricks up the stairs and make a house!

There have been other times when I just gazed out of the window, looking at the sunset or people on the road, trying to guess their stories or reflect on mine. Even as an adult, I enjoy the bout of creativity that is born after a period of boredom. Though my husband has to bear the brunt of my frustration while I am bored, the outcome is quite rewarding, really. A painting, a handmade card, a new dish, a heartfelt handwritten letter, a new hobby- the outcomes are sometimes unpredictable. Even this blog wouldn't have materialised had I succumbed to the charms of my phone and laptop that promise to entertain me faithfully 24×7.

Of course, I have nothing against technology. I too depend on it every day. I hold no grudge against children who learn different things either. The point is to stop ourselves from being enslaved by them to such an extent that without them we feel empty. Boredom is not such a bad thing. Once while I was taking class about the human digestive system, the students and I got so bored of the lesson (yes teachers get bored too!) that we decided to have some fun. I asked the students to imagine themselves as a piece of bread or dosa or whatever and write about their experience. The answers were so enthusiastically written with a good dose of humour that left us in peals of laughter. A Biology lesson was effectively turned into a creative writing session thanks to boredom.

Empty spaces can be filled with something new, but not a space that is already crammed.  Once in a while let’s take our eyes and hands away from our gadgets find some time and clear the canvas of our minds and fill it with new colours and patterns. The result will surely amaze you. So, cheers to boredom!!

How I became a mother

My first year as a teacher. Another hectic day at school. I sighed deeply staring at the hillocks of books in front of me that awaited scarring by my red pen, hoping to dispel all my worries through that single bout of strong exhalation. There was lot to be done. I checked my diary:

1) Prepare worksheets

2) Correct notebooks

3) Prepare flash cards and other teaching aids

4) Arrange the class cupboard

5) Mahalakshmi

I was in no mood to correct books, clean the cupboard or make charts and flash cards. Those could be done after school hours or even at home. My thoughts drifted to the tiny little girl in my class who always smiled (sometimes for no obvious reason), never did her homework and had a pathetic attendance percentage - Mahalakshmi. Too complex a name for a girl who struggled to read even two letter words properly at Grade 3. Mahalakshmi, the lazy girl who always wanted to visit the loo, blow her nose or drink water when I gave the class some written work.

 It was the last week of August and we were three months into the academic year, yet this kid was a mystery to me. She missed the very first week of school and that was just the beginning of the endless red “A”s I marked against her name in the attendance register. She hated reading, writing, and arithmetic. Kannada classes were a nightmare for her. Every teacher worried about her laziness and inability to do a simple sum, write a simple word, recite a simple poem or answer a simple question that most others in the class could do with considerable ease. Her grades in each test were deplorable. I watched exasperatedly as she ran up happily to collect her answer papers which always indicated zero marks. What was wrong with this girl? She didn’t want to study, was punished most of the time, never scored decent marks but loved coming to school! It was truly puzzling. What was it she enjoyed? What made her happy? What was she good at?

I got my answers on hot sunny afternoon as I climbed up the stairs with a handful of cardboard sheets, paper, sketch pens and other stationery to find a silent corner in the corridor to make some display charts for my classroom. The staff room was too noisy to let my stubborn creative juices flow freely. I heard some children screaming excitedly as they played games in the playground. I looked down and saw my class enjoying their P.E period. About to turn away and resume my work, I noticed a few girls poised for a running race. As the P.E teacher blew his whistle, all I could see were flailing pigtails and fluttering pinafores. Tiny feet kicked up the loose red dirt and clouds of dust rose creating a brown haze that glistened in the sunlight. Suddenly, I saw a tiny figure dashing ahead of all the others to reach the finish line. Mahalakshmi!

She declared to the world that she was the winner. She saw me leaning from the parapet, smiling and applauding her victory. I could see her blush, even from a distance. She was hugged by her friends, Vani and Kalpana. The trio ran around the ground hand in hand, celebrating her victory. For the first time, I saw a confident and determined Mahalakshmi and forgot all about her failures in the classroom.

 I decided to help her. I sat with her during classes, reading her stories teaching her numbers and the alphabet while her friends were busy writing essays and solving complex numerical problems. Gradually we became friends. She was happy to get a lot of attention from me, and I was glad I was able to help her. This continued for a few weeks and I felt the need to check how much she gained from this association. I tested her spellings by giving her easy 2-4 letter words and asked her to write a few number names. I was confident she would do well as both of us had put in tremendous effort. I was shattered when I saw her answer paper. Almost in tears, I marked a big red zero on the paper. It was my biggest failure.I checked my diary again.

5) Mahalakshmi

The remedial teacher had given up on her after two months of trying. That was after my big failure. Since no one knew what the problem was she was labelled” lazy and playful”. Some of my colleagues asked me to “leave it” and “not to worry about it” or “be happy that I did my best”. With a class of 31 students 10 of who had some learning issue or the other, it was difficult to give individual attention to an extent where it resulted in improved grades. I did not know what her problem was and I was against labelling children with fancy words like LD, ADD, ADHD, Special Ed etc. It sickens me to think of my children as problematic. In reality it is a problem with us adults/teachers if we can’t identify the interests and needs of a child and teach accordingly.

So totally clueless of how to teach her, I decided to find out a little more about the girl. Not to dig into the history of zeroes in her exam sheets, but to find the real her that unfortunately got smothered by worksheets, tests and projects. I got to know that she was under the care of her step-mother and father. She had a half-brother, who she had to baby sit when her mother was away at work. Her parents were labourers, illiterate but nursing big dreams about their daughter. From our conversation I realized that Mahalakshmi missed her mother terribly. She was still searching for shadows of her dead mother in her step-mom. She loved her brother a lot. Though she loved coming to school to play with her friends, her parents would often go to their native place, forcing her to be absent from school frequently. She was often bullied by other children as she was academically weak. She was still searching for answers to many questions in her personal life. Silly for others may be, but really important as far as she was concerned. I never imagined that a tiny tot could have such a heavy heart and so much emotional baggage to deal with. And she was braving all this with a sweet smile.

I realized that day that for some kids, coming to school was just to stay away from problems at home. Standing in front of me was a girl so emotionally troubled, searching for love, a mother figure with whom she would feel reassured and safe. And what did I do? Tried to help her learn spellings and to count when it made no sense to her. Tried to push her to do as well as others.  In the process I failed to see her outstretched hands, calling for help, calling out for a little love and care. From that day I never pressurised her to do anything. During my classes, she would sit beside me, help me distribute books, erase the board and do similar chores she liked to do.

Gradually, she started asking me for kindergarten level worksheets and would meticulously try and solve them. I would reward not her performance, but her effort with stars and smileys and stickers. I don't know if I did the right thing but she seemed to be a lot happier with this arrangement. As the year progressed, we shared a special bond. I encouraged and appreciated her when she won medals in sports. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do? Why test her Mathematics and English skills, when I already know she struggles in them?

We talked a lot during lunch breaks and she opened her heart to me. She cracked jokes, felt my dupatta, examined my earrings, gave me cards, sought permission to put jasmine flowers on my hair and sometimes kissed my cheek when no one was looking. She didn’t want the boys to tease her. I did not do anything to improve her academic status. I just let myself be her friend. We became so close that once she even demanded that I wear sari to school.

The academic year was coming to an end. There was no miracle. As I filled in Mahalakshmi’s report card with “D” grades in every column, two tender hands covered my eyes.

“I love you Vidya Akka. You are my Mummy. You HAVE TO be our class teacher next year. Otherwise I no talking you.”

The final bell rang and she left after the usual peck on my cheek, leaving me speechless. I stared with wet eyes at the tiny figure bobbing up and down as she merged with an ocean of students outside.