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.
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