Xenophobic

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At the sound of the bell mom ran to the door, excited to receive my friend Kiran. We went to the same college in Bangalore and shared a room in the hostel. My mother was very fond of him and made sure she made his favourite snacks whenever he came home.

But things hadn't been so rosy three years back, when I had just joined college. While waiting for the bus from Palakkad to Bangalore, my mother showered lavish doses of advice that sounded like threats to me.“Befriend people from our own community. Beware of students who drink, smoke and eat meat. Dear Lord, I hope the ‘modern’ kids there don’t spoil my son.” she had said. According to my mother, people of other faiths couldn't be trusted. I had tried to erase the xenophobia that plagued my family but in vain. They were extremely orthodox and their blind faith made them intolerant to people whose lifestyle and faith differed even slightly from ours.

Precisely because of this, my friendship with Kiran hadn't gone down well with them. They pleaded with me to seek better friends who were ‘just like us’. What if he tuned out to be a naxalite? A terrorist? Our friendship received flak till the day I was down with chickenpox with no one to lend a hand but Kiran. While everyone shied away from helping me, fearing for their own safety, he had called the doctor, obtained the medicines and had nurtured me to recovery. My parents were touched beyond measure by this act of compassion and realized the folly of their baseless phobia.





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Wonderful

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The lights went out. Rachel waited quietly in her bed for half an hour. She tiptoed to the window of her room, the last on the B Wing corridor of the women’s hostel. Outside, she could see the silhouettes of the chapel and the administrative block. Black trees stood still against the deep purple sky. “Seven months and three days” she murmured to herself.

For seven months and three days her life had moved ahead like clockwork. She had a fixed routine that had to be diligently adhered to. Worse, there were many restrictions in place. The food in the mess was lousy and the gates closed by seven in the evening. The lights went out at ten at night and she had to be in bed, no matter what.

The sudden confinement at the convent after her carefree school days suffocated her. She longed to go out on her own and do things she liked. Things that her time-table at the hostel had left out. She did not want to do anything crazy or dangerous, just something that would make her feel good again. Something outside her monotonous schedule.

She moved away from the window and walked stealthily along the corridor. Climbing the stairs to the terrace in her night clothes and flip flops, her hands gripping a package wrapped in newspaper, she felt accomplished in a strange way. Laying out the contents of the package she smiled her best smile. She had invited a few of her friends, but they had been too scared.

“Happy birthday to me!” she sang alone into the night. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the momentary freedom, but she felt wonderful as she lay under the starry sky.

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Unsure

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Bhumika bit her lip and glanced at her watch as she walked back and forth on the platform. Suddenly there was a deafening hoot and before she could calm herself down, the Kerala Express to New Delhi chugged into the station and screeched to a halt. She looked out through the window at her parents after stowing her luggage. Her father seemed to know exactly how she felt. Anxious and unsure.

“Don’t worry, you will be fine. And we are just a call away” he tried to reassure her. She exhaled deeply in the hope of releasing some of her anxiety about what the future in an alien land had in store for her. She waved till she lost sight of them as the train sped away. She had been excited upon clearing the interview and gaining admission into one of the best colleges in the country but when it was time to leave the comforts of her home town and family, she wasn't sure she could cope.

She thought back to the day she had learned to cycle. Her father used to support her by holding on to the back of the seat while she tried to pedal. Initially she would keep turning back to look at him but soon she was sure of her father’s presence behind her. It had made her confident. Then one day, she had cycled quite a distance before she realised that her father had quietly let go. But he was there watching over her.

As the train stopped at the next station, she felt her muscles easing up. She felt the invisible presence of her parents, ready to hold her hand whenever she needed them. As always, it made her confident.

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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.





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The Calling

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I wish to be a farmer

wielding a rake and a hoe

or even teach grammar

and other things I know.

A writer, I’d be happy to be

in a wonderful world of words,

as a traveller, the world I’d see

jungles, canyons and flocking birds.

A singer, an athlete, a scientist

I know I have it in me,

a magician, an actor even an artist-

the options are endless you see.

But I’ll be told when I grow

it is all about the money,

to reap I’ll have to wisely sow;

grown-ups sometimes act funny!

Participating in the Ultimate Blog 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.

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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.

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Red Apples

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"Apples are red" the teacher said.

Green, yellow too said my head.

"Green apples, tangy and sweet,

bright red ones just like meat,

white inside that time turned brown."

I was wrong said the teacher's frown.

Then she drew an apple with a leaf

And I painted it red with some grief.

"Very good, so bright and neat"

she smiled as she came near my seat.

My friends too did the same

to escape her frown and blame.

Soon I was lost in the red tide around

with just dreams of a place where colours abound.

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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.

Let’s talk

I have always believed strongly in the benefits of open dialogue and conversations with people right from childhood. It not only helps us share ideas, sort out messes, but also creates warmth between people, sometimes forging strong bonds that last a lifetime. As a child I have had infinite conversations with my parents (especially my mother) that have shaped me into what I am today. And as a teacher too I was able to partake in so many such open talks with my students that have made the bonds between us unbreakable. These informal talks vary greatly in their purpose, content, age of the student and duration. Many a time they have helped us solve problems (either mine or the student’s), bring out hidden potentials, console, encourage, cooperate and clarify. Often, they appeared pointless and unproductive superficially but beneath the layers of numerous spoken and unspoken words was the desire to share feelings, thoughts and worries with a loved one. Yes, just plain sharing sometimes lightens the heart and brings so much cheer that the problem itself becomes insignificant.

Sharing some of them here.

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Student: Vidya Akka, I want to talk to you.

Me: Is it urgent? What is it about?

Student (Hesitant): Err..not in front of others.

Me: Sure. Feel free to come to me whenever you have time.

Student: Thanks Akka. Next hour?

Me: Let me check my time-table. Hmm…..yeah I’m free, you will find me with some books on one of the benches in the playground.

The student leaves with a smile and comes back promptly the next hour.

Me: Hi, come and sit.

Student (looking away from me): I did something very bad.

Me: So you did something, but now you feel it wasn’t right.

Student: Yes Akka.

Me: Ok. What did you do?

Student: I browsed some “dirty sites” on the internet and now when I open my books to study I get easily distracted. I want to study well, but feel like seeing them again.

I was a little surprised. Yes, not shocked or angry. Surprised, because I had never expected a boy in his teens to share with his female teacher things that were usually kept secret among friends. At the same time I also felt glad because one, the boy realized he had done something he did not want to do, two, he was honest enough to confide in an adult whom he trusted and three, he still had not lost his focus and wanted to work hard.

Me: Don’t worry. It is quite normal for a child of your age to be curious. There is nothing wrong in what you felt or did. It DOES NOT mean that you are a bad person. You are growing into a young man, so your body, mind, emotions and relations evolve. It is quite natural. You may have noticed many changes yourself by now. Right?

Student (now looking at my face and smiling): Yes Akka. I thought you will scold me. I went to the computer lab when no one was there and ……

Me: It does not matter now, does it? I don’t want to know. But just remember that it is not allowed in school. Got to follow school rules right? Of course, I don’t have a say in what you do outside school but you have seen it for yourself. Not being able to focus…

Student: I will not do it again. I feel good talking to you.

Me: Sure. Try not to. Not in school. Remember that some of what you see or read may totally misguide you. If your friends are doing it, you could tell them too. Adolescence is a truly wonderful period in one’s life. New burst of energy and creativity, new ideas and points of view, exploring oneself and others…..make sure you make the best of it. And enjoy whatever you feel…the adventures, the crushes, the jokes..everything...just stop to think once in a while..

Student (laughing): Beautiful girls, crush….

Me(teasing): I know who you are talking about!

Student: Akka!!! Really??

Me: Yeah, don’t worry, it’s our secret.

Student: But how? When? Who told you?

Me(winking): Even I was once a teen you see.

Student: Thanks for talking to me Akka. I feel better. Bye, I have class now.

Me:  No regrets, no guilt. You are a nice guy a good student too. Bye.

(Coming soon…another interesting conversation!)

Celebrating love

Red roses, love notes and an occasional kiss and hug. Gifts of handmade cards, paintings and sketches, candies and toffees. Very often, to add a traditional touch, fragrant jasmine flowers to embellish my black curls. No they were not from my boyfriend (who is now my husband). They were all from the children I taught. It was literally like celebrating Valentine’s Day every day! Given with a lavish dose of love and affection, it was really difficult to say “no” to the eager kids who would peep into the office room early in the morning, waiting for their favourite teachers.

I was one of the earliest to reach school. An extreme obsession about punctuality that sometimes infringed upon insanity. As I walked down the way to school many children, babies to teens would join me and soon we would be a chattering mob marching through the school gates. Children would run up to me and give me flowers they enthusiastically plucked that morning. Roses (from their parents’ flower laden carts), Bottle brushes (a flower true to its name), Jasmine, Hibiscus, Marigold and what not! Some insisted that I wear it on my head immediately. The slightest hesitation on my part would have serious repercussions. No, not sulking and crying. The flower would be snatched and forcefully thrust into my locks. I had no right to protest. Just for this time of the day, they were the teachers and I, a meek student. I did not even want to picture myself with roses, jasmines, leaves happily perched on my head.

So after all the pampering, I headed to my class looking (and smelling) like a puja room or wedding hall if you like it. But the kids thought I was beautiful. The more flowers I had, the better I looked. Throughout the day- during break time or a free hour, children would check the back of my head to see if I had dared to take away the flowers given with tonnes of love. At these times I often remembered my mother, aunts and grandmother and the struggle they had to go through to make us cousins (the girls’ gang) wear some flowers on our heads during festive occasions. I hated the fragrance of jasmines or rather its stench. Over the course of the day they turned brown and presented a pathetic sight. Yuck! How I hated flowers in my hair. How proud I felt when my mother let out an exasperated “do whatever you want” when I refused to accept flowers. And now these kids had absolute control over me. They had the “childlike innocence” advantage.

 Some days I would take them off my hair and put it in my bag. Imagine walking around in jeans with a floral helmet! I didn’t have the heart to throw them.  I would often wonder what to do with them. At the end of the academic year, I had a box full of dried flowers. A potpourri of the children’s feelings for me. Something I can keep revisiting when life seems boring or difficult. Opening the box unleashes the scent of sweet memories in which I can drift along, feeling loved. I don’t need Valentine’s Day.