Sunday, August 13, 2000		Article

GUTTEN Morgan, Klasse! Let’s start by introducing ourselves.." After the formalities, I surveyed Class X of Y2000. A class of fifty-six rather solemn-looking boys and girls, barely able to hide their nervousness, relaxed a little and smiled faintly as they started telling me their names. Their previous teacher had tried to give me the names of the "notorious brats of the class", a suggestion that I ignored. Starting from the extreme left of the back row, we had reached the fifth from left of the front row. Something in the grim countenance of a dark six-foot fifteen-year-old took me back to my last teaching experience over a decade ago.

The sight of thirty quiet toddlers in the age group of 2 to 5 years, waiting with bated breath for a digit or a letter to appear on the blackboard, was so heart-rending that I had half a mind to draw the Mickey Mouse instead for them to copy! It was precisely at that moment that the principal walked in, followed by a terrified little girl with eyes red from a recent bout of weeping. "This is Varsha," said the principal she will be in your class." "Hello, Varsha!" I said, "O.K. everyone. Say "hello" to your new friend — Varsha!" Twenty nine voices joined to say "Hello" in loud unison. Twenty-nine, because there was always little Jassu sitting in the farthest corner of the room with folded arms and sulking expression, and who could write all the letters and digits upto ten, but would not open his mouth.

The impact of our cheery "Hello" on Varsha was unexpected, to say the least. The sobs stopped abruptly, a cold little hand slipped into mine and I heard her first word, "Gothie!". She was soon sitting in my lap. Come lunchtime and I seated her next to Shibani, who was two to Varsha’s three-and-a-half years. Ten minutes later, she walked up to me saying that the "little baby" next to her was not eating. An inspection of Shibu’s lunch box revealed a huge parantha about almost half-a-centimeter thick, with ghee crystallised on the surface.
Shibu struggled tried to tear out a morsel but as it was too hard she finally gave up. I heard Varsha’s voice as I made a mental note of speaking to Shibu’s mother.

"I have got two bananas!" said Varsha, offering them to Shibu, Shibu responded with a smile. This experience made Varsha forget she had decided not to like school.

I had barely had time to gloat over my forethought in placing Varsha next to Shibu when the second "new admission" of the day arrived. Kicking and screaming, he was pushed into the room, and the door shut behind him. I moved towards the door but realised in time that the hysterical boy was my first concern. I would have to talk to the principal about the nasty introduction of Anil Kumar into my class later. Soon every little child was crying: "Mummy...mummy." Anil Kumar, in the meantime, had rushed to an open window and was besieging the school "Rickshawwallah" to "please, please take me home". I had to pull him away with considerable force whereupon he gave me a hateful glance and wrenched his arm free. No amount of talking would convince him that he would see his mother in two hours’ time.

Come my favourite last hour — story time. The whole class laughed as "Rumpelstilzchen" got his foot caught in the floor" but my eyes kept rivetting to the little figure sitting by the door. Anil Kumar was not even listening. Wait a minute! Whose lovely laughter was that? I turned around just in time to see Jassu snap his mouth shut abruptly!

Days came and days went, and each day saw Anil Kumar as the condemned prisoner and me as the hated jail warden. With my German language exams drawing closer I had taken to bringing Children’s books from the MMB library to school for story-time. I was in the middle of the climax of Die Bremer Stadtmusikanten (The Bremen Town Musicians)where a team of four comprising a donkey, a dog, a cat and a rooster, once loved and now abandoned by their masters were facing a threat to their newly occupied "home" by a gang of robbers. The children were rollicking with each blow administered to the robber. "And then, the rooster perched on a beam of the ceiling also swooped and..", I edged towards Anil and "Ptack!", he pecked at the robber’s bald head with his beak!".. and I put my palm in front of Anil Kumar. He spontaneously raised his hand curled in the form of a beak. I looked into his eyes, luminous in his dark face, waiting for the cathartic "Ptack" atlast, when I saw a twinkle in his eyes and the quivering corners of his lips finally relented to give me the most bewitching and heart-tugging smiles. There was no "ptack"! I looked around me at the laughing children. Jassu made no effort to shut his mouth this time.

That was two gems in a single day in my tiny stock of truly treasure-worthy memories.. The laughter of the kindergarten tapered to the solemnity of today’s impending Boards, and I came to the present with a jerk as the dark boy with the grim countenance repeated his name, "Anil Kumar, ma’ am".

"Anil Kumar monitor, ma’ am", sniggered somebody from the back benches.

"Anil Kumar Bucherwurm, ma’am (Anil Kumar Bookworm, ma’ am)", supplied a second voice..

"Anil Kumar headboy, ma’ am", ".. that was presumably the third brat from the gang of four.

"Adolf Hitler, ma’ am!".. aha, the four.. identified.

"There will be no wisecracks in the class, unless you want to experience the July sun, and miss this crucial class.. Sit down, Anil Kumar!" It was with the greatest effort that I hid my pride as I nodded at Anil Kumar.

From Toddlers’ home to DPS class X, was not just a journey of ten years. These ten years had been all about a lot of growing up.. a lot of evolving..

As I wiped the blackboard clean, I also quickly erased from the mind-screen, memories of my first class and its accompanying cries for ‘Mummy’ and ‘rickshawwallahs.’

The twinge of sadness that I had felt as the faded colourful picture of children rocking with laughter had brought home "the tragedy of becoming "civilised" from Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, also disappeared..

This was the beginning of a new journey.