One fine day a child was put forth to the mercy of mortals on the 1st of Jan 1986! This is his take on a new world around him.
"Here I was treading into a different world and you have no idea of the magnitude of 'different'; A place they called school, about which I was made to feel excited as if being taken to Disneyland.
How another was it... oh… no adult could ever imagine! Nervous, anxious, choked whatever you call the feeling, I would simply describe it as being ‘on the verge of tears’.
The build-up leading to the D-day (first day at school) was cleverly planned. I was beaming with a false sense of pride developed from reciting stupid somethings, in an alien but sweet language, to every single visitor at home. But all these rituals had an ulterior motive!
I was going to find out for the first time that, apart from my cousins and other kids in my building, there are innumerable 3 or 4 year olds' in the world. Apparently, they too were tricked into coming to this school place.
"Here I was treading into a different world and you have no idea of the magnitude of 'different'; A place they called school, about which I was made to feel excited as if being taken to Disneyland.
How another was it... oh… no adult could ever imagine! Nervous, anxious, choked whatever you call the feeling, I would simply describe it as being ‘on the verge of tears’.
The build-up leading to the D-day (first day at school) was cleverly planned. I was beaming with a false sense of pride developed from reciting stupid somethings, in an alien but sweet language, to every single visitor at home. But all these rituals had an ulterior motive!
I was going to find out for the first time that, apart from my cousins and other kids in my building, there are innumerable 3 or 4 year olds' in the world. Apparently, they too were tricked into coming to this school place.
So there was some consolation as I realized in the days to come; that I was not alone in the ordeal. It goes without stating that these strangers would develop into associations of everyday, some for the next 10 to 12 years and some even for lifetime!
Coming back to my dreadful entry into this world...the first school day! Why would you put a child of 3 or 4 in this mass crying hysteria? Imagine the dumbness of elders and pain of us toddlers. And to think of it, this was done by our own mums and dads!
I failed to understand why my mother carried me here, when she perfectly sensed all my discomforts right from the day I was born. Doesn't she know I was terrified here? All moms can tell whether you want to pee or not. Hell! They can even make you pee before you realize you want to. But this she did not understand. Who would believe?
Anyways, shaking uncontrollably, I entered my cell for the year, called 'classroom'.
While I agree that there was some cuteness to occupy us, none seem to compensate for our misfortune. There were posters all around, of days as elephants and some colourful lines scribbled in hundreds of odd shapes. Then there were A's, B's and C's. (As a matter of fact, I could recognize first 3 of the alphabet, courtesy my playful 'training' at home.)
But again, couldn't this be arranged at home like my birthday decorations?
Then all of a sudden my mom suddenly freed my grip of her! She was forced by a good looking lady with rosy lips and dimple chin to leave. Cruel, cruel are the ways of elders I thought! I could see my mum peeping through the window of this detention room, welling up herself, and yet did nothing to come get me out.
Before this moment I was simply scared and sceptical. But there I was now, joining the crying opera with my own high pitched tunes. The beautified lady along with 2 of her assists was busy controlling, rather, guiding the choir with not a stick but her hugs, toys and a little coercion.
After a good 30 minutes or so into the performance, half of us were dead as valiant soldiers martyred on the battlefield after a brutally exhausting fight. This 'martyred' half rose again from a nice sleep only when it was time to go home. Some were being helped into dry shorts and skirts due to obvious stresses getting the better of us. Then there were a resilient few like me, still holding on to a sob.
But suddenly something weirdly wonderful happened! Out of nowhere, the pretty lady who shoved my mother some time ago picked me up as she was instructing the helpers around her. My crying took an abrupt halt due to this shock as I was lifted in one clean gravity defying motion to land on her hips. The way she shouted instructions across the room made me aware that I was about to be done something horrible, maybe tortured to death like fellow fighters.
But what happened next was an 'awwwhhhhhh' moment as in a romantic movie! She put her lipstick laden lips to my cheek and if I had the faintest idea of what seconds were, could have sworn that the contact lasted a good 5!
In fact, I was not sure my little rosy reds were wet because of tears or her lips. She just caressed me as a cow would do her calf and murmured incomprehensible words in my ears. The tingling was…, I obviously don't remember the feeling, but I am damn sure she could have given my mother run for her money. After all, fondling and kissing me was mom's profession!
Mrs.Subbalaxmi became my second mother! ‘Class teacher’ is how my parents referred to her when having conversations about her. I, just like my comrades in a futile struggle, called her a plain 'Mis'. Slowly but surely, we grew accustomed to her presence in our lives.
For a significant part of our day, for nearly two years, Mrs.Subbalaxmi symbolized all that was good, fair and loving for me. A candy would always be as sweet as Mis, a cartoon hero would be as noble as my Mis. Even my grandmother's love or neighboring people's affection would be evaluated against the set benchmark of Mis.
The lady could JUST do no wrong!"
My rendezvous with her began with my world turning upside down. Now I think she set me straight for all the years to come.
Years passed by in a jiffy. What followed was a lifelong longing of the same desks and benches, the same cell, and an eternal wish to be kissed by a stranger as comforting and other worldly as our MIS.
What I think now after years of so called wisdom is this...; People all over the world have experts for many, nearly pointless concerns like diplomatic relations, engineering projects or mergers and acquisitions. To think of it, even people involved in these concerns are no different than crybabies!
But the utmost important and crucial concern for which only an ideal human should be deputed is teaching. Specially teaching or engaging kindergartens. According to me, it is the most difficult and most responsible job on this planet.
A certain president can bomb a country to ashes if he's angry about it. Religious leaders, market honchos or expert scientists all exhibit something still beyond anybody's complete comprehension; human behaviour.
But try being a teacher; going nuts controlling high frequency emissions, leaking penises or nasty kids fighting each other.
She can never (if she is a good teacher) vent her anger, loose her patience or even express herself to these little aliens being civilized into human conditions. The answer to any question, any cry, any pitiful wondering even if asked a millionth time to her, always has to be a loving 'Everything is going to be alright sweetheart!'
And I sincerely believe that these are the best possible words any human can say to another. If you ask that 3 year old me anything about life, I would simply say...
I have a dream; perhaps just like Martin Luther's, that if the world is governed by kindergarten teachers it would be heaven!
Coming back to my dreadful entry into this world...the first school day! Why would you put a child of 3 or 4 in this mass crying hysteria? Imagine the dumbness of elders and pain of us toddlers. And to think of it, this was done by our own mums and dads!
I failed to understand why my mother carried me here, when she perfectly sensed all my discomforts right from the day I was born. Doesn't she know I was terrified here? All moms can tell whether you want to pee or not. Hell! They can even make you pee before you realize you want to. But this she did not understand. Who would believe?
Anyways, shaking uncontrollably, I entered my cell for the year, called 'classroom'.
While I agree that there was some cuteness to occupy us, none seem to compensate for our misfortune. There were posters all around, of days as elephants and some colourful lines scribbled in hundreds of odd shapes. Then there were A's, B's and C's. (As a matter of fact, I could recognize first 3 of the alphabet, courtesy my playful 'training' at home.)
But again, couldn't this be arranged at home like my birthday decorations?
Then all of a sudden my mom suddenly freed my grip of her! She was forced by a good looking lady with rosy lips and dimple chin to leave. Cruel, cruel are the ways of elders I thought! I could see my mum peeping through the window of this detention room, welling up herself, and yet did nothing to come get me out.
Before this moment I was simply scared and sceptical. But there I was now, joining the crying opera with my own high pitched tunes. The beautified lady along with 2 of her assists was busy controlling, rather, guiding the choir with not a stick but her hugs, toys and a little coercion.
After a good 30 minutes or so into the performance, half of us were dead as valiant soldiers martyred on the battlefield after a brutally exhausting fight. This 'martyred' half rose again from a nice sleep only when it was time to go home. Some were being helped into dry shorts and skirts due to obvious stresses getting the better of us. Then there were a resilient few like me, still holding on to a sob.
But suddenly something weirdly wonderful happened! Out of nowhere, the pretty lady who shoved my mother some time ago picked me up as she was instructing the helpers around her. My crying took an abrupt halt due to this shock as I was lifted in one clean gravity defying motion to land on her hips. The way she shouted instructions across the room made me aware that I was about to be done something horrible, maybe tortured to death like fellow fighters.
But what happened next was an 'awwwhhhhhh' moment as in a romantic movie! She put her lipstick laden lips to my cheek and if I had the faintest idea of what seconds were, could have sworn that the contact lasted a good 5!
In fact, I was not sure my little rosy reds were wet because of tears or her lips. She just caressed me as a cow would do her calf and murmured incomprehensible words in my ears. The tingling was…, I obviously don't remember the feeling, but I am damn sure she could have given my mother run for her money. After all, fondling and kissing me was mom's profession!
Mrs.Subbalaxmi became my second mother! ‘Class teacher’ is how my parents referred to her when having conversations about her. I, just like my comrades in a futile struggle, called her a plain 'Mis'. Slowly but surely, we grew accustomed to her presence in our lives.
For a significant part of our day, for nearly two years, Mrs.Subbalaxmi symbolized all that was good, fair and loving for me. A candy would always be as sweet as Mis, a cartoon hero would be as noble as my Mis. Even my grandmother's love or neighboring people's affection would be evaluated against the set benchmark of Mis.
The lady could JUST do no wrong!"
My rendezvous with her began with my world turning upside down. Now I think she set me straight for all the years to come.
Years passed by in a jiffy. What followed was a lifelong longing of the same desks and benches, the same cell, and an eternal wish to be kissed by a stranger as comforting and other worldly as our MIS.
What I think now after years of so called wisdom is this...; People all over the world have experts for many, nearly pointless concerns like diplomatic relations, engineering projects or mergers and acquisitions. To think of it, even people involved in these concerns are no different than crybabies!
But the utmost important and crucial concern for which only an ideal human should be deputed is teaching. Specially teaching or engaging kindergartens. According to me, it is the most difficult and most responsible job on this planet.
A certain president can bomb a country to ashes if he's angry about it. Religious leaders, market honchos or expert scientists all exhibit something still beyond anybody's complete comprehension; human behaviour.
But try being a teacher; going nuts controlling high frequency emissions, leaking penises or nasty kids fighting each other.
She can never (if she is a good teacher) vent her anger, loose her patience or even express herself to these little aliens being civilized into human conditions. The answer to any question, any cry, any pitiful wondering even if asked a millionth time to her, always has to be a loving 'Everything is going to be alright sweetheart!'
And I sincerely believe that these are the best possible words any human can say to another. If you ask that 3 year old me anything about life, I would simply say...
I have a dream; perhaps just like Martin Luther's, that if the world is governed by kindergarten teachers it would be heaven!
very well written prashant. Keep writing.
ReplyDelete"Why would you put a child of 3 or 4 in this mass crying hysteria?" Made me chuckle ðŸ¤ðŸ˜‚
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