Memoirs
The Blooms
I am in class IXth elaborating on author's unwritten words. Most of the times I concentrate on the unwritten rather than the written.Just now I have presented the most unconventional view on positive thinking and am rather sorry to see the puzzled expressions. When I do that, and I do that quite often, I feel extremely sorry. A face or two in the crowd seems to understand what I said.That's enough. Next time there will be many more. What I had to say has attacked their conventional beliefs. Beliefs which their parents, teachers and others have passed unto them However, I had to do my job, even if it requires moments of cracking and crumbling. I have to push open the windows for them What they observe and absorb will be of their own accord. After all I can't control that.
There are also times when you have to fight your own ossification. Constantly reminding children of obedience, conformity , unquestioned respect for elders is second nature to teachers. But hasn't this world progressed by the nonconformists, non believers? Then why try to convert our children into obedient robots? Why curb their free spirit? Why not let them question? I have an answer. Because that's inconvenient. For that we will have to change ourselves. We will have to evolve continuously coming out of our rigid zones.
My class always remains the noiciest. One can always hear students' voices, arguments and laughter. Last year when I became the class teacher of class Xth I overheard remarks that the class has gone totally out of control and that our result might be spoilt. The irony is that it broke all the previous records of the school and one of my students attained a position in first five hundred toppers in English.
Nevertheless, I can still hear remarks that class VIII is turning into a set of hooligans Anjali ma'am being the class teacher. Far from disturbing me now, these remarks bring images of glorious moments when my children have achieved feasts never achieved before.
This post is not about me but about my vibrant, bubbling, wonderful students who will take this world by storm one day. So I wish, so I believe.
Term End Thoughts
What makes a student? A teacher, a school, a parent or an environment? Or is it the sum total of all these? If it really is the latter, then maybe I have an escape. The list of failures is perhaps not only a reflection on me. I might find refuge in passing the buck but then somewhere a thought keeps nagging me - you could do better, better, better.
Checking papers is perhaps the most painful part of teaching. What glares on your face is not what you actually taught but rather what you failed to teach. When a class ninth student prefers to close his letter to his father with “yours approximately”, do you doubt his father’s paternity or the fact that you failed to tell them that rhyme and synonymity are two different concepts? And yes, attempting a character sketch in literature is not the same as attempting a sketch in drawing. Was that to be told?
I shall be careful next time.
Friendship Day Thoughts
You know the day is round the corner, when Dove starts planning days ahead…bands, chocolates and cards.
My gratitude…Thank you friends for being there. Flowers for all the friends who come here.
Sundays are always special, but more so now when I get to read a fresh column by Shashi Tharoor every Sunday. So I was elated to read Save the sari from a sorry fate as sari remains my favourite garment. It was a double feast – Shashi Tharoor and his endorsement of my favourite attire. But by any stretch of imagination, I could have never foreseen the kind of response it evoked from the feminists. So much so that he had to come up with a rejoinder asking – “Where did I go wrong?”
My date with sari goes back to the time when I was just a twelve year old. Would wear it to any fancy dress competition in school, festivals or in the parties thrown by the ambassador where different nationals would come. Their admiring looks said so much about the beauty of the Sari. But not for our feminists . They cry hoarse about anyone who pleads to arrest the declining interest of Indian ladies in Sari.
For starters, I would agree with the fact that Sari is not really a very comfortable piece of clothing but then neither are stilettos in the office or cut sleeves in the chilly winter winds. Yet many Indians women don them. Denim is anytime thicker on hot and sultry summer months than a cool cotton sari.
Aqua Genius calls it a tent behind which mountains of flab can be concealed though his models adorn it with panache.
However, passions do not always spring from rational grounds. I really cannot give you too many good reasons why we Indian women should not part with the elegance of sari. But there is something which I find ridiculous about the feminists who jump with daggers in their hands at anyone who speaks about perpetuating any traits exclusively feminine.
Does feminism mean the “man-ization” , if any such term exists, of woman? I guess not. Besides having equal rights, for me feminism means that a woman should have her own space to grow as a woman and not as a man. Therein comes my case for sari. Sari with myriad vibrant colours, textures and designs is epitome of everything feminine. It compliments a woman’s body as no other garment can ever do. It enhances the inherent beauty of any woman which nature has so generously bestowed on women.
So Mr. Tharoor, I am all for this six yards of beauty and there was nothing sexist about your appeal to Indian women to adorn this attire.
The day’s events have exhausted me. There is too much excitement to contain. So I decide to sit and write.
I am wrapped in questions, problems, solutions and exercises and some more exercises. There is no end to it. Even in my dreams I am explaining how a report is written differently than an article and how Keynes differed from classical economists. What make everything more complex are the extra questions of mathematics, which are, simply beyond my comprehension and which Dove insists that I explain her. Now how on earth am going to crack them! Not able to grasp that her mom has limits, she refuses to take help from anybody else. The whims of a preteen are sometimes simply baffling. Gripped in the time crunch my guilt deepens as I am really not able to do much.
Exams over, it's time for Dove to visit her school to check her answer sheets for any errors that might have crept in totaling etc. When she comes back she is in tears. She has just fallen short of a mark to make it to a scholar. Ironically, more painful is the fact, that her mathematics teacher has awarded her three marks extra and she goes back and gets them corrected. It is too big a temptation but she has overcome it, else her Mom would be angry. But now in front of her mom she breaks down. All her dreams and hard work through the year are shattered. I appreciate her. She has done the right thing. She remains my star. However, nothing can console her now. Her disappointment has not ebbed. But then some of life’s lessons are learnt the hard way. Work harder next year. With a resolution to practice mathematics regularly the matter is closed.
Today is Dove’s result. Though the dad daughter duo can fetch the result I decide to take a half-day from my work. My decision is not free from my guilt, that I could have given her more time. We rush through the maddening Delhi traffic. Somehow we are able to make it on time.
Her teacher congratulates us. We thank her with a wry smile. Not able to digest our dryness, the charming class teacher congratulates us once again but this time she adds another word to her congratulating note. Scholar. I hurriedly scan through the report card. My eyes are fixed on the column where the heading Scholar is ticked. How could that be. She was running short of the stipulated percentage. I am no Ramanujan in mathematics but then simple percentage calculation is not beyond my capability. She clarifies. Dove was considered as a special case for the award. All the teachers have vouched for her and requested the Principal to grant her an extra grace mark. So scholar she becomes! I am too dazed to comment. All the haze has evaporated and what remains are the sparkling crystal colours.
“Honesty is the cornerstone of all success, without which confidence and ability to perform shall cease to exist.” Mary Kay Ash
the quietness descends...
as heartbeats single out a song...
to be borne aloft...
and carried to a friend ...
far across oceans in a distant land...
a whisper that mingles with fragrant thoughts...
reaching out as the evening sets...
and settles into ur palms...
as u cup it to your ears...
and you shall hear me...
call out your name...
anjali...
anjali...
anjali...
A priceless treat from a friend...Pincushion.
In the morning assembly Principal is wishing students great success in the exams they are going to attempt shortly. She is also warning them against the use of any form of unfair means. “A friend who appears to help while cheating is in fact crippling you, making you a dependent forever. Be wary of such friends.” Golden words.
Despite being on the other side of the fence now the mere mention of exams gives me goosebumps. As if in dream I float back into the tunnel.
I am a little girl and my dad is telling me never to use any unfair means to get anything in life. Always be honest and seek the truth. I listen to him and his words are sown deep inside. Whatever he says has to be absolutely right beyond doubt because he is always right. He is the epitome of truth.
I float nearer. Tomorrow is my Economics exam. I am well prepared. I have an excellent teacher in school and she has clarified all my problems. All set for the battle the next day. Just then my neighbour comes and shows me a piece of paper. It has a set of questions which she claims are coming in next day's exam. I laugh the whole matter away. It's not a mere school test but The Board. Nevertheless just out of curiosity and to test my knowledge I sit down and solve the questions. Fairly easy I will be able to do it. Bah! The Board question paper! The girl must be out of her mind.
After an eight hours long sleep I rush through the morning chores and off to Hansraj Model School. As I fight the pre exam sinking feeling I open the question paper with trembling hands. First question, second question, third question…Oh my God! The girl was right. How could that be? I am pale. I can’t concentrate. All I can see is utter darkness. All I can hear is “never use unfair means”. All I can think is, why to work so hard the whole year long if I were to take this easy way out. I tell myself repeatedly that I didn’t go for it. But then I shouldn’t have seen the paper when she said it was going to come in today’s paper. Whatever had to happen has happened. I can’tt help it anymore. Let me give it my best shot now. But its too late. Before I know the time has flown away. I am going to flunk. I haven’t been able to write any answer properly.
I am inconsolable. Nobody is able to understand why I am crying. Some friends are envious. In fact they are cursing me for not letting out the secret. If only I had known. Nobody will understand. I have let my dad down. He is not going to be proud of his girl.
“Stand straight for the national anthem!”, the commanding voice reverts me back into the present with a thud. The classes are dispersed and students are running to their respective examination rooms. I have to check some question papers so I hurry to the front office.
As young persons there was only one truth, the absolute truth. There is never a doubt about the truth itself. Its only a question of following it or failing it. But not for long. The cracks bewilder you. As a young person it’s only the black or white that occupies your value system but later the greys occupy you. The worst part is that grey comes in various shades. This keeps you embroiled in a wide array of choices. Besides it also provides an escape route to justify many a dubious short cut, act and deed. In the end though, whatever choices we make the result is always in black and white.
In the season of colours its not fair to talk about black and white only. I wish everybody a very colourful and happy Holi. May your life be filled with colours of joy, happiness, love, growth and prosperity.
PostScript : For those of you who are curious about the result of that fateful exam, the next day the CBSE Board declared it a leak. The exam was conducted again in which I got highest marks in Economics in my school. I also got 29th position in all India ranking.
It could have been a wonderful year. A year in which we grew to such a height that all we could see was a colourful crop of crisp flowers without all the worms and mud blurred and buried underneath. We could be euphoric about our GDP growing at a steady rate, a glorious presence in the global IT sector, people of Indian origin stealing the limelight, finally justice meted to Jessica Lal and Priyadarshini Matoo and so much more. The list seems long.
The words on TOI’s front page on 1st January, 2007 expresse a similar sentiment and felt like a powerhouse of inspiration. But the last words caught my attention – Our Time Is Now.
Our time is now; we are the privileged ones to be experiencing the turning page of history. There is reason for us to believe that we will make it. But we should not forget to salute the ones who in the bleakest of times believed that India could make it, that India will make it. The ones who had a vision to bring this moment of hope in the annals of our history. Who are those people? Visionaries like Nehru, APJ Abul Kalam, Narayana Murty ; scientists, writers, artists and the common man who spent all his life’s savings to provide best education to his children. A moment like this is not the achievement of one generation alone, it is the result of hard work and sacrifices made by the ones before them.
I repeat the year could have been a wonderful year, but if we lower our necks we will notice a layer of deadly worms thriving on our society. The NOIDA serial killing case shocked the NCT and the police-criminal nexus once again sprang into limelight. Most of the people killed belonged to the poor class and the police had taken no action till the affected people took the matter in their own hands. Children kept on disappearing and police kept on sleeping. A timely action by the police could have saved so many innocent lives.
The whole nation may have prayed for a single Prince to be saved from a 50-metre fall into a pit, but the pits proliferate and children keep falling into them, most of the time fatally. When the urban youth with large pay packets splurges in malls and Discos, the poor farmers commit suicides for lack of resources to sustain their farming. And yes despite the justice granted to Jessica and Priyadarshini innumerable woman are raped, harassed and molested every year.
So India is poised only for the rich and the haves. The lives of have nots remain marginalized and unaffected by this turning page of history. If we really have to take a giant leap forward in time the richer India the prosperous India should look down. Whatever it does should pour down to all below them. If there is justice it should be for all. If there is food it should be for all. If there is education it should be for all. If there is growth it should be broad based.
When we finally make that flight let us all fly like birds. The privileged ones pushing the poor ones to make a pattern. A pattern of victory.
PS :
India Poised
"There are two Indias in this country.
One India is straining at the leash, eager to spring forth and live up to all the adjectives that the world has been showering recently upon us. The other India is the leash.
One India says give me a chance and I'll prove myself. The other India says prove yourself first and maybe then you'll have a chance.
One India lives in the optimism of our hearts. The other India lurks in the skepticism of our minds.
One India wants. The other India hopes. One India leads. The other India follows.
But conversions are on the rise. With each passing day more and more people from the other India have been coming over to this side. And quietly, while the world is not looking, a pulsating, dynamic new India is emerging.
An India whose faith in success is far greater than its fear of failure. An India that no longer boycotts foreign-made goods but buys out the companies that make them instead.
History, they say, is a bad motorist. It rarely ever signals its intentions when it's taking a turn.
This is that rarely-ever moment. History is turning a page.
For over half a century, our nation has sprung, stumbled, run, fallen, rolled over, got up and dusted herself and cantered, sometimes lurched on. But today, as we begin our 60th year as a free nation, the ride has brought us to the edge of time's great precipice.
And one India - a tiny little voice at the back of the head - is looking down at the bottom of the ravine and hesitating.
The other India is looking up at the sky and saying it's time to fly.
Our time is now"
