Monday, September 29, 2014

The Teacher That Never Was


Coming from a family line of popular Teachers form my Mother’s side, I nurture a solid respect for the greatest profession in the world. Black sheep exit in every fraternity, and teaching is also not spared from this curse.

Thanks to this particular Maths instructor from 4th grade, who made numbers a nightmare, I chose to be in the profession that feeds me right now, totally refusing to be an Engineer like my Father and his Father before him.

She found pleasure in her humiliating ways of correcting children, who according to her was deviating from the path of light.

Kneeling down outside the class with my boys during her 47 minutes of inferno every day was nothing compared to her crazy eyes glaring at me, while she slowly unbuttoned my shirt in front of the whole class, just because I could not by heart the multiplication table.

Humiliation was complete, when I see the girl who could not decipher William Wordsworth in the previous period light up a smile as tears rolled on my cheeks.

I was a fool, who did not run to my benevolent guardians in the staffroom to report this, nor did I have the courage to reveal this madness to our Father, busy climbing the professional ladder.

Acha, if only we were good friends back then, just like now! If only you took up the role of my conscience keeper at that age, things would have been different. It’s was indeed a failure, when the almighty Kishore ettan’s little child suffered in silence.

I was afraid. I was scared. I was intimidated to reveal that the son of a numerical prodigy like him was dyslexic, or was I?

On the brighter side, I learnt to appreciate the kind words and support from all the other Chaperones of knowledge in that School. I worship them. They nurtured my little talents so well, that I make my living out of it right now.

I recognized the same lady in that crowded bakery in Thalassery a few months back, attending to her child screaming for ice cream. I hope she changed for good, before a pedophile got hold of that little thing. You know, Karma is a bitch.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

what is done cannot be undone.Your mom was also like that.But none harassed me mentally or physically at that time.bitter experiences make you stronger.theeyil kuruthathu veilathu vatumo?

Sona;-) said...

I also has a teacher who conducted a random poetry contest in a malayalam class and humiliated me by saying that mine was the worse among the lot of 53. Yes,karma is a bitch n she had to give me bouquet n receive me wen my skul honoured me fr winning best poetry award after 8 years