Not all sticks hurt…
It was a normal day in Gwalior. Despite the afternoon, the Sun wasn’t out. The morning was chilly and the afternoon was gloomy. And here I was making my way from an annoying discussion of the teachers’ lounge to the last class of the day.
The interesting thing with being a school teacher is the package you get. You would have mini historians as there are history teachers with decades of experience. Same holds with geography, literature, the languages, the science, the math, the arts and sports of course. The whole bunch of petal put together can make a great bouquet. But it’s not as pretty as it may sound.
These are not really petals, these are human beings. They have their limitations, their prejudices, their temper, their view and their political inclinations.
As a man who has never lived with a woman for as many as 38 years, I am truly enjoying the single life. Living with just the nature and myself. Just in case if you haven’t experienced it, trust me, living with yourself is literally a bliss, provided you learn to handle the people.
In Gwalior, I was living a stone cottage provided by the school. The life was good. Being entirely on your own meant you wash your clothes, you clean your cups after a hot cup of coffee. You clean the house, everything on your own.
But it has a fallout. There are a huge bunch of people your age who advocate getting married because living along can be extremely hard. You are unfortunately an evidence of their false assumptions and though you might play it down, deep down, they are bothered.
That shows in their actions. Their attention, their ignorance, their arguments, their opinions, their social views are all screaming an obvious hint to the displeasure that you are absolutely happy and fine with living alone for life.
And if you have done anything beyond your job description, the jealousy is evident. In my case it was far worse. I was a teacher teaching math, physics and chemistry. I also used to go to the ground in evening and play with the students. I could sing, could write and also make small films. All in all, I was inviting jealousy from every corner of the teachers’ lounge everyday. And I was almost totally naive or unaware about how to handle it.
And one day it got too far. A fellow teacher started telling me about my political unawareness and started advising me to watch a certain news anchor every evening. I normally do not react to such suggestions. But this time it was just too judgemental. In one simple polite argument, I shut the man up.
Desperately wanting to get to the class and start teaching the kids, I climbed the stairs. Other teachers walk around and I am really reluctant to talk. Once in the class, I am again drenched in the the lesson and the notoriously cheeky kids. I have a good time teaching the kids and almost forget the episode in the lounge.
After the class, I drive back to my cottage. I make quick noodles and then a good hot mug full of strong coffee. Lying in the sofa I am about to fall asleep when the alarm goes off. That reminds me that I have to go back to the teachers’ lounge and submit a few papers. Annoyed, I start the bike and drive back to the school.
After parking the bike as I walk by the ground watching kids play, I suddenly hear a couple of kids wishing me good afternoon. These are kids I was teaching in the class not more than three hours ago.
“Good afternoon boys”, I smile back and pat their head. “Okay sir, good day”, say the kids and run back to the ground. I look back at them mesmerized.
I taught these kids just a few hours ago, I will be teaching them again tomorrow. They were already playing in the ground. They still noticed me. And while a few kids waved at me calling my name with a smile, these kids stop their game just to come and wish me and then run back.
My whole annoyance with the routine, with bad management, with irritating teachers, with attention seeking adults in the lounge and a lot more; the whole annoyance melted away. A tinge of moistness flooded the eyelids.
“You are good, man. You are good”, told me my own voice. “You are not just liked, the kids honor you. In fact they pounce on to every opportunity to come and talk in person. Which other teacher gets this privileged treatment?”
I smiled feeling very humbled. I felt humbled to the kids who loved me so much. I felt humbled by the touch of honor and appreciation. I felt humbled by the experience of life I was at the center of.
Wiping my eyes, I walked back to the lounge to finish the paperwork. This time I wasn’t annoyed about the thought of the discussions I might have to bear. I just walked inside my work-zone. It was my den today. It was a place where I work not for salary, I work for the wonder my class brings to the kids as well as me.
The thought of keeping the job and shutting my voice for the sake of job was gone forever. I realized, my every act should be my expression, my art. My class should be my poem. And my discussion should be my coffee….
Those kids will need many years to understand this. But the kids I wanted to teach more about life, were the kids who liberated me.
So if two young teens walk up to you with hockey sticks in their hands, do not panic. They might have come just to liberate you from your anguish….
