'Jeeva
what do you want to become in future?'
'I want to be a teacher da'
This
was me when I was not older than 5. I studied in MCTM school, Mylapore where a
child belonging to a middle class family like me would be hard to find out. My
father reportedly was chastised by his colleagues for enrolling me in such a
'costly school'. I still remember the aura I enjoyed in my neighbourhood of
being the only child who studied in such an English medium school and who could
give out the correct spelling for any English word even longer than 7 letters.
Trust me, for all the money my dad shelled out towards educating me and for
compulsorily 'donating' towards school improvement, I was reared to be a bright
student, a consistent first-ranker in the class and most importantly,
disciplined and well-mannered according to my neighbouring aunties and uncles.
I
had 'teachers' in every sense of the word, the ones whom I assumed knew
'everything', those who could never make grammatical errors while speaking and as
I fancied during my childhood who could never give in to temptations of love or
marriage and floated around as 'saints' in civilian outfits. I fondly remember
me covering my wide-opened mouth when one of my friends revealed that our Miss
had a bulged belly because she had a baby inside. On another occasion, when I
asked my Maths Miss what do they call a female stallion, she replied that she
does not know because she was a Maths teacher. I ran up back to my friends to
reveal to them 'Dei Miss ke theriaadhaam da'(Even the Miss does not know
it!!).We used to laugh out loud whenever our teachers lecturing in English
suddenly break in to Tamil and make references to Rajnikant or Kushboo to
lighten the grimness in the class.
Alright,
let me stop and ask myself as to why I wanted to be a teacher.
Possibly
because I wanted to scribble an additional star in the answer sheet of one of
my eager students and send him back to his place with pride displayed through a
smile of gratification. I wanted to add one mark for the 6th two mark question
and 8th five mark question and cheer up a teary-eyed failed student so that he
clears the paper. I wanted to be like my Poonguzhali miss who would caress my
head with her left hand whenever she was in a good mood, sitting upon my
writing desk and lecturing students. I wanted to enter a class in the fifth
period of a day when children are bracing themselves for another grueling class
of mathematics and declare it a ‘free period’ inviting them to the middle of
the classroom encouraging them to narrate stories or sing carnatic songs. I
wanted to emulate my perennially serious Sasikala Miss, who once furiously
summoned me to the black board when I had slapped a girl on a case of a missing
pen cap and who suddenly broke into laughter looking at my watered eyes that
were anticipating at least an hour of kneeling down outside the class. I wanted
to save my children like the same Sasikala Miss from the preying eyes of a nosy
headmistress who wanted to know why were the children standing on the bench, attributing
them with false, trivial charges.
As
I grew up and changed school, predictably all sheen on the surface was fast
getting eroded and teachers no longer captivated my imagination. In plus two, I
remember reading the name 'simbu' on the board and when I asked my Miss what
was Simbu doing in a trigonometry class, she replied 'Don't know maths-ah? sin
bx that is'. Only one of my eight teachers could speak tolerable English and
only two of them could make me understand what they were trying to say. But
there were other remarkable changes and my hypothesis of ‘an empty teacher
makes more noise’ held good till I completed college.
On
the first day of my college, I resolved in front of my dad that I would end up
being a gold medalist in Electrical Engineering. I cannot suppress a chuckle
when I think about it now. But let me assure you that it was a sincere resolve
as steely as my dad who saved every one of the two rupees he earned, towards my
college education, without opting for a loan that would remain tied to me even
after I enter employment. I was not impervious then to science and engineering
as I am today, and to an extent, some subjects were really interesting. My
Microprocessor Sir had a voice that could hardly leave his mouth and cross the
dais where he stood; my Transmission and Distribution Sir resembled a Reverend
whose head was programmed not to look beyond the book he held in his hand and
who kept on reading it to us verbatim like verses from the Holy Bible; many
teachers had horrible handwriting especially when they worked out derivations
on the board; many teachers kept secrets of engineering to themselves except
those that would feature in the exams.
This
is not to say that these teachers solely wrecked my supremely built and superbly
engineered ship that was cruising towards my medal winning ambitions. I was
partly responsible for my apathy towards engineering and I confess I am guilty.
In my third year, in Data Structures and Algorithms paper, I was thanking God
for getting me through with the coveted 36. My dad on the other hand couldn't
understand how I could win a gold medal with a total of 56 out of 100 in one of
the papers.
'Why
so low marks? I pay the highest fees than any other parent in Tamil Nadu for
your education. Don't you listen properly to your classes?'
I
did not have an answer. Why was I scoring low? How will I propose to my
classmate in the final year if I fail one of my exams and don't get a job? Is
it because I was not listening to my classes properly? In a moment of stirring
epiphany, I realized suddenly that I had stopped listening to classes ever
since Vajpayee was voted out of power.
I
recently happened to see one of my college lecturers in the local train sitting
across me, whose name and the subject he had handled I could not gather from my
memory. I instinctively wanted to introduce myself and inform him that I work
at a software company. But I checked myself. I no longer had respect for
teachers.
I
am suddenly reminded of a random incident that happened a couple of years ago.
We visited one of our old neighbors’ and the mistress of the house was a
teacher working at an expensive private school for more than twenty years.
My
dad in the course of a conversation, I could not divine why he asked that, “How
much are you paid in the school?”
The
old woman twisted her lips and after a pause.
”They
pay well. Not a problem for us”
My
dad should have understood and dropped the subject right away.
“Why
don’t you tell us? I really want to know”
She
concealed her irritation and spoke out
“Three
thousand rupees a month”
