She strides briskly into the classroom, her arms full of books. Standing at the head of the class, she casts an eye over the sixty teenagers struggling to their feet to wish her Good Morning in a loud, dissonant chorus. Over the next forty minutes, she plans to take them back to the medieval ages. She talks of King Arthur, Robin Hood and The Three Musketeers. Seamlessly, they enter the exciting feudal world of duels and crusades, of kings and dukes and knights in shining armor. The bell signals the end of class. It’s time to move on.
Her day begins early every morning, almost at the crack of dawn. Rushing about the house, dealing with the mundane chores every home maker must perform, she mentally runs through her ‘To Do’ list. Very ‘doable, she tells herself as she heads for school, the promise of another glorious day reflected in her eyes.
She rather looks forward to the early morning buzz in the staffroom as teachers arrive - full of smiles, greetings and small talk. The buzz lasts only a few minutes. They gather their books and rush off to their own class rooms.
It’s time for the English lesson with the eighth graders. She likes being with them - they are the ones treading the fine line between childlike innocence and rebellious, omniscient adolescence. Along with her, they laugh their way through an extract from Gerald Durrell’s book. Even as they revel in the author’s gentle humor, she is watchfully attentive for the ones that have wandered off into their own realms of imagination, or the ones that are engaged in a hushed discourse with their friends. Later, the children share their favorite animal stories.
Then it’s another class, another set of children. And then another…
It is break time at last. A brief reprieve and a cup of coffee…
In the staffroom there’s a hum of conversation as she settles down. Snatches of conversation float up to her - a favorite book, a recipe that will be tried out when there’s more time, a child who needs attention, a movie that just has to be watched, a remedy for cervical spondylitis, a home swamped with guests….
She looks with fondness at her fraternity. What spirit is it, she wonders, that brings these wonderful, dedicated people here day after day, everyday? What ties them so inexorably to a profession that enriches every aspect of their lives except their bank accounts? Her reverie is broken by some one calling out her name. They need her in the office right away.
She makes her way to the office through scores of children milling around, playing ingenious games, talking nineteen to dozen, sharing lunch boxes. Outside the office, in the hallway stands a ten year old looking utterly forlorn. She steps up to him and asks him if he needs something.
“My mother forgot to pack lunch for me,” he says.
“Hungry?” she asks. He nods back in answer, the unshed tears threatening to well over. She takes his tiny hand in her own. “I’ll tell you what…how about it if I gave you some lunch money and you ate something in the school canteen?”
She watches with a smile as he perks up considerably and scampers down the corridor, the money held tight in his fist,
In the office she’s informed that an inter school debate is round the corner and she’s in charge of their school team. Debates are lots of fun and loads of work as well. On the way back, she tots up the tasks that she has prioritized. She must check the library for reference material, sign calendars, call up a parent to inquire about a child who has been unwell, and record the marks of last week’s test in the computer.
Walking faster at the thought of unfinished jobs, she enters the class. They are going to consider the role of the Moderates in India’s freedom struggle, she tells them. Her declaration is met with a volley of protests. Carefully arranged, pitiful, woebegone expressions on their faces, they talk of fingers that ache from solving the umpteen exacting sums that an unfeeling teacher gave them, of the misery that is to be their lot in the last year of school. Couldn’t they hear an interesting story instead? Only a heart of stone would remain unmoved, so terrible is their plight! She suppresses a smile and indicates that the nobility of her soul makes her open to negotiations. A splendid story awaits them, but it can be narrated only after two very vital aspects of Indian history have been discussed. Heads nod and shake in turns and the lesson begins. Dadabhai Naoroji and O Henry’s Jim and Della find themselves introduced to a gaggle of boys and girls who will one day realize their true worth.
Another hour and she settles down to tick tasks off the To Do list – their status shows them up as being ‘accomplished’. She picks up a pile of books to be taken home to correct. Goodbyes are said, hundreds of cycles stream out of the gates – the school day is over.
It is late afternoon by the time she reaches home. A small siesta is her reward for the hard work since sunrise. At the other end of the forty winks wait some household chores, friends she likes to share thoughts with, a relative who needs to be wished for a birthday, a book she’s half way through, an evening walk, a lesson she must prepare for the next day and of course, her own family.
It is in the course of her evening constitutional that she encounters one of her neighbors. Pleasantries are exchanged, routines examined and children inquired after. “You find time for books and friends and walks? How I envy you! My job is sooo demanding. I wish I was doing some thing as easy as teaching in a school.”
She smiles at her neighbour and moves on. Tomorrow will be another day…..
