Part I – A new dawn
Mid-June is that time of the year when the weather in Pune is considered to be at its best. While heat torments the junta in most parts of the country, Pune is blessed with mild showers and intermittent breeze that keeps the heat at bay. The air is fresh, cold and the kind that makes one feel alive and energetic. A gust of wind blew hair across her face and as Nishika Mishra avoided the puddles on her way to the bus stop. Grey threatening clouds loomed over the horizon as a light drizzle moistened her wavy hair and trickled down her glasses. But the 23 year old software engineer couldn’t have cared less about the pleasant weather, her flying hair, her wet clothes or the blurred vision. She had more important things on her mind this Monday morning.
Two months ago, at 6.30 a.m. she would have cozily been tucked in bed at her home in Bangalore. She wouldn’t even have thought of waking up before her mother caressed her hair, kissed her forehead and informed her that the clock read 8.30. A cup of warm milk, crisp butter toasts and a neatly tossed omelet would be followed by a warm shower, hair-styling, dress selection, hugs from her parents, grabbing the watch on the side-table and scurrying to the office cab that would be waiting outside her building at 9.30 sharp. She would doze off again in the cab only to wake up minutes before reaching the office campus to sport the swipe card, that flashed the name of the 4 billion $ enterprise that she worked for and which, more importantly, offered her a bulky pay check each month.
But nothing was the same today. She had woken up on her own at 6 a.m., a feat that her mother had yearned to witness for years. She had hurried through toiletries, only to find that the ancient geyser in this apartment heated water too slowly, bathed quickly with chilly water, worn the first salwar-kameez that she could lay her hands on, run a comb through her brown-black locks and scampered out of her newly rented one room-kitchen apartment. On an ordinary day, she would have yelled curses, cribbed about everything to her mother and probably even cried out of frustration. But today, all these things seemed trivial consequences of a choice she had made. She was preoccupied with not being late on her first day back to school – her first day as a teacher, her first day as a Teach for India Fellow.
She had been told that she would be teaching Grade 2 and had prepared to that effect. But, thousands of questions troubled her while she waited for her bus. How many kids would her class have? Would the class have sufficient infrastructure? Would her assigned classroom match the image of a morbid and derelict low-income school building that she had often pictured based on news articles and media reports? She wondered if she would have to deal with leaking roofs, students devoid of benches, unmanageably large class strength, black-boards that wouldn’t take chalk marks or a hostile school administration. She wondered what the kids would be like. Would they respond to her, accept her and have fun with her? She began to feel a strange restlessness; the last she could recall having felt this way was when she had appeared for placement interviews at college, three years ago.
As the new swanky and comfy PMC bus halted, Nishika’s heart skipped a beat. This was it. Within 15 minutes she would be at school. She found an empty seat at the rear end of the bus where no one would bother her through the journey. The bus was almost vacant considering the early hour, but the corner seat gave her much needed space to ponder and muster her confidence. She looked out of the window at the little ones standing in groups on either side of the road. Primly dressed in their shorts, shirts, belts and ties the kids gleefully flashed their new bags, water-bottles and raincoats on the first day of the new session. They were shadowed by their parents whose eyes searched the horizon for the school bus. The scene brought back memories of her childhood. “Will the kids in my class be as well dressed? Do they even come to school by buses? Probably not.” she thought to herself.
She recalled the kids at the summer school whom the 87 Teach for India Fellows had taught for 4 hours each day over the past 4 weeks, as a part of their training. Those kids belonged to low-income schools from different parts of the city. Her new students would probably come from similar backgrounds. She began rejoicing as the smiles of Prajakta and Ketan, kids from her summer school class, flashed in her head. The smiles reassured her and made her feel confident again. She had done a fabulous job with the kids there. She had taught alone only for 40 minutes each day, different topics every time and had a group of Fellows to support her in case of a failed lesson. Agreed! But she had done well in that one period each day. The kids loved her. They reciprocated her energy, participated, behaved well and most importantly demonstrated learning in tests. She beamed with pride at just the thought of whatever little she had taught those 15 kids. It made all the obstacles faced while making the decision to give up her job and join the 2-year Fellowship worthwhile. This liberating feeling satisfied her and gave her a sense of purpose.
The bus screeched to a gradual halt and the conductor wailed, “Sakal Nagar” prompting Nishika to stop reveling in her thoughts. She smiled, took a deep breath and sprung up from her seat. She paid for the ticket with her eyes scanning the sidewalks for a sight of kids whom she might see in her classroom a little while later. As she got off the bus, her initial fear was replaced by a sense of curiosity. All along the short walk from the Sakal Nagar bus stop to the school, she could see groups of kids walking in the same direction with elders. Several of them wore grey and white checked dresses, which she assumed to be the school uniform. She also noticed numerous kids clad in slippers and many others carrying polythene bags instead of bags. She cringed at the sight of some kids wading barefoot through the muck on the road and being harangued by the old woman who was walking them. And then at the first sight of the school gate she stopped in her tracks and gaped.
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“Green Valley Primary School”, screamed the white board neatly painted with green letters and flowers of a variety of colors. The gate to the school campus stood ajar right below this overpowering structure. It was thronged by auto-rickshaws spewing out more children than one could have imagined to be seated within. The rickshaw-wallas admonished the kids for quarreling and even delivered a few blows when they ushered the kids out of the vehicle as though pulling vegetables out of a grocery bag. Amidst the swarm of kids, parents, rickshaw drivers and elder siblings, there lay three small potholes at the gate. Two of them played host to brownish mucky water and leaves that had been discarded by the trees hovering above the gate. The sight of the third pothole was what had stunned Nishika.
A student, who looked about 8 years old, lay in the pothole while three others kicked him, laughed and clapped high fives. A group of students looked on from the sidelines and giggled seemingly enchanted by the prank. Next to them, two older students were engrossed in a serious altercation. All of a sudden, punches were thrown, shirts were tugged at and finally the shorter one picked up a stone and flung it on his bulkier counterpart, spurting blood from his forehead onto his shirt. All the onlookers shifted their attention from the dirt-covered student and gathered around the bleeding child who had dropped to the ground. Nishika overcame her bewilderment and rushed towards the gate to attend to the wounded child. She noticed that one of the many auto-rickshaw drivers had reached the spot before her, but much to her alarm, he had started hitting the guilty kid and yelling profanities at him rather than sparing a thought for the injured soul. She began sprinting to the spot, as though eager to run the wounded child to the nearest hospital herself, her shoulder bag swaying behind her. But just as she had entered the last 200 meters of her kilometer long scurry, a group of teachers emerged from within, took control of the situation as though this was an everyday affair, had the wounded boy taken inside and stopped the annoyed auto-rickshaw driver, the uncle of the injured child, from chastising the other boy who had by now began crying bitterly.
By the time Nishika reached the gate, the teachers had instructed the kids to go to their respective classes, leave their bags and wait for their teachers to arrive. She received stern gazes from the teachers at the gate and could figure little else to do but stop panting, hesitantly smile and gently nod her head in an attempt to wish them a good morning. None of them seemed to know her; the principal being the only person on staff whom she had been introduced to a couple of days ago. However, the short, plump, jovial principal was nowhere to be seen. “Hello, I’m Nishika”, she said, once again flashing her infectious smile, “a Teach for India Fellow. I’ve been assigned 2nd Standard at this school.” The scornful and suspecting faces immediately transformed themselves to sport forced half-smiles. The youngest of the lot, who didn’t look older than a 12th Grader, seemed excited to hear this. She said, “Ohhhh! Teach for India Fellow! Haiiiiiieee, I am Bharti.”, placed her arm on Nishika’s shoulder and showed her towards the school building.
Nishika, though not completely comfortable, trudged into the gate. She looked up at the school building for the first time. Her perceptions seemed to have deceived her. The school was not even remotely close to her imagination of a low-income school. A nice pink colored two-storied building stood tall before her. It was a well thought out U-shaped structure, with well painted black grills to allow light into the classrooms through the corridors, greenery manning the two arms of the U and abundant trees brightening the campus. There was also an expansive playground on the right of the building equipped with basketball nets and poles for volleyball court. The external walls of the first floor displayed ‘Study, study, your rank is ready’, ‘A stitch in time saves nine’ and several other quotes in blue. As she stepped inside the corridor, she noticed the vibrant pictures painted along the walls of the corridor – the alphabet, rhymes, fruits and animals for the little ones, the national anthem, maps of Maharashtra and India for the older ones and the brief bios of Shivaji, Gandhiji, Ahilyadevi Holkar and Dr. Radhakrishnan for the oldest ones. The critic in her did not fail to notice the prominent flaws such as the missing campus boundary wall, the mud on the grounds that had probably rendered them inaccessible to the kids, the unbearable stench from the bathroom, the soiled floors of the corridor owing to the lack of a foot-mat at the gate and the garbage, ranging from waste papers, chocolate wrappers and chips packets to liquor bottles and polythene bags, that littered the entire campus. However, she was more than happy with what she saw. Her imagination had been so much worse. She felt assured that her classroom would be nice too. The decent campus in addition to the hug from Bharti made her feel a little welcome and sparked positivity in her.
Bharti had turned into a door that read ‘Office’. Just as Nishika was about to follow in after her, she heard a soft voice call out “Hi Nishika!” She turned to find a familiar face running towards the office. Amidst the confusion of the brawl at the gate, the awkward introduction to the teachers and the keen observation of the school building, she had completely forgotten about the other Teach for Indi Fellow who would be teaching Grade 3 at the school. Vinay Dixit, the 24-year old, Electronics Engineer was dressed in the kind of prim formals that one would associate with a corporate house and was lugging a heavy shoulder back. He was a little thick around the middle, parted his hair in the centre and exuded confidence in the way he spoke and carried himself. Nishika, being her introverted self, had been a little skeptical about him when she had first met him last month but had grown to respect him as she learnt more about him over time and endless training sessions attended together. He was polite, a good-listener and seemed genuine. She was glad that he would be her partner-in-crime over the next two years and believed that they would make a great team. She quickly exchanged niceties and ushered him into the office to introduce him to their new colleagues. She breathed heavily to get over the traces of nervousness left in her and said to herself “Here goes! A new part of your life begins today. Be yourself. Be strong. This is going to be exciting!”
Part 2 – Damn! J
The light June drizzle was sufficient to flood the maze of lanes in Kasturi Vasahat. Small cement houses lined either side of the passages that were just wide enough for two bikes to pass through together. Blue tarpaulin sheets covered several roofs but could do nothing to stop the water that trickled down them from sneaking in beneath the doors and the windows. One of the several 8ft x 10ft rooms in this settlement was the abode of the six members of the Singh family. Akshay Singh was woken up by the sound of the water drops against the tin-sheet roof of their shanty. The air was chilly and the thin bed sheet that he was tucked into did little to keep him warm. The plastic sheet and the flailing mattress which lay under him on the floor did not do much either. Yet, he did not want to get out of bed. He pretended to be asleep, hoping that he would just not be woken up this morning. He knew that school reopened today, much to his disappointment. Forty days of fun, play, endless hours of mindless wandering and dance classes would finally come to an end. He absolutely loved vacations and hated the thought of having to return to school even more. Just then he heard his elder sister yell “Uth! Akshay uth! School ke liye late ho jaenge. Jaldi kar!”
Akshay, Kajal and their elder brother Anuj, all studied at Green Valley School since that was as expensive a schooling as their mother Kavita Singh could afford. She toiled all day as a maid to several households in the nearby Sant Hirdaram Nagar Housing Society, believed to be one of the most posh residential areas in the city, its imposing bungalows presenting a striking contrast to the expansive slum-dwelling adjoining it. She earned a paltry sum, just about adequate to support the education of the three kids and bear the household expenses. The single room that housed the four of them and her old, ailing in-laws itself cost her Rs. 5000/- a month, almost half of her monthly income. It had all been so different when her husband was employed as a helper on contract at the National Chemical Laboratories (NCL). They had a three room house, the income was decent, the kids studied at the renowned NCL School and things were so much easier. Then, in a shocking turn of events, Kishan Singh had contracted HIV and passed away two years ago. The kids had to drop out of school and she was left all alone to raise the three kids and care for her ailing in-laws. The transpired events had hardly sunk in when someone informed her of the need to get herself and the kids tested for the dreaded virus. They had fortunately tested negative but there was still no respite. The community had caste the family out due to the stigma associated with AIDS. Illiterate, stigmatized and worried about the fate of her kids, she had been forced to move to Kasturi Vasahat and take up small chores at a nearby parlor. The residents of this community were less well-off than those of the Pashan area, where the family had resided earlier, but much bigger at heart. They had heard her out, comforted her and accepted the family. Soon, she had been introduced to a few households and begun working as a maid. The kids were enrolled at the low-cost school that most of the kids from the area attended. She had struggled to bring life back to normal, had become strong and had decided that her kids would always see her wearing a smile on her face. Come what may, she did not want the shadow of the past to mar her kids’ lives. She kept those memories out of her head. She lived with just one purpose now – to educate her kids – and worked hard to make sure that their needs were met.
This morning too she had woken up at the routine 5 a.m., bathed, filled buckets of water for the kids’ baths and then woken up Kajal. She had asked her to wake up the other two and get ready while she cooked for their lunch boxes. She had packed the lunch, guided Kajal about cooking after school, given her Rs. 50 just in case the kids needed the money and then left hurriedly to make it in time to cook for the Rahejas, who did not like to be kept waiting at the breakfast table. Just as she stepped out of the house, she looked at Akshay and prayed that the brightest of her children have a good day at school. She had high hopes of him.
Too little to understand his mother’s aspirations, Akshay refused to acknowledge the wake-up calls of his sister initially. Then he sensed that Anuj had woken up and was calling out too. If he did not get up even now, he stood the risk of being hit by his burly brother. But given a choice, he would prefer this to the spanking he had received from the 1st Standard teacher last year for reasons beyond his comprehension. He opened his eyes and pleaded to his siblings that he did not want to go to school. ‘Whack!’ came the blow from Anuj on his tiny little head and Akshay began to cry. Kajal, hugged him soothingly and urged him to bathe quickly as he wailed “Nahin, jaunga mai school. Bekar lagta hai. Mummyyyy! Anuj marta hai!”. Anuj and Kajal had often left him behind at home last year when he had cried or feigned illness. Not that anyone at school had bothered to ask them why he was absent, but their mother used to be visibly upset upon finding out in the evenings that Akshay had missed school. Anuj wasn’t going to let Akshay’s tantrums hurt their mother, at least not on the first day of school. He caught hold of him by the arm, kicked him into the wash area and threatened, “Agar late kiya, to bahut maar lagega! Ab naatak band kar, aur jaldi se taiyar ho!”
Left with no choice, Akshay grumbled as he bathed and began dressing up while Anuj stepped into the partitioned corner of the house that served as a washroom. His mother had washed and neatly ironed the grey uniform that he absolutely despised. Why did they not allow the kids to sport tee-shirts and trousers with countless pockets and dangling chains? He would love to sport a bandana, dark glasses and a wrist band to go with that snazzy dress. His day-dream was shattered by Kajal’s call to hurry up. He dragged himself into his checked shirt with a horrible frown but as he tugged at his grey shorts, a wide grin spread onto his face. He had grown too big to fit into them. He grabbed the opportunity to put on his favorite pair of jeans, flung his bag onto his back without bothering to sort out its contents and rushed out to join Kajal. As Anuj hurried out of the room minutes later, he noticed the jeans and darted at Akshay. But his charge was rendered fruitless by Kajal who pointed out that they were already late for the scheduled 7.15 a.m. start of school.
As they walked the 2.5 kilometers from the slum across Sakal Nagar and towards the school, Akshay recalled how irritating it had been last year. He enjoyed reading, numbers and asking questions to the teacher. But collecting notebooks or sticks on his knuckles seemed to be the only rewards his curiosity ever won! It never got him any answers. He was completely averse to having to listen to the teacher read out the poems and rhymes without being given a chance to utter a word himself. He found copying down everything from the board and never being allowed to write his own answers, very annoying. The worst parts of the class were when the kids were asked to lay their heads on the desk and sit quietly while Lina Miss chatted away with one of the other teachers at the gate, wrote something onto huge pieces of paper or talked on the cell-phone. He had decided that he would go ahead of the class and finish the books by himself at home. But in no more than a month he had finished all of them. The scarcity of material and the indifference of the teacher to his pleas for something new had led to Akshay losing his interest in class. It was then that he had developed an affinity towards other ‘activities’ that seemed more enjoyable. He loved dancing and karate but those two events lasted only two weeks in the month of December around the time the sports week was scheduled. He began to engage in the more common kinds of peer learning prevalent at the school – abuses, playing pranks and bullying younger kids – all this while still a student of Standard I. Gradually, what was being taught in class became irrelevant since he knew it more often than not. He waited eagerly for the time of the day when the teacher would leave the classroom at his mercy. Since he was a sharp kid, he was just as good at mischief as he was at studies. Over the year, he had grown to develop quite a temper. The smallest of things angered him and beating his classmates gave him a thrill. His behavior led to several complaints, each one adding further to his mother’s worries. Akshay made lofty promises to her about behaving himself, but subconsciously forgot about them every single time. He had come to interpret school as a place to while away time until opportunities to have fun presented themselves.
As he toed the last of the 50 odd pebbles that he had kicked while submerged in his thoughts en route to the school, Kajal straightened his shirt and flattened his hair. “School aa gaya Akshay. Ab tu 2nd Standard me hai. Ladai nahi, complaints nahi. Ache se padhai karna.” she said, in a manner that made her sound more mature than any other 5th grader. Akshay looked up at the school building. It looked the same as he could last remember it. He wished he could run away. The only things that he was looking forward to were showing off his jeans, meeting his friends whom he hadn’t interacted with for such a long time and playing a few new pranks that he had learnt on some of the classmates. As he stepped into the gate, he thought “Ah! Yes!! There will also be new books for us in 2nd Standard.” But before his mind could dwell on that thought, Lina Miss caught his eye and he began yearning for the bell to ring and indicate lunch break, even before he had entered the classroom. “Damn! Why did school reopen?” were his trailing thoughts, as his feet inched unwillingly towards the stairs that would lead to his new classroom on the 1st floor.
Part III – United by destiny
Nishika heaved a sigh of relief as the bell rung at 12.15 p.m. to mark the close of the day. “Teaching is just as tough as it is fun”, she thought.
The five hours that has passed since she had met Vinay outside the office this morning had been crazy. They had entered to find the principal attending to the injured boy and admonishing him for his violent act. Mrs. Malwankar had greeted them and formally introduced the ‘new Teach for India Fellows’ to the rest of the staff and vice versa before handing them instructions about the time-table along with the agenda for the first day. As Vinay began conversing with one of the teachers, she had asked the peon to lead them to their classroom, explaining that there would be time for interaction with the teachers towards the end of the day. “Pehle students se mil lo. Best of luck!” she had smiled, flashing all of her pearly white teeth in a manner that made the smile seem artificial. But Nishika and Vinay both knew from their previous interaction that she was a warm and straight-forward lady. Sizing up the other teachers would have to wait until noon. They had thanked the staff for the welcome and stepped out to meet their little ones.
The peon, Dinesh Gadiwan was a young lad of 25 but looked scary in his khaki uniform and skewed smile. He had led them upstairs quietly and pointed in the directions of their classrooms with his fingers as if to save his words for a better occasion. The two Fellows had exchanged comforting looks, smiled at each other and turned towards their classrooms.
The first thing that had caught Nishika’s attention in the classroom was the small black haired boy who was perched on a bench flinging chalks and paper balls at other children. At the sight of her, he had run to his seat at the back of the class as had most of the other kids, and had straightened his uniform, hair and his face. She had taken a minute to note that the airy classroom was big enough to squeeze in 50 kids and had a chalkboard with illegible chalk marks possibly made by the kids in her absence, a fan that whirled away incessantly, though clearly incapable of cooling the room, around 18 benches which comfortably seated the 30 odd students and two lights on facing walls. When she had ascertained that the classroom was palatable, she had turned her attention to the notorious lad and softly asked him to come up to the front.
Akshay had walked up to her and upon being asked his name, had rolled a tear down his long cheeks. This had come as a surprise, since she had not been stern at all and further had doubted her ability to be firm with the kids throughout the past month during training. The boy’s hair was flat, sprawling in a wayward manner, his appearance resembling that of Daniel Radcliffe portraying Harry Potter – sans the spectacles and the face a little thinner. The scars were there too, several of them, clearly visible to Nishika through his twinkling, glistening eyes; scars of anger, frustration and fear on the innocent white paper of his mind. She had ruffled his hair, let him go back and cheerfully introduced herself to the kids as their new teacher whom they could address as Nishika didi. What had ensued was the longest and most surprising day of her life. It had been a lot of fun getting the kids to open up to her. She had sung songs, narrated a couple of stories, told them tales of her childhood, tried cracking jokes to pacify the few who had been crying and demonstrated new procedures for the classroom such as leaving the class in a line, raising hands to speak and clapping high-fives when one did something commendable. She had enjoyed herself thoroughly, smiled, played and laughed, until the zapping nature of her new role had dawned upon her and she had been stunned by the fact that she had run out of ideas to engage the kids, within two hours, even before ‘tiffin bell’ (as the kids liked to call it). Basic tests of the alphabet, numbers and ability to read had then brought her to terms with the harsh reality of the pitiful state of the kids’ abilities and scared her, adding to her woes. But as the school day came to an end, she was more spirited than tired or apprehensive.
Throughout the day, she had observed each one of the kids. Some of them had hesitated, some had remained in their shell with subtle indications of disbelief at the novelty of whatever was going on in the class, while others had began to join the party and open up to her. The excitement on the kids faces and the warmth and affection with which they had bid adieu to her at the end of the day felt like bliss. Her mind had already started brewing ideas for the next day.
However, Akshay’s subdued face stood out in that sea of smiles and thoughts of him lingered as she stood at the door of the classroom listening to some of the kids tell her about their parents and families. The little boy had remained puzzled and disturbed all day, throughout the introductions, new procedures, question sessions, games and stories. He had refused to answer any questions and had been noticeably upset every time his peers had indicated confidence in his ability to answer or urged him to speak up. Moreover, his obstinacy had caused a few others to gravitate towards him and act in a similar manner. But, she wasn’t annoyed with him. His expressions had failed to shield the spark in his eyes and had rendered her curious. She had little experience of teaching but her instincts told her that focusing on Akshay’s behavior would change several things in the class. And that is precisely what she had decided to do. Her first step on this two year mission would be to befriend every one of the kids, beginning with Akshay! She sensed that it would be a daunting task but she was looking forward to it, with the tenacity of a little girl bent on doing well on her exam. Little did she know that half the battle had already been won even without fighting consciously, that she had stirred the soul of a little boy just by being her hard-working, lively self throughout the day.
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Akshay Singh had left the classroom in a daze and waited outside the school gate for his siblings to take him home. He stared at the trees and began thinking about the events of the day.
It had been an unusual day. Most of his plans for class had fallen flat on their face. He had barely been able to flaunt his jeans and share his amazing summer experiences with his long separated buddies. The long list of new pranks that he was to teach them had remained untouched. He hadn’t been able to step out during the break and run around the school building. He hadn’t hit a single child at school or toppled lunch boxes or hidden any of the students’ compass boxes ever since Nishika didi had presented herself. He wondered why he hadn’t felt like doing all his masti either. One of the reasons was that she was in the class throughout the day, never having left the kids unattended even for a minute. This was new to him, something he had never seen, witnessed or expected. She hadn’t left the class even during the lunch break and had spent time chatting up and sharing lunch with the kids who had huddled around her.
But the bigger reason was that he had been disarmed by the incident earlier that morning. When this new person had come into the class and seen him throwing paper, he had thought of her as one of those ‘volunteer people’ who come to school a couple of times every year to distribute chocolates or pencils and snap pictures with the kids. However, upon learning that she was their new class teacher he had expected to be strictly punished for his misgivings. He was so scared while walking up towards her. But, she had just asked him his name and tapped him gently on his head. The fear mixed with the strange feeling of being loved by this new didi had caused him to break a tear. It was as though the disturbance he had created to grab attention hadn’t being acknowledged. At first he had felt very angry and felt like hitting someone real hard, but the kind expression on her face just hadn’t change all day and had rendered him confused. He had quietly observed her through the chain of activities she conducted and by the end, he was mesmerized by the magic she had woven.
Kajal and Anuj walked out with their friends and were surprised at the sight of Akshay waiting quietly at the gate. They cracked a couple of jokes about the sun having risen from the west this morning and then noticing the blank look on his face decided to say goodbye to their peers and walk Akshay home.
Anuj was certain that Akshay had been scolded or hit today by the new teacher. After all, the entire school had peeped into the two classrooms of the new bhaiya and didi today. Everyone had been talking about how much fun the kids in the classrooms were having and he felt certain that his mischievous brother must have been his habitual self and done something to disrupt the class. However, Kajal sensed that it was something else. She held his hand tightly and walked quietly with her arm on his shoulder so as to comfort him. Half-way through the walk home, when she sensed he was comfortable, she asked him what he was thinking. Akshay looked up at her, at Anuj, then hesitatingly said “Nayi teacher bahut achi hai.” and grinned. His siblings were taken by surprise. Their younger brother who had always shunned conversations about class or school was actually telling them about his new teacher.
For the remaining portion of their walk home and the rest of the day, Akshay went on incessantly about the incredible things that had happened this morning. He vividly described every event in the classroom right from introductions through till the time school had ended, not stopping once even while eating food. In the evening when his mother returned from work, he sat her down and began narrating the episode all over again. Kavita was awestruck at the transformation. She had been hoping so eagerly that her faith in his abilities would manifest itself in his response to school and his behavior, but he had always disappointed her. What she was witnessing right now seemed too good to believe, almost surreal.
In the course of his lucid narratives, Akshay began imagining how much more he would have enjoyed had he participated in the class. He imagined receiving high-fives and answers in return for his questions instead of beatings. He craved being adored by Nishika didi and began scheming as to how he would impress her the next day. But alas, she must think of him as such a brat. All day today he had neither answered, nor behaved and had remained silent. She must think I’m a bekar, gadha student in the words that Lina Miss had used to described him at results meeting last year, words that had remained etched in his mind ever since. But inspired as he was, Akshay decided he would not let go of this chance to learn the many things he always wanted to. He had sensed that Nishika didi might have answers to his innumerable questions and quench his hitherto insatiable thirst for knowledge. He was determined to erase the horrendous portrait that he had inadvertently painted for her this morning. He couldn’t wait for things to be set right and he would work hard to ensure that they were.
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That night, as Nishika tossed in bed, thinking of ways to get the puckish boy interested, Akshay Kishan Singh was getting into bed earlier than ever before, eager to wake up on time the next morning and excited about learning from Nishika didi at school. Neither had a clue of the magical things that were in store for them over the next 2 years that destiny had chosen for them to spend together as guru and shishya.
- Work of fiction based on factual events from my Teach for India Fellowship experience.
