That was a rush day in the school. My class was very crowded and messy as students were coming through rain. Rain has disturbed the lifestyle since last week. Being the class teacher of the class, it was my responsibility to keep thing going on at any cost and I was managing them at my best.
“Didi, door mat thik se rakho, nahi to poora class ganda ha jayega”, I cried on our class-maid while arranging the tables and chairs properly for my students. They are too small to arrange.
“Thik hai madam” Didi replied and arranged the door mat wiping the mud with it. Students were coming with muddy shoes and didi was hurringly cleaning the class whispering something in her mouth. She must be saying, “Ye baarish kyu hoti hai, hamara hi kaam aur jyaada bad jata hai. Yha par class saaf karo aur ghar jaake baarish se bachne ke liye har jagah bartan rakho. Ye to ek aafat hai”
Slowly the day stated becoming slow. The rush on the start of the day was now no more. We were enjoying our dull skied afternoon as usual. You know, every day has the same routine for teachers like us but though we don’t feel it same because of these kids.
The rain now was stopped for a while but the clouds were still hiding the sun. I was teaching my kids English grammar and they were enjoying. Post-lunch sleepiness and laziness can be seen in everyone’s eyes except kids. Their energy was still the same.
Suddenly Ronak’s father arrived . I went outside to see what happened.
“Mam, can we take Ronak an hour early before the school gets over?” Today is his sister’s one month anniversary and we have a big party at Hotel . I came to invite you. Please come for the party and to give blessing for the one month old child.”
“Sir, actually it is not possible for me to come as I have taken my doctor’s appointment for today.” I was trying to avoid the invitation with a normal but seems to be authentic lie. The raindrops started falling down. It was sign for the shower so went inside the classroom.
“I have invited everyone from the school as well as from my office. It will be pleasure if you come.” He said with an honest smile on his face and he went off.
Suddenly the thunderstorm cracked in the clouds.
Papa has organized a big party for the whole village. There was a Diwali like atmosphere in the whole family. Being the most beloved youngest son of the family, my papa was always loved by my grandma and others. That day was the best day of his life because today he has become a father. I was born with a great fortune and a silver spoon in mouth. I was the first child to my mom and she was feeling great. Neighbors were saying that Goddess Laxmi has born, she will make everything alright.
That must be a great treat for the whole village of Bhagalpur. A small town in Bihar, Bhagalpur is very famous for silk trading. Born in a traditional marwadi businessmen family, my papa and grandma did not bother to feed the whole town. So many sweets were distributed amongst the poor and they were blessing the couple of hours old infant. The joy lasted for couple of months.
I liked to listen this story of my birth from my mom and she used to tell me this story whenever I asked. Today Ronak’s father’s invitation for the whole school and his office made me remember all those days of royalty. I laughed to myself as I was lost all in dreams. I went inside the class and continued teaching my students.
The school got over. Everybody was rushing towards the punching machine. The punching machine is very naughty. It knows that we are in hurry so it many a times did not recognizes our finger prints. Maushmi, one of my colleagues, tried three times and finally at the fourth she succeeded in logging out. The machine was taking a lot of time and the crowd at the entrance was increasing. Somehow I went fourth pushing other teachers just like how the people in Mumbai get into the crowded local trains. I logged out at first attempt only. I thought to myself that the machine knows me now.
Deepshikha ma’am dropped me near my home. She stays just a minute away from my home. As Amit, my husband, goes to home tuitions early, he can’t come to pick me.
Amit came late due to heavy rain. He was all wet from head to toe. He arranged himself and we together started having our dinner. It is a universal fact that if there is more noise of spoon and fork at the dinner time on the dining table than the human voice, it mean something has gone wrong. But it never happened with both of us. Mostly we share our ‘What happen today?’ with each other. That dinner was not different. I told him everything what happened today in the class, how my kids and I danced in the dance period, how we did inquiry about lizards, and all the fun.
“How many student are there in your PYP II class?”, Amit asked me in a grumbling voice, filling his half filled mouth with one more spoon of rice and dal.
“27 students”, I replied drinking chilled water from water bottle, giving indication that I could not eat more. I went to the wash basin.
“How many girls and how many boys?”, he continued asking and filling his mouth with a big chapati and sabji.
“21 boys and 6 girls” I replied while washing my hand. Suddenly I came out in the room with cleaning my hands with a napkin to ask him a doubt which I wanted to ask him from past so many days.
“Ha Amit, I wanted to ask you one thing but everytime I forgot, why there are more boys in every class than girls in our school? Is this the same situation you observed in other schools?” My curiosity is always curiously answered by him.
Curiously he replied, “Yaa, even in my school the ratio of boys to girls is worst than your schools. It is 5 is to one.”
“Why is it so?”, my endless curiosity made me ask one more question. After all I am an IB teacher showing the attributes of an inquirer.
“Oh IB teacher, don’t inquire too much. “ He switched on the TV set to watch his favorite music program. While changing the TV channels he answered, “May be because they don’t want to invest more money in their daughter’s education than that of their son’s. Even you IB and my Cambridge are asking for one and half lakh for each child for admission. So, better son should learn in IB or cambridge or daughter in government school. “ Suddenly a loud thunder light fell somewhere making a loud noise as if clouds are fighting with each other.
In love, care and rich atmosphere I was growing up. Everything was all right. I used to get what I cried for. Barbie dolls, great fruits, royal clothes and everything was there to make me happy. I was three and half years old, my mom decided to admit me in an English medium school. She used to think that English education would make her daughter independent in thinking as well as economically. But the whole family was against her decision. Grandma expressed her denial to my father and told him not to listen to my mom. My uncle was also not agreeing with the idea that a girl should be educate in an English medium school. He had 3 daughters and all were in Hindi medium municipality school.
“English padhke kya karegi teri ladki, ghar hi to sambhalana hai na. Paise ginane tak sikh liya to bhi bahut hua. Vaise bhi hum log ladkiyo ko jyaada shiksha nahi dete. I didn’t understand what they were talking but I was sure that they were against my mom. But after a long struggle my mom was succeeded in admitting me in English medium school.
It was still raining outside. Amit and I were standing at the window and looking at the deserted wet road. The yellow light from the lamp post was turning the raindrops falling on the road into golden marbles. Those golden marbles were falling down and turning into water. The road was washed by the heavy rain and it was looking like a bride ready for the marriage ceremony. After a long time I have observed raining, may be first time, I have observed the beauty of rain. And there I saw a women with an umbrella and her two kids. The misery of womanhood started reflecting in the water. The memories of my childhood still following me wherever I go, just like my shadow; and even in dark and light.
No comments:
Post a Comment