Reflections...

                         I would rather put it straight that if u intend to read something scholarly, the one you are reading right now isn’t really appropriate. This is only about an incident which happened in my life. I am not sure if it is going to amuse you or rather annoy you. Hence, go ahead if you do have enough time to dissipate. It was during the initial days of my marriage when I was holding an invariable urge to get hold of a job. I had been working as a lecturer in one of the most prominent colleges in Calicut which means that I had been accustomed to the comforts of a reputed institution. My two year term got over there and I was tied to my man I longed for the past countless years. Nevertheless, my zeal to get into a job ultimately struck me with a phone call from a teacher whom I knew. The phone call came right after fifteen days of my marriage and I felt my dreams are coming true and that too in haste. Since the package inclusions of a marriage like reception, invitations to relatives’ home and temple visits were over, my quest continued in complete verve. The teacher who rang me up asked just one question, “Are you interested in teaching..........in ......a......school?”  Before she completed, I replied. “Yes Miss, I am ready.” She asked me again. “Are you particular that you will teach only in colleges?” I was stunned with the question and I said apparently that I am interested in teaching let it be school or college. With a smile through the telephone, she provided me the address of the school which was just two km from my home. She asked me to go and meet the Principal the next day so that I can join soon after that. I thanked her a million times and started putting my husband to boredom with the stories of this teacher.

                                                                        That night endowed me with great hope. I thought of myself as an employed lady going to school every day with stilettos and a fine bag on shoulder. I envisioned my husband dropping me in school and waiting to pick me up every day.  Just like a kindergarten brat I was weaving hopes through my possible deal the next day. I told my husband that we need to go and meet the Principal of the school the very next day. He agreed and I was over the moon to wake up the next day. Though I set the alarm at 7 a.m. (which is indeed too early for me) I kept on stirring up at night searching for the mobile phone to check if I had missed the wake up call.

                                                                        My day came and I got ready to go to the School. I took my file containing all the copies of my certificates. I insisted to go in our two- wheeler because I always took pleasure in those open rides rather than a closed car. Thus I reached the school at 9 a.m. I visualised a twittering campus with many bubbly spirits running here and there. But I was astonished to find a tranquil, solemn atmosphere which made me realize that the class hours had begun. The situation at first questioned me about the starting time of the school. My second thought made me take a fleeting look at the maintenance of the campus. Being a convent educated girl right from my nursery classes, I usually evaluate an institution by the garden it maintains, the infrastructure it retains and by the courtesy and manners the people over there provide us. The primary look itself gave me the impression of a dreary garden with no flowers but with dried grass and famished plants. My eyes glanced towards the greasy blotches on the white walls which really disgusted me. I saw ink splashes, alphabets and coloured chalk writings on the wall which furnished me the lucid impression of a discipline-less students. I still never hang on to the least image of myself as a small child drawing on walls. I had never done that. Even in my nursery days, as senseless children, we were provided with writing boards to draw and write which eventually took us to the fact that walls are not meant for writing and drawing. Even today I do not know to enter a room or a hall without asking “excuse me” or I cannot leave a stranger who has nodded for my answer without a “Thank You”. Those were the lessons I had learned from my school days. However, the overall appearance of the school never created any sort of displeasure to my husband since he never belonged to a convent educated group. He reserved only the reminiscences of government schools and that association supplied him peace. While I was ruminating over these thoughts, a young man in the school premise questioned us. I told him that we wanted to meet the Principal. He told us that the Principal was in her prayers and asked us to wait for a few minutes. We sat on a long wooden bench with a lot of names carved and scratched on it. It included different pictures in different colours. It included the bond of friendship - five names huddled together, the names of boys and girls etc. Being seated  there, we started making arrangements for my days ahead in this school. We started quarrelling over the issues like coming to school and going back. Our problem lay not in coming and going, but regarding the vehicle. I wanted to be dropped in everyday and my husband suggested an easier way of school bus. Before we could reach a conclusion we were called in by the same man to meet the Principal. 

                                                            I was expecting a strict disciplinarian because I had seen only Nuns in this place, clad in white or saffron, all through my years. I asked politely “May I come in?” She said “Yesss”.  She was a small lady in a white saree with a dark blue border. Not a Nun. A very ordinary lady with a dark complexion. As we entered, I addressed her “Good Morning Madam” and I introduced myself. Before listening to my introduction she told me not to address her as ‘Madam’ and instead to call her “Ji”. I nodded. She abruptly told me then that I shouldn’t wish her good morning or good evening and instead I must say “Ohm Namah Shivaya”. We looked at each other in a split second and then occupied the seats before her. She asked me for my certificates and verified it rapidly. She told me that I will have to teach the ninth and tenth standard students. I agreed and listened to her carefully until she told me about the time scheme of the school.

                                                         She told me with much simplicity “The teachers must report at the school at sharp 7.30 a.m. The prayer starts from 7.30 till 8.00 a.m. At 8 a.m. regular classes will begin. The school leaves at 2 p.m.” She also added that I may have to bring the Breakfast which I can have at 9.30 break and can have my lunch from home after 2 p.m. I could see a smile cracking on the brink of the lips of my husband when he listened to the time scheme. She gave me a small slip and told that I can visit the library so that I can go through the syllabus and can take the necessary books according to next day’s time table. She told that I can collect the time table also. I pressed the slip she gave to me in my hands and said thank you and walked back. But my husband remembered to bid farewell to her with “Ohm Namh Shivaya”. As we pushed ourselves out of the room our Principal “ji” came forward and reminded me something else. She said “Saree is compulsory here”. With this my husband couldn’t stop laughing and he left to the other side of the corridor. I really didn’t like the way he amused himself and thus to put an end to this I reminded him of buying sarees that night itself for I didn’t have a single saree with me. The fact that I am going for shopping with him that evening put an end to his smile and because he knows well that I take hours and hours to choose.......... just as I had chosen him in life. I went to the library, collected my time table, went through the syllabus and gathered the necessary books and came down with a smile on my face as if I had conquered the whole world. But I saw him reflecting over the pain of a long shopping at evening where he is going to lose his money as well as his time. We had a lovely ride back home. At evening, we went for our shopping and I bought four sarees consoling my husband that the rest can be bought next week. I bought a handbag, a set of sandals and a fine Tiffin box to carry my breakfast. We returned by ten O’ clock after dining out. I stood in front of the mirror placing the different sarees I bought. Before going to bed I thought of the time table I had written down and took a glance at it. Since it was a School, there were eight periods and I had four classes out of them.  I cherished the dream of building up a rapport with the students and giggled over the prospect of getting a good companion there. I was reminded by my husband to get up early since I had to charter myself in saree. I need to reach the school before 7.30. So I set my alarm at 5.30 a.m. - a time I have witnessed only when I go for family tours and school excursions. I slept comfortably thinking of a fine day at the forefront.

                                                                          I woke up early, and clad myself with a saree and got ready by 7 a.m. including the breakfast with drooping eyes. Slumber danced in my eyelids. The rough cold breeze of June soothed me during my travel and I reached the school at 7.15. I saw students in uniforms, parents with bags and umbrellas, Auto drivers snailing through school gates with packed uniformed students inside it, the yellow school bus trimming towards the school campus and the young teachers ascending and descending the stairs. I went directly to the Principal’s chamber where our respected “ji’ was seated. She was about to move for the prayers beginning at 7.30. I wished her “Ohm Namah shivaya” and all my politeness and courtesies got immersed in these three words. She looked me carefully since I was a different person in my present attire. She told me to write a joining report and provided me with a paper and a pen. I wondered why she never spoke about my salary. I completed the joining report and she asked me to join for the prayer. I waved a good bye to my husband and gestured I shall call him. He left and I entered the interiors of the school. I was in search of my seat in the Arts department. I asked a young teacher I saw there and she told me very easily “Arts Department??...it’s in the 3^rd floor”. The answer surprised me – third floor. Suddenly it glanced that I must climb at least six set of stairs. Somehow I reached the Arts department with sweat balls running down my face. As I entered the department I saw teachers hurrying up for the prayers and I was a bit disappointed that a new face in the department was not noticed at all. An old teacher from the group came to me and asked “The new English Teacher?? I said “Yes” “So this is your seat” She displayed me an old chair and a table. The table was indeed considered as a store room, for all the tattered and torn things of the department found place over there. The dusty chair stared at me. Without introducing me to the others, the old teacher too vanished. I wondered what a place this is. I heard the name “ji” a couple of times from the hushed up conversation of the teachers. Thus a stranger there, I followed the teachers to the prayer room. All the uniformed students were seated there and the teachers occupied their respective positions. Positionless, I sat in one corner and was amazed by the routine there. My ears were translating the songs like “sharanam sharanam tharanam tharanam” and I saw the entire mass clapping their hands and nodding their head from left to right with their closed eyes. Flowers and petals were adorned on the photograph of the anthropomorphic God. The prayer continued till 8.00 and the crowd dispersed after a long bell . The students to different classes and the teachers to different staff rooms. I had the first hour and I asked a teacher sitting next to me where the class X B is. Instead of showing me up the way she spoke about a Beauty Parlour which she had opened recently in town. She went on narrating the different Facials available there. She gave me a card and invited me politely to visit the parlour that week end. I listened to the coaxing words with mere contempt in mind because I was in search of X B class. However I relieved myself from the clutches of that Shahnaz Hussain and went in search of my class. I went to the noisy class and made them introduce themselves and before they could complete, the bell rang. I came back to the department thinking of meeting new faces and building up new relations. The sense of a free hour gave me happiness and I placed myself comfortably there. I saw smiling faces around me. I saw muted conversations surrounding me and saw none approaching me. Suddenly the tall man who directed me last day to the Principal’s room came with a slip which indicated that I must go to IX A for substitution. That was not prescribed in my time table and unhappily I went to that class. The two continuous noisy classes exhausted me and as I came back I had a call from Principal “ji” and I went downstairs to meet her.

                                                   She called me up to fix my salary and she told me pleasingly “since you are a net holder and has got college teaching experience, our management has decided to give you a better salary than that we provide to the other teachers here.” I waited patiently to listen to the sum they are offering me. She finally said “We have finalised to give you Rs four thousand.”  All in a sudden I thought of the other teachers, the non net holders who are drawing less than Rs four thousand and running a beauty parlour on the other hand. I kept quiet and listened. She gave me some more instructions regarding the school rules. She said I can leave at 2 p.m. every day except on Wednesdays and Thursdays. She said there is a Vishnu pooja on Thursday which continues till 4 o’ clock. On Wednesdays, the parents are supposed to come to collect the week report. So I understood that I can go home only on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. She added that a colour saree is not allowed on Thursday since there is a prayer section. She suggested me to buy the white saree with blue border from the store to wear on Thursdays. I agreed with staring eyes. She added that every year when the festivals begin, the teachers of this school are supposed to remain as volunteers wearing the same white saree. She added that in those days we need to stay even for night sessions where accommodation will be provided at the school. And finally she advised me with a pleasant smile that I can start my special class session for S.S.L.C students on Saturdays from the coming week onwards so that I wouldn’t struggle finally. Though I smiled and came back from her room, a rebellious man was shouting inside my heart, throbbing with heat and anger. I returned to the department climbing all the stairs and saw the teachers running with their Tiffin carriers.  I asked them what they were doing. The graceful Laxmi teacher, with her scented saree and long bindi along with her authority as the owner of a beauty parlour asked me something very seriously. She asked “Are you the tutor of any class?” I said “Yes. IX A as ‘ji’ told me. Then she pulled her chair stealthily and told me that in that case I can have my breakfast only by sitting in IX A. I was rather confused at the pure senseless arrangement and took my breakfast and headed to IX A. I felt nausea with the noise, struggles of boys, songs of girls, the bits and remnants of food stuff here and there and took my seat. I somehow finished my food and ran back to the department. Laxmi teacher told me that we are not supposed to sit in the department and we must check that the students of our class are not wasting food and eating it properly. I ignored her and drank some water. The Bell rang and the third hour began. I went to the class and started teaching them “Night of the Scorpion”. I was really fed up of the introducing programme and I started my lesson there. I was free the fourth hour but I was given a substitution work in VII standard. I checked my time table once again and got relieved that I am only having two more hours while I am free for the next two hours. But my glee left me when I was thrusted again with two more substitutions in different class rooms and I felt I will almost collapse. After the sixth hour, as I came back to the department I checked my mobile phone and was shocked to see it switched off. A plump teacher with a serious face just in front of me told that she had switched off my cell when it started ringing. I switched it on and there she gave me the second advice “Even teachers shouldn’t use mobile phones here”. I felt I had more freedom in my Nursery school. Moreover I was tired to the brink of my vigour climbing stairs up and down. The final bell rang at 2 p.m. I stuffed the books into my bag and started walking down. A day when I couldn’t even meet and talk to the teachers sitting beside me. I neither could ask them their names nor could they. A day when I had a continuous class of eight periods one after the other along with a breakfast in an ear-splitting class room.

                                                          I reached the Principal’s room. I asked for a paper and took the paper from the cupboard principal “ji” indicated. She didn’t ask me what it is for nor did I tell her. I completed writing it and handed it over to her. She read it and an embarrassment followed her face. She asked me “What happened?” I said with a smile “I must leave before anything happens”. She understood what I meant and I told her “I have returned all the library books now”. I said “Ohm Namh Shivaya” with a mischievous smile and came out of the room. I thought of going back home alone since I never wanted to hurt my husband for I knew the pain he took for bringing me down here and for the money and time I had wasted on for a long shopping last night. In my hand bag I had a small cover in which I had the white saree with blue border which I had brought that day from the School store. I thought of returning it. The next moment I thought of retaining it. I was planning to hire an auto to leave home, by leaving a job which I knew I could never take forward. As I stepped out of the school premise I saw my husband waiting for me holding his face in his hand on the bike handle. I was surprised since I never did tell him to be there at this time. He had a sarcastic smile on his face and I moved towards him with a naughty laugh. He asked me just one question “So.... you left it....eh??”. I looked down and smiled and we started giggling together in front of the school and I am sure people going in and out were watching us like a weird couple. I got in and we drove back. The event happened two years back and even now whenever we make an attempt to clean our wardrobe or bedroom, the white saree with blue border , still a virgin, untouched, comes in between to remind us of the two silly days we struggled much for.                                                           

 By Krishna Sunder