“GAUTAM, Best of Luck!”
I could look back and barely smile, out of the most peaceful feeling I ever had…
Eight years is a long time indeed. and longer when its a transition from teens to twenties…I could hardly recall the buildings, the corridors, leave alone relating to them. Infect, if I was not told that this was the very school I spent my 12 years of life in, and ushered in blindfolded, I could not have been able to tell. But faces…how could you forget them? No mortar or plaster can change faces. All my teachers looked weak and little less of life. As if they hung there on the building for eight years, letting time to wither them, and then suddenly, as I stepped in, they all descended down. Just the same, just the way I had left them, except that they had worn out a little.
Eight years after 2000, when I passed out of my school DAV Noida, destiny put me back in the same point in space, in form of a test centre where I had to appear for an entrance test. God. so many known faces in a jiffy, before I could recall one’s name, few will pass leaving me wondering their names. Library was now conference room, buildings joined by long corridors, absent then….I wanted to check the tree at the farthest end of playground where we would run , touch and come back in games period, and where is the assembly hall stage? I was speaking there the other day, dancing someday else…..Got my first fracture on those stairs..Where is it all? Things change na L How one day, the only thing that once was your identity looks strange and something that you can just not relate to?
My earliest memory of school is that of a sour episode with a KG teacher. Manju mam. I guess I forgot to wrap my homework copy in brown paper. I was hit on finger knuckles using a wooden duster. I always, probably till the day before yesterday, thought she was so bad and this was a wrong thing to do to a nursery child. Not any longer. I saw her for a nanosecond yesterday, amidst several lost faces of students on school stairs, and changed my mind…without telling myself.
And of course Kalra Mam, that one teacher which you would want to be once you grow up. My math’s teacher, Mrs Poonam Kalra. How a person manages to be one who u r most scared of, respect the most and love the most, all at the same time! And she, also is part of a memory that I think I will carry to my grave.
A 10th class girl, proud monitor you see, someone, in whose shoes, whole class would want to be. Why? Well, coz she gets to collect the class tests, put them in staff room, write date and attendance on black board (even get to rub it) and collect homework notebooks. Homework notebooks with Mrs Kalra was a foolproof way. Everyone stands in the class, gives homework note books roll number wise and sits down. So one cant imagine to escape if one has not given it. And who tracks the whole process? The proud monitor. Who collects the copies and puts them in staff room? The proud monitor of course!
So what happens if the monitor forgets the copy one day? Easy. Put something else and on the way to staffroom, sneak it out. Done! Perfect! Foolproof loophole of foolproof technique. But there is one stupid thing that doesn’t let this happen. What?
The question, of monitor forgetting the copy, by the way, is not thrown in blue. It happened. And the monitor, clever monitor, did this, sneaked copy in…sneaked copy out. Bingo. Foolproof. Then why did she cry in the next chemistry practical class.. You see, this conscience is a BAD BAD thing. Somewhere, from nowhere, a thing cropped up. She had met it earlier though…barely, this time it appeared from front.Guilt. Guilt of cheater on one who trusts you. Huh.. Humans with trust are like rope with dog. Tie them with trust and let loose, they will walk besides you. Else, don’t trust them and tie them tight, they will try to let loose.
Hmmmmm….Yes, I cried and cried the next period. You know what is worst part of me? If I have a reason to cry, I just cannot stop or conceal. I hate it that I could not learn to control tears, but I’m trying. And next after lab was lunch, so bang out of the lab and into the staffroom I stood, confessing to her what I did. Fact one: What can hurt the most when one confesses something? SILENCE. Even worse? Simple FORGIVENESS. Ma’m dint say anything just told me it’s okay and leave. I know how sick I felt inside. I thought I could never face her again.. I so much wanted to hear a scold or ‘u shouldn’t have done that etc” nothing? I hoped my summer vacations would fall the next day so it will be gone by the end of two months. But hopes are barely answered. Fact two : Hopes may not be answered but if you really hope, something happens, somethi ng else, which eventually does what u hoped for. Kalra mam spoke to me just before I was to sit in my school bus for home. Asked me why I did that. I sobbed and dunno wht did I say…but it all went perfect…..
The same Ma’m when I saw after eight years, looked like she was waxed right there in front of my school bus and came to life now. I went to her and said..” Ma’m do you remember me? “Yes Beta, of course I remember you and hugged me lovingly. I was as content as I could, I turned to go when she said something that I had no more place in my heart to contain. What she said just poured out a drop or two, but it wasn’t something that can fit in two drops….Fact THREE: known one, big things in small packages, big happiness in small moments, big lessons in small conversations and big emotions in small drop of tears…Anyways..All that she said was:
“GAUTAM, Best of Luck!”
I could look back and barely smile, out of the most peaceful feeling I ever had…
I could look back and barely smile, out of the most peaceful feeling I ever had…
Eight years is a long time indeed. and longer when its a transition from teens to twenties…I could hardly recall the buildings, the corridors, leave alone relating to them. Infect, if I was not told that this was the very school I spent my 12 years of life in, and ushered in blindfolded, I could not have been able to tell. But faces…how could you forget them? No mortar or plaster can change faces. All my teachers looked weak and little less of life. As if they hung there on the building for eight years, letting time to wither them, and then suddenly, as I stepped in, they all descended down. Just the same, just the way I had left them, except that they had worn out a little.
Eight years after 2000, when I passed out of my school DAV Noida, destiny put me back in the same point in space, in form of a test centre where I had to appear for an entrance test. God. so many known faces in a jiffy, before I could recall one’s name, few will pass leaving me wondering their names. Library was now conference room, buildings joined by long corridors, absent then….I wanted to check the tree at the farthest end of playground where we would run , touch and come back in games period, and where is the assembly hall stage? I was speaking there the other day, dancing someday else…..Got my first fracture on those stairs..Where is it all? Things change na L How one day, the only thing that once was your identity looks strange and something that you can just not relate to?
My earliest memory of school is that of a sour episode with a KG teacher. Manju mam. I guess I forgot to wrap my homework copy in brown paper. I was hit on finger knuckles using a wooden duster. I always, probably till the day before yesterday, thought she was so bad and this was a wrong thing to do to a nursery child. Not any longer. I saw her for a nanosecond yesterday, amidst several lost faces of students on school stairs, and changed my mind…without telling myself.
And of course Kalra Mam, that one teacher which you would want to be once you grow up. My math’s teacher, Mrs Poonam Kalra. How a person manages to be one who u r most scared of, respect the most and love the most, all at the same time! And she, also is part of a memory that I think I will carry to my grave.
A 10th class girl, proud monitor you see, someone, in whose shoes, whole class would want to be. Why? Well, coz she gets to collect the class tests, put them in staff room, write date and attendance on black board (even get to rub it) and collect homework notebooks. Homework notebooks with Mrs Kalra was a foolproof way. Everyone stands in the class, gives homework note books roll number wise and sits down. So one cant imagine to escape if one has not given it. And who tracks the whole process? The proud monitor. Who collects the copies and puts them in staff room? The proud monitor of course!
So what happens if the monitor forgets the copy one day? Easy. Put something else and on the way to staffroom, sneak it out. Done! Perfect! Foolproof loophole of foolproof technique. But there is one stupid thing that doesn’t let this happen. What?
The question, of monitor forgetting the copy, by the way, is not thrown in blue. It happened. And the monitor, clever monitor, did this, sneaked copy in…sneaked copy out. Bingo. Foolproof. Then why did she cry in the next chemistry practical class.. You see, this conscience is a BAD BAD thing. Somewhere, from nowhere, a thing cropped up. She had met it earlier though…barely, this time it appeared from front.Guilt. Guilt of cheater on one who trusts you. Huh.. Humans with trust are like rope with dog. Tie them with trust and let loose, they will walk besides you. Else, don’t trust them and tie them tight, they will try to let loose.
Hmmmmm….Yes, I cried and cried the next period. You know what is worst part of me? If I have a reason to cry, I just cannot stop or conceal. I hate it that I could not learn to control tears, but I’m trying. And next after lab was lunch, so bang out of the lab and into the staffroom I stood, confessing to her what I did. Fact one: What can hurt the most when one confesses something? SILENCE. Even worse? Simple FORGIVENESS. Ma’m dint say anything just told me it’s okay and leave. I know how sick I felt inside. I thought I could never face her again.. I so much wanted to hear a scold or ‘u shouldn’t have done that etc” nothing? I hoped my summer vacations would fall the next day so it will be gone by the end of two months. But hopes are barely answered. Fact two : Hopes may not be answered but if you really hope, something happens, somethi ng else, which eventually does what u hoped for. Kalra mam spoke to me just before I was to sit in my school bus for home. Asked me why I did that. I sobbed and dunno wht did I say…but it all went perfect…..
The same Ma’m when I saw after eight years, looked like she was waxed right there in front of my school bus and came to life now. I went to her and said..” Ma’m do you remember me? “Yes Beta, of course I remember you and hugged me lovingly. I was as content as I could, I turned to go when she said something that I had no more place in my heart to contain. What she said just poured out a drop or two, but it wasn’t something that can fit in two drops….Fact THREE: known one, big things in small packages, big happiness in small moments, big lessons in small conversations and big emotions in small drop of tears…Anyways..All that she said was:
“GAUTAM, Best of Luck!”
I could look back and barely smile, out of the most peaceful feeling I ever had…
I guess each child taught by her would cherish similar on-off instances with her.
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