Blessings of a Heart

I completed my degree in International Relations in early 1999 and soon after I joined a local school as an English and Math teacher. I taught there for half a term only, but that still remains my best experience at a work place.

In the beginning I felt out of place since a friend of mine (Talat) and I were the only two male teachers in the school; and being one of the youngest and most inexperienced of the lot, I wasn’t really expected to be a serious teacher. I remember my first staff meeting there; Talat and I were the last ones to enter the room, being respectful to let all the ladies go first. When we walked into the room, we realized that two seats in the last row at the left corner were spared for us. My first reaction was so expressively un-approving that the principal made some adjustments and we two sat among the rest of the staff without any segregation.

This is the way it began. During the morning procession, Talat and I would remain standing isolated from the rest of the teaching staff and under complete staring frenzy of the students. There was plenty of buzz and loads of talk about this new induction, since the school had a clear policy of not hiring male teaching staff; I later on found out that it was due to the fact that male teachers were considered not to be as serious, committed and sensitive as female teachers.
I was given four classes; English and Math of 7 Daffodils to which I was class teacher as well, Math of 7 Tulips, English of senior class (Grade 9 and 10) and Social Studies of 5 Daffodils. My day would start with 7 Daffodils’ English class and would end with 5 Daffodils.

7 Daffodils didn’t take much time to accept me as a teacher; I think that’s due to the fact that we were all like each other, equally sensitive. We wanted to enjoy what we taught and learnt; there were no formalities. I had forbidden them to stand up when I walked into the room or when they wanted to ask a question. They started saying “Assalam Alakum and Good Morning Sir” instead of just “Good Morning Sir.” I allowed them to talk in my class; I gave them five minutes at the end of the class when they could talk to whomever and whatever they wanted. In my heart I was scared whether it would work or not, but it did. They took their freedom as a responsibility and never really abused the power I gave them.

7 Tulips was the most problematic class of all, they wouldn’t listen. I was polite, harsh and tactful but nothing worked. Yet, one of the brightest of my students was from this class; Muhammad Ali. I have never seen a child of his age with so much maturity, decency and gentleness. He was the reason I didn’t ask for that class to be altered with some other.

5 Daffodils was young but each one of them was equal to a whole class of fifty. Wickedly intelligent and outstandingly mischievous. They didn’t give me as tough a time as 7 Tulips because it was easy to emotionally blackmail them. All I had to do in difficult situation was to threaten them that I would take up 5 Tulips instead of them. And that was it, they would remain nice and obedient … for next five minutes that is.

My class, 7 Daffodils, was jealous of the senior class because they thought I took care of them more than I cared for my own class. It wasn’t true but yes I cared for them equally. There were hardly ten students in the class and thus it was easy to control them as well as attend to them on one to one basis.

Things had started getting better.

During my spare period, I would usually pick up class work note books and sit on a bench in the veranda; the staff room was filled with ladies and I knew I would make them feel uncomfortable with my presence there. Until one day when the ice broke. I was on my way to my secluded place after a class when one of the teachers briskly walked out of the staff room and almost collided with me. We both stopped inches away from each other; a typical Indian movie type scene and making matters even worst, I added my part of stupidity into it by saying, “Hey we should place traffic lights here.” “Oh shoot, you and your clumsy jokes” I thought right afterwards. But she laughed and said, “That’s a good idea.”

After that, I was invited by the section in-charge to check class work in the staff room. The more I knew them, the more they turned out to be great people. They all had their own stories, their own styles and their own way of looking at things. Without any exception, they were all really very nice. Talat fell for the junior section in-charge and I remember him getting advice from other staff members at times. There were no cold winds there anymore.

To the senior class, everyday I would start my lecture with an anecdote from out of the blue; sometimes from history or TV or a magazine and sometimes from my real life. By the time I was finished telling them the anecdote, I had brought the reference to the lesson we were supposed to read that day. By that time, they had developed their interest as well as a vivid imagination of the subject. I would give prizes to those who got more marks in the class test. They felt comfortable enough to talk to me about their personal matters as well.

Once, I was sitting in the staff room, checking class work when my best student from senior class walked in with the saddest possible face. She asked me right away, “Sir, do you think I am a C grade student?” I told her firmly, “No way, you are my best student of all.” “Really” she asked with that joy replacing her sadness. “yes, most definitely” I reaffirmed. “Well, Madam Principal said that I was a C grade student” she told me of the reason why she asked me that question. “Do you want me to talk to her about it?” I offered to clear up the matter since it was bothering her. “No, if you think I am not a C grade student, then that’s all that matters.” She walked away and left me with the greatest feeling I could ever have about myself.

One of the students from 5 Daffodils walked up to me one day while I was taking a breather after giving them class work. “Sir, I can write purple with this black led pencil” she claimed with confidence. “Oh yeah, and who are you, a wizard or something?” I asked in bewilderment. “No, but I can do it” she said. “Ok , go ahead and do it then” I was intrigued by now. She scribbled something on the paper and showed it to me where she had written a big PURPLE.

In the same class, I once gave them an assignment to draw the map of Pakistan. One of them took longer than the rest and as I approached her to see how she was doing, I burst into laughter the moment I saw that map. Since she and I were at good terms, I thought it was ok to make a little fun of it. “Hey, this looks like a goat to me” I said jokingly. But I think it was bad timing as she didn’t like it and I could see the clouds of sadness and embarrassment falling on her face. I tried to suggest a few changes so that the map would look better and her mood would improve but to no avail. And then I said, “Ok, I am sorry, I was way out of line.” And all of a sudden her mood changed, “No sir, please don’t say sorry; I am sorry you had to say sorry … and anyways, it does look like a goat, hehe.” And things were all pleasant again.

Those were great times; a nice school, great fellow teachers, wonderful students. And even though I hated it, I had to leave. My last day at school came and 7 Daffodils was the saddest group of people I had ever seen. There were plenty of efforts to stop me, including emotional blackmailing, but I had taught them this, so it didn’t work. Some of the students brought me farewell gifts and I humbly accepted them.

I was having some conversation with fellow teachers when the most mischievous girl from 5 Daffodils walked up to me holding something behind her back. “Sir would you accept a gift from me?” she asked with sadness in her voice. “Of course I will, how can I ever say no to you” I said. She had hardly ever been a serious student with me, always up to something and always extending those mischievous tones and words to me; but today she was different. “Ok, and promise me you will open it after I am gone” she made things look more suspicious. “Ok, I promise” I knew there was a surprise waiting for me. She gave that small pack to me and ran away. I was expecting some sort of a blast but when I opened the pack, my heart was clutched by extreme emotion. She never got the idea to bring me a gift and when she saw others doing so, she actually packed her lunch and gave it to me.

I cant tell you how I felt; I just went out looking for her and then she and I had that lunch together.

My students have my blessings and I have theirs. Good days last longer.

Tags: Memoir

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