Myword

It'S been four years since I left school and one of my most vivid memories are those of Teacher's Day. We friends eagerly awaited the day...

It8217;S been four years since I left school and one of my most vivid memories are those of Teacher8217;s Day. We friends eagerly awaited the day when we would have the wand in our hands and galloped to the heights of leadership and narcissism over our juniors.

The day dawned as usual with my mother explaining me the merits of getting up at 5.00 am. I wore clothes as per her choice, had breakfast and quickly made a mental note of the classes I was to take and glanced meticulously over the notes I had made earlier.

As I stepped into the school bus, there was an uproar! Students I wasn8217;t aware of came up and wished me, 8220;Happy Teacher8217;s Day8221; and 8220;Good Morning Sir,8221; giving a sly, mocking smile and then a game was played and bets were placed over guessing the teacher I was.

Once safely inside the school, I was joined by my classmates, each one of them turned out to perfection. I was tense and wondered if I8217;d faint in front of the class due to the blood not reaching my brain for the tie was almost into my jugular. I just had to take two classes 8211; X and III 8211; and after the prayer and a heart rendering talk by the principal, I was ushered into my8217; class.

As I pushed open the door, wondering why it was closed, the dustbin with a load of trash fell on me and before I could think of counting the number of sharpeners, papers and the molecules of chalk and sawdust bestowed upon me, the whole class burst out, 8220;Good morning Sir.8221; Off went my confidence! The next half hour, I was frantic trying to tell the students not to eat tiffin in class, not to comb hair and not throw chalk pieces when my back was towards them. This is it, I thought, hats off to teachers who tolerate such bedlam! All I had revised and thought to say to this class had been erased completely from my memory.

I was sure class III would be a neat class of cute little kids! They were monsters! Worse off than babies! 8220;Sir, may I go to the bathroom,8221; being everybody8217;s favourite line until I realised almost half of my class was out fooling! And then came one of my colleagues8217;, the girl who was head mistress8217; and inquired if I had a problem? Problem! I belched. They are turning me into a lunatic.

My pleas to the headmistress fell on deaf ears and she seemed to enjoy my state of dementia. 8220;Humph! You8217;re such a sadistic personality madam headmistress,8221; I said. 8220;Oh yes, I am,8221; she replied smiling.

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I came back into the class wondering how to get those kids back when I realised there was a hopscotch going on stage and a full blown cricket match at the end of the aisle. 8220;On your seats,8221; I bellowed over the commentary and the tub thumping of a drummer boy on the first bench!

Thankfully, the bell rang that very moment and I was into the staff room sharing my expert handling of both the classes with other teachers who had the same tales to tell.

Never again, I told myself, will I be a teacher. It takes tonnes of hard work, patience and continuous analysing of the psychology of every child and is not everybody8217;s cup of tea.

That was one day I learned the essence of being a teacher, the continuous learning that gives into guiding others and spreading your ray of light, selflessly emoting yourself to the whims and fancies of learning minds, the pain it takes to delve beneath every student8217;s conscious self and get him on line without harming his psychology, making him independently and self sufficient to tread on the roads of life. No wonder teachers are called the backbones of the society.