No kidding

I overheard two women in a conversation, telling each other how many training sessions they have done over the summer. “Two,” said each. Then, one of them added, “Person so-and-so has done nine.” She paused briefly before adding, “She has no children, she has all the time to travel for these trainings.”

I flinched at the multiple assumptions being made here, not to mention the snarky, sarcastic tone. How many times have people assumed that I will do something because I do not have children? How many times have people seen me neck-deep in work and flippantly attributed it to childlessness? I work seven days a week, I go to work on the weekends too, and I have no hesitation or guilt about that. When people are traveling or entertaining friends, I spend my weekend conducting research. I do it because I treat my work as a passion, as my identity, and not as a 9-to-5 engagement. I take ownership of my work, treat my work as a means to a better, independent and intellectual lifestyle. I watched exactly one movie at a theater last year, I have not made any friends in the new city, and I am okay with that (I have other things to do with my time now). I don’t put in the extra hours merely because I do not have children. I could be pursuing a dozen different things, including sleeping, if I did not feel so strongly about my work.

I have often witnessed people looking down on others who haven’t prioritized procreation as their vocation. I pick on these implicit biases a little better than the next person, having been at the receiving end of it many times. Notice how an ambitious woman will be shamed because she has no children (often by other women), but not an ambitious man. A man who undertook nine trainings in a summer, children or no children, will be revered, treated as a role model, and depicted as an exemplary professional. Only a woman is a childless freak if she has enough energy to pursue the same amount of work.

There is more to observe and learn from the world around us than there is from fictitious, unrealistic movies. See if your married friends who once hung out with you are treating you differently, do not invite you home anymore, but are still hanging out with other married friends. You need to get better friends in that case. See how advertisements around you are sharing implicit messages about only one kind of life as an ideal, happy life, the one where you have a spouse, a pet and multiple children. Insurance ads. Home ads. Toothpaste ads will often show large, happy families smiling together, and so will cooking oil ads (with often the woman cooking). It looks like single people do not brush their teeth and do not cook for themselves. My two cents- don’t put your money where you are being marginalized.

See if your workplace is giving you job duties they are not giving your peers who have families. See if you are repeatedly being made a victim of micro aggression. When your boss asks you to stay in office till 9 pm, but not your peer who has children, there is a problem. When you are asked to travel at odd hours but your peers are not, you need to step back and voice your concerns. It is easy to assume that women who do not have children have all the time in the world and are hence available to take on extra responsibility at work (often without adequate compensation). Keep your eyes and ears open for such discrimination. You do not owe anyone an explanation about how you spend your time at home, why you spend your weekends working (or not working), or how lucky you are to have all the extra time in the world (an ill-conceived assumption at the least). You could be caring for the elderly, you could be grappling with a personal setback, and even if you are not, you do not owe anyone an explanation.

If people are talking about you in a different, derogatory way because you do not have children (or telling you that you will not understand because you do not have a child), if people at work are taking liberties and giving you extra work at odd hours because you do not have children, if your friends are making less of you or your interests because you do not have children, we have a problem.

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Grand(father) memories

Dadu, my paternal grandfather, has been gone for more than 23 years now. What I have is mostly fragmented memories of him being annoyed with me most of the time and complaining to my ma, since I used to be naughty. As I write this, some random memories surface.

Dadu was a Hindustani classical singer. Every evening, he would religiously do riyaaz at home. He would practice using his harmonium, and dad would play the tabla whenever he was around. I would be expected to sit with him and do riyaaz as well which used to bore me to death. Often, to annoy him, I would mimic him singing aa-aa-aa-aaa-aa in a funny way. Once, I even told him, “Dadu, stop teaching me boring songs. Teach me some Bollywood songs.”

I once threw away his dentures on the garage roof. Just like that. He could not eat solids for days after that. 

8:40 pm news on Doordarshan, and he used to be glued to the TV. Which meant I had to start dancing right in front of the TV to annoy him.

He used to tell me stories. Action stories about ghosts and rajputro (prince). No romantic prince meets princess mush. There were many kinds of ghosts. Rakhhosh. Khokkosh. Petni. Shankchunni. Konnokaata bhoot. Bemmodityo bhoot. Once the story was over, I would always ask for the lyaj (tail). This meant that a few extra minutes had to be added to the story, since I was not done yet. So the ghost would be revived, and killed once again. Every afternoon I returned from school, I would cartwheel on the bed and wake him up from his afternoon nap for my story time. And his stories never put me to sleep. They were like action movies. If anything, I would be wide awake and listening.

He used to wear a blue and white vertical striped shirt that is so firmly etched in my memory that once I was dining out with a guy friend and I said, “Goodness, you are wearing a grandfather shirt.”

So that I am not scared of ghosts, he had taught me the mantra “Bhoot amar poot, petni amar jhi, Ram Lokkhon bukey aachey, korbe amar ki” (The ghosts are my sons and daughters. God is in my heart, so nothing can happen to me). I am all grown up now and live alone, but sometimes when I hear a sound and get startled, I involuntarily start chanting this mantra in my head really fast.

After his cerebral stroke, his hands used to shake while writing. So once, I deliberately wrote a letter to dad with shaky hands, and gave it to him, saying that dadu had a note for him.

He would not let us say the word snake in Bangla after sunset. Some superstition. So every now and then, I’d go really close to his ears and say, “Snake!” And all hell would break loose. 

Okay, last one. Dadu used to walk very slowly, with a stick, and was a nervous and panicky person. His favorite afternoon job was to go around the house and count the number of people, to make sure everyone except dad was home. So he would go count Dida, Ma, and my sister. But where am I? Well, I was really tiny and short then. So as he walked slowly, I used to tippy toe right behind him. He would be walking the entire house looking for me, without realizing that I am walking right behind him (remember those Tom & Jerry cartoons?). Even if he realized, he walked so slowly that by the time he turned around, I would have turned around with him too.

I wonder where he is now. If there is life after death, I realize that he would be a twenty-something young man now, in some corner of the world. Maybe still in college. Maybe trying to impress young chicks with his music. And hopefully with a lot of hair. Ever since I remember him, he was bald. Actually my dad says the same thing. He has always remembered dadu bald.

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Schcolada and marmalada

I met the funniest 3 year old German dude recently. He didn't understand or speak any English. At first, he was very shy, but he gradually warmed up. When I said chocolate and marmalade, he burst out laughing (Google "English to German", and type "chocolate" and "marmalade" to listen to how these words sound in German).

When he was done laughing, he slowly enunciated every syllable of these words, the German way, as if he was teaching me to say it correctly. He wouldn't accept that I said it right too, just because he understood no English. And I totally humored him. His mom told him that I understood no German, but how does that matter? For the rest of the evening, he continued to chat with me non-stop in German, reading me stories from his storybooks, while I said those occasional "ja" and "nein" and "genau" (yes, no, exactly) as conversation fillers, with no idea about what he was telling me. He tried teaching me the names of animals and fruits. But the best part was a guy 1/11th my age laughing at me first, then teaching me how to say sho-co-la-da and mar-ma-la-da.

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Little Children

With a hyperactive 7-year old, 3-year old, and 30-something year old in the G-household, I literally hide under the bed in my room between 5-8 pm everyday with my noise cancelling headphones on. Why, you may ask? Because if you sit in the living room, where all the action happens, this is what you would hear-

Don't do. Don't touch. Romba kochi! No no no! .... [With the shrill voices of the kids in their worst behavior] … Sing! Practice! G in her baritone voice scolding both the kids. The squeaking noise of screeching brakes as the elder one reluctantly plays the violin. Doors banging as the little one hides in the worship room or inside the kitchen closet. No no no, eat your dinner, you can't waste paruppu saadam! (lentils and rice) Romba kochi!

All the while when "Ma Mava Raghu Rama" and other Carnatic music plays loudly in the background. amid the noise and commotion. And the dosa/idli grinder keeps grinding noisily in the background.

And the little one hangs from the wooden ledge of the stairs like Keanu Reeves in Matrix. Or runs towards the television, a heavy bronze lamp roughly her size in her hand.

I don't think I am brave enough to witness all this!

However, in a seemingly out-of-control Cindrella moment when the clock struck 8 pm and the children in the household went all hormonal, berserk, screaming, flinging books and toys, jumping on the bed and waiting to be calmed, auntie sunshine had a rather ahaa idea. Since both parents tried in vain to get the situation in control and minimize material and emotional damage, auntie sunshine quickly started playing a police siren on YouTube from outside the room. Within minutes, there was silence in the kids' room, followed by hushed footsteps, sloppy good night kisses and hugs. The parents came out of the room, looking like victors emerging from a war zone.

This is for all those who told me, "You won't get it, you don't have children." Trust me, I do get it. You are too much into this mess to think of innovative ideas. Only an outsider like me can think differently.

Some of you may want to download a police siren app, if there is one, and if your kids are still innocent enough to be scared of the cops, that is.

sunshine

Little Accomplishments

If little children could write their CVs, what would those look like? At age three, Baby D’s would look like this:

1. Spearheaded an independent mission of running away from home by sneaking out from a tiny crack in the yard's wooden door and ending up on the streets.

2. Recalibrated and re-standardized security measures (both indoors and outdoors) by successfully managing to open the door of a car in motion, and managing to scare the living daylights out of my parents.

3. Negotiated my way through getting awesome deals and food treats by using my voice-power and by screaming my lungs out, rightfully earning the title of Baby D Bose. 

4. Experience with single-handed leading of missions like sneaking out a sharp knife from the drawer when no one was looking, and charging people in the room with full force, running towards them, knife in hand. This alone led the family to tighten security settings overnight, recheck drawer locks, improve their baby-proofing initiatives, and reinforce their faith in God because no one was hurt.

5. Motivated mommy to upgrade her collection of cosmetics by using the current ones for artwork on their walls and mirrors, also minimizing the need to hire interior decorators or buy expensive artwork in the process. 

6. Kept mommy fit and active with the sheer amount of running around after me.

7. Managed to mesmerize everyone with my charm and cuteness and melt their hearts despite doing all these things that I was never supposed to do.

sunshine

Breaking News!

In a bone-chilling and shocking incident that shook the entire G-household, the little one has been caught red-handed, causing havoc in the household once again. This is G's littler one, Baby D.

Baby D, the accused, is a 3-year old with doe eyes, the most innocent looks, and a shrill, Dolby Digital quality voice that makes her (in)famous in the crime circle as Baby D Bose. She is agile, nimble, and as light as a slightly overweight carry-on baggage. 

On Saturday early morning (7:30 am) that the whole world perceives as weekend and hence sleep in late, mommy and Aunt sunshine were chatting up in the kitchen, enjoying their early cuppa morning tea when the crime happened. Baby D was supposed to be happily sleeping in daddy's arms, but she quietly woke up, sneaked in a pillow under daddy's arms, and made her way to the master bathroom. Daddy happily continued to sleep and snore, mistaking the pillow to be Baby D. 

Heavily suspicious of the quiet and peace in the household, mommy went upstairs looking for Baby D at around 8 am. Daddy said, "Here she is sleeping", his eyes closed as he continue to believe that the pillow is Baby D. The entire bed cover and the floor were stained red. Mommy panicked. The trail of red stains continued to the master bathroom, where the accused was caught red-handed, like seriously, with hands painted red. Swabs of the red stain were quickly sent to the forensic lab and was reported to be a mixture of mommy's expensive collection of lipstick and nail polish. The crime area was quickly sealed, and Aunt sunshine assumed the role of a crime photographer and reporter. 

When interrogated about how daddy mistook the pillow for a baby, he refused to comment. The accused has been caught red-handed doing crime of similar magnitude many times, and has received multiple warnings from mommy, the chief law enforcing officer at home. The last warning was given to her exactly 30 hours ago, when the entire door was painted 50 Shades of Purple (ahem!). Mommy somehow managed to erase the stains, but is still mourning the loss of her expensive makeup. The accused refused to comment or plead guilty. When probed, she quickly went back to using the Dolby voice and gallons of tears as weapons. The jury has recommended installing a strong bathroom lock that is difficult to trample with. Last heard, everyone in the household was reported safe and recovering well from the incident. Aunt sunshine is still a little shaken though, and is seeking counseling. She seems to be repeating the same question in a loop- "Is this what it is like to have kids?" 

The accused has already attempted other crimes ever since, but of much lesser magnitude.

sunshine

Babies with personality

I just spent 2 hours in a pediatrics clinic while getting my immunization reports updated. Our family doctor also happens to be a famous pediatrician, and since I had barged in without prior appointment, I was asked to wait or come back in 2 hours. I should have gone home and come back, but I decided to wait and observe the babies for a while. I did not have anything pressing to take care of at home anyway.

Babies are not little adults. They have a mind of their own. They communicate and negotiate even with their little and almost non-decipherable vocabulary.

The baby personality

There were real babies. Those who are a month or two old. Some looked so tiny that it seemed they hadn’t even hatched properly. Eyes closed, toothless smiles, little fists, they are a delight to watch. I observed one had a little finger even tinier than my nail. One had an entire hand the length of my palm. And to think I was of that size too someday.

The adult-baby personality

Some babies had accompanied their little siblings who were getting shots. These are the caring and curious kinds who touch their sleeping brothers a little on the cheek to see how the baby responds. A little fellow, a heavy chocolate addict as obvious from his missing dentition, derived great pleasure tickling the feet of the little one when the mother wasn’t looking. They were like adult-babies, still babies because of their age, but very adult-like in behavior.

The throwing-the-tantrum or the negotiator kind

These babies had negotiated with their parents, that a visit to the doctor is going to cost them perhaps the doctor’s fees and 2 chocolate bars, a coloring book, or a toy extra. The shopkeeper had strategically placed all the toys and chocolates and other goodies that attract attention near the counter where you paid, so that one could not avoid that particular place by choice. I actually saw a baby promptly wiping her tears after the visit to the doctor and negotiating with the parents, “Okay, now buy me toys and chocolates".

The drama-kind

These kids freaked out at the sight of the clinic even without being so much as touched by the doctor. They perhaps feared an injection, the smell of the clinic, or the way the doctor looked, for even before they were touched or examined, they started to howl out of fear. Of course taking them to the area where these chocolates and coloring goodies were located calmed them down temporarily and helped the clinic get back its sanity.

The friendly/gregarious kind

These babies are great friends to make. They smile, run around, make friends with other babies, talk to random strangers as if they are family, refer to other babies as “little brother” and “little sister”, and ask questions instead of sulking in a corner and crying out of fear. One such cute little fatso, wearing a sleeveless shirt, went up to all the babies and touched them with fondness. This fellow came back to me, looked at me, and said, “Doctor will give you an injection”. Not knowing why a friendly chap would smile and try to tell me scary things, I replied, “But the doctor is already behind you with an injection”. The boy panicked for a bit, turning back, only to realize he was made a fool of. Regaining his composure and refusing to be verbally defeated by someone 4 times his size, he looks back at me with a very unperturbed and a suspense-filled expression, telling me, “Wait till the fishes in the oceans attack you and bite off your cheek”. As I feign fear, the boy chuckles at his verbal victory, bids all the other kids a goodbye and leaves the clinic, animatedly chatting with his mother.

After watching 20 babies or so, the doctor finally signed my immunization papers. In the meantime, I spent a fun-filled 2 hours watching these little ones, each having a completely different personality than the other.

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Strings Attached

"Ma'am thring", I felt a tug at my dupatta and turned back to find a little boy barely a little above my knees in height. I was the assigned invigilator in the exam hall.

"What?", I asked, confused.

"Thrriiiinnnggg !!! To tie my answer paper", the little chap sounded a little impatient.

At that moment, I could have picked him up and hugged him, he looked so cute while trying to explain himself. And it made me wonder- Why does a little child not even old enough to enunciate the word "string" properly has to go through the torture of writing an exam?

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My New Found Love

I am glad I got to know him, though I wish I had met him earlier. He has become such an integral part of my life that I cannot function without spending some time with him every day. I would be preparing for an important exam, and then I would sneak out and spend some time with him before I resumed work. I cannot get through the day without chatting incessantly about him, laughing at every little thing he says, every funny gesture he makes, reciting verbatim his one-liners and the songs he sings. Ladies and gentleman, let me introduce you to my new found love, my addiction and obsession, the one and only, Eric Cartman !

I don’t know how a friend of mine got me introduced to him, and truth be told, I didn’t even like the first few episodes of what I saw. For here I was seeing a bunch of 8 year old kids swearing profusely and blurting profanities and farting with such enthusiasm and gusto. But once I got the hang of what was happening I was hooked. I was hooked to the extent that I cannot get through the day without my daily dose of 3-4 South Park episodes. And then we would spend hours ruminating on the new things we had just learned, talking to each other in what we call the “Cartmanish language”, singing all the songs we hear this fatso sing. When we are irritated, we try to clench our fists, close our eyes in that typical “X” and scream “Goddddammit”. I have never looked forward to watching the TV every Wednesdays before this ever since the days of Chitrahaar on Doordarshan when I myself was Cartman’s age. Within a few weeks, I had completed season 1, 2, and 3, and am looking forward to the other seasons. Frankly, it was an interesting discovery to know how I can relive my childhood again at this age. You can see the amount of the crazy-cartman-syndrome effect this thing has had on me.

For imagine the puzzled expression on people’s faces when I pick up a stick and scream “Respect my Authoritah”, or hum “Stinky bridges” all to myself. My roomie would go crazy if I told her something like, “Aye woman ! Why don’t you go to the kitchen and make me some pie, or go home and make babies?” See a cat crossing the road and scream, “No kitty, bad kitty !” The “big boned” guy thinks that independent films are all about gay cowboys eating pudding. Cartman and group, Mr.Hanky- The Christmas Poo, Chef, Butters and group are my new friends now. I have been looking for a restaurant in town called Casa Bonita. I look at a bunch of kids arguing and wonder “How do I reach these kids”. If you know what I am talking about and have experienced the same level of madness, then welcome to the club. If not, please join the club. For everyone is entitled to a little humor, a little laughter, and lots of craziness in life.

And here goes Cartman online, in its entirety.

“Sweet” !!!, like he would say.

sunshine

A Chapter Shall End Soon.

For the umpteenth time in the last few hours, I read the letter neatly typed and signed and folded it again. I had known all the time that doing this would be difficult. Yet never had I anticipated that I’d actually end up hating myself for doing this. For reasons unknown and sans basis to me, I had started feeling guilty. Not wanting to prolong the wait further, I moved towards the door carrying the letter with me, and knocked softly. I entered the room with oodles of trepidation, knowing that my life would never be the same again once I came out of it. For this was the very room where I sat nervously almost 8 months back, nodding dutifully when my classes were allotted to me.

And in these 8 months, I have come a long way from what I used to be, so much that it actually seems 8 years’ worth of experience. Every moment I have spent in school has turned out to be a memorable moment for me. For what I joined as a job to keep me busy for a few months before I left home turned out to be much more than a job. It became my life.

And I was so happy with this life. If there weren’t a few factors to be considered, I’d have never even thought of quitting. But then, US has been a different dream altogether, and a much older one.

The tidings spread fast in the staff room, and it was a boon since I was spared the pain of having to announce it personally. But telling the kids turned out to be one hell of an emotional rollercoaster ride for me. I entered the class as usual and spent the next 5 minutes helping them to settle down in their places. I took the class attendance as usual. The kids had kept their diaries on my table for me to sign even before I had asked them to. They too had kind of entered into a routine life with me the last few months. Like everyday, I saw their Math textbooks opened in front of them. They looked at me in anticipation, wondering which chapter would be started today.

I just stood and looked at their faces. Not a word was spoken. It seemed that I had entered into a trance for a few moments. I just looked at their faces, my eyes drifting from one corner of the class to another. Finally, I cleared my throat and found my voice.

Children, I shall be leaving this month. And I want a promise from all of you that you all will behave yourself and will not give anyone the chance to complain once I am gone.

I somehow hurried through the seemingly rote lines, wanting to get over with the torture as soon as I could. What I saw in their faces was a stunned expression. Whatever is in their hearts gets reflected on their faces. In fact if telling them a goodbye wasn’t so traumatic a feeling, I’d have actually laughed at the remarks they had to make about the news.

Oh ma’am, are you getting married?

Who will teach us math now?

Ma’am, you won’t be there this year with us for our class photographs?

Ma’am, you will give us your email id?

And so on………….

Most of them were very curious to know if I am getting married. When they were told the real reason, some of them actually asked me how much more they have to study after leaving school to get a PhD. They were disheartened that I would be leaving before the Teachers’ Day. And so was I.

When I’d entered this school, I’d wondered how I would be able to remember the name of every student of my class. And now, I just have to take a look at their handwriting to know who they are. It was a strange period of adaptation for me when I would be treated as the junior most amongst the teachers and still the senior classes would treat me with all respect. On one hand I was pampered and kind of bullied (though it was great fun) and taken care of by the teachers. On the other hand it was weird to be wished by the kids, ranging from the boys at least half a foot taller than I am to the ones who barely reached my hips. I could probably end up writing a book about my experiences of the first job. And it is this very job that actually made me realize what is it that I really want to do in life.

Yet it is pointless to relive each and every memory and prolong the pain. Goodbye times are indeed painful times, all the more since I know things would never be the same again. If you have ever read Kabuliwallah by Tagore, you would know what I mean. Children learn to adapt fast to the changes in their surroundings. They get to forget people as quickly as they learn to love them. So even if I met them a few years down the line, I know I’d never find the same expression of joy on their faces again.

I am about to embark on a new journey of life, of working for a dream I have envisioned for long. Initially this job had meant to me nothing more than an opportunity to spend the next few months doing something useful instead of whiling away time. Yet now I am strangely engulfed with a strange feeling of sadness. These are the classrooms I’ll never walk into again. These are the corridors I’ll never take again. I’ll soon be expected to return the teachers’ copy of the text books. My personal cupboard would soon be empty. For a few more months, I’ll live in this school as some hundreds of signatures in the students’ copies. And then these copies would be replaced by new ones. And slowly things would get faint and I would be forgotten. Never again would I have to wait to take the 6-15 am bus. Nor would I need to conduct assemblies again. The various noises associated with a school, the kids running around, the bells ringing, would all be silenced soon. Never again would I have to sing the national anthem or say the pledge daily. Never again will I get a chance to sing “Happy birth day to you” in unison with the whole school. Never again would I be asked how old I am. Never again would a 2 and a half footer come running to me and say, “Ma’am, he is pushing”. Never again would I have to stay up at nights correcting answer scripts and laughing my guts out at the funny answers. I’ve already started feeling miserable.

Just give me the strength that I don’t end up crying on the 31st (which would be my last day here). I just don’t know what more to say.

sunshine.

My Daily Dose Of Laughter.

The 1st term exams are in full swing, and I have been especially busy setting papers, invigilating the examination halls, and not to mention, correcting answer scripts. Sometimes, correcting multiple bundles each consisting of 50 or more scripts becomes one hell of an arduous task. But then, you just have to read a few answers and you'll soon find yourself ROTFLYAO. For this is what happened to me when I was assigned to correct the Std. VI G.K. answers scripts. Here goes an assorted collection of the hilarious (and definitely wrong) answers.

Question: Who is the poet who has written "The Brook"?
Correct Answer: Lord Tennyson.
Answer(s) written: Kalidas, Tenny Lord, W.E.Yeast.

Question: Who is the Prime Minister of India?
Answer(s) written: He should not have murdered anybody, Man Mohan "Sing"

Question: Who had written the song Vande Mataram?Correct Answer: Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay.
Answer(s) written: Bumpkin Chandra Chattopadhyay.

Question: The pink city of India.Correct Answer: Jaipur.
Answer(s) written: Kolkata.

Question: The white continent.Correct Answer: Antarctica.
Answer(s) written: Asia.

Question: ESPN stands for?Correct Answer: Entertainment Sports Programming Network.
Answer(s) written: Entertainment Sports Production Network, Entertainment Sports Peculiar News.

Question: The grandchild of the first PM of India was a PM himself. Who was he?
Answer(s) written: R.N.Tagore, Rahul Mahajan.

Question: This is an extinct bird.Correct Answer: Bald Ibis.
Answer(s) written: Bald idlis.

Question: The full form of LPG.Correct Answer: Liquid Petroleum Gas.
Answer(s) written: Long Petroleum Gas.

Question: www stands for?Correct Answer: world wide web.
Answer(s) written: world wild web (err… how wild?).

Question: The national tree of India.Correct Answer: Banyan tree.
Answer(s) written: Cactus.

Question: The author of the Harry Potter series.Correct Answer: J.K.Rowling.
Answer(s) written: J.K.Roland, J.K.Rolling, J.K.Howling.

Question: IMF stands for--Correct Answer: International Monetary Fund.
Answer(s) written: International Memory Fund, Internal Municipal Fracture.

Question: The author of the novel "Devdas"Correct Answer: Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay.
Answer(s) written: Yash Johar (ahem!!!).

Question: The real name of Munshi Premchand.Correct Answer: Dhanpatrai Srivastav.
Answer(s) written: Munshiram Premchand Gandhi.

Question: This flower is also called the “Lion’s Tooth”.Correct Answer: Dandelion.
Answer(s) written: Daddy Lion.

sunshine.

Where Are Your Teeth?

This is something I love about teaching in a school. I love those Class I – Class II kids running around in school, screaming, fighting with friends over the tazzos or whatever they prefer to call it, and complaining when they can’t handle their irksome friends by shouting- Ma’am, pushing, Ma’am, beating. The moment you enter the class and give them the threatening look, everyone will be quiet. You might want to laugh your gut out, yet you have to maintain the grave and serious facade.

The class monitors are the worst victims. Every time the class is over, they have to collect the copies and carry them over to the teacher’s desk in the staff room. I seriously pity these kids who have to make endless rounds in school everyday carrying the pile of copies high enough to hide their faces. So all you see from a distance is a pair of legs and a pile of copies walking down towards you.
Naah, I don’t make them carry copies. I do that myself. And build my biceps in the process.

We teachers have devised an innovative way to identify the class II kids. Just ask them to smile and you’d see the front four teeth from each jaw missing.

There is this huge weight lifter monitor of class II. He has a bulging paunch and an equally bulging butt, his school belt barely able to hold his tummy in place. He has such soft cheeks that you’d wanna keep pressing them. We call him a weight lifter ‘coz in Annual Functions Day, there was this circus show where he had been the weight lifter. Wearing black boxer shorts and a red baniyan, he was proudly showing off his biceps, white powder in his hands, making a show of trying to lift the heavy weights which were actually made of foam. He surely made a hilarious scene out of it.

Hence we call him the weight lifter. And whenever we spot him, we pinch his cheeks. The poor fellow is unable to ward off the teachers and has to put up with this bit of bullying. And trust me, he thoroughly enjoys all the attention and lionizing.

When he entered the staff room with a pile of books today, one of the teachers immediately grabbed for his cheeks.

What is your name? – DB maintained that feigned authoritative tone in her voice.

Weight lifter- he almost mewed.

Weight lifter? Tell me your real name.

The boy mewed his name softly.

Unable to control the urge anymore, we just burst out laughing. The kid suddenly realized that this was just another innocuous session of bullying and we were merely having fun at his expense. The kid finally grinned.

But DB was not to leave him in peace.

Where are your teeth?

He was tensed again. He mumbled something incoherent.

T-E-E-T-H- DB pointed at her own teeth. Where have they gone?

I don’t know ma’am.

What? You have left it at home? Whhhhhyyyyy? Go get your diary. I will write a complaint.

The boy almost fainted. Not wanting to harass him anymore, we patted his head, hugged him, pulled his cheeks again and let him go. His relief was portrayed by the speed with which he ran towards the protective shelter of his class.

The moment he was gone, all of us burst out laughing. We laughed and laughed till our stitches ached. And then we laughed some more.

Reason?

5 minutes later, the kid came back with his diary, the complaint page open.......

This is why I love kids. Their innocence and simplicity more than anything.

sunshine.

Don’t Question Me About Questions.

Last weekend, I finally finished making all the question paper sets for all the classes I take. I teach Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics. Final exams will start pretty soon. I finally typed and got the prints of all the question paper sets. As I held them in my hands, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself as that omnipotent deity in whose hands lie the future of some 200 students. I know that I am exaggerating, but that is what this post is all about. The way some people have been exaggerating and overestimating my power and considering me omnipotent these days.

With the final exams coming, it seems that suddenly the children and their moms have been galvanized into action. Everyday I have some of those moms meeting me after school and trying to get hints about the questions. Considering my profession and my age (I just turned 24.5 recently), I am considered a kid here. So when the moms had initially seen a kid teaching in higher classes, they made no secrets of their skepticism (The dads were okay about it though). Allow me to digress a bit from the main content of this post. I actually had some of those pain-in-the-ass moms asking me stuff like-

Pehli naukri hai? Isse pehle kahaan padhaya hai? Educational qualification kya hai? Kaun se college se pass kiya hai? Kis year mein (that was to roughly calculate my age)? Aap to teacher lagti hi nahi hain, etc.

I have to deal with such finicky moms. So for the exams, all the necessary instructions have been given to the students. All the chapters are equally important. Numericals in physics are a must. In chemistry, equations have to be balanced. In mathematics, the entire book would be covered. Diagrams are important wherever applicable. Sums have to be with the proper units. Questions can be set from anywhere in the chapter. And so on and so forth.

Yet I have had moms coming and asking me ridiculous things like-

Kahaan se questions dengi? Chapter ke peeche se? Maths mein wahi questions aayenge ya values ghuma fira ke? Experiments padhna padega? Work book se questions aayenge? Please HEAT waala chapter include mat kijiye. Numericals kitne marks ke aayenge? Chapters ke beech mein highlighted portions important hain? Hydrochloric acid ko hydrochloric acid likhna hai ya HCl? Back questions karne se ho jaayega?

And the volley of questions continue. I’ll spare you the details (for my own sanity actually).

But I’ll share an interesting episode. One of the moms actually told me (with the son standing right in front of us, and old enough to understand everything) ..... Madam, mujhe itni tension ho rahi hai final exams ke liye, hormonal imbalance ke liye mere periods irregular ho gaye hain. Please kuch important questions bataa dijiye.

All I could do was stare stupidly at the mom, and the boy. God, couldn’t she have chosen a more apt excuse for her gynecological problems? Or for asking the questions?

I don’t understand what’s the big deal in performing well in the final exam. Just listen to the class properly, study the chapter from A to Z, practice the sums and diagrams, do the numericals, and that’s it. How does it matter whether chapter ke peeche se questions aayenge ya beech mein se? As long as the questions are relevant, how does it matter?

I wouldn’t claim that I've never been stressed during the exams. I would often ponder and wonder what questions would come. But these people have suddenly made a God out of me. If I happen to meet my children in the corridor, I would definitely know the expression in their eyes, urging me to divulge some kind of hints about the question paper. I would explain every sum from the chapter, discuss the type of questions and the expected answers, but would not give a single hint about the actual questions I've set.

So as I held those bunch of question papers in my hands, I tried to imagine how powerful I was and what amount of respect I could be commanding at that point of time.

I don’t understand what is so great about exams? It is just a school final exam. What’s so powerful about these few sheets of paper that I can inspire such awe? Give sleepless nights to so many even sans my age and experience? I wish I knew the answer to this. 

sunshine.

Braggart No.1.

If you want to master the art of bragging, you should meet my kids. Specifically, the second and the third graders.With their innocent faces and smiles, they can even get away with murder. Given their imagination, it doesn't take them much time to come up with ridiculous stories.

A few excerpts from some of the recent conversations I had with them-

X: Ma’am, my dad has a red car.
Y: Ma’am, ma’am, my dad drives a biig Wagon R and an Indica.
Me: (feigning interest) Really?
Z: (almost shaking me from behind) Ma’am, my dad bought me a new car as a birthday gift. Not a toy car but a real big car.
X and Y turn pea-green with envy.

P: Ma’am, my brother was vomiting yesterday.
Q: Ma’am, my uncle had white white things (which I interpret to be foam maybe) coming out of his mouth before he died.
R: Ma’am, yesterday I cut my hands and there was “so many” blood.R showed me his injured hand, but I could only find a tiny spot that might as well have been a mosquito bite.

A: Ma’am, I am going to Bombay for my uncle’s wedding.
B: Ma’am, my dad will take me to foreign in the winter vacation.
Me: Really? How far is foreign?
B: Very far. One hour. You have to take an aeroplane.
D: Ma’am, my dad took me to aeroplane yesterday (whatever that meant!).

J: Ma’am, will you play cricket with me in the picnic?
K: (before I could answer) And football and beyblades with me? I have 2 beyblades.
L: I have 4 beyblades.


M: Ma’am, my dad is a doctor.
N: Ma’am, ma’am, my dad goes to hospital also.
Me: Children, look out of the bus. This is a very big hotel. It is called Taj Bengal.
P: (feigning a blase attitude) I have come here. But I did not like the food.
Q: I also. I also.
Whatever that meant.

Well, there are endless instances of senseless conversations like this. But I have to smile and feign surprise and listen to all that they have to say.

We were in the school bus, going for a picnic. These kids were their usual noisy self, with their my-dad-gave-me-this and my-dad-gave-me-that talk. The bus had just crossed Rabindra Sadan and was on its way to New Alipore when the endless stretches of greenery appeared at my right.

Me: Look children. This is the Calcutta race course.
I was just going to add that they can see the horses running here when a small boy screamed in excitement out of nowhere-

I know this place. My father and my grandfather come here to run in the fields every morning.

sunshine.

Annual Function Day.

The last few weeks have been a very different kind of experience for me altogether. Everyday, I get to do a lot of “seemingly unimportant” stuff that I could not have done otherwise. I use the term “seemingly unimportant” because a lot of my so called over-achieving friends think that I am wasting my talents and skills with this job. They had the nerve to tell me a lot of things on my face. Like-

“You are meant for more meaningful jobs”.

“You must be kidding when you say your job is hectic. How can teaching be hectic?”.

“If you had to teach, you should have had a college or university in mind. Why a school?”

“Don’t you have ambition in life? A school teacher at last?”

I will not go into the other senseless remarks I keep hearing. I don’t even feel like explaining anything to anyone. The people who said this must have all studied in a school at some point of time. And my job is no sinecure. For, making a child understand the principles of Newton’s laws can be more difficult than making codes run in plush offices.

Well, I was a Ph.D applicant when I got this job. And I just love it now. I can be with kids all day. This might not be equivalent to participating in board meetings and making business deals, but to me, it means much more than that. I love the way kids wish me with a smile every morning, the way they cling to my sari while complaining about their friends, the way they give me chocolates and pens on their birthdays, the way they tell me- “ma’am, you are very sweet”, even if they don't mean it. I love the shine in their eyes when I play “quiz quiz” with them in the off periods. I love the way they give me their opinions when I ask them about the latest Harry Potter movie. The kids have accepted me as a part of their life. So though I teach in much higher classes, I sneak into other lower classes whenever I can.

But engineers and doctors and managers think that no job is more important than theirs, and their contribution to the society is way more than mine.

Tomorrow is the Annual Function Day. Today, the stage rehearsal was extremely tiring. Now don’t ask me what is so difficult in making a few kids sing and dance in rhythm. The kids are doing a great job. You should see them dressed as puppets and jokers and monkeys. Tomorrow, I am in charge of the green room. And that means trying my hand at another new job. I will have to dress them up and see to it that they have the proper make up. A good 300 kids. Can you imagine that?

Try telling me, what's so great in that?

sunshine.

Screwed Up.

1. Load X Load Arm = Effort X Effort Arm.

Mechanical Advantage = Effort arm/Load arm.

I devoted a good 30 minutes to explain this basic funda about machines to Class VI. And at the end of those 30 minutes, I gave them this simple sum to do.

Effort = 200N, Load = 100N, Load Arm = 25cm, Effort Arm = ?; Mechanical Advantage = ?

28 out of 30 students got a zero. The rest two did it half correct and managed to get a 2.5 out of 5 marks each.

2. What is the sum total of the three angles in a triangle? I randomly picked up three students from Class V, and asked them this, half dreading that they would laugh at me for asking them such an easy question. The three answers are respectively, 30 degree, 70 degree, and 120 degree.

I was shocked beyond expression.

What more, I ask them why cannot a right angled triangle have two 90 degrees? To this, one of them says confidently, “Who said so? They can have two 90 degrees in special cases”.

If I were a student now, I would not even step in this school, forget about studying here. And if I had given such answers in my schools, I would have been thrown out of there.

3. While correcting one of the chemistry copies, I find a CD inside, with Bipasha Basu’s pic on it. As suspected, the CD contains stuff you would not normally see in a sixth grader's collection.


4. My computer is screwed up for the last seven days or so. There are problems that I am unable to interpret. Okay, I know this for sure that the Norton thing has stopped working and the machine is virus infected. Also, the printer cannot be installed for weird reasons. Last Sunday, the printer just stopped taking in papers, and kept on printing lines and lines of coded expletives. And the machine just shuts down on its own and restarts without notice.

We do have a person who is supposed to fix these problems, all the more because we need the computer everyday. And this man has been telling me for the last 5 days, “I am coming first thing tomorrow morning”. And mom is like, don’t be rude to him, he might have been busy somewhere.

5. My ankle swelling is getting worse day by day. I am absolutely clueless about where all this is leading. On top of that, I get this splitting headache ever since I corrected those physics papers.

6. My project guide calls me up to ask me where have I disappeared. Snippets of the conversation-

Where have you disappeared?

Sir, I think I told you I got a job.

Yes, yes, I know, but why do you need a job?

The same reason as you need one, I wanted to say.

Anyway, he spared me a reply, and asked me to come to the lab tomorrow. We need to discuss a few research projects.

But sir, my job? The timings just will not let me work in the lab anymore. I am dog tired by the time I come back.

Just come over after school tomorrow. We will see.

I know what is coming. My weekends and Christmas vacations are gonna be screwed. And I am not even gonna be paid for it. Are the full time scientists there dead? Don’t tell me that a lab as huge as this is banking solely on a freshly graduated student.

7. Snippets of an argument with mom as I come home from work-

So you are not going?

Of course not. I cannot even move my ankles.

Is this your excuse this time? Why do you let us down? You do not attend a single wedding. But the moment you friends make plans to meet, you jump and go. 

I hate these weddings. There is nothing good to do there but sit and stare at others. I am not going. I have been up and working since 5 am.

She left without saying goodbye. Yes, she did give me a nasty look as she left. Intuition tells me that she will not be on speaking terms with me for the next few days.

8. Amidst all this, a small pin pricks my finger while I am arranging a few papers. It was like an ant bite I might not even have noticed. But then, I press my finger hard, and there I see two drops of bright red fluid oozing out. Blood! God, this is the life saving fluid called blood! I am bleeding. The next instant, strange images come to my mind. My head reels. My vision gets blurred and my tummy feels light. I rush to the wash basin and throw up.

From headaches to unruly and dumb students to sarcastic mommy comments to being pressurized by the guide to virus infected computers to objectionable CD contents to the sight of blood, I have had enough for a day. Right now, I just want to go to sleep, and never wake up again.

sunshine.