Back in 20/4/1993
‘Just
look at him’, I love the way he talks.
‘Me
too’, but more than that his iPhone 6, the best phone of the year 2015.
‘Shut
up…his tattoos…’
‘Sshh…he
is coming”
‘Good
morning students. Are you ready for the return?’
‘We
don’t want to’, shouted a little teenage girl from the rear seat of the bus.
‘Yes,
yes’, joined the other from the bus which made the protest of the girl
stronger. After
a very eventful tour of his class students, the teacher and the students were
ready to return from the country. The teacher was by and large loved by his
pupils. Some appreciated him on his face, some through emails, some through the
whatsapp messenger, and some sent their wishes through other friends of theirs. He
was one of the most sought teachers to be regularly stalked on the social media.
His displays were awaited twice a day. When someone complimented him, he felt
glad. One word was recurrent on his social network statuses. It was used
specifically for someone gone and dead who was very dear to the teacher.
The
bus started slowly. The teacher felt the unhappy faces who did not want to
return to their school life.
‘Next
month we will plan for something new again’, consoled the teacher. But the
little masters did not buy his cliché which the teacher knew very well.
‘Sir,
can we stay please for one more day’, asked one little boy earnestly.
‘No
my love, we cannot. There is time for everything. We all must do things in
installments, each at a time with utmost dedication, only then we enjoy doing
them. Going to school, doing work is as important as playing on the field and
wandering out. One cannot say NO to school. One gets bored if one keeps on
doing one thing repeatedly. If you overeat or overdrink or overplay you get
sick. There is time my dear friends for everything’.
When
the teacher talked, no student could resist not listening. The teacher
illustrated his every philosophy which made his pupils to buy his ideas. After
a while, it was time to debus. It was difficult for the students, the teacher
knew exactly. The teacher started searching his cricket bat in the bus. English
Willow it was. He was kneeling down at every passenger’s seat but could not
discover his bat. He became little impatient. It was his father’s gift when he
as a child played cricket for his district team. His eyes fell on numerous
wafer and biscuits wrappers which the students had left during the tour.
Suddenly his eyes fell on something dustbin worthy thing. He got interested to
discover what was inside that battered paper as it was the only paper lying with
the family of plastic wrappers. He opened it and there was poorly written
questions and answers in it. The handwriting he saw was very poor. He felt as
if he has seen such a text somewhere before in time. One can perceive the
tension on his face and his sweat glands overflowing on his forehead. The text
troubled him much. It was like noticing the left traces after having committed
the crime. It reminded of his own handwriting when he was a child. He noticed
the date which said 20.4.1993. He could not stand on his feet. He felt the
ground was sliding away from him. He could not control himself. His head spun
like a roller coaster. There was a great noise inside his head. The past
overtook him. His palms and his heels began to feel cold which was pretty usual
for him when he saw things evoking from the past. His eyelids fell down in
agony.
He was
a timid shabby fellow, a mamma’s boy who did not like schools and he hated his
most teachers. He lived an unhappy life. He had to be bundled up to be sent to
school. He was without life. He was more dead than alive, only a walking form
if you will. He did not brush his teeth nor did he feel the necessity to take
regular showers. His mother took him to a bus stop early in the morning. He prayed
for his school bus to be late or never to come. It was 90’s, a boy of roughly
7, a 3rd grader who was learning to frame sentences in poor text. His
books were untidy. They were full of red threatening remarks addressed to the
parents. He failed to get a smiley face both from his teachers and also from
his real life. Friend he had none.
The bus
entered the school premises. The students had all left the bus with their bags
and bottles and caps and glasses. The parents collected their children. The teacher
was lost in time. The bus driver came up to him and said, ‘Sir, the students
have left, don’t you want to see the Principal?’
‘No
Mummy, I don’t want to go to school!’
Minu
Jasdanwala
(25/10/15)
