On a particular afternoon, in my sixth grade classroom, my physics teacher came up to my desk and asked, “Guess how many marks you must have obtained in your last class test?”  It scared me. I was not used to teachers. I definitely was not used to teachers walking up my desk, looking me in the eye and asking me stuff. I had to know his intentions before I could speak. His hands? Did he carry a stick? Did he plan to ‘wash’ me? I had to know before I could answer. “How many?” his coarse voice brought me back to senses.
I had never been comfortable around teachers. My parents sent me to school thinking that it would make me wiser and better. But the ‘hospitality ‘I got there made me meeker and weaker. Throughout my fourth and my fifth standard, I took a lot of beating. So much so that I never wanted to go back there. Seemed that I was not so good at studies. I would feel a strange emptiness in my stomach every morning as my school bus sped towards the gates of Tyndale Biscoe. I would watch the clouds. I would see the birds. I would witness other students having a ball, making merry. But I would know, it was not meant for me. I had a big stick waiting for me.
I had a teacher, supposedly from Leh. Dark complexion, cringed eyes and a flat nose. Every time I saw him, I would be reminded of Danny Denzopa, the Bollywood scoundrel. He would pick up students - feet virtually off the ground - and all he would beholding would be their side burns. He was feared and he was dreaded. His entry into the class would send chills down innumerable spines. It would send students reeling to their chairs and would make dropped pins sound like big bangs. However, he never scourged students, like Denzopa did, without a reason. His fury would touch only those who were weak at studies – weak the way they defined it. Although it was great news for the class, it was not as auspicious for me. In fact it was dismal for me. By the definition they had for weak, I indeed qualified as one.
Luckily, he never picked me up from my side burns. However when it came to other kinds of torture I was not so lucky. He often let the stick talk to my tender hands. It hurt the hands. However, it never hurt the place it was meant to. Despite his heroics, I did not change. I remained the way I was – as they would say, a weak student.
There was another. Not as dreaded as the earlier but not very far behind either. He carried a flat plank of wood. It was called a Phatta. And when the Phatta came down on you, the stars were seen by you. In the first row of my class, used to be seated this fine classmate of mine. He had easily left all others behind on the route to growth. He was big and he was fat. He could easily carry us on his back and not as much as break a sweat. Our clever teacher quite effectively used this unique resource to make his Phatta even more dreaded. Whenever a weak student had to be punished, the teacher would call our strong friend. The strong friend, the big friend, would spring to his feet, clearly enjoying the prospects of the duty he would soon discharge. The teacher would direct and the big friend would act. He would carry the weak student on his back by holding his arms and pulling them over his shoulders.  Next the teacher with a Phatta in his hand would approach. As the big friend bowed, the sacrificial lamb atop him would be all in the readiness to be slaughtered. With all the strength in the world, the Phatta would come down on the waiting bum. One, two, three and sometimes four.  A series of squeaks and sighs from the audience would reveal their own fear of being at the centre stage.  The episode would end. The weak student, or whatever was left of him, would be let down. That would be it for him that day. However he would know that it was not for the last time that he had taken the Phatta-ride.
As it happened, more often than not the weak student would be me. I used to get the treatment so much that at one point in time I had made a routine to count the number of days left in my session, to tell me the number of times I would get it – one per day. However I still did not change. I remained  the way as I was – as they would say, a weak student.
However on this particular afternoon, in my sixth grade classroom, something remarkably different was going to happen. I was finally going to change. As my Physics teacher came up to me and asked how many marks I thought I had obtained in the classroom, I knew I had failed; for I was always told that I was a weak student. I also knew that I had to formulate a way of telling my parents that I had failed. But that for now was too distant a future. Right now I had someone waiting for me, waiting for an answer. Despite all the helplessness I felt, I mustered some courage and with a very meek voice replied, “Sixty percent? May be less.”  As I waited fretfully for his reply, the teacher shook his head. “No!” Now this was it. I indeed had failed. Not even sixty. It sure was a shame. “I must have got sixty, I usually get those many,” I repeated. Still shaking his head the teacher came closer. What he said next changed my life forever. ” You have secured twenty out of twenty. A hundred percent!“  He tousled my head, turned around and left. I was left awestruck. I was dumbfounded. He must have been joking but then my teachers never did; not about my marks anyway. It was true. I indeed had done well.
As it turned out, I never remained the same – as they would say, a weak student. The moment changed my life and bizarre enough; it contained no stick. It may look easier to convince a kid when you raise your voice but it never is. It leaves him scarred, it leaves him tainted. Momentarily it may seem to do the trick, but then it shakes him from inside.  Kids, more than anything else, need warmth and love while being guided and not scolds and sticks. The power of a loving word is a thousand times more effective that the effect of a fretful outburst. Today when I look back, of all the teachers that taught me, guided me, the ones that loved and cared the most; seem to have influenced my life the most!

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Lastupdate on : Wed, 20 Jul 2011 21:30:00 Mecca time
Lastupdate on : Wed, 20 Jul 2011 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Thu, 21 Jul 2011 00:00:00 IST