The light in the classroom flickers on and off. The single child in the classroom and I wait for the others to arrive. He tucks his shirt in neatly and brushes the wetness off his face with the stroke of his right hand. He waits nearby the door as I begin my morning ritual of a teacher. The student follows his own reflection and puts his hand out to feel the rain on his hands. The coldness makes him quiver and he tries to quickly regain his composure. I also momentarily step outside to soak in the fresh air.
All we see around us is this tiny area of Ahmedabad being taken over by the floods of the monsoon. The water is not heavy, but all the mundane routines of a regular day seem to be delayed. Even the birds seem to be nestled deep into their nests and the stray dogs away from our sights. We catch a glimpse of a butterfly trying to find a safe place to flutter its wings with no avail.
The silence between us thickens and all we hear are the raindrops splashing on puddles. It seems that no one else will turn up. My student stares into my eyes and captures from me a notoriously repeated response. “You can go home,” I say, “There will be no one coming in today, I suppose.”
He turns his half mischievous face towards me and flashes a brilliant white smile. He says, “I will stay here.” I glare back at him and think about the time he will most likely not use purposefully by being here. I ask him to go home again, this time a little bit more sternly. He, too, holds his ground. “I will stay here and learn,” he says enthusiastically.
We hastily gather ourselves in front of the class to begin the day with the rain still dripping slowly in front of us. “I could be at home,” I think to myself. My student jostles his way out of the classroom with his knapsack and sits next to me. The lesson begins with a round of sight words followed by a reading of a story. The student jumps at every word and even closes his eyes when he thinks the monster in the story is about to eat him. His eyes are fixed to mine. We take a short break for recess. We put together our spare change and eat a hot samosa down the corner. The day continues to move in the ebb and flow of any other classroom day.
The rain stops just half an hour before the end of the school day. I send the student home and watch him walk cautiously as greets his mother. He runs back towards me and gives me a little note with a drawing of a carefully sketched tiger. It reads, “Thank you,” with his name Sai etched underneath with a sharp black pencil. I pat his head and this time he runs along, splashing the puddles that come his way.
I close my eyes and hope for another rainy day.
Story submitted by Shyam, 2014 fellow, Ahmedabad
No comments:
Post a Comment