Meena Madam, Rakhiyal School, Ahmedabad

It was just another day in Rakhiyal English Medium when an anxious man came rushing in to the office looking for 5th and 6th grade teacher, Meena Patel. She was in her class as usual having a tough time monitoring 50 shouting, shrieking 13 year olds. 

Yamini Ma’am, our Principal, walked to her class carrying with her the grave news. What happened in the next 30 minutes seemed like a montage of pictures seen through a bioscope. There were two cars parked outside the gate, with all the teachers trying to figure out who travels in which one, disdainfully; students were parting with serene curiosity in their faces; the surrounding air had subtle morbidity lingering! 

Meena ma’am’s husband had passed away earlier that morning. He had an organ failure. Meena ma’am and Sir were a young and bustling couple with 1-year-old daughter they had fondly named Nancy. 

I have heard stories about her and her constant struggles. By the sound of it, her life has been so dysfunctional, shouldn’t she be vexed and prickly? 

I mean my life is comparatively sorted and I mostly have options available to make it better and steer it in any direction I want to but all I do is sulk and crib and maybe, sometimes, take out my anger on poor people in an unjust manner.

I cannot remember how many times I have gotten off the auto and walked through the huge school gate looking as grumpy as an old squirrel on a winter morning, only to be merrily greeted by this woman standing at the top of the stairs. I would instantly light up and spend a few minute (as I set up the classroom for daily lessons) wondering how is she so composed all the time!

She is the first one to be there. She travels 20 km every day to get to school on time, seldom take leaves and delivers her responsibility with utmost dedication! You would never find her sitting idle or chatting her time away. She is always working!  The children adore her, the staff is fond of her, and even though we both know the psychological torture she has to endure being nice to me, she still puts up with my silly, random high and not-so-high spirited behavior. 

She derives her motivation from her daughter and all the people she meets. I had a stuck up mentality previously that random people do not add value to your life. They do. She does. I would like to achieve the mental and emotional stability that she displays, one day. 

Till then, she is my one of the celebrated Humans of Teach for India. 

Story submitted by Sutapa, 2015 cohort, Ahmedabad. 

Sai, Grade 3, Rakhiyal School, Ahmedabad

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