5th September. Teachers' Day.
Growing up, I wanted to be different things - a teacher, a monkey, a teacher, a journalist, a teacher, a sports writer, a teacher, Victoria Beckham, a teacher. Today, I am convinced that a teacher is indeed what I should strive to be. I have been blessed with opportunities to teach students of different age groups - from 4th standard to MA students. And I have thoroughly enjoyed the enriching moments in the different classrooms.
I was 19 when I first ventured to become a teacher. Fresh out of higher secondary school, I left home to teach in a school in Khelmati, a small village in Assam. Most of our students were from nearby tea gardens. Harchurah Tea Estate, in particular, was home to most of our students.
When I arrived at Khelmati, I realised how different things were from home. For instance, back home (Aizawl), my formal clothes mostly consisted of knee length dresses and skirts. But it did not take long for me to figure out that most of the clothes I had brought from home would be considered inappropriate for a teacher at my new home. Khelmati is about 20 kilometres away from Tezpur, a beautiful town in Assam and is surrounded by several tea gardens.
A few weeks after my arrival, I developed heat rashes all over my body. My body needed time to adjust from the moderate climate back home to the hot and humid Khelmati climate. And since we did not exactly have luxurious lodgings with air conditioned rooms, we suffered in the heat all day long.
I was the class teacher of class 4. There were 6 students in my class. Ashish. Shiva. Savdhan. Suman. Ashif. Sarita. Ours was the class with the least number of students but the students were good friends with each other, so they enjoyed coming to school every day. If my memory serves me right, there were about 140 students in the school.
This was a long time ago. Many of the experiences I had there have escaped my memory. However, one particular afternoon I have not been able to forget was the day a snake crawled into our classroom through the ceiling. I was telling the students a story from their English textbook when I heard Shiva's shrill cry, "Miss, snake...". Sure enough, teacher and students alike ran out of the classroom with a speed just a little slower than light's. Once the snake got killed by other teachers, we had a hearty laugh at ourselves. What was initially a frightening experience turned out to be one of our favourite stories in the next few days.
In some renditions of the incident, the snake was 14 feet long and was just about to swallow Sarita's head off when the boys heroically intervened and fought a long and hard battle with it before finally helping Sarita escape. Meanwhile, in some retellings, the brave and courageous teacher single handedly strangled the snake to death, saving the lives of her precious students.
On the days we were not saving each other from snakes, lions, wild elephants and the occasional dragons, we would learn action songs and sing and dance happily. Some lazy afternoons would also find us practising short skits to be performed during school assembly.
It was a simple life. The students did not come from rich families. Their parents earned just enough for the most basic of needs. Their books and uniforms were mostly second hand, passed down from elder siblings or neighbours. But despite their poverty, they were happy, as happy as children in their condition could be. Being malnourished and underweight did not stop them from running around cheerfully in the fields, and in spite of their yellowish anemic tinge, their eyes always sparkled mischievously.
I used to think I was the only one doing the teaching, but I have now realized that I learnt more from them than they did from me. In their own childish ways, they taught me to embrace life and the different experiences life brings us. They taught me to be content with what I am and what I have. In spite of their poverty, they did not complain. They accepted things as they were. They were quick to smile and laugh as though they have the best of what life has to offer. Little did I know then that the lessons I learnt from them prepared me in ways uncountable for the ups and downs of life.
When teaching there eventually took too much of a toll on my studies, I had to leave them with a heavy heart. I do not have much hope of ever meeting them again in person but I have been most pleasantly surprised to receive friend requests from them on Facebook for the last couple of years. I am happy that they have access to the Internet, and more importantly, that they can afford it - a blessing most of us take for granted. It fills my heart with pride to see that they have passed their HSLC exams and have joined junior colleges. I hope to see them graduate in a few years, and I pray graduation will not be the end of their academic pursuits.
The reason why I have decided, rather out of the blue, to write this piece is because this year's teachers' day reminded me of a gift long forgotten. It was gifted to me on 5th September by Ashif from Harchurah Tea Estate. I received many gifts from my students that day; gifts that were humble in that they did not cost much, but also gifts that were the most precious I have been and probably will ever be given. The students must have saved up for several weeks to buy me those gifts. Only Ashif's gift - a red frame with a picture of Jesus Christ - remains with me today. The frame gifted to me on a teachers' day has a greeting printed on it which goes, "May the Holy family fill you [sic] heart with Love and grant you Health and Happiness in the New Year. Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!"
Growing up, I wanted to be different things - a teacher, a monkey, a teacher, a journalist, a teacher, a sports writer, a teacher, Victoria Beckham, a teacher. Today, I am convinced that a teacher is indeed what I should strive to be. I have been blessed with opportunities to teach students of different age groups - from 4th standard to MA students. And I have thoroughly enjoyed the enriching moments in the different classrooms.
I was 19 when I first ventured to become a teacher. Fresh out of higher secondary school, I left home to teach in a school in Khelmati, a small village in Assam. Most of our students were from nearby tea gardens. Harchurah Tea Estate, in particular, was home to most of our students.
When I arrived at Khelmati, I realised how different things were from home. For instance, back home (Aizawl), my formal clothes mostly consisted of knee length dresses and skirts. But it did not take long for me to figure out that most of the clothes I had brought from home would be considered inappropriate for a teacher at my new home. Khelmati is about 20 kilometres away from Tezpur, a beautiful town in Assam and is surrounded by several tea gardens.
A few weeks after my arrival, I developed heat rashes all over my body. My body needed time to adjust from the moderate climate back home to the hot and humid Khelmati climate. And since we did not exactly have luxurious lodgings with air conditioned rooms, we suffered in the heat all day long.
I was the class teacher of class 4. There were 6 students in my class. Ashish. Shiva. Savdhan. Suman. Ashif. Sarita. Ours was the class with the least number of students but the students were good friends with each other, so they enjoyed coming to school every day. If my memory serves me right, there were about 140 students in the school.
This was a long time ago. Many of the experiences I had there have escaped my memory. However, one particular afternoon I have not been able to forget was the day a snake crawled into our classroom through the ceiling. I was telling the students a story from their English textbook when I heard Shiva's shrill cry, "Miss, snake...". Sure enough, teacher and students alike ran out of the classroom with a speed just a little slower than light's. Once the snake got killed by other teachers, we had a hearty laugh at ourselves. What was initially a frightening experience turned out to be one of our favourite stories in the next few days.
In some renditions of the incident, the snake was 14 feet long and was just about to swallow Sarita's head off when the boys heroically intervened and fought a long and hard battle with it before finally helping Sarita escape. Meanwhile, in some retellings, the brave and courageous teacher single handedly strangled the snake to death, saving the lives of her precious students.
On the days we were not saving each other from snakes, lions, wild elephants and the occasional dragons, we would learn action songs and sing and dance happily. Some lazy afternoons would also find us practising short skits to be performed during school assembly.
It was a simple life. The students did not come from rich families. Their parents earned just enough for the most basic of needs. Their books and uniforms were mostly second hand, passed down from elder siblings or neighbours. But despite their poverty, they were happy, as happy as children in their condition could be. Being malnourished and underweight did not stop them from running around cheerfully in the fields, and in spite of their yellowish anemic tinge, their eyes always sparkled mischievously.
I used to think I was the only one doing the teaching, but I have now realized that I learnt more from them than they did from me. In their own childish ways, they taught me to embrace life and the different experiences life brings us. They taught me to be content with what I am and what I have. In spite of their poverty, they did not complain. They accepted things as they were. They were quick to smile and laugh as though they have the best of what life has to offer. Little did I know then that the lessons I learnt from them prepared me in ways uncountable for the ups and downs of life.
When teaching there eventually took too much of a toll on my studies, I had to leave them with a heavy heart. I do not have much hope of ever meeting them again in person but I have been most pleasantly surprised to receive friend requests from them on Facebook for the last couple of years. I am happy that they have access to the Internet, and more importantly, that they can afford it - a blessing most of us take for granted. It fills my heart with pride to see that they have passed their HSLC exams and have joined junior colleges. I hope to see them graduate in a few years, and I pray graduation will not be the end of their academic pursuits.
The reason why I have decided, rather out of the blue, to write this piece is because this year's teachers' day reminded me of a gift long forgotten. It was gifted to me on 5th September by Ashif from Harchurah Tea Estate. I received many gifts from my students that day; gifts that were humble in that they did not cost much, but also gifts that were the most precious I have been and probably will ever be given. The students must have saved up for several weeks to buy me those gifts. Only Ashif's gift - a red frame with a picture of Jesus Christ - remains with me today. The frame gifted to me on a teachers' day has a greeting printed on it which goes, "May the Holy family fill you [sic] heart with Love and grant you Health and Happiness in the New Year. Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!"
Happy teacher's day to students who teach their teachers how to count blessings and how to be graceful through tough times.
