Tag: school life

An uncanny realisation

an uncanny realisation

A few weeks ago I met with an old school friend. We had a lot to discuss about the last six years that had elapsed since we last saw each other. But of all things we spoke of, one stood out to me, nagging me from within.

She mentioned our school principal, Mrs. D. She also taught English Literature for senior classes during our time, and I had the opportunity to sit through her classes for a short 2 months before changing schools. The last thing I had heard of Mrs. D was that she had retired. I had no idea of her current whereabouts until my friend revealed it to me.

Mrs. D now taught English for adults from the comfort of her home. “Oh, nice!” I exclaimed when I heard that. I knew my teacher could never stop teaching, but I hadn’t thought of her moving on from enlightening school students to adults. Nevertheless, I was happy to hear that she had moved on and enjoyed retirement.

My friend continued her story. Everyone in school knew how much Mrs. D appreciated good music. She’d nod her head, smiling, whenever a student played the grand piano in the auditorium. And then she’d voice her admiration to the entire school during assembly. She was also a great pianist herself.

And so when my friend told me that Mrs. D still played the piano whenever she had time, I took a hike down my mind to those days when we’d file into the auditorium every morning, beating our feet to crescendos and staccatos. But the fleeting image burst like a gum bubble when I heard Mrs. D couldn’t play as often as she’d liked to because she had wrist pains and nerve issues. “Old age, you know.” My friend commented, offhand. It was just a matter of fact. At that moment, my reality stood still.

I hadn’t thought of my teachers getting old. I had been so busy focussing on my life and the changes I underwent that I didn’t even pause to think that my teacher had a life of her own—a life that went by just as mine did. My memory of Mrs. D was frozen in the classroom, and that I could walk into class tomorrow, flip the page of my text-book, and continue reading between the lines of Iago’s speech.

I hadn’t, even for a moment, considered that my teacher’s life no longer involved striding into class in a smart sari and not-so-heeled shoes. I hadn’t thought of her slumping on the couch in a sweatshirt, or watching television after 10 pm. Somehow, it never struck me that teachers are normal people, too, and that as they grew older, they’d also grow weak in the knees, stutter in their speech, and caress wrinkled skins.

It made me feel old to hear the reality of my teacher. She wasn’t as old as dying a natural death, but she was older than my image of her, and for a while, I couldn’t accept that. Here we were, standing at the airport, chatting away like a couple of adults discussing serious economic issues, when in truth neither of us felt adult-like at all. We had, of course, walked out formal education and into employment, but our memories still lived in the same school uniforms that we clad six years ago.

Oh, how much we hated Mrs. D’s rules. She made us all wear ribbons on our hair and would ensure our skirts reached well below our knees—the punishment for improper length being teachers undoing the hemming our skirts to make them longer.

Yet now, life had turned the tables on us and we just stared in longing into the mirror of our memories, that shadowed fondest part of our lives.

The High-School Effect

Jessica was the soul of a party. She’d hand out drinks, pick up empty paper cups, and would roared at Michael’s silly jokes.

At school, she’d strut around with friends, bullying juniors and tormenting the school cat.
But everyone loved her. Though she had joined in the middle of term, her classmates were quick to accept her. Tall and slender, and a shoulder-haired brunette, she was attractive and aloof — the perfect high-school heartthrob.

But each night facing her mirror, Jessica couldn’t accept her change. At least they liked her, she assured herself, unlike in the previous school.

The Gross Job

“Eww, gross. How to get rid of the blood from our hands?”

Katie looked at her palms smeared in the greenish hue of once-fresh blood. She removed the lingering tissues from between her fingers, struggling not to throw up on her partner.

Michael was more calm. “Let’s worry about that later.” He assured her. “Our priority is keeping the heart and the liver intact. A lot depends on this job.”

Wrinkling her nose, Katie read the instructions. “Immerse organ in solution, replacing the liquid everyday for a week.”

“Ok,” Michael said, determination spreading across his eyes. “Let’s get that A.”

Negligence

Unable to face the dagger-eyed crowd, the student counsellor hung his head. He had failed them all.

And as a consequence, all their families were now shredded to pieces. There was no way he could reverse what had happened. He had failed as a father and now it was time he paid the price.

He didn’t look at the boy; couldn’t recognise the twisted, convoluted child standing trial for rampaging his school, gunning down classmates and teachers alike.

Davis blamed himself. He had spent a lifetime analysing behavioural patterns in other children, failing to recognise it in his own.

Studying Gone Amiss

“You need not answer all the questions! You can just laugh and laugh again.”

David read and read the sentence. When he walked in for the prestigious examination, he hadn’t expected such adverse directions. What do they mean he could laugh and laugh again? Was this some kind of sick game they’re playing on the candidates? His brother had warned him that the exam would hurl unexpectedness at his face, but this was more than what David had expected, even for unexpectedness.

He flipped the page to the first question. It was about fitting quadrangles into triangles. He knew that one, and so he wrote the answer. He moved on to the next: circles and cylinders. Easy. Next: a fraction of Fraction. Next: decoding BODMAS. Next: passive and active voice. Ok, thought David. Weird, but easy. Next: Calculating calculus. Equating differentials. Pi value. And the case of the missing pies.

David closed the question booklet and stared at the board in front of him. What the hell was this? How could such a question paper determine the next generation’s Discipliners?

His brother had written the same test four years ago and was now a qualified Discipliner. He was David’s inspiration. And yet, even his brother had had hard times grasping his job.

His brother’s words rang in his ears: “I am confused at times. Should I sound? Should I echo?” The boss would scream swear words, and he had to react by either repeating or protesting. Being impassive led to the gallows while a wrong reaction resulted in a beating. He told David that he could never understand what he had to do.

Every morning, he’d dress up ready for battle. Some days the Coaches made him rub the floor, and some days they’d hunt aliens. It was a weird job, his brother had said. But it’s worth it; it made their parents proud and the girls all loved a Discipliner.

David was still looking at the empty blackboard facing him. He didn’t know what to do, or how to go on. All of a sudden, a supervisor stood in front of him, blocking out the blackboard. “You done?” He crouched down at David, peering above the horn-rimmed magnifying glasses on his nose.

“I’m just thinking,” David managed a menial reply.

At this, the supervisor threw his head back and laughed long and hard. “Thoughts!” he rumbled so that the whole classroom could hear “— they do what we don’t ask for!” He laughed again, turned around, and swept away to torment a candidate in the next row. David watched as his long robes billowed about his heels.

David looked down at the footer of the question paper: Inter- Intra- Galactic Discipliners — Preliminary Examination. He had thought this would be a tough exam. He had thought the test would test him against aliens, ask about their weaknesses, their strengths, and combat strategies. And instead, the questions were about his high school subjects.

At times, we pretend to think on one and actually think everything else! The voice in his head pointed out like a wise sage. You lied to your parents about studying for your semester exams and binged in Men in Black instead. You pretended to study math but digressed.

David looked down at the footer of the question paper: Mathematic Principles. And then it hit him.

“I knew it!” He whispered to himself, clenching his fists under the table and kicking himself in his mind. “I knew that I didn’t know math!”

And that’s why you should’ve studied, the voice in his head supplied.

incredible-blogger-marathon-challenge-5I’ve signed up for the Incredible Blogger Marathon Challenge. It’s a ten-task-challenge that can span up to fifteen days. This post is my response to the fifth challenge: Not So Quite Quote. The challenge is to write a story including the following quotes:

Quote 1: I am confused at times. Should I sound? Should I echo?

Quote 2: You need not answer all the questions! You can just laugh and laugh again.

Quote 3: Thoughts – they do what we don’t ask for!

Quote 4: I knew it! That I don’t know!

Quote 5: At times, we pretend to think on one and actually think everything else!