To Ma'm with love : Part 1

A line from Dad's mail today went something like this :
"Yesterday was Teacher's day - Mom got several gifts (cost of
which in the wildest dreams also cannot be beyond Rs.15, but the
sentiment attached to them is invaluable) from students and school
management including amba barfi."

As I read it , I could'nt help reminiscing about all those teachers in school, who pounded our tiny cerebrums and spanked our butts with knowledge and taught me things, I am waiting to implement in my life. Aside from the multiplication, division, addition and subtraction which I use on a daily basis to calculate my workload, time spent on working, calories I ingest and bank balance respectively. I just have'nt figured out a way to put into effective use the chronology of Chatrapati Shivaji's life and those battle dates we memorised for history (they haunt me to this day ! )

My teachers have left an indelible mark in my life. Most of them are still remembered as the tyrants they were.

My first ever teacher, of whom I have no recollection of was one . Mom tells me stories of how as a preschooler I was put into a tuiton class to learn the alphabets and numbers 'earlier'.( I still think she did it to have her much loved afternoon siestas). Anyways, I just hated going to those classes and I would throw such a tantrum. Even today I can recollect the foggy images of being dragged along the road lined by tall green hedges on both sides. My parents did'nt make a big deal of all those accusations I put on the teacher, of beating me ,yelling at me . They simply thought I was going to be one dumb kid. When one day I brought home a broken slate as evidence. Dad had marched right up to her and given her the scolding of her life.

The other cane-yielding Rani Laxmibai we had was Mrs Mala in the 3rd grade. She had one class in the week when she used to have those multiplication table quizzes. And that was my own Doomsday. I could'nt for the life of me (literally) remember tables and she knew that . Every week she would pick me (even with my head buried deep inside a book i could'nt escape), and ask me a 3x3 or a 7x8 ?? I would do some heavy duty acting of thinking hard , staring calculatively at the ceiling, scratching my head vigourously...but no...the answer would never dawn on me and then that cane would strike on my tiny outstretched palm with a loud thwack.

Another reason we scampered off from here was that she had hyperactive salivary glands. She was the Niagara of spitters and she could soak you to the bones if you as much as stood for 5 minutes in her vicinity ...remember that princi from Mein Hoon Na ?? Trust me there are people like that in existence. We used to have an area of the front benches where she used to stand during classes designated as 'Danger Zone: Sit at your own risk '.

Here's wishing you a happy teachers day Mrs Mala ...if it had'nt been for you , I would never learn 3x3 is 6..wait is that 9 ??? where's my calculator ???

**** to be continued ****