"FROM MONDAY"

Post retirement I was seeking employment. I had applied to many companies. I also considered tutoring in Spoken English institutions. Since I had been a trainer all these years, I even thought of joining a school as a teacher. 

I went to a nearby school to which I had applied, attended an interview. They requested a demo class on English grammar. The next day I made a presentation. The authorities were satisfied and asked me to join the next day.

I went to the school t 8.30 AM, the next day and for the entire month inducted in teaching methods, for classes 3 to 6. At the end of induction they allotted me English reading, grammar, history, geography and music.

I was fifty eight years then.

I was used to the silence of corporate offices. All the organization I had worked for, had central AC.  I was used to working in comfort also. The candidates whom I had trained till then, were mostly over 22 years of age. They sat in silence through out the lectures. There was no strain on the vocal chords. They also did their assignments without having to be pushed.

My school was a total contrast to this. It had no AC. But, it was well ventilated. In spite of this there was this constant sweating, and by the end of the day, I smelt fowl.

The single most striking feature of any school is the high noise levels. Students were talking most of the time, and hardly settled down. More than teaching keeping the class silent was very difficult. If you could get a maximum stretch of 5 minutes of silence, then it was an achievement. Then within seconds everyone was happily talking. Every  five minutes I was busy banging the duster on the bench to ensure that every one pipe down. To be heard I had to shout, and by the evening my throat hurt with all the yelling.

My entire attitude towards the children changed. Earlier I used to love children. But  now I saw them as, as heartless brats who had no consideration for their teachers.  So I was most times yelling at them to keep quiet, and settling petty quarrels, about a pencil or an eraser. My face developed a permanent scowl.

Then, there was this morning and evening prayers, enforced on all students. The student did not give a damn, about getting close to God, and said it as a ritual. But the management was in earnest, about getting the Gods into the school premises, with the chorus chants.

For a person used to practicing silent meditation, I found the prayer exposure traumatic.

The students never walk. They run especially in the corridors. The school corridor was the best place for a teacher to be pushed down, by students  chasing each other. Certainly very dangerous.

One  Saturday evening after the student had left, I stood alone in the corridors, savoring the silences.  Then I thought, what had I got myself into? Certainly this is not where I belong. I was clueless when I was a student. I had hated school, for nothing taught there appealed to me except English. I was creative. I could have used that valuable time to paint, to sing,to dance or to write or exercise.  Boy, I heaved a sigh of relief when I was over with formal education.  Now I realized it was not the place for me either as a student or  as  a teacher.

That evening, as I slowly reached home, I got a call from a pharma company to join them as a trainer. When they asked me when it be convenient for me to join, I replied without batting an eyelid, "Day after tomorrow, From Monday.”