The second last year in my innings as a teacher….. As the countdown begins, my mind is a maze of thoughts. Feelings of dread, doubt, and despair push me into a void. Outside its filmy thin walls, I find some blurry images glide past. A pain-punctured facade moves past slowly. I feel a tug somewhere on the deep chords of my heart. Was it or wasn’t it how I looked that ominous day 15 years ago?
The auditorium was arranged for Open House. Parents of std XI streamed into the hall. All the teachers were to sit in the front to face the volley of questions from parents, anxious about their wards’ performance in the year-end exams. I sat without any trepidation as I knew most of the parents whose children were my students in Std 10, the previous year.
Did I judge myself too hastily about the impression that the parents had about me?
The day at its start hadn’t given me any clues about the impending storm.
As the open House progressed after the customary address by the Principal, the forum was open for clearing doubts, airing concerns, and making suggestions. But never did I think that it would be one for venting fury.
Next moment …Oh How can I describe the sinister force of that moment that shattered my trust and faith in the parent community?
Up stood a frail-looking but spirited mom whose tirade against the English Teacher’s lack of competency in making her son a 90+ scorer in English the previous year, hit me like an avalanche, leaving me frozen and numb with shock. She raved and ranted, rallied all her fury at me for the next five minutes in the packed auditorium.
The frustrated mom compared me with another colleague, whose diction, accent, teaching skills, and pronunciation received profuse measures of adulation. All the while I sat mute and defenseless on the verge of tears. Had the floor below my feet opened up I would have gladly vanished into the core of the earth. The burning core would not have scalded me as much as the ire and calumny I faced in public that day.
Taking stock of my ebbing rationale, I wondered what mistake I had made to mar the expectations of a mother about her son scoring A+ in English. The boy in question was a sports buff who could not attend his classes as he had gone to take part in the Nationals. Upon his return, I remembered how I had provided him PYQs for practice so that he would not lag behind anyone. Also, I tried to convince myself with theories regarding differences in the logical abilities and linguistic skills that develop at different paces in different areas of the brain.
To this day when I observe the staggered performance of a child in science and languages, I feel the need to make parents understand these basics regarding cognitive learning processes. The child in the context was clearly more of a logical person with Mathematical and analytical intelligence as his forte. The same child in 12 th secured A+ for English and he came to express his happiness to me, for I had taught him in 12 th also. My love, and faith, in children and their credulous nature, were never dampened by the above incident. When the child came to me it helped to strengthen it multifold. But parents out of their anxiety sow the seeds of doubt in the minds of children.
Today I summon the courage to open my heart to relieve myself of the pain I suppressed for so long.
The day after the harrowing experience, I rushed to take refuge in Guruvayurappan, my all-time savior and confidante. It is difficult to express in words the calming and stabilizing effect I had when I had the darshan of Lord Krishna, whose enchanting form drives away all your worries and fears
I sat in the discourse hall where Saptahams are conducted, trying hard to focus on the divine flute player. I saw the chief priest accosted by other learned orators step onto the dias where the beautifully decorated idol of Krishna was kept.
He offered a Tulsi-Jasmine garland to the Lord. So amazing was the effect of this sight on my troubled mind. A tiny voice said to me in all earnestness ” Even this will pass”.
At that moment I felt an ethereal soft cloud of blueness gently spreading a glow around the garland. Was it my pain and anguish that made me notice this divine spectacle for a fraction of a second? These things normally escape our vision when unaffected by any agony or misery.
A crowded auditorium comprising parents and teachers failed to offer a word of support in my hour of disgrace, but here is a blue ray of light calming a storm in my mind with its alluring glow.
The Gita verse assumed a profound sense of understanding at that moment.
mānāpamānayostulya stulyo mitrāripakṣayoḥ sarvārambhaparityāgī guṇātītaḥ sa ucyate
The same in honor and dishonor; the same to friend and foe; abandoning all undertakings — he is said to have crossed beyond the GUNAS.
The iridescent glow taught me in a flash that mundane life with its mediocre goals, humdrum routines, crazy competitions, societal expectations, and manipulative attitudes of people associated with you cannot cow you down when you feel protected by a power that is the controller of all. For me, that feeling of true belonging and being protected came from the divine power of the infinite blueness that came to my solace at Guruvayoor that day. The whiplash of aggression and fury that fateful moments have in store for everyone becomes tender feather strokes once we learn to surrender the fruits of action to Divine will. Now I make it a practice to steady my mind, when storms rage and rave, through nam smaran and roop dhyan, two unfailing techniques to free myself from karmic entanglements. This is very much needed for all in the teaching career as it has become an extremely challenging arena of complexities. High parental expectations, cultural and moral conflicts compounded by the digital revolution, and mounting curricular pressure take a heavy toll on the physical and emotional health of educators. It is hoped that parents approach the school’s system and teachers with a more mellowed approach. Don’t teachers spend more time with your children rather than with their own family? And aren’t your children primarily our dreams?
