Innocent Hearts

It has been over eight months now. I was their teacher for a year. And those of you who know me will have no trouble in believing me when I say that I was a very strict teacher. I yelled at them, made them miss games when they didn’t do their homework, postponed the breakfast break unless each kid in the class mastered tables, and snatched their pencils when I found them doodling. I threw away Kaustub’s compass and tore away Neha’s paper. I almost chopped away Shradha’s tangled, matted locks, reducing her to tears and forced Prasad to stay for extra classes in spite of him wailing for going home. For the most part, I have found myself incapable of touchy, feely and cuddly love. When I left Pune, I didn’t really think that the kids would spring up so frequently in my thoughts. But they did. They still do.

Intelligent Vidya, who surpassed all expectations from a second grader, sincere Uday, who never did a single wrong thing, sweet Pushti, who every kid wanted to be friends with, cutely naughty Saras, who each girl wanted to tie a rakhi to, restless Amol, whose writing refused to keep pace with his active brain, Vaishnavi, Shravani, Kaustub, Viraj, Priyanka, Bharat, Varun, Rahul, Kevin, and. . . the list goes on. And Neha. Neha, who was a huge challenge for me to begin with. Neha, who hated me at the outset. And yet, she became so attached to me that she practically blackmailed her mom into inviting me home for lunch before I left Pune. One of the best lunches in my life – hot vadas, delicious sambhar, in a humble chawl on the outskirts of Pune. It was a lunch thrown in my honor. Neha who made her dad practise speaking in English and Hindi before I, who she called ‘didi’ went to their house, because ‘didi’ didn’t speak Marathi, and if her father couldn’t converse with me, Neha would feel let down. Because, she told her ‘didi’ that her dad was great, and had completed college. He drove auto rickshaws for a living. Neha took pride in the fact that her dad was an educated auto rickshaw driver.   

It has been eight months, and yet on a random day, out of the blue, a get a call from one of them – someone calling me to tell me how much the class misses me, someone begging me to at least visit, someone enquiring about my well being and whereabouts, someone wanting to know if I’m still teaching kids, someone wishing me a happy new year.

I spoke with Pavi today. It was like the old times. Her words are still ringing in my ears, “They remember you every single day. They rush up to me and Manj to ask about you. They’ve asked for your address to send you a letter and a gift . . . ”

My association with these innocent hearts is perhaps one of the most meaningful ones in my life. The photograph below shows some of them, taking a break after a strenuous practice for the school’s annual day last year. The photograph was taken in February last year, and is one of my favourites.

Pure Joy