On the twenty second day of June, I handled a class of sixth graders by myself for the third time- by now I’d achieved a sense of calm and confidence about doing this- almost a reassurance in my capacity to handle whatever the class decides to deal out to me. First it was a bunch of boys behaving like the little miscreants they could be, on the second occasion a few girls decided to challenge me with a case of strange emotional turbulence and crying about fights with their best-friends. I survived those- battered but brave. Today I was about to receive their third practical testing- ‘How does she deal with illness?’.
I walked into class after their morning assembly, expecting a mellowed, exhausted-by-the-week-Friday-morning-class that is looking forward to their weekend. Instead, I entered chaos. The prospect of two days off spurs these kids on like nothing else. As I walked in, voices from every corner threw sentences at me. Three of the thirty kids have fever but if you’d heard the complaints, you’d think all of them did. It’s amazing how easy it is to perform behaviour analysis here. Take for example a classic case of Chinese whispers gone astray-
“Misss I think X has fever!”
“Miss, X has fever!”
“Missss X is crying because he has fever!”
“MISS X IS NOT ABLE TO LOOK UP. HIS HEAD ACHES AND HE HAS FEVER”.
“MISS. CAN YOU GO SEE HIM MISS!”
(I’ll go get tablets, I’ll go get water, I’ll go call his parents, his house is near mine were some of the tangential responses I heard)
On inspection I found that the said X had not been crying, did not seem to possess a headache and in fact, did not have fever at all- he’d bent down to pick up a pen and in the process of it, had unknowingly started his claim to thirty seconds of fame.
The inspection took just about a minute. I ensured that neither he nor any of his bench buddies had a life threatening or worse – class peace threatening ailment and before I could turn I heard a round of this:
“Misss I think X has fever!”
“Miss, X has fever!”
“Missss X is crying because she has fever!”
“MISS X IS NOT ABLE TO LOOK UP. HER HEAD ACHES AND SHE HAS FEVER”.
“MISS. CAN YOU GO SEE HER MISS!”
By now I knew I couldn’t afford to do this all day. I enquired from my spot, first catching a hooligan who’d transported half the class away from his bench and was just about to attempt a pull up off a stray rope hanging on the battered, messy old corporation school walls. With a few quick questions, I was able to discern that the girl in question actually did have a fever- now what’s the procedure?!
I began with the easy ones, for which all her answers sank my heart inch by inch.
1) Did you have breakfast?
Yes.
2) Did you take tablets?
Yes. (I didn’t possess any emergency tablets in any case, so I was secretly glad she said Yes)
3) Do you want to go home?
No. (I had no idea if I had the permission to send her home. I was a temporary teacher at this highly government regulated corporation school)
4) Do you want to sleep in class?
No.
NOW WHAT.
Then I began reasoning with her, a luxury I could afford since she was one of the smarter, more mature beings in class. After a few minutes of logical studyof the situation, she agreed to sleep. I had literally just convinced a girl to go to sleep in class while I taught. It seemed counter-intuitive to me, but after three weeks with ten year olds I’ve started to lose a grip on my trust in intuition anyway.
For now, it’s sorted. She’s sleeping on the floor in one corner of class and no one seems to be in a hurry to wake her up or throw stuff at her. I’m holding my breath on this one.
– Swathi Chandrasekaran
Where? CMS Arumbakkam, Chennai
When? 22nd June 2018
Can you help? Of course you can! Look into TFI or any other NGO that is doing amazing work helping the less privileged and do whatever you can in your capacity to add on to it!
It was a twenty rupees chocolate, from a kid who doesn’t get chocolates often at home. From a kid whose classmate searched in agony for her missing slipper for over an hour after school, knowing that without it she’d not have shoes for a month. From a kid who walks home everyday with a slight limp in her leg that hasn’t been checked by a doctor yet. She held out the chocolate with her eyes wide open, melting my heart in one moment of acute agony, gut wrenching ache and immense pride all at once. I had to ask her to treat herself with tears in my eyes, watch as she advanced to join her father at the portico of school and point me out to him with a beam on her face. She left me so easily with an incident I will hauntingly remember with an ache each time I look back at this month.
– Swathi Chandrasekaran
Perplexed Potatoes 