A teacher's care

It was the closing day of the sports week in that school. As we stood on the stage to witness the finals of the relay race, the runners took their positions. Many of them, perhaps from poor background, were not wearing shoes. Not that it stopped them from giving their best.

One of the senior teachers then started moving along the track which was partly grass and partly bare soil. He started to pick the pebbles on the route and move them aside. He did this with such diligence that one could feel the immense love and care he had for the students. The race had not started yet, but we had a winner already.

One mic will do

It was my turn to address the gathering now. It was the inauguration of the new school building for Mother Teresa School in Babadam. As I started to move towards the stage, Fr John Bosco, the present principal of this school, accompanied me and instructed the staff to ready two mics.

Instantly, I recollected our times in Dadenggre during 2017 when he was the Principal of Little Flower School and I went there to address the students. At that time, I had requested him to translate my speech to Garo as I spoke. Perhaps he thought the same was to be done now as well. I told him with a smile,"Not needed now Father, one mic will do!".

Best Gift

It was my last day as DC, West Garo Hills and the DC office family had organised a wonderful farewell program. It was emotional to listen to all the speeches. It is in such moments that we realise the power of words. The duration of my stint there was perhaps small but not the depth of the bonds developed.

Anticipating the farewell, I had asked them all not to bring any gifts for me and if at all they wanted to do something for me, they should rather adopt a school and do something to help the school get better. Election branch had thus arranged for school bags and other items to be given to students of one school coming from poor background. The smiling faces of those children, made my day, the very last day.

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

They had all gathered in a small tin shed they called their Spark School. To reach there, we had to walk through most part of the slum. A glimpse of how they lived there was enough to dissolve all the pretentious first world problems we had in our head. It is nothing compared to what they face every day, every hour and every minute.

The children of the Spark School had prepared a performance for us. They seemed super excited to get rolling. So much so that it took a while for them to arrange themselves as a group. And then came the song. And they meant every word of it. It was as if the words were emerging from their eyes. Eyes drenched in determination. I hope and pray, that they shall one day. The song is still reverberating in my head. Hum honge kaamyab ek din (We shall succeed one day)…..

He wouldn’t mind

As we sat down in the wedding hall to witness the multitude of ceremonies, I was clouded by a mist of nostalgia. There were so many familiar faces from the place where I grew up. You may have a hard time recollecting the names and the acquaintances but somehow the faces stay for a long time, long long time. Perhaps even beyond. 

 

One of those faces, came closer and sat down next to me. And with a beaming smile on his face, he said, “You were too small probably to remember all this but I used to come to your house to meet your father. He used to help me by writing letters for me as I couldn’t do that then. And he used to tell me at the end never to reveal to anyone that he had written them. But I thought you should know”. It took a while for me to recover from the trance of memories. But when I did, I said to him “I am glad you told me that even while violating the verbal agreement you had with my father. I am sure he wouldn’t mind”.