The Day I was Hired

She looked smart with her short blunt cut hair, blow dried into the shape of her head. So her head looked a little large on her shoulders. I think for some perverted reason I liked the haircut probably because I have curly unruly hair that won’t take any shape; blow dried or wind dried.  The compulsory white coat was missing on her. She had walked into the Head Mistress’s office while I waited in the opposite room with the corridor separating the two. I noticed the head mistress speaking in a rude tone while the big head spoke in a soft voice. I wondered what had she done to deserve the tongue lashing.

 I had to shove aside those thoughts as all these observations had no bearings on my reason to be there. I needed the job as everyone had warned me of hopeless boredom that would plague me if I stayed jobless in Saudi Arabia. Getting an opportunity to be interviewed within a week of being in the country had me tickled ready to take a school job if that is what it took to defy death due to desperation.

I am quite often visited by visions of fame and wealth. I often relegate these thoughts to my spam inbox and label them as mindless meanderings. That can explain my reason to experiment with teaching high school English. I once again shelved my visions to make provisions for the reassuring pocket money.  Earning one’s own dough gives the satisfaction akin to divine redemption. So there I was in a school campus that barely resembled the smart elegant convent corridors I grew up in or from which I had pulled out my daughters for desert pastures.  A structure designed for learning paints its personality to visitors with its purpose, peace and tranquility. The pulse of the convent is consistent with the sense that it gives of being a sacred institution of highest quality learning and discipline.  Here the room looked poorly decorated. The building had narrow labyrinthine corridors with pigeon holes for classrooms. The walls had nothing nice to speak as it was pasted and fitted with art work done by all and sundry. Clearly lacked class!  But this was the most expensive school and had a brand name known across India. I tried to ignore what the corridors were echoing and was unwillingly drawn back to the exchange between the two ladies in the opposite room. I have a problem called 'snap snooping' which meant that I was suffering from a critical condition of being curious about unrelated events for short pleasurable distractions.

She walked over and I kept my head low reading the material I had prepared for the mock class to prove my teaching skills. Now there is something about me when I enter a classroom to teach. I feel energized and enthused at the mere thought of an interaction.  I considered teaching school children would be a song when compared to the lectures and training sessions done for post graduate students and working executives. Big head walked right over to me and announced:

“Good Morning! I am the HOD of the English Department.”

Ahem! Oh well! She was the HOD and I should have stood up in respect and acknowledgement at the proclamation by the important ruler of the English department but for some reason my legs failed to oblige. I smiled and returned the greeting from my humble seat and mumbled about how nice it was to have met her English Highness!.

“So what have you prepared?” She questioned.

I said “I was told to pick any topic and I chose the topic on Essay writing as it is an essential skill for all students to possess.”

 I thought I could not have been more serious in my desire to teach life skills. She didn’t look convinced. She was the Head of the Department (HOD) and it was not her job to be convinced. I later used the acronym ‘Hod’ for her.  To close friends I explained that when expanded it read ‘Highly Opinionated Donkey’. The Hod felt that I should drop the material I worked on preparing all night and do poetry instead. That was my first taste of Hod’s style of management. Obviously she wanted  me to fail. But I have an unreasonable confidence in my abilities. Most people do and I am no exception.

I said “Sure, which one?”

“This one by John Keats – A thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever!” she said thrusting the book under my nose and hoping to see stress signs leading to a whimpered protest with subsequent declaration of defeat. When she found none she handed it to me as a problem baton.

“How much time will you need to prepare?” she asked.

“Thirty minutes” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. At that time I had no idea that those thirty minutes had wings.

“Alright then, I will meet you in 30 minutes.” She nodded reassured by my foolishness.

I went over the poem. Gosh!  Did I feel a shifting of the earth's plate? Strange the building had not collapsed. I quickly opened my smart phone which for fortune reasons was internet enabled and surfed for online resources available on the poem. I quickly read a few summaries and then started to make notes against the verses for reference and retrieval.
The old Head Mistress was clearly moved by my plight and promptly armed me with an English dictionary. It was her death wish to see me succeed and to give Hod the debilitating dose of insecurity; something the Hod was already suffering from as a terminal condition. Paradoxically, the  insecurity was her reason for survival.

Hod timed her thirty minutes and entered with the precision of an unwelcome guest. She goggled at my Googling. I just had to shrug away her look of  "That's cheating!". She obviously did not expect me - a non literature background person to show academic command over a classic poem. I am quite capable of gleaning deep insights and meanings from prose and poetry (That’s what I think of myself till I am put to test) but this was clearly not commanding such an occasion.

I slowly followed the Head Mistress and Hod to the classroom. It was a small room with only five pair of eyes greeting and assessing me. The older women occupied seats in two separate corners, clearly not wanting to rub shoulders. I scanned the friendly smiling young faces and felt at home. The ghost of learning possessed my spirits and I was taken. I read and explained the verses with faint hints of humor that every occupied muscle in the room responded to and it led to a few chuckles and smiles. About 12 lines and 20 minutes later HM called for a cessation of my heartfelt lyrical decoding of Keats’ poetry.  I smiled apologetically to the girls which when read aloud meant “you and I loved the last twenty minutes but unfortunately this is how much we can get of it for today”.

I followed them into the Head Mistress’ room where Hod now reconciled to the chances of getting me as her colleague started to get personal about my background and wanted me to give a copy of my resume for her records. The Head Mistress never too far away was not very pleased at the sight of my exchanging pleasantries with Hod; once again asked me to wait in the opposite room while she got the Hod to put a note on my application to be forwarded to the Principal.

I waited for the next hurdle. I was told by a well meaning acquaintance that the man was happy with the sound of his trumpet and had no ear for another’s. Not singing was fine with me. It's better not to sing too much when you are planning to be hired. The last I heard of someone who took to singing gloriously was that he could never get his words right (leave alone singing) after they finished with him.

 I was told to accompany the Head Mistress to the next building. She marched ahead and I followed behind; scout's style. On reaching the secretary’s office we were told to wait. After ten minutes of idling, the HM got impatient and decided to get back to her work. She spoke to the Principal  over the phone and left me alone to fend for myself. Another 20 minutes later I was asked to walk in. The room was well carpeted and well furnished. The yellow orange hue of the light subdued any lack that could have caught a visitor’s attention. He sat behind the big glass topped table and continued to write something on a paper. As I entered he ordered me to sit down and I sat on the chair kept to the extreme left, which was much too large for my small frame.

He looked up. No smile. A plain pair of eyes met mine in an indifferent way. He had my resume before him and was reading it. His looks declared that my past made no meaningful impression on his senses.
"Although there is nothing in your background that qualifies you to be a English teacher; I nevertheless feel that a degree in a subject is no guarantee of proficiency in teaching."

Now that observation can stem from rude personal experiences and I nodded my sympathies. He may not have been pleased with my deep insights on the roots of his observations but gave me the job anyways.

 As I got up and walked half way across to the door he quoted my salary as an afterthought. I had no way of comparing or assessing if it was worthy of my service. I nodded acquiescence, said thank you and left. I assumed that the pay was in accordance to the grade one teaches. Higher the grade, higher the salary. Assumptions are unreal and should be vocally raised. I did none of it and happily worked for a week before I got to know that my salary was an entry level figure paid to the most junior teachers.

If that was not enough - I would be teaching the boys. Aliens would have made better students.