Teaching Boys - First Impressions

The issues of teaching at a low pay and putting up with Hod was not as imminent a reminder to my very sorry condition as the fact that I was dealing with boys. Even God would have cringed occasionally while anticipating my plight.

 Boys have a mind which is group defined. A misplaced sense of honour in defending their fallen friends, satisfies their souls. If a teacher is not capable of roughing up their collars then teach they can’t. So the problem is both mental and physical; 360 degree collapse. 

They are incapable of independent thinking because group governs choices and they understand only physical threat. I wasn’t as insightful in my judgment about them then, since I had only taught big boys well into their twenties. Moreover their madness was camouflaged by the reassuring presence of the opposite gender. No wonder the whole universe is balanced on the principle of opposite forces.

I was asked to invigilate the exam hall of grade nine boys. I walked in and noticed much to my discomfort that they had the temerity to discuss the question paper even in my presence. I tuned into my most ‘don’t mess with me ‘tone.

“If I hear any sound other than of pen on paper then you will leave the room. A few minutes of respectful silence, one brave aleck enquired, “There is something wrong with this question! May I ask Siddiqui?”

Unaware of the ploy I dumbly nodded consent. His doubt was not the question but what should go as the answer. I protested and gave an earful to discourage any attempts at getting smart with me. As if in queue, one of them piped,  “ Ma’am, Mr. Mani was here and he gave some clarification for question no. 12; can I ask Ayush what exactly it was?” Now this seemed plausible! Ayush supplied the answer as clarification complete with formula. I detected the second method. I was furious.

“No more of this nonsense!” I yelled. “Don’t you dare act clever or I will gut your insides with my cleaver!” A little peace fluttered on my agitated heart. I soothed my eyes with the quotes pasted on the walls. But, wait a minute! There was a quote on a sheet of exam paper making the rounds under the desk. God help me!

 I intercepted it midway and asked “Whose paper is this?”

A boy least worried about the possibility of a punishment replied insolently “It’s mine! It had fallen down”.

 “Sure! It had fallen down, so the boy behind you thought it belonged to him. After having read the contents, it came upon his understanding that it wasn’t his either so he passed it to the boy next to him, who grabbed it with relief hoping it to be the paper that went missing from his desk, but alas! When he had soaked in the matter he had to let go too as it was no replacement for his fine work and so the paper made its journey to every desk till I caught hold of it. Obviously it can’t be mine as I am new and haven’t written much to start losing a few.” I finished with the most understanding look mankind was yet to label.

He gaped. I glared. His name was Hameed.

Hameed inquired loudly “Who is she?” and someone supplied “She is the new English teacher!”

 This did not go well with the gangster.  “How many English teachers are we going to be inflicted with?” So now I was one of the plagues of Egypt and other English teachers ahead of me had plagued and had given up influencing Pharaoh’s mind.  

I went home feeling for the teachers who had given up. I decided to brave my next interaction with them in the class. The class strength was a solace; about twenty in all. This would be fine: I crooned to my heart. They all had decided that English was a no-brainer subject and only morons paid attention to English class. Unflinchingly, I decided to start a new chapter and wanted someone to read. All started yelling each other’s name but no one offered their own. It was a game similar to ‘pinning the donkey’s tail’. While they were trying to pin the donkey I applied my theory. When faced with such situations it’s best to conduct a sweeping glance and ask a gaze holder to start reading.

 I asked the tall, fair boy to read.  He started reading and others started talking.  Mayhem!

Any student attempting to answer my questions was met with unqualified celebration. They clapped, made fun, and labeled the student ‘studious!’ This method unfailingly discouraged others from volunteering an answer.

 I vacillated between loud voice and soft tones and none really counted. Ignoring their silly notions of smart answers, I continued to teach like a nun.  My immunity to their methods won me unlikely friends.

One day I discovered I was declared dead. So much for my faithful teaching! They had started to prepare for my funeral.