Showing posts with label English classes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label English classes. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 5, 2025

One Day in the Life of...

Note: I wrote this story to talk about emotions to a group of young men, who believed there were only three emotions- happy, sad and angry. This story demonstrates several shades of these basic emotions including Pleased, Irritated, Anxious, Miserable, Relieved, Elated, Disappointed, Jealous, Furious, Inspired, Shy, Embarrassed, Proud, and Joyful. 

I looked in the mirror one last time. My hairstyle looked good. The new gel is doing the job it promised, I thought to myself.

I didn’t realize that Kiran, my little sister, was in my room and watching me. When our eyes met, she ran her hands in her hair and twisted her body, exaggerating my pose. I chased her out of my room. Can’t I have any privacy in this house?

In school, I looked out for Anaira all day. She didn’t come to class. She wasn’t in the canteen at lunch break. Where was she? Had anything happened to her? These thoughts filled my head. I couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else.

Not even Sid’s silly jokes could uplift my mood, and they were aplenty.

I saw Anaira as I stepped out of the music class. She was in the corridor, talking to someone. Just looking at her, it felt as if a load was lifted from my shoulders.

She smiled when she looked up and saw me. Her smile lit up the corridor. As I walked towards her, I felt I was walking on clouds.

Until I saw who she was with. It was Anshul - everyone’s favourite Head Boy!

She told me that her cycle was stolen in the morning, which was why she couldn’t come to classes on time. But Anshul had seen some young boys with her cycle and managed to get it back.

I didn’t hear the details. I just kept thinking why it wasn’t me who had found her cycle. Why did I sit in classes instead of finding out what was wrong? Why was Anshul always the hero?

On my way back, Sid joined me. We had plans to play basketball in the park. When I told him about Anaira’s cycle, he said it seemed all too convenient that Anshul happened to see the boys with the cycle. Too convenient!

It suddenly became clear to me. It had to be Anshul’s scheme to gain Anaira’s attention, like in old Hindi movies! Anshul is more than capable of such a stunt. What a scheming dog!

I ran back towards Anaira’s house to share this thought with her, hoping to see her before she went inside. I wanted to avoid her mother, who always looked at me as if I was a worm. Her father was different- kind and gentle, though he was a famous lawyer. I looked up to him and wanted to be like him when he grew up.

When I saw Anaira, she was standing with Shalini outside her house. I wanted to tell her what I had realized about Anshul, but suddenly felt awkward. What if I was wrong? What proof did I have? What if she thought I was the one scheming to make Anshul look bad?

As I stood there staring at them tongue tied, Shalini started laughing. I felt like a fool and wished I had never come there.

Anaira hushed Shalini and came towards me, still holding her cycle. She asked me if she could borrow my notes for today’s classes that she had missed, adding that I had the best notes in the class. Best Notes!

I took out my notebooks and handed them to her, without saying a word. I didn’t mention Anshul and my suspicions to her.  He just wasn’t important in that moment.

As I walked back towards where Sid was waiting for me, I felt that the world was beautiful again!

When teaching the concept of Emotions and Emotional Regulation, I realized that many of my students of BSA do not understand English well So, Sonika tranlated the story into Hindi. 

एक दिन प्रतिदिन…

जाने से पहले मैंने एक आखिरी बार शीशे में देखा। मेरे बाल अच्छे लग रहे थे। तो वह जेल्ल का प्रॉमिस ठीक ही निकला।

पता नहीं कब मेरी छोटी बहन मेरे कमरे में आई और मुझे देखने लगी। जब हमारी आंखें मिलीं  तो उसने मेरी नकल उतारते हुए अपने बालों में हाथ फेरा। मैंने उसे फटकार के कमरे से बाहर निकाला । क्या इस घर में मेरी कोई प्राइवेसी नहीं है?

स्कूल में सारा दिन में अनायरा को ढूंढता रहा। वह क्लास में नहीं आई। लंच ब्रेक में भी कैंटीन में नहीं थी। कहां थी वह?  उसे कुछ हो तो नहीं गया था?  यही ख्याल मेरे दिमाग में उठ रहा थ। मैं किसी और बात पर ध्यान नहीं दे पा रहा था। 

यहां तक की सिड के इतने सारे चुटकुले भी मेरा मूड ठीक नहीं कर पा रहे थे। 

जैसे ही मैं म्यूजिक क्लास में से बाहर निकला, मैंने अनायरा को देखा। वह स्कूल के कॉरिडोर में खड़ी किसी से बातें कर रही थी। उसे देखते ही मुझे लगा मेरे कंधों से कोई बोझ उतर गया हो। उसने मुझे देखा और मुस्कुराने लगी। उसकी मुस्कान से जैसे सारा कॉरिडोर रोशन हो गया हो। जब मैं उसकी ओर बढ़ा मुझे ऐसे महसूस हुआ जैसे मैं बादलों में चल रहा हूँ।

जब मैंने देखा वह किसके साथ थी, तब मैं बादलों से जैसे गिर कर ज़मीन पे आ गया। वह और कोई नहीं अंशुल था - सबका चहेता हेड बॉय!

अनायरा ने मुझे बताया कि सुबह उसकी साइकिल चोरी हो गई थी, जिसके कारण वह समय से क्लास में नहीं आ पाई। लेकिन अंशुल ने उसकी साइकिल कुछ लड़कों के पास देखी और वह उसे वापस लाने में कामयाब रहा।

मैंने उसकी बाकी बातें सुनी ही नहीं। मैं बस यही सोचता रहा कि मैंने क्यों नहीं ढूंढी    उसकी साइकिल। बाहर क्या चल रहा था, यह जानने की बजाये मैं क्लास में ही क्यों बैठा रहा? अंशुल ही हमेशा हीरो क्यों बनता है?

छुट्टी होने पर सिड मेरे साथ वापस घर चल पड़ा। हमारा पार्क में बास्केटबॉल खेलने का प्लान था। जब मैंने उसे अनायरा की साइकिल चोरी के बारे में बताया तो उसने कहा दाल में कुछ तो काला है. इतनी आसानी से अंशुल को साइकिल कैसे मिल गई?

तब मुझे समझ में आ गया। यह सब अंशुल की चाल थी अनायरा का ध्यान अपनी ओर करने के लिए, ठीक जैसे की हिंदी फिल्मों में होता है। अंशुल ऐसे कामों में बहुत तेज़ है। चालबाज़ कहीं का!

इससे पहले कि अनायरा घर के अंदर चली जाए, मैं उसे यह बात बताने के लिए उसके घर की ओर दौड़ा। मैं उसकी मां से नहीं मिलना चाहता था, क्योंकि वह मुझे ऐसी देखती हैं जैसे मैं कोई गली का कीड़ा हूँ। वह न ही मिले तो अच्छा है। उसके पिता की बात और है, वह बहुत अलग हैं। एक नामी वकील होने के बावजूद वह दयालु और नरम स्वभाव के हैं। मैं बड़ा होकर उनकी तरह ही बनना चाहता हूँ।  

तभी मैंने अनायरा को उसके घर के बाहर शालिनी के साथ खड़े देखा। मैंने सोचा मैं उसे अंशुल के बारे में बता दूँ। पर अचानक से मुझे थोड़ा सा अजीब लगा। क्या पता मैं गलत हूँ? मेरे पास क्या सबूत है? क्या पता वह सोच ले कि मैं ही अंशुल को बुरा दिखाना चाहता हूँ?

मैं निशब्द होकर वहीं खड़ा रहा। मेरी यह हालत देख शालिनी हंसने लगी। मेरे गाल लाल हो गए। मुझे लगा काश मैं वहां आया ही नहीं होता!

अनायरा ने शालिनी को चुप करवाया और साइकिल पकड़े हुए ही मेरे पास आयी। उसने मुझ से आज के क्लासेज के नोट्स मांगे और साथ ही यह कहा कि मेरे नोट्स क्लास में सबसे अच्छे होते हैं।

सबसे अच्छे!  मेरे नोट्स!

मैंने चुपचाप अपनी नोटबुक्स निकालीं और उसे थमा दीं। मैंने न अंशुल का नाम लिया न ही अपने शक का ज़िक्र किया। उस समय यह बातें कोई मायने ही नहीं रखती थीं।

जब मैं वापस सिड के पास जा रहा था, तो मुझे ऐसे लग रहा था कि दुनिया सच में बहुत ही खूबसूरत है। 

 


Monday, January 6, 2020

The Boys of Tomorrow

Kamla Bhasin has written another poem, this time for boys. I translated it quickly and shared it with my students (young college going boys and girls). We then practiced enacting it. 

It is my dream that the words will ring in the boys' ears whenever they are dealing with women in their lives. It is my dream that these powerful words of a powerful woman, which I will ensure they memorize, will transform them. 

The Boys of Tomorrow
Original written in Hindi by Kamla Bhasin; English translation by Puja Anand

Boys are learning to help around the house
They enjoy carrying out their share of responsibilities
They won’t keep, not any more
Their sisters and mothers in servitude

Boys are learning to stitch and darn
They enjoy fixing things that have gone bad
They don’t want, no they don’t
Destruction and its celebration

Boys are filling their hearts with equality
They enjoy being equal partners
They won’t carry on, not anymore
Pointless domination of others

Now boys too are becoming motherly
They enjoy taking care of others
They are rejecting, yes they are
Their so-called right to command others

See, boys are also becoming compassionate
They enjoy supporting others
They won’t participate, not anymore
In bringing anyone down

Boys are becoming truly strong
They enjoy protecting others
They won’t accept, no they won’t
Oppressing or seeing anyone being oppressed

Boys are also becoming sensitive
They are beginning to understand their emotions
They won’t accept, not anymore
Being forced to hold back their tears

Boys are also becoming decent
They enjoy being polite and respectful
They do not want, no they don't
To be labeled "Dabang", "Badtameez" or macho

Boys are becoming honorable too
They enjoy sharing their resources equally 
They won't steal brazenly, not anymore
What should rightfully belong to their sisters

Note: "Dabang" and "Badtameez" are references to popular Hindi movies and songs. I have retained these words because of their Indian context. 

Here is the original poem in Hindi. Not very clear since it's an image. Will figure out a way to fix this. 

Monday, May 29, 2017

The Sprint

I saw Khushboo sprinting around the school field. Round and round, full speed. 

We had just finished the English class and it was time to go home. All the other kids ran into the classrooms to pick up their bags, but Khushboo ran in the opposite direction. I followed her with my eyes, surprised, and she stared back at me, never taking her eyes off me for even a second.

Khushboo is a 10-year old girl from our village. I have known her longer than others because her father, Tirloki, did some odd jobs for us when we moved into our house. Tirloki was famous in the village for two things- being able to speak fluent English and being able to be drunk out of his wits at 9 in the morning.

When I first moved here, he would find every opportunity to speak to me in English, much to my delight. Slowly, I realized that he was not a dependable worker. After earning some money, he would vanish for days, lying here and there in an alcoholic daze. I rarely saw him last year, and when I did, I noticed his dirty clothes and shrinking frame.

In November, we were invited to our gardener's house for his son's wedding lunch. That's where we met Tirloki after a long absence. He was limping and looked very gray. He died that same evening of an injury that he never bothered to get treated, because being admitted in the hospital would mean no alcohol for that day or longer.

The following week, I went to his house to pay my condolences to the family. Khushboo hung around in the shadows. I met her mother, a tired frail woman. She had been the breadwinner for the family for the last few years because her husband couldn't hold down a job and would drink away every penny he earned. About the day he died, she shared how he put his head on her lap and asked for his drink minutes before dying. I was so surprised to hear tenderness in her voice for a man who would have put her through hell for sure. Love is a strange beast and can weather so many storms.

Khushboo is the younger of their two children. She is one of those kids who are labeled "slow" or "zero" by the school staff. Having taught her for over a year, I had noticed that she was quite quick to learn but easily distracted. I just could not get her to stay focused on what was going on in the class for more than 5 minutes. She would soon be pulling someone's pigtails or pinching someone. When it came to group activities, such as making charts or acting in a play, she was shunned by her classmates. No one wanted her in their team. When I asked a few kids why they treated her so badly, I was first told that it was because she hits everyone. Then, the truth came out.

Khushboo stinks. The irony- Khushboo means fragrance in Hindi.

I had thought it was only I who had noticed her body odor, and that these young kids would not be bothered by it. Apparently not. Her body odor was a main reason she was ostracized, and this exacerbated her anti-social behavior. Based on this piece of information and inference, I even designed a lesson on hygiene, bringing buckets, mugs, soaps etc. for a vocabulary session, encouraging everyone to talk about how often they bathed and washed their clothes. Khushboo did not participate. She often chose to sit quietly in a corner and that's what she did that day.

Last month, I decided to teach the kids a poem I had written to show correct usage of prepositions. It has five paragraphs of four lines each. I have patiently taught the poem to the kids for over five sessions, helping them pronounce words and phrases individually and in groups because even simple sentences are like tongue twisters for many. Yesterday, there was a breakthrough. The kids managed to recite the entire poem in one go, in rhythm and harmony. One voice was leading and confidently reciting the start of each paragraph for everyone to catch on. And that voice was Khushboo's!

Immensely relieved that they had finally learned the poem, and grateful to Khushboo for being their invisible leader, I called her out and shook her hand. I must have said some words of praise too, as is my habit, but I forget now. As the school teacher yelled for the kids to come and collect their bags, I remember turning to Khushboo and saying "Khushboo darling, you were great today".

The look in her eyes was too fleeting for me to understand. But then she ran. In the opposite direction to the other kids. Full speed. Eyes on me. A smile plastered on her face. All around the school ground. Turning back towards me, not the classroom, still running. Then, stopping and quickly hugging me, while I was still sitting on the ground, transfixed by her antics.

The first hug from her in 14 months!

I am no expert in child psychology, but since when has that stopped anyone from trying to interpret human behavior? I think Khushboo's sprint was her expression of a feeling she hadn't experienced before, or at least not in my class. She ran because the child could not contain these feelings and had to do something about them. She also ran because by the time she came back to me, all the other kids had left my side and she could hug me without feeling self conscious.

Her sprint reminded me of this part of the poem by Emily Dickinson:

I CAN wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,        
And I tip—drunken.