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| Courtesy: news.nick.com |
Of all the teachers in school, the ones we maintained a lot
of distance from were probably the Arabic teachers. Today, I understand that
this was vice versa too, mainly because of the language barrier. Probably
because of the same reason, Arabic teachers were looked up to with fear and
reverence. Besides these emotions, memories around them were also fashion
oriented. Among students, they were considered as teachers of class when it
came to dressing up. The pearl studded abhayas, the tops, the skirts, the
heels, the long and slim figures, and the flawless complexion, the light make
up – they carried themselves amazingly well.
I personally loved my Arabic classes. The lessons were not
more than a page or a page and a half and the grammar was easy. Above all, everything
about the language was different. I am of the opinion that the Arabic alphabets
are beautiful and artistic in nature and it felt unique writing something from
right to left, rather than the other way round. When all the other classes
demanded 200 page notebooks, Arabic classes demanded two notebooks, one a 400
page one for class work and homework and a 200 page one for dictations. I loved
Arabic examinations too. The papers were quite a replica of your notebook.
Sometimes the questions even came in the same order as it was in our notebook.
Since I am also a fan of people who do things differently, I loved it when once;
an Arabic teacher taught us how to sing ‘Sanahal wa yadami’ (forgive me if this
is mondegreen) instead ‘Happy Birthday to you’. So, from that day on, all the
birthday girls got two musical wishes! In fact, I was wishful that my birthday
falls on a day when we had Arabic classes.
Most Arabic teachers were known for their punishments and
prizes. While punishments were not unique to them, prizes definitely were! Many
of our Arabic teachers declared surprise prizes for girls who scored the
highest marks in the language in the final exams. I also remember once, when
there were 5 of us who scored a full fifty on fifty and the teacher had just
one story book to give out. Since she had already declared the gift, she couldn't alter that. So she took out four other items and kept them on the table, there
were two fancy rulers and two timetable cards that looked awfully cute. She
pulled out chits to give away the prizes. I do not know about the rest, but I kept
my fingers crossed for either the ruler or the timetable card because a standard
IV student would have read Hansel Gretel at least a few hundred times already.
Destiny got me one of the timetable cards – a cartoon-studded one, which I
preserved like a treasure for a very long time…
I have never got punished; at least not by Arabic teachers.
This was definitely not because I was the perfect student; let’s say I was good
at self help. Dictation tests used to keep happening once in two weeks or so.
There was no set frequency for these. It was the teacher’s choice – at least
that’s how we understood it. They used to let us know a day or two in advance
and we came prepared. Prepared I always was, but there was something more that
we needed to keep in mind when it came to Arabic dictation tests. Unlike other
subjects, there was a dedicated book for dictation tests. I was, as most of you
know, forgetful. As a result, the dictation book rarely made it to my school
bag. When the teacher called out for students who had forgotten their dictation
book, I used to keep rummaging my school bag wondering what to do. My self help
pranks almost always won over Gandhian doctrines. The voice in my head
whispered, “Any book would do since Arabic is written the other way round.” So,
I used to give in to me inner call and turn around another 200 page notebook
for the dictation test.
It was always a 10 on 10, but rarely on the right book. Yes,
I used to religiously cut-paste these pages once I got back home…
There's another incident that I will never forget as long as
I am in my right senses. This one’s more of a confession…
There was this teacher who had extraordinarily huge eyes.
Today, I know that that was the effect of extremely thick glasses that she
required. Back then, she held quite a scary reputation among students. "She's
good but she can scold badly", was the general rumor. She wasn't our regular
teacher. But that year (if I am not wrong, I believe this was in standard
VIII), our gang decided to take up Arabic tuition, which was for one hour
after school hours. Today, I don’t remember why we decided to go for tuition,
but we did. Classes were good and as time passed I realized that for some reason
unknown to me, she had taken a liking towards me. My peers considered me lucky.
But, only I knew the truth. I definitely loved her too, however, that didn't stop me from being any less scared of her. My love for her reflected in my
Arabic tuition book - they were extremely well kept.
But one day, forgetful that I was, I forgot to carry my
Arabic tuition book. I was already scared what I would do, when she walked in
and declared that she was ill and couldn't take class because of which she
would correct our notebooks. We had to go to her in person one by one to get
our notes corrected. (Gulp!) I felt
like a rat in a trap, desperately trying to free itself. The envy of the peers,
the extra liking she had for me, everything seemed to weigh far too much. I realized
that I had no other choice but to go and confess. But the devil dressed up in
self help reminded me of something my friend, N, who was one of her regular
students, once told me. "You know what? Our Arabic teacher, that teacher who
has those big eyes… she can’t see. She has big eyes because of big spectacles,
but she can’t see." I believed those words superficially only because she was one
of my closest friends. To this day, I can’t believe that I decided to take the
risk pinning my hopes on her words.
I took another book, turned it around and scribbled all over
the pages, making it look similar to Arabic. None of it was Arabic, it was no language;
it was plain scribbles. I scribbled up until it was my turn. I decided that I
would confess if she caught me. Till the time, I placed the book open in front
of her, the voices in me debated. The devil won. I went with the lie. If the
phrase, eyes popped out, can be literally true, mine should have popped out at
that moment. She ticked off each page, continuously exclaiming what a good
student I was!
Don’t ask me how she managed test papers or exam papers. May
be the management knew and she was excused from such tasks. An array of maybes,
oh my gods, thank gods slipped through my mind during those 5 minutes that I
was standing next to her…
If you all do not believe this part of my post, I wouldn't be
surprised. It took me a long time to gulp it myself. I remember having shared
this incident only to N, because she knew that the teacher was low on vision. "I
am sorry N, I didn't believe you completely when you told me. But it’s true – teacher
can’t see”, I remember telling her. I have never bragged about this incident;
never felt like it.
Dear Miss,
In my thoughts, I have always pictured coming to you in privacy to confess that I forgot my book that day.
I am ashamed that I tricked you. My action was the outcome of a combination of
cowardice and fears – fear of punishment; fear that I’d be a laughing stock,
fear that I may lose the fondness you had for me.
My love for you grew
into admiration after I realized that you are low on vision. Despite the
handicap, you carried yourself so well. I still remember when you once walked
in dressed up in all violet. What a beautiful skirt and top that was! Everything
about you was beautiful except your eyes.
As an adult, I realize
what a beautiful and powerful individual you were to carry on with life so
boldly with those pair of eyes. They made you even more wonderful.
Thank you for the
silent lesson I learnt from you and do forgive me.”
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