The Tyrant

the schoolroom.

Breathe in breathe out,

Rest your eyes

Relax your limb

Let your eyelids rest

Still your mind and walk in, slowly into the first time you experienced this feeling that you are unable to express.

“I am seven year old”

Okay, where are you?

“In Christian high school”

And

“I am kneeling down, the Hindi teacher is holding me by my ear and canning me, she is ranting, ” the voice dropped it could have been the voice of a seven year old, “You could be the magistrate’s son for all I care, in my class you are duffer, a no gooder, you spend your entire day with achanna, that is all you can do, work as a carpenter.”

“What did  you feel?”

“Helpless, frustrated and angry”

“What did you want to do?”

“Lash out at her, and tell her I did not want to learn her subject, I hated Hindi, all I wanted to do was go back to achanna’s workshop and work with tools.” The session went on.

This is not the only case; most patients have two school monsters for a teaching champion. Shamed, for not performing, their individual skills not recognized. I know there are two kinds of teachers, some that kind of just prods you gently and you soar the skies, the other, that fills you with so much of quail shot that you really can’t move, the latter seem to dominate the world at least when my generation went to school!!

Let’s look at this inner child who is all of seven summons this class teacher. Lets call the teacher Premalatha.

, we are in the classroom and she is canning the child for using her left hand, “how many times should I tell not use this hand”

The cane hits had on the palm, the palm hurts the child at that split moment decided not give the teacher the authority to hurt him, the best form of defence was attack, so he said, “my father eats with left hand” which was true, but, ”You are telling lies, wait I will straighten you ” Premalatha  pinched the child’s ear and dragged him to a room beside the classroom where old broken furniture was stored, pushed him into the room and latched the door, the darkness the musty odour got the child, she was really scared  greater was the fear that he might wet herself and shame himself.

That night the child wet the bed, and the mother canned child in morning for wetting the bed, the rebel was born then, an alter ego to protect the helpless inner child who could not protect himself.

The next inner child was created the child was eleven, lets summon the teacher, shall we call her Malathi?

“Why are you not solving the problem?”

“I have already done it teacher”

“Show it to me”

“How did you do it? Who taught it to you? This is not how you should do it, just because your parent deals with math, you don’t show off”

“Teacher I solved it myself”

“don’t tell lies, you can only tell lies, and show off” out came the can, and the child was canned, and shamed in front of the entire class, the child learnt that day that thinking for yourself came with a price, the way to protect the inner child was to sting.

At the end of the day, I have come to conclude, that teachers could pretend to be friendly but somewhere are sadistic and evil to the core. Particularly the ones that deal with the younger ones.

“The Voice

this article is an excerpt from my NANOWRMO writing.

There is a voice inside of you
That whispers all day long,
“I feel this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong.”
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
Or wise man can decide
What’s right for you–just listen to
The voice that speaks inside.”
― Shel Silverstein

As for the teachers I would like to meet, I do meet them regularly thank the ones that guided my growth, who stood by me as gained strength ready to lend me a hand, when I needed it, and the naysayers, the monsters I have a dartboard for them on my wall.

Written for 134 edition of Inspiration. A teacher you would like to meet again at least once.

prompt by saket kalikar who blogs at:http://saketkblog.blogspot.in/