The tea and
samosa could wait, Shirley told herself as she made to tear open the envelope an
agitated parent had left on her table. She had ten minutes before the faculty
returned from the dining hall to resume the parent teacher sessions. Shirley
pushed her glasses back up the nose and held up the pale yellow paper.
Dear Teacher
Progressive,
I am sick
and tired of your patronizing and judging.
Please stop telling me not to push my kids and take some time off your
high horse to learn the difference between nagging and motivating; diminishing
and enabling; projecting and nurturing.
The air is
thick with educationists spouting fonts of wisdom, Oh I have heard them all: just
let your child be happy and stress free; let them follow their hearts; try not
to live your dream through them; you could end up embarrassing and alienating
them.
Have you any
idea dear madam? Do you not smell the violence in the air, the lack of
conviction in our leaders’ voices, the horrifying truth that there is no lofty peg
the buck stops at? For all my desire to retain a benevolent view of life and
mankind, the fact is that I see queues everywhere. I read and hear and feel the
system that rewards ill-gotten power and money. Every morning at the bus stop, it
feels like I am sending my little one into the war zone. Do you really believe
that your polka dotted and star laden bulletin boards camouflage the real world
we all inhabit?
Of course there
are struggles and more but the most poignant of them all is my fight as a
parent to keep faith and hope alive for my kids. I see strange things. My children
come back from competitions with stories of favoritism and partiality. I
shuddered the day they spoke of having their teacher suspended. I no longer
know what to tell them about patriotism, truthfulness, sense of duty. Anything and everything seems to go. There is that
hollowness in the air, a dry throat-ed scratch to sounds of humanity, the public
aura is clogged and clouded. A new attribute is being lauded in children:
street smartness. Am I being foolish, telling my children to be nice and decent
and responsible?
Petrol costs
71/-, the dollar has touched 62/-, hospitals take 20,000/- upfront for simple
registration, food is adulterated, public transport unsafe, the land I just
bought may have come with a forged deed, the courts are corrupt, schools
overloaded, clinics understaffed, airwaves compromised, water and air polluted
and you are calling me a doomsayer!!
The only
armor in the face of this claustrophobic hostility dear Madam is education,
influence, self-sufficiency, marketable skills. It is out of my hands. I cannot
but push my kid. It is my moral obligation to equip him/her for survival in the
future. So save your harangues on letting the kids be or else, for a day, only
for a day, come wear my shoes.
Sincerely
yours,
Middle class
parent
Shirley
looked up at the knock on the door, “May we come in Ma’am?”
She nodded,
gesturing the couple towards the chairs. Folding the note carefully, she turned
to the parents, “Please guide us Ma’am.
Our child finds it very difficult to get up in time for the school bus. There
is too much stress in school. We want to spare him this daily hustle and
bustle. What is your opinion on home schooling?!”
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