He was in the third standard. All thirty four of Mrs. Passi’s students were dear to her but Vinod Chowdhry was one in a thousand. Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-¬alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful. Vinod also talked incessantly. Mrs. Passi had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed her very much though, was his sincere response every time she had to correct him for misbehaving.
“Thank you for correcting me, Ma’am” would be his stan¬dard answer.
One morning, Mrs. Passi’s patience was growing thin when Vinod talked once too often, and then she made a novice—teacher’s mistake. She looked at Vinod and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut”.
It wasn’t ten seconds later when Abhay blurted out, “Vinod is talking again”. She hadn’t asked any of her students to help watch Vinod but since she had stated the punishment in front of the class, she had to act on it.
Mrs. Passi walked to her desk, very deliberately opened the drawer and took out a roll of adhesive tape. Without saying a word, she proceeded to Vinod’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. She then returned to the front of the room.
As she glanced at Vinod to see how he was doing, he winked at her. That did it! She started laughing. The entire class cheered as she walked back to Vinod’s desk, remove the tape, and shrug her shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Ma’am.”
At the end of the year, Mrs. Passi was asked to teach advanced maths and Vinod’s class moved higher. Six years flew by and before she knew it, Vinod was in her class room again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to her instruction in the ‘new maths’, he did not talk as much in the ninth standard as he had in the third.
One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. The class had worked hard on a new concept all week, and Mrs. Passi sensed that the students were growing frustrated with them¬selves and edgy with one another. She had to stop this crank¬iness before it got out of hand. So she asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish the as¬signment but as the students left the room, each one handed her the papers.
That Saturday Mrs. Passi wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and she listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Some of them ran to two pages. Before long the entire class was smiling.
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. Mrs. Passi never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished her purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after Mrs. Passi returned from a visit to her brother’s house, her parents met her at the railway station. As they were driving home, her mother asked the usual questions about the trip, the weather, her experiences in general. There was a slight lull in the conversation, mother gave father a sideways glance and simply said, “Dad?” Mrs. Passi’s father cleared his throat as he usually did before saying something important. “The Chowdhry’s called last night,” he began.
“Really?” she said. “I haven’t heard from them for several years. I wonder how Vinod is?”
Father responded quietly. “Vinod was in the army and posted in Kashmir. He was killed in Sophore in a terrorist attack,” he said. “The cremation is tomorrow and his parents would appreciate it if you could attend”.
All Mrs. Passi could think at that moment was : ‘Vinod, I would give all the tape in the world if only you could wink at me.’
After the cremation one of the army officer’s came up to Mrs. Passi. “Were you Vinod’s maths teacher?” he asked. She nodded. “Vinod talked about you a lot,” he said.
Shortly afterwards, Vinod’s parents came to her. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Vinod when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.”
Opening the wallet, he carefully removed two worn pieces of note book paper, folded and refolded many times. Mrs Passi knew without looking that the papers were the one on which she had listed all the good things each of Vinod's classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that,” Vinod’s mother said. “As you can see, Vinod treasured it.”
Mrs. Passi opened the notebook paper. She saw written on it very many nice things. At the bottom was written in Vinod’s own handwriting.
“From my lovely teacher who always corrected me and made me wink.”
When he was coming in at midday, he had one more look and what he saw kept him standing there a long time with his mouth open. Other sparrows were hovering around the trapped bird, trying to help it. He rushed inside and dragged his mother out and she stood shading her eyes again.
That’s when Mrs. Passi finally sat down and cried.
“Yes, I’d love to correct you again, my darling Vinod,” she murmured, “if only you could give me another wink.”
“Thank you for correcting me, Ma’am” would be his stan¬dard answer.
One morning, Mrs. Passi’s patience was growing thin when Vinod talked once too often, and then she made a novice—teacher’s mistake. She looked at Vinod and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut”.
It wasn’t ten seconds later when Abhay blurted out, “Vinod is talking again”. She hadn’t asked any of her students to help watch Vinod but since she had stated the punishment in front of the class, she had to act on it.
Mrs. Passi walked to her desk, very deliberately opened the drawer and took out a roll of adhesive tape. Without saying a word, she proceeded to Vinod’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. She then returned to the front of the room.
As she glanced at Vinod to see how he was doing, he winked at her. That did it! She started laughing. The entire class cheered as she walked back to Vinod’s desk, remove the tape, and shrug her shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Ma’am.”
At the end of the year, Mrs. Passi was asked to teach advanced maths and Vinod’s class moved higher. Six years flew by and before she knew it, Vinod was in her class room again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to her instruction in the ‘new maths’, he did not talk as much in the ninth standard as he had in the third.
One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. The class had worked hard on a new concept all week, and Mrs. Passi sensed that the students were growing frustrated with them¬selves and edgy with one another. She had to stop this crank¬iness before it got out of hand. So she asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish the as¬signment but as the students left the room, each one handed her the papers.
That Saturday Mrs. Passi wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and she listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Some of them ran to two pages. Before long the entire class was smiling.
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. Mrs. Passi never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished her purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after Mrs. Passi returned from a visit to her brother’s house, her parents met her at the railway station. As they were driving home, her mother asked the usual questions about the trip, the weather, her experiences in general. There was a slight lull in the conversation, mother gave father a sideways glance and simply said, “Dad?” Mrs. Passi’s father cleared his throat as he usually did before saying something important. “The Chowdhry’s called last night,” he began.
“Really?” she said. “I haven’t heard from them for several years. I wonder how Vinod is?”
Father responded quietly. “Vinod was in the army and posted in Kashmir. He was killed in Sophore in a terrorist attack,” he said. “The cremation is tomorrow and his parents would appreciate it if you could attend”.
All Mrs. Passi could think at that moment was : ‘Vinod, I would give all the tape in the world if only you could wink at me.’
After the cremation one of the army officer’s came up to Mrs. Passi. “Were you Vinod’s maths teacher?” he asked. She nodded. “Vinod talked about you a lot,” he said.
Shortly afterwards, Vinod’s parents came to her. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Vinod when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.”
Opening the wallet, he carefully removed two worn pieces of note book paper, folded and refolded many times. Mrs Passi knew without looking that the papers were the one on which she had listed all the good things each of Vinod's classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that,” Vinod’s mother said. “As you can see, Vinod treasured it.”
Mrs. Passi opened the notebook paper. She saw written on it very many nice things. At the bottom was written in Vinod’s own handwriting.
“From my lovely teacher who always corrected me and made me wink.”
When he was coming in at midday, he had one more look and what he saw kept him standing there a long time with his mouth open. Other sparrows were hovering around the trapped bird, trying to help it. He rushed inside and dragged his mother out and she stood shading her eyes again.
That’s when Mrs. Passi finally sat down and cried.
“Yes, I’d love to correct you again, my darling Vinod,” she murmured, “if only you could give me another wink.”
0 comments:
Post a Comment