For the past few days we did not meet each other and this must have brought her up to my room. She stood silently for awhile, feigning shyness and all the while trying to draw my attention. The moment I acknowledged her presence, the fun began.
The Calendar Girl:
For some inexplicable reason, the origami specialist has turned in to a paper shredding machine. Her philosophy had become “any paper that needs shredding needs me”
I gently chided her and told her that whenever a paper is torn, a branch of a tree dies somewhere. I could hear her mental gears shifting in her head. I was little prepared for the Q & A session that followed.
She: Some one has already cut the branches to make this paper. Why that branch should die once again when I tear this paper?
Me: That time the branches will be half-dead and they will now be dead for sure.
She: Can you show me the “dead for sure branch” If I tear this paper now?
Me: That particular branch might be anywhere in this country and I don’t know where it will be. Then how can I show you?
She: If I don’t know where it will be and if I cannot see it, then how can I believe whatever you are saying?
Sensing that I am getting in to a quagmire, I diverted her attention to do something useful on the paper, at least, before tearing it.
Quickly she asked, “How doing something useful on this paper will prevent the branch from becoming “dead for sure”?”
I closed my eyes and remained silent for a while. Thinking that I have started meditating, she silently left the room.
This tranquillity lasted exactly 10 minutes and 12 seconds. In came the Little Typhoon with a paper and proudly offered it for my scrutiny. I saw 56 squares neatly arranged in 8 rows. Columns and rows were hued with select colours.
The numbers 1 to 31 have been written inside the boxes. The top three rows had days of the week written in her mother tongue, Hindi and English. Above these rows she had written “DECEMBER 2013” in English.
When I finished looking at it, she told me that she had drawn a calendar. I immediately checked to match the days and dates of Dec’13.
Finding no fault in the work, I asked her why she had not written the month in the three languages.
Again she floored me with her answer. In any language the month will be pronounced almost the same!
Oh, what a simple philosophy!
At the bottom of the sheet, she had pencilled her class and section. To top it all, she had scrawled her signature like a grownup!
The Poser:
She was a reluctant subject. She once told me, “neither your camera is good nor the photos”. Yet, I liked to capture her ever changing mood with my cell camera.
After a session, she will snatch the cell phone and view the photos in zoom, tilt and pan modes. Like a film director, wielding a megaphone, she would say “cut it” or “store it”
I have never imagined that this little Typhoon will be a veritable question bank. As far as she was concerned hesitantly asking is a doubt and boldly asking the same is a question.
This kid never hesitates, so doubts also sound like questions. With practice I have learned to spot these landmines.
After a botched session of photography, she probably thought about infusing life in to the session or whatever was left of it.
She started with a simple question. “When I pose for a photograph today, I am 5 years old. If I look at this photograph when I am 15 will this photograph look like me then?
All these years, I never thought that, a child could, ask such a loaded question. Every one of us has accepted, intuitively, that pictures remain the same only on the day they were taken or drawn.
How to explain this “doubt” asked as a question? Any loophole, another question (actually a doubt) will be fired.
I carefully worded my reply. Living things like persons, birds, plants, fishes and animals grow old and age. All will undergo changes with age.
She fell silent for a moment and I thought a happy ending is nearing. The next question she asked was as loaded as the first one.
“If I take a photograph of the “dead for sure” branch, keep both in my house and look at them after 10 years, will they look like the same as before?
Seeing my perplexed look, she explained that some time back I only told her that, living things grow old and change. A doosra & teesra fused in to one to flummox a batsman.
Then she declared confidently that the “dead for sure” branch and its photograph should look alike as dead thing don’t change.
This is the ultimate in philosophical teaching! How would I have explained to her the morbid details, a living thing undergoes, of the life after death.
The Teacher:
Two geneses were the eye of this stormy session.
Gen1:
When I was about to go out, the Typhoon breezed in and requested me to bring her a pouch for keeping papers. She volunteered the information that she had run out of foolscap papers to keep in them – a two-in-one affair, nicely done.
I could guess that she wanted these things because I was using them.
She got the folder & papers. I showed her how to insert a paper in to the designated packet. That was enough; she completed inserting the remaining papers herself.
The transparency of the packets thrilled her and was immensely pleased with her possession. Secretly, I was hoping that she would draw sketches on the papers and insert them back and show everybody her handiwork – like a painting display in a gallery.
I mentally calculated that all these things will be done with in the next 24 hours. Little did I realize that the 24 hours were too long for her when the bug has bitten!
Not belying my expectations on the time as well as the display, she walked in, like a kitten smacking its lips after secretly dipping in to a bowl of milk.
But the display was very disappointing as she had drawn only some squares and had written “dict” in each of them.
At the top of the paper she had written: Time Table” and at the bottom her class and section. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I asked her what is “dict” and why is it written inside all the squares?
That gave her the opening she was waiting for. She made me the student and designated herself as my teacher. It had become the case of inviting extreme trouble.
She went ahead saying, “Now I am your class teacher and will dictate now. Take this pencil and start writing” Military commands delivered like gun shots.
Pausing for a moment she said, “ No erasing allowed ,so don’t make mistakes” The session lasted nearly an hour and during that she dictated words, I wrote them, she chided me for imaginary mistakes – improper looping or failing to cross the “t” and dot on “i” and “j” properly!.
Without waiting for a reply, she would snatch the paper, erase the offending letter and ask me to rewrite it properly.
She would stroke her chin with a pencil or twirl it between her fingers and watch her student at work.
My agony was mercifully cut short, when her mother came in search of the missing child (read mischievous child).
She understood my plight and chided me gently for pampering the kid too much. Then she explained the gen 2.
Gen 2:
It appeared that the kid’s teacher made the children to practice to spell the words in the dictation class. The Little Typhoon, who was always looking for a chance, caught hold of this idea for implementing it on elders.
She dictated and failed (marks) her grandfather, grand mother, father & mother for the sheer fun of it. Her students showed lack of interest and that was why she had singled me out for the drill – the martinet.
Grandchildren or a grandchild, kids are a pleasure to teach, learn from and play with. The kid and you can easily go to the paradise and comeback pleased, that is, whenever the kid wants.
The teacher posing as a calendar girl to present & persuade in a power point programme..
ReplyDeleteNice thinking and one look at the picture that weighs down the lady yearns her my sympathy.