Being ordinary is extra-ordinary in itself..

Me and Twinkle were sitting in the library. There was a woman who used to come regularly to the library. She would sit in the junior room and help the children to read, colour and paint. We were sitting in the office room and preparing a poster for the Summer Camp. She offered to help us prepare the poster and we started talking.

She said that she was waiting for her son to finish his classes. Ironically, right next to Bakul Children’s Library, there is a ‘Brain Institute’ where children are taught new, path breaking techniques on how to cram. Needless to say, more children attend the cramming-coaching than come to the library!

She started talking to us about her son. Apparently, he was a prodigy. He was the top ranker in his class and scored the maximum marks in every exam. He was also gifted with artistic skills. He painted and had won many prizes at different levels. She then took out from her bag some photographs of her his son with the Chief Minister, the Governor and many other dignitaries. He had had his first solo exhibition at the age of 6 and continues to paint!

I marveled at the exposure that today’s kids got and couldn’t help wondering what I had done as a 6 year old.

We got talking some more and it was all about her son. “Does he get time for studies?”
“Yes, he is the 1st ranker in his class.”
“Does he have any other talents?”
“Yes. He is a singer. He was selected for and participated in “Little Champs”. He can also dance…”

We continued working on the poster and the kid arrived after his class was over.

He was surprisingly young, all of 8 years old. But he didn’t have the mannerisms of a child. He did not smile, or fumble, or goof up. He walked in and picked up a few books. He knew what to do. For some reason, he seemed much older than an 8 year old.

We went to the other room where he had found a book that he liked and was browsing through it. When his mother introduced us to him, he promptly stood up, did a ‘namaskar’ and bent down to touch our feet! Embarrassed as we were, we said it wasn’t necessary. The kid did not seem very interested in us but it looked like he had no option.

“Sing a song for bhai….”
“I want to colour..”
“Just one song, come on sweety..one song”

The boy started singing an Oriya bhajan, and did it beautifully. After he was done with the song, he sat down.

“Sing a Hindi song also, na…”
The boy hesitantly began singing “Pal pal dil ke paas…”.

But his mom wasn’t done yet. “Now sing a modern song..”
“Maa, later…”

Twinkle and me were starting to get uncomfortable. “It’s alright, aunty”, we said.
“No, no…he will sing. You will, won’t you, beta?”.
He began singing “Kal ho na ho..”

Hoping he didn’t have any other talents, we quickly said goodbye and left.

On my way back, I wondered how that little kid would be spending his childhood.How many people’s feet he touched everyday and how many songs he sang for them? Did he play cricket with his friends in the evenings? Did he read comics? I was glad that my childhood was extremely ordinary. As a child, I had Chacha Chaudhry, Mithun, Mogli and Sachin Tendulkar. I wondered who the kid had…..

Taare Zameen Par, and on my nerves too…

My dad hailed from an unknown village in Balasore district in Orissa.He had four younger brothers and 2 sisters under him.He was a topper,went to Bhubaneswar and started living there,working,studying and dreaming.

He also started taking tuitions.My mother was one of his students (They both learnt their lessons, I think.).They fell in love,married and he went on to start his own coaching institute that he used to finance the three cars that he bought to start his own travel agency.

I do not have the brains or the resolve like my dad.But I was inspired nonetheless.I decided to give tuitions too.At that time, I was managing my graduation,MBA coaching,and a job as a Customer Care Agent.I wanted a student who was easy to teach.

My first student was Sai Kumar, a 11th standard student who wanted help with Accountancy.I almost finished his course in 2 months,and he surprisingly understood everything.

After Sai Kumar left for his boarding school,I was confident about my abilities as a teacher.Then, Litton walked into my life. On to my nerves, rather.

If ever the calamity of tutoring children befalls you,remember the golden rule.CHILDREN ARE NOT EASIER TO TEACH.I learnt it the hard way.

Litton (‘Lit-awn’) was a 5 year old.He had been living in his native place all his life till his parents realised he was too street smart for the place and sent him to stay with his uncle, who stayed below our house.

Litton was a thin,little kid.He was not tall, not fair. There was nothing abut his appearance that stood out. Except one thing. He always wore a smirk on his face. It was a cross between a sarcastic and a ‘know-it-all’ smirk.

His aunt requested me to teach him.I was supposed to teach a 4 year old for 2 hours a day, and be paid for it.Walk in the park, I thought.

His aunt had forgotten to mention that he was an incorrigibly disobedient and naughty kid. I only got to know of this aspect of his from a few friends later on.

Apparently, Litton would bunk his tuitions and pocket the money meant for his tuitions every month.He was also whacked a lot by his uncle because he would use his uncle’s perfumes before he went to school.Yes, he was a 4 year old !

Whenever we played cricket, Litton would stand there and be ready to fetch the ball if it went out of the park.I did not know that he could be naughty. I was in for a rude shock.

The day arrived when I had to start teaching him.

I did not know this, but his aunt had given him strict instructions not to have anything in our house.The first day, I offered him some biscuits.

“No.” he said without even looking at them. But I am a couch potato and keep on munching on something or the other. He always declined the offer to eat anything but I could see his resolve was now weakening. One day when I was having Brittania Jim Jam biscuits and asked him,he said in a sing song tone. “If you want to give me….”

From that day, my sister and grandmother and sister pampered him. Inspite of his abysmal academics, he was given Horlicks made by my amamma and biscuits that were hidden away from me in the kitchen.

Litton was a smart kid and knew whom to be polite and sweet with. He always greeted my granny and sister and smiled when they said anything.

“Such a sweet kid,na?” my grandmother one day said.

She had no clue.Since I was his tutor, all his attitude was reserved for me.He wasn’t great at studies and it didn’t take long for me to notice that.

Maths and English to a 4 year old. What could have been easier ?

Anything !!

Litton was fascinated with Maths.When I say fascinated, I donot mean that he was interested in the subject and wanted to learn it. Far from it.

Whenever I explained anything in Maths to him, he stared at me.He kept on staring at me as if I was singing some melodious song for him.

I tried another technique. “If you have 5 apples and I give you 2 more, how many will you have?”

He continued staring at me as if he was wondering if the apples would be ripe or not.Then, he scratched his head and said,

”Apples?”

“Yes”.

“I don;t know.”

And then he smiled. It was as if deep within, he knew that my maths sucked and yet I was teaching him.

I am more confident about my English so I thought that would have been easier to teach.

All his life was spent in his native place and he had as much an idea bout English as I had about cows.

His spellings were sacrilegiously bad.And that all-knowing smile was un-nerving.

After many attempts at spelling that would have given the Queen a definite heart failure, i asked him to read out the spellings from his book.He was to read a word in English, and then say its meaning in Oriya.

The first page had a picture of a healthy,smiling cow (quite difficult to find these days).After all, he had been tending to cows for a while and had an idea about them.

‘Read that out’, I told him.

” C-O-Oww…Cow.Cow maane gaay“

“Good.” I said, ignoring the c-o-oww.Read the next one.

“H-o-r-s = Horse. Horse maane ….jersey gaay ? “

Subho

I was returning from Vizag yesterday in the Inter-City Express. Somewhere along the journey, a little kid came and started sweeping the floor near my feet. I generally discourage begging and so shooed him away. I feel disgusted by people who make the poor kids sweep the floor and don’t even pay them for it.

After half an hour, I see the same kid. He’s standing near the wash basin, his broom in one hand. He is short and skinny. He must be around 5 years old. A hawker was selling samosas. ‘How much for one?’ he asks.

2 rupees.

He looks in his pocket, takes out a coin, and gives the man. The hawker gives him the samosa in his hand. The kid asks him for some salt. The hawker gives it to him in his hand. I stand up and ask him why he dint give the kid the usual paper plate and sauce.

‘Why should I give him, saab? I can use it for some other customer.’

‘Give him a paper plate and sauce’, I told the hawker. He gave the kid the plate throwing me a dirty look.

The kid ate up the samosa greedily.

‘You want one more?’

He looks at me, turns his head in a ‘no’ and walks away, casting me a final glance before hurrying on to the next compartment.

At Vizianagaram, I get down to buy some snacks. When I return, the kid is sitting next to a boy who’s about 12 years old in the seat next to me. The two kids are talking. I look at them. One of them is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. The other is a scrawny kid with many scars on his hands,face,and legs.

I lean in to listen to what they are talking. The elder kid was asking the little one about his home.

‘I have no home, sir. I live on the train. The other boys on the train always beat me up. They have also pushed me out of the train a few times.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Subho’

I smiled at the irony. ‘Subho’ means auspicious in Oriya. The kid was actually pretty cute. If he had normal parents and went to school and had a normal life, he would have been pretty cute looking. But his hands were dirty, there were scars all over his hands and legs and he held on to his broom like it was precious.

When we reached Berhampur, I asked him if he wanted to eat something. He looked at me, as if he was shocked someone would ask him that.

‘Yes’, he said and his eyes lit up.

I got down and signaled him to get down too. ‘Lets find something to eat, I am hungry too’

‘I cant get down. Someone will flick my broom if i get down’.

‘Bring it with you then, and come quickly’

He brought his broom and I helped him get down. ‘We have to come back quickly, the train stops for very little time here’, he said trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about.

‘You want to have Poori?’ He nodded in the affirmative.

I bought a packet for each of us. The train sounded the whistle. I purposely waited for it to pick up a little pace and when it did, I ran to the door and lifting him up with both hands threw him inside the train. He was laughing loudly.

‘Wash your hands before you eat’. He obediently washed his hands and started devouring the Pooris.

‘Can I lie down here?’ , he asks after he is done with the Pooris.

I shift a little and give him my book to rest his head on. He lay down on the seat.

I looked at him. What could I do for this kid ? How could I suggest that he go to a school? What good would an education do him ?

I knew that I had found a topic for my next blog. Was I a creep ? Was I using this situation just so that I had something new to write about?

I don’t know that. But if you ever travel by the Vishakapatnam-Bhubaneswar Inter City Express and see a little kid called Subho, be nice to him. He’s actually very sweet.