<p>Just two blocks away is a house that has been converted in to a school. Earlier, I would hardly take note of it; but lately it catches my attention because it houses an enthusiastic energy that emanates into the surroundings. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Emanating this; are of course the children. Their uniforms may not have the finish of a dry clean or a hot press, but their whiteness is something soap selling brands will vie for! Their shoes, socks and bags may not be designer, but the eagerness and joy in their faces makes up for a lot more! The girls have neatly braided plaits that are tied up with white ribbons. The boys have their hair plastered neatly on their heads. <br /><br />Notwithstanding the twinkle in one of the girls’ eyes I spoke to her. She answered all my queries of ‘what class she studies in and what she likes and what she wants to become when she grows up’ and so on, with gay abandon. Then came the question that sent her shy and looking downcast…‘What does your mother and father do?’ ‘My mother sells fruits on the push cart and my father left my mother and went off 2 years ago.<br /><br /> I don’t know where he is...there is my mother’, she pointed out. I looked, and along with hers, I saw a posse of mothers who had come in with pride to look upon their young ones. Some of them were maids who had squeezed out time from the household chores of the houses they worked for. I saw in their eyes a ‘want’ for their children, something they had sorely missed upon, wanting for their children education and knowledge so that they all could live with dignity. <br /><br />One of the classrooms of the school is housed in the shed of the house, and it opens out to the fields. The field in this case happens to be the pavement of the road. Often it is a period off for creativity and children drool over colours and paints and origami and muster up picturesque artistic work. ‘Blooming artists’, I tell myself as I pass by the pavement. Sometimes it is a game of chess or carom as groups spreads out to play the games with rapt attention and joyous togetherness. When it is dance class, the choreographer claps her hands and the talented dancers on the road create a spectacle that is quite spectacular.<br /><br />Prayer time in the mornings has them all: teachers and students reciting the prayers and hymns with dedication, devotion and discipline. There is a small black board within the narrow compound wall of the building. Everyday written on it is a quote. I wonder if some of the quotes are understood by the writer or for that matter anyone else in the school, but writing the quote is a must. One that struck a chord in me read, ‘I wonder at the idleness of tears!’ <br /><br />As I watch these children, their eagerness and enthusiasm, they remind me of little buds ready to bloom, will these buds bloom to fulfill dreams or will they wilt and wither with the weathers of life?...only time will tell!</p>
<p>Just two blocks away is a house that has been converted in to a school. Earlier, I would hardly take note of it; but lately it catches my attention because it houses an enthusiastic energy that emanates into the surroundings. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Emanating this; are of course the children. Their uniforms may not have the finish of a dry clean or a hot press, but their whiteness is something soap selling brands will vie for! Their shoes, socks and bags may not be designer, but the eagerness and joy in their faces makes up for a lot more! The girls have neatly braided plaits that are tied up with white ribbons. The boys have their hair plastered neatly on their heads. <br /><br />Notwithstanding the twinkle in one of the girls’ eyes I spoke to her. She answered all my queries of ‘what class she studies in and what she likes and what she wants to become when she grows up’ and so on, with gay abandon. Then came the question that sent her shy and looking downcast…‘What does your mother and father do?’ ‘My mother sells fruits on the push cart and my father left my mother and went off 2 years ago.<br /><br /> I don’t know where he is...there is my mother’, she pointed out. I looked, and along with hers, I saw a posse of mothers who had come in with pride to look upon their young ones. Some of them were maids who had squeezed out time from the household chores of the houses they worked for. I saw in their eyes a ‘want’ for their children, something they had sorely missed upon, wanting for their children education and knowledge so that they all could live with dignity. <br /><br />One of the classrooms of the school is housed in the shed of the house, and it opens out to the fields. The field in this case happens to be the pavement of the road. Often it is a period off for creativity and children drool over colours and paints and origami and muster up picturesque artistic work. ‘Blooming artists’, I tell myself as I pass by the pavement. Sometimes it is a game of chess or carom as groups spreads out to play the games with rapt attention and joyous togetherness. When it is dance class, the choreographer claps her hands and the talented dancers on the road create a spectacle that is quite spectacular.<br /><br />Prayer time in the mornings has them all: teachers and students reciting the prayers and hymns with dedication, devotion and discipline. There is a small black board within the narrow compound wall of the building. Everyday written on it is a quote. I wonder if some of the quotes are understood by the writer or for that matter anyone else in the school, but writing the quote is a must. One that struck a chord in me read, ‘I wonder at the idleness of tears!’ <br /><br />As I watch these children, their eagerness and enthusiasm, they remind me of little buds ready to bloom, will these buds bloom to fulfill dreams or will they wilt and wither with the weathers of life?...only time will tell!</p>
