A lesson for life

Suryakumari Dennison tells you about someone who learnt a forgotten lesson

It was not only the start of the New Year but also the first day of the last academic term. Mrs Prasad felt not the slightest sense of anticipation. She sadly recalled how, not so long ago, she had eagerly looked forward to school. At 7.30 am, while waiting for her bus, she would mentally rehearse what she would say in class. Commuters at the stop, who knew that she was a teacher, would smile at each other as she inadvertently quoted aloud from a poem or play. Over the past few months, however, Mrs Prasad had lacked both energy and enthusiasm.

Pushing her way through people, without much hope of finding a vacant seat, Mrs Prasad felt tired before she reached her destination. This had nothing to do with standing for most of the journey. She was no stranger to tedious travel. Jostled by fellow passengers, she had been oblivious to the daily discomfort, dwelling instead on the pleasurable prospect of sharing her love for Shakespeare with attentive youngsters.

Mrs Prasad hated to admit it, even to herself, but she knew that the reason for her present weariness was Sonia. Her daughter had been just three years old when Mrs Prasad had lost her husband in an accident. The grieving widow had determined that if her only child could not have a father’s love, she should have everything else. In the years that followed, Mrs Prasad had devoted herself to Sonia, giving her the best she could on her modest income.

At first, Sonia had been an obedient girl, grateful to her mother. Lately, however, she had developed a selfish streak, thinking only of herself, and wanting clothes and accessories that Mrs Prasad simply could not afford. She was growing increasingly rebellious, and Mrs Prasad, who had to get up early, found the nightly rows with a wilful teenager exhausting. 

After dinner, Mrs Prasad liked to listen to soothing music or read herself to sleep, but it was then that Sonia made difficult demands that had to be denied. These refusals were invariably followed by heated arguments, which ended in Sonia retiring sulkily or bursting into tears. Mrs Prasad would lie awake for hours, wondering where she had gone wrong and how, if at all, she could mend matters. She would rise at dawn with a heavy head, and a heavier heart, disinclined to leave home.

Arriving at her workplace, Mrs Prasad was angry with herself for being a few minutes late. As she entered the classroom, flushed and flustered, she was annoyed to observe that her students were unusually lively. “Settle down quickly,” she said curtly. Every little sound disturbed her, and even brief whispered conversations seemed evidence of intentional disrespect. She had never been so short-tempered before, and knew that she was guilty of one of the greatest crimes on the part of a teacher — bringing personal problems to school.

On reopening day, there was excitement in the air, and a merry murmur continued until Mrs Prasad banged the duster on her table. Silence fell, only to be broken a moment later by 50 voices yelling, “Happy Birthday, Ma’am!”

Mrs Prasad muttered a feeble thanks realising that she had completely forgotten the date. The previous year, she had distributed sweets on her special day, but now she had nothing to give her students. Worse still, she had snapped at them. She felt terrible when the class monitor stepped up to her with a bunch of roses and a big card signed by everyone.

Mrs Prasad’s eyes misted over when she read their message: “Thank you, Ma’am, for the many times you have been there for us. Remember, we are always here for you.” How loving they were, how generous, thought Mrs Prasad. On an occasion when she should have done something for them, they had made her feel cherished. Instead of holding her recent irritability against her, they had warmly acknowledged her former kindness and patience. How many adults would be so understanding? That January morning, Mrs Prasad learnt afresh a lesson that she had once known very well. Her concern for her daughter could never be at the cost of neglecting her students. They were her children, too.