Happy Teacher's Day Mother
“Strong work ethics” — is one of the most frequent feedback I have received from my peers, mentors, and even friends. I got it all from my mother! Each day, I witnessed her unwavering sincerity toward her work and the school where she celebrates 🤩 25 years of service this teacher’s day.
Out of all our days of going to school together, there is one incident that I cannot forget. It did make that 12-year-old-me feel something then and even today. I have shared it with her before, but today felt like a good day to try to record it and preserve it forever!
Note: All my conversations with my mother in the actual event happened mostly in a mix of Hindi and English, but I have translated it word for word, as I could remember.
It was a usual summer school morning. I was in 6th grade and very happy with the location of my classroom — in the senior building. Particularly away from the kindergarten section where my mother taught.
I did not enjoy being a ‘teacher’s ward’. It was a strange situation to be in. Everyone assumed you are the privileged one because of the few who were, but you are really not. You cannot even eat ice cream, bhelpuri, or that Rs 10 burger with orange sauce daily like other kids did before leaving on their buses. Anyways, focussing on the occurring of that day, here is what happened.
Post recess, a few students were missing. They were gone with their bags. We asked our teacher what had happened, and nonchalantly, she told us that their parents had come and taken them home. It was our math period, and I sure did not want to ruin her mood, so we returned to our desks, assuming they got sick. In the next few mins, more parents started to come in to get their children. And it was the first time that they were coming inside our classroom. That was not allowed. Our teacher saw our shared anxiety, which we were not acting upon because we belonged to an all-girls convent school. She decided to tell us the truth!
A curfew was being instated in the city. A small fight turned into full-blown riots. Busses were burned, and people were injured. Hence, before the curfew was imposed, every parent rushed to get their child home with them. When very few of us were left, we left our classroom to see what was going on in the rest of the school. There was a huge traffic jam outside the school. Everyone had haphazardly parked their car, our school staff was trying to control the continuous influx of worried parents trying to find their children’s classrooms. Our teacher did not disclose full detail, but this sight created a tiny sense of fear inside the few of us left. We were having a good time too, school dismissed before time, how often does that happen?. All the teacher’s wards in my class had also been taken away with their moms, or at least they came to check on them. I was cool until it was just me who was left.
It was now the usual time when school got over, and I was the only one left in the class with my teacher. Yes, by then, I had started to build some anxiety and anger about why is she not here yet. If not to take me, then at least to check on me. She did not need to. This expectation was building up by observing other parents hurrying to safely take their children home. And here, my mother, who is in the same building, did not even come once.
As I was sitting by myself, brewing these thoughts in my mind, when she finally came, greeting my teacher and casually saying — let’s go home, my frustration spilled out. Out of the classroom, in a more than usually irritated tone, I asked her — “Where were you?! Why did you not come earlier”?! Very calmly, she said, “I was at work”. Overreacting, as usual, I said — “so what? Other parents must have left their work to get their children, and you were right here in the next building, and you did not even come to see if I was doing okay or not”.
What she said next never occurred to me but stayed with me forever. She paused, looked at me, and said — “here in school, I am a teacher first and not your mom”. She continued — “I came to pick you up when every child of my class had left, just like your teacher was sitting here with you; I trusted her to be with you, help you, just like I was there with my students”. At that age, I did not comprehend the entire gravity and rarity of these words, but I did learn to give more respect to my work. It also surprised me because at home, she was extremely dedicated to us, and our grandparents, so how can this be any different at work?!
But it was, and it still is. What is more remarkable is that even in the hardest times, I have seen her maintain the same stance. And that is when you know — it is a true value because it never gets compromised.
Happy teacher’s day mumma! 🧡
