‘Uma, I want to talk to you.’ Anupurba stepped in front, barring her way.
Uma stopped without a word. No remorse.
‘Is that the way to talk to your mother?’
Uma looked her in the eye. There was confrontation in that look.
‘That was really very rude of you,’ Anupurba said.
No one had ever tried to tell Uma what to do. Not at school. Not at home. No one had ever used that tone with her. She was taken aback but did not want to show it. She was about to move on in her usual disdainful way.
‘Wait!’ Anupurba said again. She hadn’t finished. ‘The other day you misbehaved with your father, and today with your mother. You are not a small baby, Uma. You can think for yourself. Do we have to teach you how to talk to your elders? You are lucky to have such parents. You should really be grateful to God for them. But you . . . You should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t ever want to see such behaviour from you. If this happens again, you will have to leave my class!’
Not a word from Uma. What did the look in her eyes suggest? Rebellion, obstinacy or plain indifference?
Anupurba made no attempt to read the expression on her face. ‘Go back to your seat. Right now,’ she said.
Still not a word from Uma. Slowly, she lowered her head and went back to her seat.
Anupurba was stunned at her own reaction. What had she done! Hadn’t Ranjana warned her against being tough with such children? It simply wasn’t the done thing. Their minds could get wounded. And here she was, not even a regular teacher in the school. And that too with a child like Uma!
Oh God!
Why did it happen? Why had she lost her calm? Was it the tension of her mother’s operation?
No, she wouldn’t allow herself to become agitated like this again. She turned around to look at Uma. Like the others, she was now busy drawing, she was not looking anywhere around. But why was her pencil moving so rapidly? Had Anupurba upset her?
The class ended. As usual, Uma was waiting for the other children to leave. Should Anupurba apologize to her?
Awkwardly, she went over to where Uma sat. Anupurba knew the issue remained unresolved and she needed to thaw the situation. Just then her phone rang.
She pulled the phone out of her purse frantically, saw the name of the caller and forgot everything else.
‘Arun? How is Ma?’
‘Everything is fine,’ Arunav said. ‘Let us see how long it takes before she can come home.’
‘Will she go home today?’
‘How can she? The doctor says Wednesday.’
‘Another two days!’
‘Yes. We have to do as the doctor says.’
Why did his voice sound so faint? She pressed the phone hard to her ear. She wasn’t even aware of her oozing tears.
‘I want to speak to her, please. Will she be able to talk now, Arun?’
‘Not right now, Purba. But I’ll call you as soon as she can. Don’t worry.’
As she put the phone back in the purse, a surge of emotion engulfed Anupurba. She pressed both her hands over her eyes and sobbed.
After a while, she felt a presence near her and opened her eyes.
Uma!
Uma had come down from her seat quietly and moved up to her in the meantime. Anupurba composed herself. ‘You haven’t gone home yet, Uma? Your father must be waiting outside!’
Ignoring the question Uma asked, ‘What happened, Aunty?’
Anupurba felt embarrassed. Why had she allowed her feelings to get the better of her?
She looked at Uma again. The child was waiting for an answer. Anupurba couldn’t lie to her. She said briefly, ‘My mother is not well.’
‘Your mother? What’s wrong with her?’
‘There was a blockage in her heart. She had to go through something called angioplasty.’
Could the child understand all this?
‘What’s that? She will have an operation?’
‘Actually, she has already had it. Something like an operation.’
‘And if she didn’t have it?’
‘Her life would be in danger. She could have a heart attack any time.’
‘Oh!’ Uma was quiet for a moment. ‘Why did this happen to her?’
‘Who knows? With a problem like this, we can’t always tell.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t say anything more but turned her wheeled plank around towards the door. She was leaning forward slightly, as though thinking of something.
Had Anupurba given her a fright by talking about her mother’s illness? She closed her eyes for a brief moment. No, she needed to explain to her in more detail.
‘Uma!’ she called, but Uma had already gone out of the room.
~
Anupurba’s mother returned home from the hospital on Wednesday. Dr Mohapatra had taken excellent care. Thank God, there were no complications. She felt relieved at last. At home, Amrit, Jeet and Bobby had been a big support. The boys made a big ‘get well’ card with a pink heart made of family pictures and sent it to their grandma. On Wednesday night, they all spoke to her briefly so as to give her time to recuperate.
On Thursday, when Anupurba went back to Asha Jyoti, all her anxieties were gone. She felt light and happy. Sometimes, when you get past a difficult situation, you get new energy. Somashekhar also knew that Madam’s mother was unwell and stopped near a temple on the way to school and Anupurba prayed silently for a brief moment, from outside. She promised to come again.
When she reached the school, her mind was only on the forthcoming art exhibition.
The number of children’s paintings was growing by the day. A few of them would not make the mark but the rest were outstanding. She was proud of them. There was this amazing painting of blue, red and yellow concentric circles that a child had titled, ‘Inside me’; in another, a sunflower field that filled up a large three-by-two sheet—it had such warmth and a certain glow! Many were abstract—but they conveyed meaning and energy—some would baffle even an art critic with their sophistication. There were a few paintings that seemed to break free and communicate with the viewer, some tugged at one’s heart—like the picture of a happy foursome, two boys and two girls, with their doggie, who were sitting on a rocket and going into outer space!
When the children trooped in, Anupurba saw how eager they all were to either complete their work or to create new paintings. They were now so consumed by the entire process, that whenever Anupurba lent them a little touch here, a nudge there, it opened up their minds and all they wanted to do was keep on painting. There was magic in them.
The class ended. Anupurba was humming to herself as she got busy arranging the paintings inside the cupboard. She would show them to Mrs Mathur and Shobha. There were enough now to show how much progress had been made by her children.
‘How is your mother, Aunty?’
The sudden question from a familiar voice took her by surprise. It was Uma. She had silently wheeled herself to where Anupurba stood near the cupboard. The girl’s head was no higher than where Anupurba’s knees were. She had concern in her eyes.
Anupurba was taken aback.
‘She is much better, she will be all right,’ she replied. ‘She has come back home from the hospital.’
‘That is so nice.’
Uma went back to her seat, as though this was all she had wanted to hear.
‘Uma!’ Anupurba called her from behind.
Uma turned her head around.
Anupurba walked towards Uma with long strides. She wanted to apologize.
But how? Anupurba couldn’t think of the words. She only managed to lean forward and stroked Uma gently on the head. Then slowly she said, ‘Thank you for asking about my mother, Uma.’
‘I am happy for you, Aunty,’ the girl replied.
Painting by Chhaya © Spastics Society of Karnataka
Eight
Bangalore, in February, begins to warm up somewhat. People had told Anupurba that March and April were really summer months here
. No doubt, the spring flowers were beginning to appear. She had never seen the purple-blue jacaranda before. Neither was the yellow tabebuia familiar to her. Then, of course, there was the very ornate red flower that sat on the lush green leaves of large trees in most neighbourhoods—no one could tell her the name. Someone had said it was flame of the forest, but she knew it was not.
Anupurba sat on her balcony sipping coffee and surveyed the landscape. Nothing had changed on the road on which her house stood. Auto-rickshaws, cars, motorcycles and scooters raised clouds of dust and deafened the ears with their noise. From the neighbouring slum came the perennial sounds of quarrelling children and the shouts of push-cart peddlers. But now her eyes saw nothing of the squalor; her ears did not register the decibel level of what would have otherwise been termed a racket. She was looking at the jacaranda tree in front of the house that was beginning to bloom with purple flowers. Some flowers had dropped from the branches, forming a carpet of purple around the foot of the tree. The colours would last for perhaps a few weeks and then vanish as magically as they first appeared. New leaves would come in their place and once again a latticed green would envelope the branches. Little birds would come and build nests. Then the wait would begin for another year for the flowers to return. Anupurba, sitting on the balcony, wanted to soak in the colours for the whole year.
Just then her mobile phone rang. She took a moment to realize it was her phone. Jeet and Bobby were perennially changing her ringtone much to her annoyance.
It was Mrs Shanta Mathur. Why this sudden call on a Friday afternoon, Anupurba wondered. She had waved to her only the day before as she was returning after her class. Mrs Mathur had said nothing then. What could have happened now?
‘Hello, Anupurba. I’m disturbing you at an odd time. Please forgive me,’ Shanta Mathur said.
‘No problem at all, Mrs Mathur.’
‘Were you resting?’
‘No, I don’t sleep in the afternoon.’
‘I need your help, Anupurba,’ Mrs Mathur said, coming directly to the point.
‘Please tell me, Mrs Mathur.’
‘As you know, three of our teachers have been sent to Mysore for advanced training.’
‘Yes—Saroja, Prachi and Ambika. I had talked to them last week.’
‘That’s right. We’ve been planning to send them for training for the last three years, but conditions in the school have been such that I couldn’t dream of sparing three of our teachers for two weeks. Fortunately, we had a large number of volunteers this year and I could afford to let them go. But a serious problem has come up this morning.’
Anupurba was listening.
‘Madhumita slipped and fell in the bathroom yesterday after she returned from school and has broken her leg. She can’t get out of bed now for at least a month. Harapriya had volunteered to take Prachi’s classes but early this morning her mother-in-law had a severe coronary attack. She may not survive. Harapriya is in the hospital with her and I don’t know when she will be able to come to the school. I was depending on Josephine, but it seems her daughter has chickenpox. She had fever for the last two days. Even then Josephine was coming to school, leaving the child in her mother’s care. But now that she knows its chickenpox, she can’t come. The poor girl is desperate—she knows the situation we are going through. But she might carry the infection to our children, and you know how low their immunity levels are. How can we take a risk? Can you help us out of this, Anupurba?’
‘Me?’ Her voice faltered.
‘Yes. Can you please come every day for the next week? Saroja, Prachi and Ambika will be back next Saturday. Could you take charge of at least one class until they return?’
‘Teach full-time?’ Anupurba said, terrified. ‘I can’t, Mrs Mathur. I know nothing about teaching these children!’
‘It’s not necessary to know anything,’ Mrs Mathur explained. ‘Bani will help you with the actual lessons. She’s the class teacher for the sixth standard. As for the other things, either Ranjana or I could explain what you have to do. You won’t have any problems. The important thing is to keep the children occupied until three in the afternoon.’
‘And what about my art class?’ Anupurba said, clutching at a straw.
‘We can suspend it for this week. Please help us, Anupurba.’
Anupurba had never heard Mrs Mathur plead like this before. She could not say ‘no’ to her. Not at a time like this. She paused for a moment.
‘I’ll come, Mrs Mathur,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Anupurba—thank you so much!’ She sounded relieved. ‘Eight-thirty on Monday then. Bye now!’
As soon as she had put the phone down, Anupurba felt very anxious. True that she had agreed easily enough, but what was she to do now? How could she possibly take on such a responsibility? She had no training; she knew nothing about the curriculum for special children. How would she prepare for her classes? What was she to teach? And that too the seventh standard!
She gave Ranjana a call. Ranjana calmly explained everything to her. All classes at Asha Jyoti were extremely informal, just as her art classes had been. There were no rules, no fixed curriculum to follow, and no hard pressure of teaching. The usual school subjects were taught here—Maths, Science, Literature, History and so on—but they were blended with lessons on everyday life which a normal, healthy child does not need to be taught.
‘What do you mean?’ Anupurba asked.
‘Well, things like how to count money; how to shop for things; how to use a knife to cut vegetables; how to cook basic items of food.’
‘The children need to learn all this?’
‘Yes, they do. If they don’t learn how to count money or how to shop, they can be cheated very easily. There may not always be someone to hold their hands. Not forever.’
‘But cooking? Learning how to cut vegetables with a knife, lighting a stove?’
‘They need to learn all that too. Most must learn to meet their basic needs without depending on anyone. If a child has the misfortune of some day living alone, she should not starve to death. There is another important thing they have to be taught here, Anupurba—how to speak to others.’
‘You mean speech therapy?’
‘They are given speech therapy if they need it, but at the Health Centre—not at the school. Here, they are taught the etiquette of ordinary conversation.’
‘Etiquette? These children?’
‘This is necessary in today’s society. You must have noticed, Anupurba, most of our children are starved for affection. A kind word, a smile, is enough to melt their hearts. They are just as keen to show affection, but as they are unable to express their feelings clearly through words, they do so by holding the other person’s hand, sometimes touching their cheeks and so on. However, there are many in our society who misinterpret these actions. There have been cases of people taking advantage of the disabilities of spastic children.’
Anupurba was horrified. It sounded repulsive.
Was Ranjana thinking too much of her own daughter? After what had happened to Soumyaa, it was natural for her to find venom concealed everywhere, in every person and in everything. Was that why such things had been made a part of the curriculum at Asha Jyoti?
Ranjana was still talking. ‘You won’t have to teach all this, Anupurba. Usually, I teach these topics myself, in special classes. Mukta sometimes helps me.’
‘So what shall I teach? How shall I teach?’ Anupurba was feeling helpless again.
‘You don’t have to teach anything.’
‘I don’t have to teach?’
‘Mrs Mathur and I have discussed this. Special training is needed to teach the children at Asha Jyoti.’
‘That is exactly what I tried to tell Mrs Mathur!’ Anupurba interrupted Ranjana, at once feeling a great sense of relief.
But Ranjana did not seem to hear her. She went on in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she had never been interrupted. ‘You can continue your art classes as before, but for these few days,
you will be teaching art only in the seventh standard. You could do one thing though —teach the seventh standard children for half the day and the sixth for the other half. Bani, the sixth standard teacher, can be with her class until the lunch break and then look after the children in the seventh standard. What do you say?’
Yes, this Anupurba could do. But . . . teach the whole day? Could she manage the children?
~
In the end, her fears were unfounded.
She had barely stepped into the class when a girl rushed up to the door. Below the neck and as far as the feet, she was an ordinary twelve- or thirteen-year-old. But her head? And her face? Not a strand of hair grew on the strangely-shaped head. The scalp was totally bare. No eye-lashes. Just two small, round doll-like eyes. They did not resemble human eyes at all. Not just the eyes—the entire face looked so strange, it was like the face of someone from another planet, like an alien from a Hollywood science-fiction movie. But her face shone with excitement and eagerness. It was as though in that one moment she had found the world’s greatest treasure in Anupurba.
‘Hello, Aunty!’ the child said, shaking both of Anupurba’s hands. ‘Shanta Aunty told us on Friday that we were going to have a new aunty as our art teacher. What fun! Your name is Anupurba, isn’t it, Aunty? I’m sure people call you Anu. Isn’t that great? People call me Anu too, but my name is Anuja.’
She said all this without a single pause—all the while shaking Anupurba’s hands that were held in hers. And from then on, Anuja became Anupurba’s right hand! She was her willing and extremely able assistant.
Anuja was highly intelligent. It was as if she was constantly reading Anupurba’s mind. As soon as she sensed that Anupurba was in some doubt she would get up from her place, stand beside her and explain everything to her.
‘Ravi can’t speak, Aunty. He has some trouble with his hearing too. You will have to speak to him very loudly. Or else, you can write what you want to say to him on a slip of paper. He will write his reply on it . . . . Binita can’t write. See, Aunty, the fingers of her hand are completely bent. But she can hold a pencil in her toes. She hasn’t yet learnt to write with her toes, though. She’s trying! That is Shahin trying to say something. She can only mumble. But I could explain to you what she’s trying to tell you. I can understand all of them, Aunty. Why are you smiling, Aunty? It’s true, I swear!’
Children of A Better God Page 8