(To
all my teachers, teacher friends, teachers in the becoming and
to all my students)
In layman’s parlance, there
aren’t many differences between a student’s life and a teacher’s. The only
difference lies in displacement and the rest is virtually all the same, at
least in my case. In retrospection, I used to sit snugly on my chair, half in a
trancelike state and the other, dreaming big time while my teachers bore all
the pain in the world to stand and speak almost all day. And now that I am a
teacher too, instead of sitting, I stand and speak while it is my students who
have taken my much-coveted place—they snugly sit on their benches, half in a
trancelike state and the other, dreaming big time while I bear all the pain in
the world to stand and speak almost all day. That’s the only difference, no
less and no more—as I said, in layman’s parlance.
However, on taking a cursory tour
back to my school days, it is obvious to me that I was oblivious of what it was
like to be a teacher then. A life of a teacher at the chalkface was, more or
less, a mystery to me. Mystery because they were a bunch of people who I
couldn’t understand beyond their stereotyped position-TEACHER!
And as the fate would have it,
the mystery that hinged at the back of my mind unveiled on its own. Post-high
school, I was indiscriminately craning for everything that came my way like
every anxious post-high school kid. I was a bit worried then for I did not fare
satisfactorily in the board exams as I had a plan to re-do the exams the
following year. Perhaps I was obsessively ambitious then but I knew the marks I
would obtain that year wouldn’t be good enough to align me with my dreams.
Moreover, I was a Commerce graduate and it would not be lucrative for me if I
look for jobs or trainings alike right after Grade XII. Quite surprisingly, as
the things slipped out of my clumsy hands, I left everything to destiny. And
destiny had it that I should take up teaching and that I humbly accepted. This
prompted me to set off for my apprenticeship to one of the isolated pockets.
The rich and rapturous experiences thereof still flicker across the corridors
of my mind today and I know they would remain immaculately etched in the annals
of my fond memories until I breathe my last. Those eight months of refuge I
sought in teaching were the best time of my life. Why do I say those were my
best time? It is because those were my most terrible moments. You see, I was
raw akin to a chick that had just popped out of its shell and seeing the world
for the first time. And to aggravate the matter, I was to fend for myself.
It isn’t a mere account of how I
survived. Rather, it is about the metamorphosis that I came over in myself.
Those eight months persuaded me that I could never be a teacher in all
certitude. Even if I became one, I would be a bad teacher. And becoming a bad
teacher is no-man’s-land. Myriads of thoughts bottlenecked the traffic in my
mind as to why I had opted for it at the first place. I even felt that it had
been so foolish of me trying to fit in the Cinderella’s shoes like her two
desperate sisters. I almost came to a point of giving it up for good. But a
part of me wanted to hold on even when it meant clutching at straws. And once
my training began in the Samtse College of Education, I came to know my eight
months of struggle was already training per se. Those hard times I had undergone
were a mere catalyst so much needed for transformation, for metamorphosis.
Unconsciously or subconsciously, I had already fallen for this profession from
day one of my apprenticeship. It is a beautiful field and those who drank from
its pool could only behold it. It is a mystery otherwise to the mere onlookers.
The vacuum between where my apprenticeship ended and where my training began
from was the moment of soul-searching. And then I realized the mystery had been
demystified—it was all about a crumb of hope, a grain of inspiration and a
desire to share our dreams and dances, our aspirations and anticipations, our
hopes and happiness... with the young minds. That was it and I knew I was
indeed in the right discipline. And the training that ensued was only a
formality and to perfect some of the best tricks of this trade.
I realized only then that destiny
best ushers us to our niche when the dreams callously close all their steel
doors and render us clueless. It was by default that I am here and it is my
sheer decision to stay here until I grow old enough to retire. Now that I am a
teacher myself, it’s easier and apt for me to empathize with all my teachers’
every action and reaction they had with everything I, as a student did back
then. They had done their jobs well because they reached me here, safe and
sound. Now it’s my time—I will keep the streak going!!! Thanks to their
boundless wisdom and indefatigable inspiration that I am so proud to be one
like them today.
HAPPY TEACHERS’ DAY!!!
(Written on last Trs.' day celebration.)
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