We glance at the timetable and relax a bit. It isn’t HER period. We take a leisurely stroll outside to the corridor and stand there having ‘a gala time’, when suddenly a stern voice behind us says “Get in”. As soon as the voice registers, we all drag ourselves in and take our seats.

“Homework done?” she asks the class as she gets one of us to clean the board. A few nod in response while the others wait for someone to raise their hand and use all their courage to say ‘No’. After the first ‘No’ has been said, a few others get up and join the group.

She looks down for a moment as if gulping the words she so longs to scream, and manages to mutter a relatively soft “Why?” All sorts of clichéd excuses pile up as blood boils in her head. “Remain standing” she orders and starts going through our work. She controls her hands from throwing each book outside the window, as her pet dialogue finds its way out – “What kind of shitty work is this?”

“I’ll have to kind of start giving detention now. Why can’t you give me sincere work for once?” she yells.

Because ‘I like English’ said no one ever, we all think to ourselves.

“You don’t have to like me or the subject. You are expected to work” she says as if reading our thoughts.

“We will give you the work by the end of the day” we say.

She asks for the passage she asked us to comment on and quickly skims through it, her eyes darting about from line to line. Some of us utilize that time to engage ourselves in a conversation, while a few of us look at her, admiring her personality. Her sharp eyes, her sleek black hair that falls just below her ears, her radical thoughts and great life lessons inspire us. She tries her best not to pass on her biases to us, but I guess she isn’t successful in that especially with a few of us.

I remember asking her once whether she had read ‘Joseph Anton’ by Salman Rushdie. “I don’t like his writing” came the immediate response. “I’ve read his ‘Midnight’s Children’ because I had to, but otherwise…” she trailed off. “See, the thing is he’s too complex. I like things which are simple and direct you know” I nodded silently. “Rushdie never spoke to me” she added. I nodded again. “But don’t let that influence you! Try him out” she says quickly as if noticing how her few words changed my views. ‘Too late’ I think to myself. ‘My role model just asked me not to get influenced by her. That should be easy!’

She’s done with the passage in less than a minute and she looks up to find us lost in our own sweet world. She begins discussing the passage and asks us for comments. We respond with whatever little we understand. “Haaa….good!” she says as a subtle smile appears. “Now fine-tune it. Give me a tight-knit comment” she adds, crushing our short-lasted relief.

None of us respond, and all she gets is a cold, dead silence. She asks us for the comment a few more times, but none of us even move.

“Am I talking to the walls?” she asks pretty seriously. “Even the furniture will start responding right?” she asks, smiling at her old joke as we smile politely in return. Sometimes it feels like she waits for a chance to
say all this!

Our blank expressions annoy her, so she gives up on us and frames the comment herself. It seems so effortless when she does it, but when it comes to us it feels like we have to make a decision on whether or not to plan a nuclear attack on another country. Actually, even that decision seems easier than framing a proper comment.

After she is done explaining, we frown a little and nod to display the minuscule development in our understanding. “Am I reaching you? Does it make sense now?” she asks skeptically. We nod in unison as our insides scream ‘Whaaattt??!!”

“See, you need to kind of condition yourself for such work” she says. She goes on for a while and then says “Anyway, that was just a digression” (after talking about the ‘digression’ for 15-20 minutes)

“See, grades don’t matter. You need to grow up to be good human beings” she says. ‘Wait for it’ we tell ourselves, here it comes…and Boom! “Having said that, I still need the work by the end of the day” she says, smiling to herself.

She spots her favourite target sitting in his place with his expressionless face, and decides to have some fun.

“You’re thinking ‘when will this woman leave’ right?” she says to the student who I like to call ‘Dodo’. She laughs at his reluctant ‘No ma’am’ and turns to the class.

“You’d kill all your teachers if you could right?” she asks as we laugh with her. ‘No ma’am. We’d rather kill ourselves. Can’t take the risk of you haunting us later’ we think.

“Anyway, coming back to the passage. What is the tone?”

Ah! Finally that question. That horrible, horrible question. The one that causes more harm than any of the medieval torture techniques. As usual, no one utters a word. Our natural instincts make us look at the clock. She notices that obviously, nothing misses her eyes. “I’m not letting you go until you give me the tone” she says.

The bell rings, and the period ends without that question being answered. “Go for your break” she mutters and walks out thinking about what a hopeless batch we are.